deep in the forest...

He knew Little Red was heading his way. It was Sunday afternoon she’d be going to her Grandma’s house. The canopy of trees overhead sheltered him, like a leafy cave. He ran his tongue over sharp glistening teeth, sighed then in a contented fug curled up in a ball and slept.

She was stood over him when he woke holding her father’s hunting knife aloft.

“What a big mistake you’ve made Mr Wolf. Grandma needs a new fireside rug.”

She clasped his neck, stroking his hackles gently whilst deciding where to cut.

She chose.

And the thicket swallowed his howls.