RED HOOD ✔

2: A TOY KICKS ASS

"What's this?" I ask as Aunt Liza hands me a beautifully crafted, ancient-looking bow and a quiver brimming with arrows. Her eyes light up with a warm, nostalgic smile. "This was your mum's; she was passionate about archery."

A genuine smile breaks across my face. "Yeah, and she was really good at it."

"The best," Aunt Liza agrees, pride swelling in her voice. Her moment of reminiscence is abruptly cut short by her phone ringing. She glances at the screen, and her expression darkens instantly. "I have to go," she says, urgency lacing her tone.

"Thanks, Aunt Liza, I really mean it," I tell her, sensing the tension.

"Sure thing, kid," she replies with a quick, forced smile before rushing out.

Later that night, driven by a mix of nostalgia and rebellion, I hang an old, worn-out target board in my room, despite my dad's frequent warnings against indoor archery. I'm confident in my accuracy—it's almost second nature. I nock an arrow to the bowstring and let it fly, hitting the bullseye effortlessly. "I forgot how good at this I was," I murmur to myself, impressed with my unerring precision. I continue to fire, each arrow thudding into the target, until one particular arrow catches my eye. Unlike the others, its tip emits a faint, eerie glow.

Driven by curiosity, I examine the luminous arrow closely, then draw it back and release. As it strikes the target, something extraordinary happens—the fabric of reality before me ripples and tears open, forming a shimmering portal. "Oh my God," I gasp, my heart racing as the force from the portal pulls me through.

I tumble out into an otherworldly forest, dense with towering, ancient trees whose leaves whisper secrets of old. I stand up, clutching my mom's bow and quiver, and begin to navigate through the thick underbrush. As I venture deeper, three fairies flutter past, their tiny faces etched with astonishment at my sudden appearance. Shaking off the surreal encounter, I continue, only to be startled by the rustling of a nearby bush. An ogre, grotesque and towering, bursts forth, its eyes wild and menacing. Panicked, I sprint away, my heart pounding, and trip over a protruding root, plunging into a muddy puddle.

Looking up, my reflection in the murky water shows my features—brown eyes wide with fear, dark skin now smeared with mud, and dreads tangled and dirtied. My red hoodie is stained, and the bit of facial hair I've been proud of looks out of place in this chaos. "Come on, Vincent, think! This has to be one of those lucid dreams Dad mentioned," I tell myself, but the dream continues, unyielding. "Guess I'm going on an adventure," I resign, standing to explore this fantastical nightmare.

After some time, I pause to catch my breath near an unusual tree. To my astonishment, it turns towards me and lets out a piercing scream, causing me to stumble backwards. The tree, along with others around it, erupts into laughter—actual faces carved into their trunks. I dodge a branch that swings at me like an arm and sprint towards a small, quaint cottage that seems misplaced in this wild, laughing forest.

Inside, the cottage is whimsically decorated with toys and a toy train that chugs energetically around the room. For a moment, I'm distracted by the playful scene, but the harsh reality sets back in. "Anyone here? Hopefully Santa Claus?" I call out half-jokingly.

"Nope... Santa doesn't work these parts," comes a familiar voice from above. I look up to see Aunt Liza descending the stairs, wiping her hands with a rag. Relief floods through me. "Vincent, I'm so happy you're here," she says, her smile wide and welcoming.

"What are you doing here? Where is this place?" I ask, overwhelmed by the unfolding events.

"Welcome to Gi ton Thavmáton," she explains with a light chuckle. "It means 'land of wonders.' And no, this isn't a dream, Vincent, it's all real."

"Why are you here, though?" I question, still trying to grasp the situation.

"I have to live somewhere, don't I?" Aunt Liza replies nonchalantly, as if living among talking trees and ogres is the most natural thing in the world. "But Aunt Liza, this place is insane! The trees talk, there's an ogre running around, and there are actual fairies," I exclaim, my voice tinged with both awe and fear.

"Have a seat," she invites, motioning to a cozy couch. As I sit, still in shock, she joins me. "This is a magic realm sealed off from humans. Only a few can enter it—humans like you and I... and your mum."

"My mum was part of this?" I ask, my confusion deepening.

"She practically lived here," Aunt Liza reveals with a smile. "Your mum was a tenth generation Red Hood, a protector of this magic realm."

I struggle to accept this. "My mum was an accountant," I protest weakly.

"No, your mum was a hero," she corrects gently. We sit in silence for a moment as I try to process this staggering new reality.

"Then why am I here?" I finally ask, desperate for answers.

"Your mum didn't die in a car accident," Aunt Liza explains gravely. "She was killed by an evil that stalks this land at night—the beast of Gi ton Thavmáton, a werewolf with only one motive: to kill and destroy."

This is too much. "OK, Aunt Liza, I've heard this story before, and it's all fake... This! This is all fake... I'm not the most sensible person in the world, but I don't believe in talking trees, ogres, fairies, and a serial killer werewolf," I argue, still in denial.

But she just smiles, as if amused by my skepticism. "But she didn't tell you everything, Vincent... You see... You're the next Red Hood."

All of a sudden, a short, elderly man in a loincloth bursts through the door, looking anxious. "He has returned," he announces breathlessly.

Aunt Liza's expression darkens immediately, and she rushes outside with the man, named Maurice. I follow, only to see a towering, bald giant struggling with a small figure on his back.

The boy hung on by the hilts of the daggers, the giant made a quick turn causing the boy to be flung off into a tree, I took a better look at the boy, his eyes too were brown, he had on a T-shirt with a zombie printed on it and some letters at the bottom that spelled out 'inhuman' I looked closer and found out he really was that, in fact, he was far from human, he was....wooden, he looked like he was a teenager... Probably around my age, but I wasn't sure if he aged (well at least not in the same way I did)... His hair looked like part had been chipped off, he had a sword that hung on his side, he unsheathes his sword and began charging as if the impact did not affect him,

"whoa... Who is that" she looked back at me and said "one of my husband's inventions... He loved making toys like that" toys? Did she just call that sword-wielding, dagger stabbing, fast-reflexed wooden creature of horror a toy, if those were their toys, I wouldn't want to see what was made to actually hurt people.

The boy ran for the giant once again, the giant had braced himself for a leap but the wooden boy slid under the giant's legs and cut off one of its legs, the giant let out a cry, tilted, and fell to the ground, the boy dusted himself as if this was all normal to him and started walking towards us, behind him the giant had burst into flame, leaving behind the daggers that were stuck to his back,

"That's not all," the wooden boy says, his voice youthful yet tinged with battle-weariness. "Well done, Pinocchio," Aunt Liza calls out, though the boy winces at the name.

"I told you never to call me that again... The name is Apsychos," he corrects, looking annoyed yet resolute.

Aunt Liza rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she says dismissively, then the boy turns to me. "You finally got him here," Apsychos says, glancing at me with a grin that's hard to read on his wooden face. "The next Red Hood."