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Who’s Afraid…
JLF
“Once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by every one who looked at her…”
Running through the woods, howling coming from all around me, echoing off the endless trees that block out any source of light. Stubbornness got me here; but will it get me out?
“’Set out before it gets hot, and when you are going, walk nicely and quietly and do not run off the path, or you may fall and break the bottle’…”
Praying I don’t stumble like some cheesy horror movie cliché, sealing my own fate with clumsiness. That would be so like me, though, and yet I keep running, my dainty feet which often belay that supposed grace that should come to those of the dainty feet keep pounding into the ground pell-mell, refusing to trip each other up as they are usually prone to do. Internally I thank them for that small favor; otherwise I would’ve been dog food long before now. And somehow I don’t think my dry and tasteless pound cake or quaint little bottle of half-drunk cheap wine “borrowed” from my parents would sate their hunger or thirst either.
“The wolf thought to himself, ‘What a tender young creature. What a nice plump mouthful, she will be better to eat than the old woman. I must act craftily, so as to catch both.’…”
Howling gets closer for a moment, and I swear I can almost hear snapping teeth so close on my heels that I imagine the feeling of flying saliva slapping the backs of my calves. I long to turn and look, see if they really are that close or if I am, as I fervently hope, imagining it all, but I know that’s truly my path to destruction. As surely as a characteristic trip and scramble would end this chase, so would my looking back. All the horror movies say so, ever since the turning of
“And so she ran from the path into the wood to look for flowers. And whenever she had picked one, she fancied that she saw a still prettier one farther on, and ran after it, and so got deeper and deeper into the wood…”
Running straight-forwardly is my only salvation it would seem. Well, at least until I either run out of breath or energy or strength or even will to keep running. But that hasn’t happened yet. All I can pray for, other than not tripping and resisting the urge to turn and see my pursuers, is to find some sort of haven before my meager and uncharacteristic running streak wears out.
“Meanwhile the wolf ran straight to the grandmother's house and knocked at the door…”
Seeing it finally nearly causes a fatal fall, but instead I turn my almost fall into a veer for the cabin which is sorta the source of all my trouble. Why couldn’t the old lady just live in town like all the rest of us? That would’ve been too kind. Instead she has to live miles deep into the woods which aren’t as friendly or as magical as I always imagined them to be as a child. At least tonight they aren’t.
“The wolf lifted the latch, the door sprang open…”
Knowing the door will be unlocked because she never entertains fears of break-ins and in fact longs for people to just “come right on in” to alleviate her loneliness, I run straight for it, arm stretched out as if that will make the knob rush into my hand that much quicker. the howling is louder, filling my head, making me want to scream to drown it out, but that would be a waste of far too precious breath and might give them the time to catch up to me.
“She was surprised to find the cottage-door standing open, and when she went into the room, she had such a strange feeling that she said to herself, 'oh dear, how uneasy I feel to-day, and at other times I like being with grandmother so much '…”
Toppling into the door, knob in hand and turned so quick that I practically tumble inside, finally tripping and scrapping my knees on the floor. I roll and kick the door closed just as a set of snapping teeth come into view. The door slams shut, and I manage to crawl to it, throwing myself against it as I slam the bolt into place, feeling the reverberations as something snarlingly angry throws its own weight against it. I’m surprised at the feeling of moisture on my cheeks but not surprised at the rapidness of my breathing.
“’Oh, grandmother," she said, "what big ears you have.’”
“’The better to hear you with, my child," was the reply…”
“My dear, what is going on? What is all that noise out there? Are some dogs chasing something out in the woods?”
“No, Gram. It’s wolves. Big, mean, scary wolves.”
“Don’t be silly, my dear. There haven’t been wolves in these woods for nigh on twenty years.”
“Well, they’re back and in full force tonight, Gram. I need something to barricade the door. And you should probably call the police or fire department or possibly animal control.”
"’But, grandmother, what big eyes you have," she said.
