After the woodcutter slew the wolf, Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t the same. She returned to her mother silent, pale as a gravestone, and night after night she woke from dreams of rending teeth and hot, stinking breath.
She remained housebound, which her mother in some ways loved, as she was safe. But as the girl grew older, became an adult, it was more worrisome.
“The world isn’t all bad,” her mother said. “Just don’t go into the woods.”
Suitors showed up. The baker’s son, the falconer’s younger brother. Little Red faced each listlessly, as her mother spoke to them. With each man, she found fault, and as the days passed, she began to wish herself away from home.
Then the hunter appeared. He became her mother’s favorite. He was tall and broad with gleaming, black hair and a sleek beard. With large teeth, he grinned, charming her mother.
In his presence, Red’s bones quaked. She excused herself and quickly left the room.
Later that night, when her mother said, “You’ll marry him,” she fled from home.
The only place to go, really, was the woods. Red didn’t think much beyond the moment and the need to disappear.
The woods were waiting to swallow her up. Unlike her life-changing visit to her grandmother, Red was now penetrating the forest in the dark of night. She lurched and stumbled, she bounced off of trees. The shadows were like blankets smothering her.
Red welcomed them, because she hoped to disappear. Each time she pressed between trees, she hoped to find a doorway into oblivion. If that happened, she would no longer know terror. She would be as formless as shadow.
But she remained frustratingly alive and solid. She couldn’t escape the sound of her heavy breaths. She couldn’t ignore the sensation of her heart juddering in her chest.
Then the howls started up.
They were distant at first, so Red did not want to believe that they were real. But they drew closer. One howl came from somewhere far off to her left. Another responded more closely from her right. Her own breaths grew louder, like an answering roar.
She plunged deeper into the forest, branches smacking her, twigs clawing her face and arms. The howls sounded ahead, behind, and closing in at her flanks.
The darkness thinned, and she burst into a clearing where a ruined cottage stood. The moon in its fullness showed her familiar details: a door with a diamond-shaped window, a chimney made of fat gray stones. It was her grandmother’s old cottage, now with soft, decayed spots in the roof thatch.
After staring at it, shocked, for a few seconds, Red ran towards the front door. But it was too late for her to reach it. Four wolves emerged – one slinking around from the other side of the cottage, and three more from the woods. She was surrounded.
Unlike the Big Bad Wolf of years before, these wolves had glossy white and light gray fur. They also didn’t disguise their wolfishness. In the moonlight, they were not only terrifying but beautiful. Stiff with terror, Red couldn’t help but think what an honor, in a way, it would be to end her life at the feet of these magnificent creatures. If only they would make her death quick.
They padded closer, and their beauty faded somewhat as she felt their hot and feral breath pulse against her face. She began to quiver, her body readying itself for one final futile run.
That was when a sharp command, in a human voice, came from the cottage doorway.
For a wild moment, Red thought it was her grandmother. She expected a lady with a shawl and slouched shoulders to emerge. But the command was in a language that she didn’t understand, although the wolves did. They lowered their heads and retreated several feet. Red’s grandmother would have never been able to issue orders to wolves.
The lady who stepped into the moonlight was young and old. She had an unlined but severe face, and all of her clothes – from a hooded cape to a long skirt – were a dull silver. Her figure was diminutive, but her bare feet were large. She padded across the grass towards Red, each of her steps a decisive crunch.
“Welcome. I am the Woman in Silver. Why do you run, and where do you wish to go?”
Red was silent, her throat stopped up.
“You have two choices,” the Woman in Silver said. “The first is to leave the woods. If you do, you will never be welcome here again. The wolves will tear you apart. I will not stop them.” She extended a silver-draped arm. “Your second choice is to stay with me. I will teach you how to survive the woods. I will teach you how to command wolves.”
The wolves, meantime, were as still as statues, their fur tantalizingly soft and inviting. Red didn’t dare lay a hand on them.
“How is that possible?” Red asked.
“You will find out,” said the Woman in Silver. “Of course, there is always a risk that the wolves will turn on you. One cannot learn to command them without risk.”
Red stared at the wolves, each in turn, and their beauty brought tears to her eyes.
“I don’t know if I can,” Red whispered.
“I, too, do not know if you can.” The Woman in Silver turned and padded back to the cottage. Over her shoulder, she added, “Do you wish to find out?”
Quivering in terror and excitement, Red followed the woman into her grandmother’s old home. The wolves remained outside, waiting.
Kilter Street Chronicles 