I
remember there was a time before once upon a time; a time before
stories when life was lived and learned from.
There
once was a young girl, as beautiful as the moon on a cloudless night.
So beautiful was she that the sun looked forward to seeing her every
morning, and the stars every evening.
Her
name was Blossom and she lived with her father who doted on her every
whim and loved her like the earth loves the rain.
They
lived alone by the edge of a deep, dark forest. There were parts of
the forest where it was as black as night, for the trees were so
close together they suffocated the light. There was a path that led
through the forest, but if you strayed from it you would not be seen
again.
Now
in the middle of the forest there lived Blossoms grandmother, in a
cottage in a clearing; she also doted on Blossom, even though she was
no longer a child; so much so that she knitted her a beautiful cloak
with a hood that was as white as winter, so when the snows came
Blossom could play hiding games with the boys and she could not be
found unless she wanted it.
Blossom
visited her grandmother whenever she could, but her grandmother was
becoming very old and ill, and sometimes it would be days before she
would see her. In this instance, a whole week had gone by and Blossom
had missed her so. Her father finally acquiesced and let Blossom go
and visit. It was bitter cold out and snow was thick on the ground,
and he did not want to see her chilled.
But
he eventually gave in and gave her honey and jam to take.
“Stay
on the path, don’t stop for anyone.” He said.
Blossom
walked in high spirits with her white cape billowing behind her and
hood over her head. She didn’t feel the cold, trudging through the
snow, and it wasn’t long before she forgot the wise words of her
father.
Even
though the forest floor was a carpet of white, there were still
flowers pushing their heads through the snow, trying desperately to
reach the sun and Blossom thought that they looked so pretty that she
knelt down to pick them.
As
she did so she caught the eyes of a wolf who had followed her since
she had left her home. He had wanted to eat her up as soon as he
caught sight of her, but knew that her screams would have alerted the
village. Besides, he knew that there were other appetites that were
to be sated first, and she was so beautiful; some things had to be
savoured.
“Good
morning to you, dear, dear Blossom. How are you today, on this fine,
but cold morn?” he said, now standing on two legs.
Now
Blossom feared nothing and no one, knew not of the wolf’s lechery
or hidden desires -had she done, she would surely have run home as
fast as she could- and she had forgotten the sage words that her
father had told her, and replied:
“Do
I know you, Mr Wolf? For you certainly seem to know me, and my
memory ‘members you not!”
“We
have never been formally introduced, but I have often watched you
from afar, admiring your beauty. Pray tell me, dear Blossom, what
are you doing so far from your village on this cold day. Your father
will be missing you. He pines after you so.” And with that he
smiled his lecherous smile baring his yellow teeth and foetid breath.
“I
am on my way to visit my poor grandmother, who is very ill. I have
not seen her for so long that I fear I have forgotten what she looks
like.” Blossom said, still unafraid.
“Yes,
yes. Poor dear. I have heard that she is ill. I should visit her
too and pay her my respects as well.” The wolf replied.
“And
how, pray tell, do you know of my grandmother and her illness?”
Blossom asked, tentatively.
“I
know of your grandmother and have known of her since before you were
born, dear Blossom.” The wolf confidently stated, and then, almost
thoughtfully, added, “Why do we not visit her together? I know of
a short-cut through the forest that will take us there in half the
time.”
Blossom
was quite shocked by this and remembered what her father had said and
replied, “No! Do you not know that it is dangerous to stray from
the path?”
“I
have not heard such rubbish in all of my life, and I am nearly twice
your age!” He boasted. “I have always wandered through the
forest as I see fit, and have never come to any harm. Though if you
insist on entertaining such a belief, I propose a wager to show you
the error of your ways.”
“A
wager?” Blossom was intrigued by this and her eyes sparkled with
delight at such a proposition.
“Yes,
I wager whatever is in that basket, that I will get to your
grandmothers house before you.”
“And
if I am first and beat you, what do I win?” Blossom asked.
“Your
hearts desire, no less.” Replied the wolf.
“Very
well. I accept.” Said Blossom. And with that the wolf ran away
with a shout of glee, into the woods as fast as his four legs could
take him -he knew that the race was easily run.
Of
course the wolf reached the grandmother first, as he knew he would.
But when he knocked on her door he looked far different to when he
spoke to Blossom. He knocked three times -Knock knock knock.
“Who
is it?” Asked the grandmother, her voice frail and tainted by
infirmity.
“It
is I,” said the wolf in a near perfect mimicry of Blossoms voice,
“Your granddaughter, come to bring you honey and jam.”
“Lift
up the latch and come walk in.” The grandmother said, and the wolf
walked in, still standing upright.
