Little Red adjusted her little hood as she entered the forest. The only other red thing in the forest were the crimson berries growing on the hoary trees here and there, so wearing a red hood would make her stand out like a black sheep.

Unfortunately, her mother possessed no other hoods. Red was forced to don one that bore the same colour as her name. But a hood that stood out was better than no hood at all.

For even a red hood would do well to shade her face against the glares of the forest.

“Alright, here goes,” she said, clutching her basket tightly in one hand and her little wand in the other. Her long nose stuck out of the hood like a pointing finger made her feel a little self-conscious, but there were more important things to be worrying about. “Great ma, here I come.”

Red went in.

Her mother had said that Great ma was missing some of the ingredients she always needed for all her stuff. Cooking stuff, concocting stuff, crafting stuff. Great ma was famous—and sometimes, infamous—in Red’s clan for being very crafty. In more ways than one.

But Great ma had also lived a long time now. As the years went by, it got harder and harder for her to get everything she wanted.

So, Red had resolved to find some of the things that Great ma was missing.

Great ma used to tell her stories about the clans, about the old heroes of legend, about the great dangers and setbacks their people had overcome. Red loved those stories. They depicted the kind of determination and heroism she herself hoped to emulate as she got older too.

But stories weren’t all that Red had enjoyed from Great ma. Baked Shrooms and Else Weed, a knitted red sweater every winter, treks through the forest and the plains beyond, or even just cozy evenings staying in and reading all those little books Great ma possessed…

Red sighed a little in contentment. Great ma was a source of great happiness for her. The least Red owed was to make Great ma’s last years as comfortable and happy as she could.

Wait. Last years? Red shook her head, trying not to rap her own head with her knuckles. What in the world was she thinking? What sort of descendant was so sure of her ancestor’s death? Slightly mad at herself for thinking Great ma’s demise was so foretold, she focused on her actual objective.

The first ingredient were the red berries. She came to a stop beneath the nearest tree that bore some on its boughs. A quick but careful look around convinced her that there was no one else around.

Little Red was far too small to reach that high and pluck the plump little orbs herself, but that was alright. She had her wand. The branches of a clan’s Great Tree were often clipped off at the ends and fashioned into little wands, imbued with the folk magick that a clan had gathered since their conception.

Red possessed one such wand, which she now swung forth.

“I call upon the olde air that mine forefathers and foremothers tamed,” she said, modulating her tone into the mystical form that her clan spells needed. “Wind!”

A heavy gust winded up and slapped the grey branch overhead. Several of the scarlet berries rained down. Red gathered them all and put them in her little jar. There. One task for Great ma was now completed. Now, onto the next.

Her next target was some herbs. Else Weed grew a little deeper in the woods. Deeper and more dangerous.

Mother had warned her not to get off the beaten path, in fear of courting danger she wouldn’t be able to handle. But Red possessed the magicks of her clan, and she was not to be cowed. Great ma’s happiness was more important than any measly prospect of harm.

It felt as though the forest grew quieter as she went in deeper. Red sniffed. A horde of scents wafted through the air, but her senses were sharp enough to pick out the one she needed.

The slightly acrid tang of the Else Weed. That was her goal, somewhere off to her left, perhaps forty or so paces away.

But the smell of the herb wasn’t alone. There were other scents to go along with it.

Odors of the danger she had been warned about.

They were a convoluted mixture that always confused Red a little. The sharp singe of cut grass, the gag-inducing stink of wet flannel, the salivating hints of a pastry baking in the oven. A riot of scents that pulled her senses in too many different directions. Worse, the scents were close.

Red hurried on. The Else Weed was easy to find and easier to pluck off the ground. Its bright green leaves and tiny stems gave way easily as she stuffed it into her jar beside the berries. There. All done. Now she could—

A low but harsh cackle sent a shiver trailing down Red’s spine. She shot to her feet, twisted around to see that the danger she was always being warned about had materialized.

A Crone stood about a dozen paces away.