"’The better to see you with, my dear.’…"
“Oh, my dear, just look at the state of your lovely little red sweater that I made for you; it’s all torn and dirty from your scrambling about on the floor.”
“Darn, I guess it’s ruined. I won’t be able to wear it anymore. But that’s really not so impor—“
“—Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll have it cleaned up right as rain come morning.”
“Gee thanks, Gram, but we sorta have bigger problems than a dirty sweater. How ‘bout that phone call?”
“I think there’s something wrong with the phone, my dear. There’s no dial tone.”
“Since when are wolves smart enough to cut phone lines?”
“What was that, my dear?”
“Nothing, Gram. Just the signature on our death certificates. No big.”
“’But, grandmother, what large hands you have.’
Shuddering door against my back reminds me that I have bigger problems at the moment. Problems that can’t be solved by sarcastic comments made under my breath.
“It’s okay, Gram. I have my cell—well, at least I did. It must have fallen out while I was running. Shit!”
“Raeffe, language! Young ladies shouldn’t talk—“
“—We don’t really have time for propriety lessons at the moment, Gram! Big wolves throwing themselves against the door, trying to get in and eat us like some wacky fairy tale, and we have no way to contact anyone for help.”
“Didn’t I used to read you a story about a little girl and a wolf, my dear?”
“Probably, but that really doesn’t help us now.”
“Didn’t that wolf eat the little girl, my dear?”
“Helpful thoughts, Gram! Think you can help me move this bookcase in front of the door?”
“’Oh, but, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have.’
“‘The better to eat you with.’…”
“My dear, why should we move that in front of the door? Besides it’s far too heavy for me to even think about moving when I feel the way I do. You should come and sit down, my dear.”
“Just one problem, Gram: I think if I leave the door, they’ll get in.”
“Who will get in, my dear?”
“The wolves, Gram. The wolves.”
“But, my dear, there aren’t any wolves.”
Howling surrounds the cabin, so loud that I wonder how Gram could believe such a fairy tale. No wolves? Then what exactly is making that noise outside? And since when do wolves try to batter down a door?
“There’s something really weird going on, Gram. If it’s not wolves, then I’m not sure I wanna know what else it could be. You might wanna start looking for a weapon of some kind.”
“Weapon? Now why would I have some kind of weapon in the house, my dear?”
“Gram, just get something sharp and/or heavy! Please! And—ow!”
Banging so hard it throws me away from the door for a second, making for a nice return slam back into it. Things get quiet for a moment, making me believe that the wolf slamming into it knocked itself out with that last hit, but then I hear growling that sounds like a motorcycle revving, and the door shudders again, complete with ominous cracking noises. Then I feel the door break and slam me into the opposite wall, and then, I feel nothing.
“And scarcely had the wolf said this, than with one bound he was out of bed and swallowed up Little Red Riding Hood.”
ώ
“I will do everything you tell me, mother.”
“Don’t sass me, Rae! Now get going.”
“Can I at least take the car?”
“It’s only a ½ a mile through the woods, Raeffe; why would you need the car? You used to love walking through those woods to your grandmother’s house.”
“I also used to love Hanson and the Spice Girls but I somehow grew out of that purgatory. Come on, Mom. It’ll be dark by the time I’m on my way back, and I could get lost or kidnapped or raped or brutally murdered or something. Do you really want your precious, darling daughter reduced to a tragic
“That’s not funny at all, Raeffe. If you would just go instead of whining and arguing with me, you could get home in plenty of time.”
“Fine, fine, I’m going.”
“It also might help if you don’t stop at the park to hang out with Theron and all those other boys like you normally do. Then you might not have to worry at all about it getting dark.”
“Sure thing, Mom.”
“Curb that sarcasm right now, young lady. If you talk like that to your grandmother, you’ll upset her and then you really will be in trouble. And don’t forget your sweater. ... No, the red one.”
“Mom!”
“Your grandmother made that especially for you. I’m not asking you to wear it every day, just for today when you go to her house and back.”
