Scarlett, armed with a basket of clippers, zippers and her lucky xylophone strolled merrily through the woods.

shhhh

A sandy mixture sloshed as she swung the basket to and fro. Oh! She remembered. And yeast. Not too much, just a few handfuls. Beasties despised the stuff, or so she’d been told. Grandpa’d wrapped her in thick cottons near fireside, regaling her with old legends of swinging swords of salt and wheat to feed the darkness. Of giants with stinging, sweet scents and soft skin that fascinated townsfolk. Of songs that made the bonfire dance with the weight of ancient hunger. The memory brought calm to her and tugged a small smile at the edges of her face.

Clack Clack clack

Stepping and stepping and tap-tap-tapping of small heels against moist cobbles in search of nightshade to help her ailing grandpa’s scoliosis.

She wan’t quite sure what that last word meant, but sure as the sky bled black did she want to grab it by the shoulders. And pelt it out their cottage! Whatever it was grew fatter and fatter every day, feeding on her grandpa. Eating curves in his sides till he bent sideways and sideways and sideways, but never straight. Like a horsewhip snake.

Further and further along the dark green tunnel did she step. Deeper and deeper into the sticky, damp bush till the moon cut furrows through green-black mush. Soon, she’d found something, good as nightshade. A yellow mushroom that would work, just as well. It had a longer name, but the townsfolk called them Cornucopias. She drew out the clippers and set upon the bunch, her hands stained yellow and basket dusted bright green by the time she was done.

A sweet smell stung the sides of her nose sending the poor child reeling in surprise. She tumbled off the toppled oak, back planted in the grass and barely holding onto her bounty.

Grrwwwwwl

A deep rumble punched an ache in her chest, she scrambled forward in a tangled mess of limbs, her only hope being how far it seemed.

Then she looked up.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Beady eyes like polished river-rocks bored down on her from the treeline, inching closer and closer with every labored breath. A tremble possessed her limbs, she couldn’t move. The snout parted green leaves whose blades gained weight and snapped with but a grazing touch. It’s skin hairless and bare and soft like gingerbread. Smelling sweet enough that even she’d not eat it. Tears prickled the end of her eyes and heat built in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Its nose glowed like a dim moon, bright white and seeming flaky as frost. White drops flaked off, crashing into the canopy and splintering to white dust. Some of it caught on her tongue, it burned sweet. She whipped her arm across its snout, sending a handful of yeast airborne. The black beast tore it’s neck back and snarled like a man burned.

She ran.

Ran and ran and ran.

Mist wrapped around her ankles and aided her escape, valiantly shielding her from the beast before being torn open by its descent.

Ccr-a-c-r-cl-kkKkkak

Crackling noises like a stiff crust being crushed echoed behind her. Growling and snarling and bubbling and frothing sounds sending ice down her spine to aid the burning ache in her legs.

In desperation, she threw back the rest of her yeast.

A roar to break the canopy echoed and almost set her heart aflame.

Her hand thrashed within the basket like a snake with it’s tail caught.

She threw her xylophone, shedding but a tear. And pushed harder, fear lending wings to her feet.

The canopy grew darker, darker and darker till it turned on it’s head and seemed almost bright. She tumbled over a toppled oak and sunk to the earth. Her chest heaved in exertion, her eyes wide and darting every which way.

She only now noticed the snarling stopped, crunching noises like chomping on icicles rang out. The crackling steps heavy as the butcher’s hand stopped. She looked up, staring into empty, beady eyes like river-stones.

The wolf touched its snout to her chest. She felt rejuvenated, and took to skip, skip, skipping deeper, and deeper and deeper into the woods. She smelt the burning, horrid sweet scent no longer.

----------------------------------------

Our meager campfire sputtered, orange licked at Kara's soulless white eyes.

"How's that for a story, kiddo?"

Alright, I would've said.

Would've.

"Kara, why're you wearing a straw hat?"

I asked, innocently.

"No idea what you're takin' bout,"

Elder, orange flame dyed its ghostly pallor pink.

"Why is your skin so white?"

"You're seeing things,"

I see everything.

"Your feet are backwards,"

"That's absurd"

The thing with Kara's voice said.

"..."

"..."

The forest roared, the thing stiffened.

I asked, eagarly,

"Where's Kara?"