A Dish Served Cold

This story is written for a competition about Grimm's Fairy Tales.

He knocked thrice upon the door, hard, for she was an old woman, and probably edging towards deafness. Presently he heard slow, shuffling steps coming toward the door. His heartbeat quickened and pounded against his chest, as it always did at these times.

 

“Who is it?” came an old, quavering voice.

 

“Uh, trick or treat.”

 

“Oh, it’s Hallowe’en, is it? Hold on now, dearie.”

 

He heard a bolt being drawn back, a key being turned, and a chain being lifted. Then she stood before him, old and hunched and smiling indulgently at him.

 

“Trick or treat,” he said.

 

“And what are you come as?”

 

Blind as a bat, obviously. “Dracula,” he said sarcastically.

 

“Oh, that’s lovely.” She had a purse in her hand and she started fiddling with it in a clumsy manner.

 

“I’d prefer sweets,” he said.

 

“Oh, all right, I’ll just go and have a look. Come in, come in out of the cold.”

 

Good. He came in and waited for her to close the door, then he fell upon her and by expert targetting of the jugular vein had her finished off almost immediately. She barely made a sound or raised a hand in protest, but gave up her life easily, with no fear, no pain, no regret on her face. Aside from the sensual pleasure of the act, he felt a great sense of duty accomplished. This was personal, revenge for the cruel death of a brother. He ripped and mauled her flesh, but only for a few minutes, for his real work was still to come. He put the body away, scrubbed the floor clean, and put on granny’s clothes and waited.

 

He had seen her walking through the forest, not a care in the world. With that little red hood, he’d know her anywhere. On the path, though, too risky. His blood boiled with anger, and with lust for the kill. What they had done to his brother he could not forgive. To see him crawl back to the pack, his belly filled with stones, and expire before them in the utmost agony. With his dying breath he had besought his brothers to seek revenge. “It was the girl’s idea. The Little Red Riding Hood.” The terrible sight of his brother’s death agony could not be forgotten, but it could at least be avenged.

 

He took up a spot by the window to watch and wait, and also to provide a good springing point when she came in. He had granny’s clothes on, but that wasn’t to fool her, that was just because he liked wearing granny’s clothes. It was no big deal, just personal choice. Amongst the trees he could just make out a little red figure bobbing up and down as it neared. Yum yum, said the wolf to himself. Yum yum.

Reviews

[Variablecharm]

Great collaboration of the modern fascination with vampires, newest revival of the “Little Red Riding Hood” with the spice of “Bird Cage” fashion glimpse to the secret desire of the main character. This could be a great book, movie or a play.