Page 92 of Little Red Riding Hood
“I think we should leave,” Wim said quietly into Red’s ear. “Now.”
But Red was solely focused on Oma. “How is this… beast my father?!”
The hellhound’s jaws parted, revealing rows of obsidian teeth dripping with that same acidic saliva. It lunged forward, muscles bunching beneath its midnight fur.
“No!” Oma flung herself between Red and the beast, arms spread wide. “My love, please. Control yourself.”
The creature’s chest heaved, purple flames flickering brighter around its form. A keening sound, like metal scraping metal, tore from its throat. Did any part of the beast recognise Red as its kin?
Oma’s voice softened as she kept her eyes locked on the hellhound. “Your father was a woodchopper, seeking rare darkwood that only grows here. He stumbled upon my cottage, half frozen and lost.” Her lips curved into a wistful smile. “We fell in love over steaming cups of nettle tea and shared stories by the hearth.”
The hellhound’s growls quieted, reducing to a rumble.
“For seven blissful winters, we lived in peace. Then I fell pregnant with you.” Oma’s face darkened. “But my sister… that spiteful witch… Her network of spies discovered our happiness. She couldn’t bear to see me content within my prison, while she remained bitter and alone.” Oma’s fingers curled into fists. “She cursed your father, twisted him into this form. And when you were born…” Her voice cracked. “She stole you away.”
Red studied Oma’s face, noting the lines of grief etched around her mouth, the shadows beneath her eyes. For the first time, he saw beyond the mad old witch’s exterior. Here stood a woman who’d lost everything—her lover, her child, her chance at happiness—all because of her sister’s spite.
The realisation settled like lead in his stomach. How many winters had she spent in this cottage, watching over her lover—a monstrous beast—all the while pondering the fate of her stolen child?
“And then, for her final trick, she was going to get me to kill you with this arrow.” Red scooped up his bow, examining the golden arrow. “Is this even magical in any way? You were supposed to turn to dust…”
Oma’s stare fixed on the arrow as if seeing it for the first time, her lips moving in silent words. The hellhound’s purple flames intensified, casting a horrible glow across the cottage walls.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from the beast’s throat as its burning gaze shifted between Red and the golden arrow. Its massive head lowered, shoulders hunching as if preparing to spring. The acidic drool fell faster now, eating holes into the floorboards with violent hisses.
Red took an instinctive step back, his fingers tightening around the arrow. The hellhound’s eyes tracked the movement, pupils narrowing to slits within those eerie purple orbs.
“Mother?” Red whispered, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. He dared not look away from the creature. “What’s happening?”
But Oma seemed transfixed, her own gaze locked on the golden arrow with dawning horror. “Put that arrow down,” she snapped. “Before he—”
In a blur of midnight fur and violet fire, the beast launched itself at Red.
Time seemed to slow. Red could see every detail with horrifying clarity—the hellhound’s body suspended in mid-air, jaws stretched impossibly wide, violet flames trailing like ribbons behind it, heat radiating from them. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, one singular thought crystallising in his mind:this is how I die.
A mass of grey fur burst between them. Buttons scattered across the floor, shreds of Wim’s clothing floating through the air as his massive wolf form materialised. His grey coat bristled, hackles raised along his spine as he faced down the hellhound.
The two beasts circled each other, fangs bared. The hellhound towered over Wim, its shoulders twice as broad, its head level with the cottage’s low-hanging beams. Black drool splattered onto the floorboards, eating through the wood with a hiss.
“Control him!” Red screeched, icy terror coursing through his veins. “Make him stop!”
She shook her head, eyes glazed. “I cannot. The curse has taken him too far.”
The beasts clashed in a fury of teeth and claws. Wim’s jaws snapped at the hellhound’s throat while the monster’s flames scorched the air around them. Their snarls filled the cottage, a symphony of rage that made Red’s ears ring.
The hellhound’s massive paw swept out. Its obsidian claws caught Wim’s flank, ripping through flesh and muscle. Blood matted Wim’s grey fur as he stumbled, a pained yelp escaping his throat. Three deep gashes stretched from his ribs to his belly, the wounds already starting to bubble and smoke where the hellhound’s acidic touch had burned him.
Red’s fingers trembled on his bow as the hellhound’s claws tore through Wim’s flesh again. With a wounded cry, the grey wolf crumpled, blood pooling beneath his massive form. His golden eyes found Red’s, clouded with pain but filled with a fierce protectiveness that made Red’s chest ache.
The golden arrow sat heavy in Red’s hand. His gaze darted to Oma—his mother—who stood frozen against the wall, her face a mask of anguish. She’d lost him once. Could he make her watch as he destroyed the only thing she had left?
The hellhound loomed over Wim, purple flames casting shadows across its fur. Somewhere beneath that monstrous form lay Red’s father. A woodcutter who’d fallen in love over cups of nettle tea. A man who’d never had the chance to hold his son.
But Wim…
Wim, who’d gone without to feed Red when he was but a stranger to him. Who’d made him laugh until his sides hurt. Who’d heldhim through frozen nights and kissed away his insecurities. Who’d looked at his different-coloured eyes and called them beautiful.
The hellhound’s jaws parted, acidic drool burning holes in the floorboards beside Wim’s head. Its muscles bunched, preparing for the killing blow.
