by Raven, C L
Voices. Harper turned to see two people dragged forwards by a woman who had Drake's eyes.
"Glad you could make it. We're just about to start." Drake bowed.
"What's going on?" Their father asked.
"A sacrificing party. Everyone's having one. It's the new 'sweet sixteen'."
"Let them go!"
"I'm afraid I can't do that. Ten years ago, your wife made a pact with my grandma, to sacrifice your darlings in exchange for...what was it?"
"A posh pad in Chelsea," their mother replied. "I'm sick of living in the middle of nowhere!"
"You did what?" Malcolm stared.
"I'm beginning to wish I'd brought popcorn." Drake smiled.
"You're sick!" Gypsy spat.
"I'm not the one who agreed to have my kids sacrificed in exchange for a nice house. Worst Mum Award goes to…" He held Harper's chin. "Look at this face. How could anyone want to watch him burn to death?" He kissed him.
"Let him go!" She frantically started sawing the rope.
Drake's mother closed her eyes and murmured a spell. A goblet of blood was poured on to the ground. A ring of fire ignited, the flames licking hungrily at their skin.
"You can't do this!" Their father shouted. "They're our children."
"You choose now to grow a spine?" Their mother snapped. "It's too late. The deal was made ten years ago. Finally I can live somewhere my friends will be jealous of."
"You could've just left!"
"Believe me, if I could've found a rich man to ensnare, I would've. But no. I ended up with two brats, a crappy shack in the woods, wrinkles and you."
The flames grew, snaking towards them and worshipping at their feet. Gypsy and Harper stamped on the fire, kicking dirt over it to smother it. Gypsy kept slicing through the rope, her fingers and wrists bleeding. Her blood dripped into the flames, offering itself as a sacrifice. The flames teased their legs with its fiery embrace. Harper sawed his rope against the stake, sweat beading on his face. He tried stamping on the flames. His leg ignited. He screamed. Drake stepped forwards.
"Drake!" His mother threw her hand out. The ring of fire grew taller. Drake stumbled backwards.
Gypsy's rope snapped. She wrenched her hands free then dashed to Harper, doused the flames devouring his leg and untied him, the unbearable heat stealing their breath. They dragged each other out of the fire's toxic reach.
Drake's mother lunged forwards. Gypsy twisted away then rammed her severed heel into the woman's eye. She fell to the ground screaming. Gypsy yanked her heel free, ripping the eyeball out.
The fire died. The witch's agonising screams echoed through the woods then she lay still, blood pooling around her face.
"You killed my mother," Drake gasped.
"You tortured us and burned us at the stake," Gypsy retorted.
Black smoke seeped from the dead witch. It coiled around Gypsy, tugging her hair and rippling her clothes. She flailed, but it pinned her arms to her side and slipped into her mouth. Her insides were scorched as the burning smoke invaded her body. She dropped to her knees, screaming and gouging her body. Drake held Harper back as Gypsy collapsed, thrashing like she was possessed. Electricity sparked through her veins. Harper stared in horror.
Gypsy lay still. The electricity died. The woods were deathly silent, as though in mourning. Harper pushed Drake away and ran to Gypsy. He cradled her head. She opened her eyes and coughed.
"Gypsy! Thank god!" He hugged her hard. "What the hell was that?" He demanded, staring at Drake.
"She killed the head witch." Drake scowled. "Now she's inherited her power. Gypsy's just become the most powerful witch in the country."
Gypsy staggered to her feet. She flicked her hand. Fire shot out, scorching the ground by Drake's feet. Their parents backed off as she turned towards them. Gypsy smiled wickedly. She clicked her fingers and their mother turned to stone.
"Always knew you had a heart of stone." She smirked. "Looks like you won't get your happy ever after."
Once Upon a Nightmare
The woods surrounding my cottage pulse with nightmares.
Everyone knows about the wolf.
It's the others you have to watch out for.
