Twisted Fairytales (short stories)

Red Riding Hood

They sliced straight through me and there was no pain, just the sound of a whimper. She had hit a wolf somewhere in the dark forest. The whimper echoed, like am eerie reminder that it wasn’t me she had hit, but a living and solid entity.

She quickly ran into the dark forest, dodging trees as she went. The wolf was at least 20 metres inside, and as I followed, amazed that she could throw a deadly dagger that far, she kneeled into the side of the wolf.

As I reached the wolf’s dead body, hanging over the eviscerated body of a deer, I noticed the daggers were embedded into the wolf’s skull and held in with two solid pieces of ice. She swore quietly, her breath creating a small puff of mist that carried itself around the wolf’s body.

She reached quickly for the daggers and watched as the ice melted in her hands, a lot faster than it should of. The ice melted and her hands suddenly burst into an inferno of beautiful blue flames.

The sound of her clapping her hands together was almost in-audible. I was bewildered to see that when she slowly separated her palms there was no fire or burns that showed that the fire had ever existed.

She pulled out her daggers and stood up with her back to me.

“Stupid ghost, why did you have to make me do that?” 

She turned, a single bloody tear descending down her pale cheek. All she could think was how much she loved me. That, I could not understand.

***

Her wrists were tied and her immature body ached from lack of nourishment. She had not fed for days, she had been deprived of the only thing that she needed for survival and all she had to do was ‘show them her power’.

She had been in the cottage for days; lost in her thoughts, devastating as they were. She wondered what they meant when they said power. There obsession with her made her feel slightly mirthful in the dire situation.

“Are you gonna’ do it or not?” An old man waddled over, his walking cane the only thing stopping him from toppling over. As he came closer his stench riddled her insides with disgust.

The disgust was only the first thought of blood, but as he came closer the coppery smell of decay frenzied her. It smelled good, the blood hunger awoke, the dry spot at the back of her throat releasing a fire.

As the man hobbled closer she snapped, her fangs barred like an animal.

“My, you’re a nasty one aint’ ya?” He took a step back, but not from repulsion. He was too smart to risk his life for this.

“The young ins are always malicious. Dark little beasts. Children should never hold the power of a monster; it rots there mind.”

“I’m not a child!” She screamed, the blood hunger bringing a forth a new wave of courage. The man waddled back over to his prior position sitting on a rotting old table in the corner.

Then the silence returned.

The silence let her think. Her thoughts were encapsulated by the thought of digging her fangs into her captor’s necks, draining his life slowly, so very slowly. He deserved to suffer.

She wasn’t hungry. She was ravenous; and thirsty too. The blood hunger taunting her, the entire inside of her throat was on fire. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Her breathing suspended in the heavy air around her, without the blood she could not survive, without it she was nothing again.

Her eyes looked around, hungry, as if she was eating him with her eyes. Her jolliness had all but disappeared; all she could think of was blood.