“Oh,
it’s you.” Remarked the grandmother, disdainfully. “I thought
it was Blossom. Step closer, child, so I can see you.” And the
wolf did so, suppressing his hungry grin. “Come, child, and give me
a kiss.” To which the wolf said,
“Gladly!”
And leapt upon the grandmother, devouring her in one -apart from the
shock of her hair for his kind can not stomach hair.
Blossom
was still walking the path. She knew that she could not hope to beat
the wolf, so she took her time and enjoyed the forest, occasionally
stopping to pick some flowers that were sheltered from the snow.
Less
than a mile from her grandmothers cottage she came across a huntsman.
“Have
you seen a wolf on your travels, miss?” The huntsman asked. “He’s
a particularly wily and cunning one, dangerous too. He’s been seen
around these parts for years, but no one has ever been able to catch
him. Have you seen him, miss?”
“No,
I haven’t.” Lied Blossom for she did not believe that such a
creature could be dangerous and did not want the wolf to die because
of her. She bade the huntsman goodbye and ran on to the cottage.
The
huntsman thought it strange that a girl would be so far from the
village on such a cold day, that he decided to follow her.
Blossom
finally made it to her grandmothers cottage and knocked three times
on the door. Knock knock knock.
“Who
is it?” Asked the wolf, now mimicking the grandmothers voice,
wearing her shawl and bonnet and tucked up snugly in bed, waiting,
waiting.
“It
is I, your granddaughter with some honey and jam.” Blossom said,
innocent of what had happened.
“Lift
up the latch and walk right in.” Said the wolf. So great was the
mimicry of the wolf that Blossom had not the faintest idea that her
grandmother was no more.
It
was so dark in the cottage, the only light coming from the slow
crackle of the dying fire. Blossom walked in, not sensing there was
anything wrong.
“Put
the basked on the chair and walk over to the fire so I can see you,
my dear.” Said the wolf, his stomach growling in anticipation.
Blossom
did as she was told and placed the basket on the chair, then walked
over to the fire, and warmed her hands.
“What
will you have me do now, Gran?”
“Undress
and get into bed with me, my dear.” Said the wolf, careful to hide
his desires.
“What
shall I do with my dress?” Asked Blossom.
“Throw
it into the fire, we shan’t be needing it any more.” And Blossom
did so. For each garment -petticoat, bodice and stockings- she asked
the same question, and always the wolf gave the same answer. “Throw
it in the fire, we shan’t be needing it any more.” ‘Till at
last she was only dressed in her white cloak which caught the light
of the fire and sparkled.
“Shall
I throw this into the fire also?” She asked.
“No.”
Said the wolf, rubbing his hands under the bedclothes. “Keep it on
and come to bed, my child.”
And
Blossom did as she was told, for she loved her grandmother so much,
and knew not what was about to happen.
The
first thing she noticed: “Gran! How hairy and big your arms are!”
“All
the better to hold you with, my dear.” Replied the wolf.
And
as Blossom caught the glint in the wolfs eye, the second thing she
noticed: “Gran! How big and green your eyes are!”
“All
the better to gaze at your beauty, my dear.” And the wolf grinned
his lecherous grin, and licked his lips, showing off his great teeth.
With
a gasp, the third thing Blossom noticed: “Lord! How large your
mouth is!”
“All
the better to kiss you with!” And he launched himself on her,
ripping her cloak open. Blossom screamed for the first time in her
life.
The
huntsman heard the scream and burst through the door launching
himself at the wolf. He threw the wolf to the wall far away from
Blossom, but the damage had been done.
Blossom
ran out of the cottage into the snow and tried to wash herself clean.
Her cloak of purest white was no longer. It was now stained with
red, and soon the snow around her was crimson too. The huntsman
found her in the snow and handed her his coat, though he could no
longer look her in the eye.
“He
escaped. When I cut this off of him, it was a paw. The paw of a
wolf. You were there. He was a wolf and I cut this off of him.
Tell me why, then. Tell me because I swear I do not understand why I
am holding this!” And he threw a hand into Blossoms lap, a human
hand, a bloody stump where it had once been attached to an arm. But
to her horror it was a hand that Blossom recognised.
Scared
for her sanity, she ran as if the very devil was on her tail. She
could not believe what her eyes were telling her, what she was
holding in her hand. The huntsman followed the bloody trail of the
wolf; the girl no longer his concern.
Blossom
rushed home as quickly as she could, hysterical with fear for herself
and for her father. She saw their door smashed and ran inside, not
noticing the trail of blood.
She
ran into her fathers room and screamed at the sight that met her
terrified eyes. The room had been destroyed, the bed smashed; all
the drawers had been ripped out and the clothes torn to shreds on the
floor. There was blood spray everywhere.
And
there in the corner, lying in a broken heap on the floor was her
father clutching the bloody stump of his arm, where his hand used to
be.
No comments:
Post a Comment