The wolf has been there since the first person created him. Everyone has seen him. Because they believe, he stays. I've seen him. He's just a wolf. He doesn't have red eyes, fangs dripping with blood and an insatiable appetite for human flesh. At least, my wolf doesn't.
My nightmare is far too scary to appear in a fairytale.
***
"Red! Can you take this basket to Grandma? She's not very well," my mum called from the kitchen.
"Hang on!" I sighed and typed a quick Facebook status – going to Grandma's. Hope the wolf doesn't get me.
From the time I wore a hooded red cloak as a child, everyone has called me Red. It made me sound like a Fraggle. But the name stuck. Seeing as I couldn't beat them, I joined them. My Facebook profile picture is the Grim Reaper. In a red robe. My Twitter username is Red Riding Hood. Nobody believes it's real.
I ambled into the kitchen, watching as Mum filled the basket with a cake, fruit, a Thermos flask of soup, slices of chicken and a loaf of freshly baked bread. I stole a pinch of cake, earning me a slap on the hand.
"Go straight through the woods, don't talk to anyone and avoid the wolf." She recited the same mantra she'd chanted for twelve years since I was five. I rebelled even then.
"If you don't want me savaged by the wolf, don't send me to Grandma's." I smirked. "At least let me have a bike. I could be there in half the time and you wouldn't have to worry about my insides being scattered through the woods like there was an explosion in a Party Popper factory."
"I'm not having this conversation again, Red. You're not having a motorbike! They're dangerous."
"More dangerous than a vicious wolf who sees me as a walking delicacy? At least I'd die quickly."
She thrust the basket at me. "Ring me when you get there." I stomped out. The door opened behind me. "You forgot this." My red hooded cloak floated like a giant bloodstain before smacking me in the face.
"That's right, make me visible to every woodland creature who wants to chew me up like a pub special."
"Grandma made it for your birthday. You're wearing it."
"I asked for an MP3 Player."
"You should be more worried about perverts than woodland creatures." She indicated to my clothes.
"Is this the modern equivalent to the red light?" I raised the cloak.
The door slammed.
I sighed, put the basket down, slung the cloak around my shoulders and fastened the skull brooch. Grandma had put a flower brooch on it. I picked up the basket and trudged towards the woods.
I didn't need to see the woods to know I was close. The birds stopped singing, the air became thick and the sky darkened. I stepped through the trees into the perpetual night. As usual, the only things I heard were my galloping heart and the haunting echoes of the villagers' dying screams.
The entrance to Riding Woods was permanently smothered in teddy bears, candles and flowers in varying stages of decay. Faded florists' cards fluttered in the breeze, the agonised words now blackened smudges. A fresh bouquet lay on top. 'Nigel, your memory will carry on x.' Fresh flowers signalled to the rest of the village the nightmare was still alive. Even if its victim wasn't. Every time there was a death, a tree was planted. Each year the forest grew denser, darker, the commemorative plaques harder to read.
Twigs snapped beneath the thick soles of my thigh high boots. The buckles up both sides jangled like the bells on a funeral carriage. My headstone locket banged against my black corset. Brambles snagged my bare thighs and tugged my short skirt with alternate mesh and PVC pleats. I pulled the hood over my raven hair so the creatures in the trees couldn't drag me into their lairs. Most people just worried about bats getting tangled in their hair.
The creatures in these woods were far more lethal.
Invisible eyes tracked me. Eeri
e voices whispered my name. Scuttling feet scrambled up and down the trees. The woods vibrated with malevolence. I moved my basket to my right hand, unsheathing my dagger with my left. I gripped the skeleton haft. A tortured scream echoed through the trees. It was the same scream every time. The same anguished voice.
My father's voice.
If I stood still long enough, I'd hear the woods breathing and its rotten heart beating.
If I stood still for too long, I'd die.
Branches creaked, inviting me to see what burdened them. In the clearing, bodies hanged from nooses. They wore the fallen villagers' faces. If I looked close enough, I'd see the faces of my family. I walked through them, shuddering whenever a dangling foot brushed against me. I tried ignoring them. They were just phantoms from my darkest dreams.
