Little Red Riding Hood

The Red Hood and the Wolf Who Tried

The first thing you should know about Red is that she always smelled like cinnamon. That's because every Saturday she baked apple cake with her grandmother, and the cinnamon got into her cloak and her hair and the creases of her hands and never quite left.

The second thing you should know is that her grandmother had taught her something important: "If a thing doesn't look right, and it doesn't sound right, and your belly goes tight — then it ISN'T right. Trust your belly, Red."

Red trusted her belly.

One Saturday morning, her mother packed the basket — apple cake, a jar of honey, a small bunch of sage because Grandma's throat had been scratchy. "Stay on the path," her mother said.

"I know, Mama."

"Don't talk to—"

"—strangers. I KNOW, Mama."

Red pulled up her hood and walked into the woods.

The path was dappled and golden. Leaves crackled under her boots — crunch, crunch, crunch. A squirrel watched her from a branch, cheeks stuffed. Red waved. The squirrel did not wave back.

"What a LOVELY cloak," said a voice from behind a birch tree.

Red stopped. A wolf stepped onto the path. He was tall and grey, with a smile that showed too many teeth. He bowed low, one paw over his chest, like a gentleman in a storybook.

Red's belly went tight.

"Thank you," she said. She did not stop walking.

"Where are you going with that delicious-smelling basket?" the wolf asked, falling into step beside her.

"To my grandmother's. She's expecting me." Red walked a little faster.

"Ah, the cottage by the stream? The one with the blue door?"

Red said nothing. She had not mentioned a cottage, or a stream, or a door.

"I know a shortcut," the wolf said. "Through the ferns, past the old oak. You'd be there in half the time."

"I like the long way," Red said.

The wolf tipped his head. His yellow eyes narrowed. Then he smiled that too-wide smile and vanished into the trees without a sound.

Red walked faster. Her belly was VERY tight now.

She ran the last stretch.

When she reached the cottage, the blue door was slightly open. Red paused on the step. She listened.

"Come in, dear," called a croaky voice from the bedroom. "The door's open."

Red pushed the door. The cottage smelled of sage and firewood, as always. But there was something else — something sharp and earthy, like wet leaves and moss.

Her belly clenched.

She walked to the bedroom. In Grandma's bed, under Grandma's quilt, wearing Grandma's bonnet and spectacles, was a shape that was decidedly NOT Grandma.

"What big eyes you have," Red said slowly, setting the basket down.

"The better to see you, dear," the shape croaked.

"What big ears you have."

"The better to hear you."

Red took one step back toward the door.

"What big TEETH you have."

The wolf threw off the bonnet and LUNGED — but Red was already moving. She grabbed the jar of honey from the basket and hurled it. It shattered on the floor. Golden honey splattered everywhere. The wolf's paws hit the puddle and — whoooosh — he slid across the bedroom like a furry grey sled, crashing into the wardrobe with a tremendous BANG.

Before he could stand, Red slammed the wardrobe door shut and jammed a chair under the handle.

Her hands were shaking. Her heart pounded like a drum.

"LET ME OUT!" the wolf howled from inside the wardrobe.

"Where is my grandmother?" Red demanded.

A small voice came from under the bed. "Down here, darling."

Red dropped to her knees. Grandma was wedged under the bed frame, wrapped in her shawl, looking annoyed but perfectly fine.

"He stuffed me under here," Grandma said. "Terribly rude. Help me out — my hip isn't what it was."

Red pulled her grandmother free. They held each other tightly for a moment that lasted exactly as long as it needed to.

The woodcutter from across the stream heard the commotion and came running, axe and all. Together they marched the wolf out of the wardrobe, out of the cottage, and to the very edge of the deep woods.

"If I see you near this cottage again," the woodcutter said, "I'll—"

"He won't come back," Red said calmly. She looked the wolf in his yellow eyes. "Will you."

It was not a question.

The wolf shook honey from his fur, glanced once at the girl in the red hood, and disappeared between the trees.

That evening, Red and Grandma ate apple cake by the fire. Grandma made tea with the sage. They did not talk about the wolf — not because they were afraid, but because there were better things to talk about.

Grandma taught Red a new stitch — the one that looks like tiny stars. Red's fingers moved slowly, in and out, while the fire crackled and the stream murmured outside the blue door.

"Trust your belly?" Grandma said softly.

Red smiled. "Always."

The candle burned low. The stars pressed close to the window. And somewhere in the quiet woods... a wolf trotted alone through the dark, still tasting honey, knowing there were some cottages — and some girls — you simply did not try to trick twice.

The stream outside whispered and whispered... and Red fell asleep in the chair by the fire, the red hood pulled around her like a blanket, smelling of cinnamon and sage and the warm, safe smell of her grandmother's house.