Little Red Riding Hood retold



A different look at the story we all know and love

As she inched closer, she saw Granny’s big green eyes, her bony shoulders and her two . . . hairy paws? This wasn’t Granny, it wasn’t even a person. It was a furry, filthy beast with enormous canines. Her grandmother had the odd hairy wart and similarly bad breath, but they really looked nothing alike. How strange that the wolf had exactly the same nightdress and big thick glasses, thought Red Riding Hood.

Just then, ‘Granny’ sprang out of bed onto all fours, her reflexes far quicker than your average 83 year old. The wolf snarled, backing the girl into the corner of the bedroom. She covered her eyes and whimpered.

“You shouldn’t be sleeping in Grandmother’s bed, she’s ill and needs to lie down.”

The wolf struggled with the frilly bonnet still stuck on its ear, “I ate her, and now I’ll eat you!”

Now she thought about it, this wolf had the same markings as the one she had met in the forest earlier, but this one was much meaner. Going to pick flowers for her grandmother had been a wonderful idea. They would brighten up the room and make this week’s visit far less depressing.
“I shouldn’t leave the path,” she said, “I have to deliver this hamper to Grandmother.”

The wolf peered inside, “It’s nearly empty!”
“Well . . . I got a bit . . . hungry. It’s a long walk from town”.
“I can take the basket over so you can carry more beautiful flowers.”
“Why thank you Mr. Wolf,” said the girl. “She always leaves a key under the flowerpot in the front garden. She’ll be so pleased to have another visitor.”

Little Red went off in search of flowers, and soon came to a wild rose bush. She carelessly pricked herself reaching for a bright red flower head. She thought of her pot bellied mother spreadeagled on the sofa with a glass of wine and the other pack of biscuits from the hamper, while she was stuck on Granny duty. She licked her cut and rubbed her hands together.

A high pitched yelp brought the girl back to her senses and she lowered her hands from her face. The arrow had driven straight through the polka dot robe into wolf’s midriff. He looked hungrily at the girl, licked his lips and let out one last groan.
The poacher in the doorway lowered his bow. “I never misses from that range”, he said, moving over towards the carcass, knife in hand.

Queasy Red Riding Hood tried to swallow back the stomach bile, “How . . . how do you know my grandmother?”

“She’s me best customer,” said the huntsman. “She can’t exactly drive to the supermarket so I came to sell ‘er these,” he pointed at the two floppy hares lying at his feet. He set to work cutting the wolf open. “Old bats in the market’ll go potty for this pelt.”

The girl tried to protest but one look at the animal’s guts was too much. She fainted, mouth agape like a dead fish, and lay just as still as the wolf in the nightdress.

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