One plummeted. The village priest. His stomach burst, legions of fanged demons escaping his fleshy confines. He'd told the village it wasn't the wolf that haunted the woods but the devil, punishing us for our sins. He entered the woods to perform an exorcism.
The whole village heard his desperate screams.
I hopped over a fallen log. Standing on an overhanging rock, was the wolf.
He stared at me as I crept closer. He licked his lips and leapt off the rock, blocking my path, his tail wagging.
"Who's a savage beast?" I crouched.
He jumped at my face and licked it. I kissed his neck then climbed onto the rock. He sprang up beside me so I put him in a headlock and rubbed his head. He pawed the basket then nudged me.
"What's the time, Mr. Wolf?"
I adopted a deep, husky voice. "Dinnertime!"
"I won't tell if you don't."
I fed him the chicken slices one by one. Like I said, my wolf doesn't have red eyes, fangs dripping with blood and an insatiable appetite for human flesh. He prefers chicken.
"What do I tell Grandma?" I watched him devour the last of her chicken. "D'you think she'll believe me if I tell her a big, bad wolf ate it?" He wiped his muzzle with his paw.
Perrault and I met when I was six. I'd heard the stories, attended the mauled villagers' funerals and walked past the dying flowers laid where my neighbours had been slaughtered, but when I faced him in the woods for the first time, I knew they were wrong. I'd fed him Grandma's ham sandwiches and we'd been best friends ever since. But the villagers were still scared of him. He was only a vicious legend because they made him that way.
I jumped off the rock. Perrault trotted beside me. If I was going to have a guide, a brutal villager-slaughterer was perfect. We passed a sapling with an untarnished plaque. Perrault sniffed the blood that hadn't been washed away or consumed by the fledgling tree.
"Red."
When Mum warned me not to talk to anyone, it wasn't the living she referred to.
"Red."
A hand touched my shoulder. I whirled around, my dagger poised. Nigel's skinned corpse stared at me mournfully, his white eyes bulging in his raw face, his peeling lips flapping.
"Help me."
"You're dead. I can't help you."
Bushes rustled. Nigel fell, shrieking as hundreds of piranha devoured another layer. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, Nigel was gone. I still heard him screaming.
"They can't blame that on you, Perrault. You have an alibi."
Perrault barked in agreement and led me away.
Black flashed through the trees. I raised my dagger. Perrault stopped, his hackles raised. He growled, his tightly curled tail quivering. Something leapt out, grabbing me from behind.
"Surrender or die," a deep voice whispered as a hand slipped under my skirt, urging me to succumb.
"I'll never surrender." I spun free. "What big ears you've got." I brushed the tips with my dagger.
"All the better to hear you with my dear." Creighton tugged his pointy ears.
"What big eyes you've got."
"All the better to see you with my dear." His silver eyes looked me up and down.
"What big teeth you've got."
"All the better to eat you with my dear." He tipped me backwards and nibbled my throat.
I swept his legs away, straddling him as he landed on his back. I pinned his arms above his head.
"Surrender or die."
"I surrender. Be merciful."
I leaned down and kissed him. "When I'm finished with you, you'll be screaming. My name."
I sat up to remove my cloak. He grabbed my hand.
"Leave it on."
I unfastened the hooks on my corset, pausing between each one and smiling teasingly. He licked his lips. I released the last hook and let the corset fall away.
He smiled then sat up and yanked his top off, messing up his dark spiky hair. His fingers traced the wolf tattoo on my back as he kissed between my breasts. My nails scratched his sides.
"Aren't you scared of the big bad wolf?" He kissed my left breast through my bra as he stroked my right one.
"That one?" I indicated to my furry friend guarding the path. "Besides, he's not the only one who's bad." I smiled coyly as I stood and unzipped my skirt. I sashayed my hips as I lowered it before stepping out and kicking it aside.
