The Crimson Hood

A subverted version of the classic tale Red Riding Hood

The Crimson Hood

The mists had drifted through the ever darkening cracks of the forest for generations. Only the glistening shards of light that glided through the branches were capable of penetrating the thick fog. The land was untouched by humanity completely apart from a singular well-worn dirt path, so narrow that a bulky stead would have trouble passing through without brushing up against the damp leaves that towered above at either side. The everlasting cold travelled up and down the path at all times, penetrating through to the souls of anyone that came into contact with it.

Although visibility was so minimal that the lone traveller would not be able to see its hand before it face, the vibrancy of a crimson red hood could just be seen shimmering in the gentle breeze; advancing slowly and purposefully, it was proceeded by an uncomfortable warmth that hadn’t been felt for many moons.

The hooded figure slowly and deliberately placed one foot ahead of the other with complete precision. Taking in any changes surrounding them, no matter how small they may have been. The forest fell silent as the figure moved, almost as if everything was intimidated by its presence. All that could be heard was the slight crunch of snow as the figure stepped forth through the night. A small wooden structure that appeared to have one been resemblant of a humble cottage, the Hood new the spot and the cold hearts that had once inhabited it many years previously.

The Hood stood, frozen completely except for a singular small twitch inside of the hood. For a moment, even time froze as the world held its breath in anticipation. With a flitter of noise followed by the rustle of the hood settling once more. The figure stared into the thick darkness of the forest, into the heart of fear. Even light was not daring enough to look into the depths.

Moments later, the Hood was faced against a tall and masculine man, a mane of hair, thick and black resting atop of his shoulders. Accompanied by the ragged and torn clothing of a traveller who had never found his home. His eyes locked with the darkness that laid beneath the hood. What had begun as a look of power and determination, deteriorated in an instant, replaced by an image that could only be perceived as the epitome of horror.

With a snarl, the dark figure lunged forward, revealing the glint of a blade as he did. In a moment he stood a few steps past the hooded figure; a smile started to encroach on the man’s face, no one had survived his attack before and never would. A wisp of silk flittered in the wind and over his shoulder, falling to the ground like a line of blood.

Only one set of footprints left that cottage on this particular night. The wolves cried out in pain, distraught that life could be so vicious. As the sun glistened over the horizon, attempting to break up the mist that forever encompassed the entirety of the forest. Yet the usual squawk of crows and cries of ravens was no-where to be heard, it was nothing if not unsettling. Over the horizon, a lone figure dressed in black slowly made its way closer towards the village that the hooded character had originally been heading in the direction of.

An old and hagged lady lay peacefully in her bed, enjoying the small comforts in a world that had so regularly beaten her down into the dirt. For a moment, her window quickly fogged and the image of a face was visible for a brief moment, once more the world appeared to have sunk deep into silence, before a faint grunt could be heard from behind the thick, toughened mahogany door, proceeded by the daunting lone sound of heavy panting.

The Grandmother sat up in her bed stiffly, staring intently at the solid wood in which separated her from the unknown beyond that life so often presented. With a thunderous crack and boom, the usually heavy door, leapt from its hinges as if a toy of a child; smashing and splintering against the wall that stood opposite it. In place of where the door had once stood was the menacing silhouette of a spectacular figure, hands by its side but extending from those fingers, claws that protruded, threatening the air around it through its inhuman sharpness.

There was not but a flinch from the Grandmother as she calmly observed the events that were taking place. Before raising a bronze blunderbuss from beneath her sheets and dispatching the figure with a cloud of red mist and not a moment of hesitation or doubt.

“You really ought to take better care of your pets’ m’dear”

Behind the collapsed figure stood the red Hood, a slowly fading smile on her face, the glint of a fang with a drop of crimson blood dropping into the snow at her feet, before spreading around the immediate vicinity.

Lowering her hood the young girl stepped into the room with a beat too her step.

“Sorry Grandma, I simply couldn’t resist.”

The pale girl sat at the foot of the bed and pulled a bowl of soup from her coat handing it over to her grandmother, watching the small smile of joy expand on her countenance.