“Fine! I’m going. Take one last look at your daughter before she gets eaten up by the big bad world.”
Stupid red sweater with is bedazzled red hood. Draws the eyes like a matador’s cape. And it completely clashes with my skin tone; makes me look like some rotten tomato. What was Gram thinking. “It’ll look darling on you, dearie.” No, Gram, it really won’t. And who calls people “dearie” now anyways? Weird old ladies your parents force you to visit without the aid of a possibly life-saving car…oh my God. She hasn’t been calling me “dearie” all night. Instead it’s been…
ώ
“My dear, how are you feeling?”
“Who are you, and what have done with my grandmother?”
“What are you talking about, dear child? I am your grandmother.”
“No, you’re really not.”
“You might as well give up the ghost, Daciana. She’s not falling for your little charade anymore. Besides, it served its purpose.”
Walking slowly out of the shadows, at first all I can make out of him is that he is a him (and that I only gleaned from the voice). First I see bare feet, feet which look as though they should be in pain from the uneven rocky floor, but he walks steadily, fluidly towards me without flinching, without that funny dance I always do when I have to walk barefoot over rough gravel. These feet are followed by plain black pants, but not plain in the cheap kind of way, more plain in the they’re-too-expensive-to-be-frivolous-and-flashy kind of way. The light from the broken door travels slowly upwards, revealing bit by bit, a simple grey button-up shirt with long, tapered fingers doing up the middle buttons as if he were just getting dressed. Then, finally, a face, and yet somehow not the face I was expecting (though how I could be expecting anything from these strange people who for some reason use wolves to drive me into a cabin/trap with a grandmother impersonator). This face is…sorta unassuming, a face that doesn’t stand out. Average chin, average mouth, average nose, average forehead, average everything…except for the eyes. The eyes are…golden, I guess would be the best description. Like molten gold (though I’m really just guessing as I’ve never seen molten gold on anything other than TV), molten gold that pierces into your soul and steals all your secrets before you even have a chance to try and hide them.
Running a hand through auburn but slightly greying hair (hair that looks too old on a face that averagely young, but then the eyes belie all that appearance of youth), he looks back at me with a mocking half-smile (though I think the mock is meant more for himself than me) before beginning to speak again in that slightly indiscernible, but possibly European accent.
“I must apologize for my companion, Daciana. She’s one of those actors who gets so into character that she doesn’t want to leave it when the role’s done. You may leave us now.”
“But, sir, she—“
Saying nothing, he simply looks at her, but that look is far from simple. I feel as if it would make blood boil, and maybe I’m not far off as the person he calls Daciana, the one wearing a my-grandmother suit, cringes away from her seemingly caring, grandmotherly position next to me and slinks towards the door, whimpering slightly, like a dog with its tail between its legs. She pulls the largest piece of door into place behind her, the piece that succeeded in knocking me into the wall and unconscious when it was broken, plunging the cabin into near darkness and me into sudden but inevitable and understandable terror. I think I’m beginning to figure things out about these…these people.
“So sorry about all this. I would’ve preferred a more subtle way to meet you, but time was not on my side. You see, I need your help, Raeffe.”
“How…how do you know my name?”
Pacing around me, his all too human face belies his true nature. I stay still on the floor, almost hugging my knees to my chest as if I’m five years old and in bed again, having some nightmare about wolves under the bed or in the closet.
“Do you know what your name means?”
“Not so much. Don’t see why is would matter?”
“I like you. You cower there all frightened but you snap at me with your words. … The meaning of names has always fascinated me. There is so much about us that is contained in our names. Names used to be sacred, a thing secret and hidden, a thing of power; now they’re merely feeble adornments with no real meaning, often clashing with who and what we really are. But sometimes, without really meaning to, they seem to fit…perfectly. You see, one might assume that your name meant ‘red’ or ‘red-haired,’ something like that. But no, ‘Raeffe’, at least the conventional form ‘Rafe’, means ‘wolf counsel.’ Funny, isn’t it? I assume by now that you’re…figuring things out about us.”
