Page 91 of Little Red Riding Hood
Old Oma’s eyes filled with tears, and for a moment, she looked almost childlike. “But I must live! I must find a way to free myselffrom this place and finally destroyher!” Oma screamed the last word, balling her bony fists.
Red blinked, his rage momentarily derailed by confusion. “What do you mean, ‘free?’”
“Your dear aunt”—Oma spat the word like poison—“bound me to the Dark Forest with blood magic. I cannot leave its borders.” She gestured at the cottage windows, where twisted branches pressed against the glass. “She meant it as a death sentence, but I found… other ways to survive.”
“By feeding innocent people to your pet monster?”
“By doing what I must!” Oma’s voice rang through the cottage. “And if I never find a way to escape… Well, when Schön finally dies, her magic will die with her. The binding will break, and I can leave. Do you know how many winters I’ve been locked in this cursed place?” Her shoulders slumped. “I never wanted this. But what choice did she leave me?”
Red’s hands clenched into fists.
“There’s always a choice,” Red snarled. “You chose to become a murderer.”
Old Oma flinched as if he’d struck her. “You can’t imagine what it’s been like, being trapped here, year after year, watching my sister bring the kingdom to its knees. The power she has…”
“I know,” said Red. “I’ve seen it. Where did she get it from?”
“The dark sorcerer Ulrich took us in when we were orphaned at five.” Oma’s voice trembled. “He raised us to serve him, turned us against each other—our own flesh and blood. His methods…” She drew a shaky breath, eyes haunted by memories. “They were more brutal than you could possibly imagine. He manipulated us into despising each other. Before we knew it, we’d fallen straight into his trap, hurling words and spells at each other, each more deadly than the last. When Schön declared her intentions to take the throne by force, there was nothing I could do. Though we were both taught by Ulrich, Schön was always more… ambitious with what she learned. But she wasn’t content with just imprisoning me here,” Oma spat. “Shehad to destroy every sliver of happiness I somehow managed to build for myself. First, it was my lover—your father. Then, I watched her servant whisk my baby boy away.”
“My father.” The words felt strange on Red’s tongue. “What happened to him?”
“He fell victim to her dark magic, like so many others,” Oma said, her voice hollow. “The same magic that has kept Schön looking young and beautiful while she’s ruled for over two hundred winters.”
Red stared at her, struggling to process this information. “But that would make you—”
“Ancient?” Oma laughed bitterly, gesturing at her withered form. “Yes. I haven’t always looked like this. My birds tell me your dear aunt uses her powers to maintain her youth and beauty, but I’ve had to focus my magic elsewhere as of late. Time has taken its toll on my appearance, but I endure.”
Another howl pierced the air, closer this time—so close the sound vibrated through Red’s bones. A deep, guttural growl followed, raising every hair on his body.
Old Oma’s face drained of colour. She stumbled backwards, hands trembling as she pressed them against her chest where her heart should have been.
Wim moved like lightning, positioning himself between Red and the cottage door. His shoulders bunched, muscles tensing as if preparing to shift.
The door exploded inward with a thunderous crack. Splinters flew through the air as an enormous black hound prowled into the cottage. Its fur absorbed the firelight like a void, creating an outline of pure darkness. Yellowed fangs gleamed from a mouth that hung open, strings of black saliva dripping onto the floor where they sizzled and burned the wood. The creature’s eyes blazed with an unholy purple fire—the same shade as the mark on Wim’s arm.
The stench of decay rolled off the beast in waves, filling the cottage with the smell of open graves and rotting flesh. Red gagged, pressing his sleeve against his nose.
Old Oma’s voice quavered. “Here he is.” She gestured towards the monstrous creature. “Your father.”
Twenty
Red jumped to his feet before staggering backwards, blinking rapidly as his gaze darted between Old Oma and the monstrous creature. The hellhound’s purple flames cast dancing shadows across the cottage walls, each flicker making the beast appear larger, more grotesque.
This…thingwas his father?
The same creature that had tried to take Wim’s soul, biting him and leaving him diseased?
A burst of hysterical laughter escaped Red’s lips before he could stop it, high-pitched and unnatural.
“You must be joking,” Red said, no louder than a whisper. “That’s not—he can’t be—” The words tangled in his throat as another wave of that putrid stench washed over him.
The hellhound’s massive head swung towards him. Those burning purple eyes fixed on Red’s face with an intensity that made his skin crawl. One massive paw stepped forward, claws scraping against the wooden floor with a screech.
A growl rumbled through the cottage, deep enough to rattle Red’s bones. Black drool splattered onto the floorboards, eating through the wood like acid.
“Stay back, my love,” Oma said, with a note of tenderness that made Red’s stomach turn. She stretched her hands towards the beast, palms up in a placating gesture. “We don’t want to harm these two. They’ve come to pay us avisit!”
The hellhound’s ears flattened against its skull, though it stilled at her words, eyes never leaving Red.
