The Wolf at the Door

By Beka Gremikova

She’s not coming, says the Wolf. It prowls outside my cottage door, snuffling.

I cower into my blankets. How big is it today? Large enough to blow down the door and swallow me whole in an instant?

I can’t let it in.

It’s Friday, the Wolf continues. She never comes on Fridays.

Friday? I could have sworn someone said it was Saturday. I close my eyes, my mind scrambling. The image of a soft, red hood hovers close, vibrant, overwhelming my doubts. Red Hood. Red Hood always comes.

The door swings open.

I sit up so quickly my head spins. “No!” I shriek at the woman in scrubs who walks in. “You’ll let in the Wolf!”

The woman smiles at me as she closes the door on a brightly lit hallway. “You’re safe, Alma.” Her voice is light and sweet and cheery. Almost… childlike.

“Gramma!” A child bounds onto my lap, snuggling against my shoulder. “What’s that you’re making?” She brushes her fingers across my sewing.

I glance down at the yards of fabric in my hands, as soft and red as rose petals. “A cloak and hood.”

She squeals. “For my Halloween costume?”

I cuddle her close. “Yes! Just make sure you don’t run into any wolves—”

The Wolf springs up behind the woman, gray streaks in its dark brown fur. It inches closer. What a nice smile you have, it whispers.

My lips sag into a frown. Chills skitter through my bones. I shrink against my pillows. “Who are you?” I whisper to the woman, fingers knotting into my blankets. “What are you doing here?”

The woman pauses as she rolls my blankets back from my chin. Something shiny catches my eye. A tiny silver plate pinned to her shirt: Jennifer Owens, RN. “I’m Jen, your nurse. I’m here to give you your breakfast and medication.”

I glance around the room. My room. Except it isn’t. This isn’t my cottage at all…

The Wolf’s lips curl back in a snarling leer. What nice eyes you have. So wide with fear.

“The Wolf!” I cry, sobs scratching at my throat.

“It’s okay, Alma. You’re safe. I won’t let the wolf get you.”

Liar! The Wolf comes every day! He’s only quieter when Red Hood is around… But, oh! What if he gets her? “Red Hood,” I gasp.

“She’s coming after you have some breakfast.” Nurse Owens helps me sit up in bed. “We have some oatmeal and juice for you this morning.”

“No!” My mind scrambles, frantic. “The Wolf! The Wolf will kill her!”

“Eat something, and you’ll feel better.” Nurse Owens sets the oatmeal in front of me. “Look, strawberries. Your favorite! You have to eat to get strong to fight the wolf.”

She’s right. I can protect Red Hood! I scoop all the tiny red berries I can in one spoonful. Sweetness bursts on my tongue as I chew. So nice, but not like how I used to cook it. I used to make the best oatmeal. Oatmeal, and—and—brownies, I think—

“Gramma! I brought you the brownies Mom made!” The girl pats the shiny red hood of her car. “What do you think of my ride? Mom says you used to drive a car like this when you were my age.” She follows me into my bright, sunny kitchen, where roses bloom in vases and cardinals fly across the wallpaper.

The girl wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes gently. “You need to take better care of yourself, Gramma, living all alone.” She glances out the window to the thick forest around my cottage. “There could be wolves.”

“Wolves don’t always have to be feared.” I pat her hand. “They rarely attack humans.”

“But sometimes they do,” she says.

The Wolf leans over me. What a sweet grandchild you have, it whispers. Its teeth shine, and dried blood clings to its fangs. After I eat you, I’ll get her, too.

My spoon clatters against my bowl. “No!” I shriek, flinging out my arms.

“Alma!” Nurse Owens clasps my wrists.

The Wolf leaps with a howl that drags claws of chills down my spine.

“Gramma?”

My eyes lock onto a soft-faced girl. Pale cheeks with just a spatter of rosiness. Wild dark hair. A red cloak hangs from her shoulders, brushing the floor. She pulls the hood over her head.

“Red Hood,” I croak. She came!

The Wolf’s eyes widen. His form flickers.

“Red Hood!” I repeat, stronger now. “Watch out for…” I frown.

The Wolf has vanished.

Blinking, I’m suddenly hyperaware of my surroundings: a television huddled across the room, a stack of books beside me. I brush my fingers across the books. Soft, like the red hood. My racing heart calms a bit.

Red Hood perches beside me on a chair, touching my outstretched hand. So gentle. “You’ve got to finish your oatmeal, Gramma,” Red Hood says. Her voice is light and sweet and cheery. Almost… childlike.

I suck in a deep breath, rub my eyes. The Wolf is gone. It’s safe to finish eating. I take a few more bites, then push the bowl away. I can’t take my eyes off her cloak. I reach out, brushing my fingers across it.

“So pretty,” I breathe out.

Her lips stretch into a smile. “Yeah, it was a huge hit at ComicCon. I kept getting people asking me for your email address.” Her voice wobbles slightly. “I’ve arranged to stay overnight with you, Gramma. Make sure you’re not lonely. Would you like that?”

I glance at Nurse Owens. “But the Wolf…”

“You need me, Gramma. No Wolf is going to stop me.” Red Hood settles into bed beside me, covering us with her cloak. My breathing eases. It’s so soft. So pretty.

The Wolf will be back—he always is. But right now, Red Hood’s arms are around me. The cloak brushes against my cheek like rose petals.

For now, I’m safe.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Beka Gremikova hails from the Ottawa Valley, Ontario, Canada. She loves wolves, travelling, and exploring new cultures and cuisines. Her obsession with folklore and myth often weaves itself into her stories, multiple of which are published with Havok. Her writing has been included in Bingeworthy, A Kind of Death from Uncommon Universes Press and the Faces to the Sun collection edited by S.J. Blasko. She dreams of attending ComicCon in Princess Zelda cosplay.

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