“Yeah, I think I am.”
“You see, you’re more like us than you know.”
“Really? ‘Cuz I totally missed the part where I turn into a monster all of a sudden-like. Typically a little hard to miss, wouldn’t you say?”
Pushing too far, you idiot. Now he’s got me, cutting off my air supply and hauling me off the ground and into the air so that my toes barely brush the floor.
“Let’s not get snippy now, shall we? Think you can be polite for a little while?”
Nodding, just barely because it’s a little hard to move at the moment. He lets me go, not seeming to mind as I slump to the floor, choking and gasping for air.
“Good. Now maybe we can come to some sort of understanding, hmm?”
“What do you want with me? And what did you do with my grandmother?”
“We need you, Raeffe. You’re the answer we’ve been searching for.”
“You didn’t answer my other question.”
“My, you’re persistent. I like that. Your grandmother is…safe. And nearby.”
“Okay, one question down. Now moving on. If I’m the answer, what’s the question?”
“Our survival.”
“That’s not really a question.”
“Our survival is threatened. Overexpansion, the tearing down of our natural habitats, loss of dependable food sources, not to mention pesky old human weapons. They’re getting far too efficient at killing us. Our numbers dwindle day by day and we need you to save us.”
“How exactly am I supposed to do that? I’m just a…a girl.”
“You’re not just some girl. You’re special, Raeffe. You’re meant to be one of us. And more than that, you’re meant to protect us, protect our way of life. We need…modernity, someone who better understands this world than we do. We thought it would be good enough to…to be in league with some humans. Let them keep sanctuaries for us, but still…still I watch my family fall. We’ve been too reluctant of late to…to introduce new blood into the family, too afraid of causing a stir and bringing attention. But I am tired of living in the shadows. I need someone with ingenuity and a sense of drama. I need you, Raeffe, to bring us into the new millennium.”
“How…how am I supposed to do that exactly?”
“Well, first, you’ve got to become one of us. And then…well, we’ll work things out from there.”
Turning away from me, he doesn’t see the commotion outside, a woman flying by one of the holes in the shattered door followed by a familiar looking boy with shaggy gold hair landing punches on another guy I’ve never seen before. Then they disappear and he turns back to me, spearing me with those startlingly gold eyes.
“Do I…uh…get a say in this?”
“Of course...to a point. That’s what all this little chat has been about.”
“Okay, then I’d like to respectfully decline the…joining of your family thing.”
“But, you see, that’s the thing: you’re already one of us.”
“Huh, now? I don’t wanna seem ‘snippy’ but I thought we already covered that part. I don’t really remember ever turning into a…a wolf or anything.”
“No, you wouldn’t remember because you haven’t…yet. But you will. Soon. You just need a little…grooming. But not here. This’ll be the first place they’ll look for you. And we don’t want that.”
“You…I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Faolan. It means—“
“—‘Wolf.’”
“Good guess.”
Stretching out a hand like I have a choice in all this, like my fate isn’t already sealed. Though at first I couldn’t, wouldn’t believe what he said. Now…now it’s like it’s all starting to sink in, like I know, I’ve always known deep down inside that what he’s saying now is true. I’m something…wrong. It’s why I never really got along with the people who were supposed to be my friends. Except for…for Theron. Theron…
Falling on top of me, his average but still substantial weight pins me against the wall and floor. Then there’s a hand, a pair of them pulling me out from under his body, pulling me out into the sunlight trickling through the trees.
“Rae, come on. Snap out of it! We’ve gotta run before any of these guys wake up.”
“Theron? What are you…how’d you find me?”
“Run now, ask questions later. Come on!”
ώ
“The huntsman was just passing the house, and thought to himself, how the old woman is snoring. I must just see if she wants anything.”
“I think we should be safe now, Rae.”
“I don’t think so, Ther.”