He scrambled to his knees and kissed my thighs. It tickled. His warm tongue and lips inched tantalisingly higher as he stroked my black and red satin and lace knickers. I closed my eyes, my legs weakening before he yanked me down onto his lap. Our fingers explored each other's bodies as we kissed like tomorrow would never come. I unfastened his belt and jeans, slipping my hand inside.
"You are a bad girl," he murmured into my hair.
I wrapped my cloak around us as we forgot about the horrors lurking in the woods.
***
"Want me to accompany you?" Creighton did up his jeans and grabbed his top.
"No-one's supposed to know about us, remember?" I fastened my corset. "I'm more scared of my mum than whatever haunts these woods." I found my skirt and wriggled into it.
What attracted me to Creighton wasn't just his good looks, funny personality and his ability to leave me breathless with one kiss. He's the village bad boy. It didn't take a fancy psychology degree to guess I was seriously attracted to rule breaking.
"How about I follow? I can protect you from the wolf and watch your perfect arse arrive safely."
I laughed. "I don't think he'll eat me." I gestured to Perrault, whose face was buried in my basket. "I can protect myself. Besides, the cloak would only block your view."
"Text me when you get there."
I saluted then kissed him before grabbing my basket and heading off.
There was one advantage to the legend – Creighton and I couldn't get caught if people were too scared to face their fears.
I texted Creighton a photo of my arse by Grandma's front door to prove me and my perfect arse had arrived safely. It wasn't easy and Grandma nearly caught me. There were some things you should never have to explain to your grandma.
"Look how big you are!" She kissed my cheek. "You've grown!"
"You say that every time you see me. Maybe you're shrinking."
I carried the basket into the kitchen and rang my mum.
"I was getting worried. What took you so long?"
"Nigel stopped me for a chat about falling house prices. I'd get here much faster if I had a bike. I'd settle for a quad bike. It's practically a car."
"Take up jogging. Be nice to Grandma." She hung up.
"Was that your mother, dear?" Grandma asked.
"Yeah. She says I have to be nice to you. There goes my plan of hogtying you and stealing my inheritance."
She laughed and patted my cheek. "When will you find yourself a nice boyfriend and settle down?"
"When I'm dead."
She tutted. "There are worse things in life than getting married and having children."
"I'd say that one outranks being eaten by bears and bathing in acid." I placed the basket on the worktop.
"Your mother's so kind."
"Not kind enough to buy me a ruck
sack. This basket is awkward."
"It's traditional."
"So was burning witches."
"You take after your father."
"Did he hang out in the woods dressed as a prostitute too?" I grinned.
"He had a smart mouth." She pinched my cheeks together.
I heated up her soup and stole some cake.
"Mind you leave before dark. The wolf hunts at night."
"Nocturnal animals do that. There's no big bad wolf. It's just a story to scare kids away from the woods."
"That wolf took your grandfather. And your father."
"It must be ancient, seeing as it's been terrorising people for hundreds of years. Maybe it lives on a diet of fresh fruit, tenderised villagers and joint supplements."
"Legends aren't born from nowhere, Red."
"No, they're born from what was probably a true story that's been twisted. Hundreds of years ago, a hunter probably tried to kill a wolf or a cub, the she-wolf attacked him, protecting her babies, he limped home, told everyone he was viciously attacked, died, and the legend was born."
I brought her soup over and sat in front of the TV. I flicked to the news. It was either that or reality TV, which always left me wishing the participants would be torn apart by a legendary nightmare. I might tune in then.
"A man was attacked and left for dead last night in Riding Woods," the newsreader announced in the same deadpan voice he used for tragedies and rescued kitten stories. "The victim, who wasn't local, was found badly beaten, with deep cuts and his eye gouged out. He's currently in intensive care. Legends of a man-eating wolf have plagued the village of Riding for centuries."
"The 'Keep Tourists Away' campaign's going well."
"Now do you think it's just a bedtime story?" Grandma asked.
"Since when do wolves know how to box? And they can't gouge out eyes – they don't have thumbs. Some idiots probably beat the crap out of him to keep the legend alive. It's the same with fairies – if nobody believes in them, they die. "