“Do you know what those guys were, Rae?”
“Yeah, I kinda got the whole picture. Do you know what they were?”
“Yeah, werewolves. It’s sorta what my family does.”
“And now’s my cue to give a big resounding ‘huh’?”
“We hunt werewolves. Been doing it for generations. But there haven’t been any wolves around for years until…I don’t know what brought them back. Or why they attacked you and your grandmother. Did that guy say anything about what they were up to?”
“Uh…no, he just talked a lot of nonsense. Do you…did you see my grandmother? He said she was nearby but…he might’ve been lying.”
“We’ll find her, Rae. We’ve just gotta get back to my house and get my dad and brothers. Then we’ll go back and get rid of all those monsters.”
“Really? That makes me feel so much better.”
Howling in my head again, but Theron doesn’t seem to hear it. Part of me wants to warn him, start running again for the safety of town and his family of apparently able wolf-hunters. But some other part of me, some deeper part, feels the need to protect Faolan and the others. I also feel a sudden urge to…to growl.
“Rae, why’d you stop? We need to get to town. They won’t have too much trouble tracking us once they’re up so we need to get to my family before they can catch up.”
“I…there’s something wrong with…my ankle. It hurts…too much to walk. You should…you should go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”
“Rae, that—that won’t work. They catch you again and God knows what they’ll do to you.”
“They won’t hurt me, Theron. But you…you should go. Before something bad happens. Before I…do something.”
“Raeffe, what are you talking about?”
“It wasn’t some accident that they came after me. There’s something…something that connects me…to...to them.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, Rae. Those things are monsters, and you have nothing to do with them.”
“Theron, you should go. You should go now. They’re close and…I don’t know what they’ll do to you if they find you. Just go…please.”
“Rae—“
“—Theron, go!”
Pushing him away forcefully enough that he seems frightened of me, as well he should be. The growling is building up, working its way into a howl that wants to be free of my chest, out in the air. Theron looks at me in fear as my breathing comes faster and faster, scrambling to his feet and backing away from me until he runs into a tree. Then he turns and runs towards town full out, no looking back. Tears come to my eyes hot and fast as I sink to the ground, fighting against the pain rising up in my chest. For a moment I think that the hand on my shoulder is Theron come back despite his rightful fear, but as I feel eyes burning into me like molten gold, I realize that Theron is long gone and so is any life in which I knew him as a friend.
“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“N-no. He thought he was saving me. But I can’t be saved, can I?”
“You don’t need saving, Raeffe. You are exactly what you are supposed to be. You are exactly where you are supposed to be.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”
“We should go now. Before the rest of them come.”
“Time to join my new family, huh? Let’s go.”
“And upon saying these words, this wicked Wolfe fell upon the little Red Riding-Hood, and eat her up.”
“The Moral
From this short story easy we discern
What conduct all young people ought to learn.
But above all, the growing ladies fair,
Whose orient rosy Blooms begin t'appear:
Who, Beauties in the fragrant spring of age!
With pretty airs young hearts are apt t'engage.
Ill do they listen to all sorts of tongues, Since some enchant and lure like Syrens songs. No wonder therefore 'tis if overpower'd, So many of them has the Wolfe devour'd. The Wolfe, I say, for Wolves too sure there are Of every sort, and every character. Some of them mild and gentle-humour'd be Of noise and gall, and rancour wholly free; Who tame, familiar, full of complaisance; ogle and leer, languish, cajole and glance; With luring tongues, and language wondrous sweet, Follow young ladies as they walk the street,
Ev'n to their very houses and bedside,
And though their true designs they artful hide,
Yet ah! these simpring Wolves, who does not see
Most dang'rous of all Wolves in fact to be?”
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Works Cited
The Grimm Brothers. “Little Red Riding Hood.” Grimm’s Complete Fairy Tales. Barnes & Noble, Inc., 1993.
Charles Perrault. “Little Red Riding Hood.” Histories, or Tales of Past Times.
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