The hag wore a dirty, sack-like dress that was wet at too many spots. Its pattern was rather ugly too. The Crone’s thin, papery skin stretched and split as she grinned. Her wild grey hair melded with the hoary trees around them, her rheumy eyes locking Red in place as she raised her weapon high.

The weapon. Focus on the weapon.

That was the wisdom Red had been granted from her clan. From Mother and from Great ma as well. A Crone’s weapon spelled the best way to overcome her.

This one was holding a wooden rolling pin. For shaping dough. It was weathered and pitted, something that probably hadn’t touched actual dough in a decade or more. Decidedly deadly.

Red’s heart pitter-pattered like the berries had done earlier, falling from their branches to thump to the ground. She was doing her best to control herself, but it was hard.

Especially because she could smell the other Crones closing in on her.

This was why her mother said not to get off the beaten path.

The Crone in front of Red said something. She could never understand them—no one could as far as she knew—but the tone was unmistakeable. Harsh, brutal. Rude.

Evil.

Red brandished her wand. It was a good thing the folk magicks of her clan knew just how to deal with these sorts of pests. She pointed her wand at the first Crone she had seen. “I call upon the olde delights that mine forefathers and foremothers enjoyed. Dough!”

With a golden shimmer, an amorphous beige blob appeared between Red and the first Crone. The hag stared down at the claylike clump that fell to the forest floor with a soft clump. There. Distraction achieved. Now, Red just needed to take care of the other Crones closing in on her.

She turned. Her heart thudded in her chest and she swallowed down a growing clump. Magicks needed a clear command. She couldn’t hesitate.

The second Crone had a rake. Ah, so it was that kind. Red wished she understood what exactly determined which Crone went with which weapon, but she was thankful that at least her clan knew the counters to them all.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“I call upon the olde land that mine forefathers and foremothers claimed,” she said, pointing her wand at the Crone. “Lawn!”

Red figured lawn was the bank of untamed grass that materialized in front of her. It was strewn with dead leaves and twigs. The Crone stared down, then immediately went feral, attacking the bank of grass with her rake as though it had dealt a mortal offence.

It was difficult not to swallow down another growing lump in Red’s throat. That rake attacking her that way wouldn’t have been pleasant.

The third Crone had gotten far too close. She held needles that were bigger than Red’s hand. With a little yelp, Red jumped back. Her jar nearly slipped out of her grip. Thankfully, she managed to keep a hold on it. Wouldn’t do to spill everything she had gathered. She needed to get out of here as fast as she could, after all.

“I call upon the olde cloth that mine forefathers and foremothers shaped,” she said, pointing her wand at the Crone. “Yarn!”

Another shimmer, another little distraction. This time, it was a ball of white yarn. Red’s eye twitched. The yarn looked a little too similar to the sack-dresses that the Crones covered themselves with. With a wet, gurgling hiss, the Crone began stabbing the yarn with her needles.

Red twisted around, trying to see if any other danger was closing in on her location. No. She was safe.

Although, the distractions wouldn’t last for long. With one last look to ensure that the Crones wouldn’t be following her, Red hurried back the way she had come.

The beaten path was still there. Every time she ventured off it, a part of her was always scared that she wouldn’t be able to find her way back. The grey-barked trees with their dead brown leaves and the few berries here and there all looked the same. It would be all too easy to get lost. But Red had gotten good at navigating with her sense of smell.

Clutching her jar and her wand tightly, she hurried down the path. The encounter shouldn’t have spooked her. This wasn’t her first instance of being accosted by the Crones.

But something about their forms, about the way they held their implements like weapons, the way they acted—everything about them, Red realized—refused to let her calm down.

It probably didn’t help that some of the stories her clan and Great ma always told had the Crones as these nefarious creatures, stealing away goblin children and terrorizing clans and families. Said stolen children were never to be seen again.

No one was ever clear what exactly happened to those children. Rumours abounded, of course, but Red never put too much stock in them.

One of her old friends always said that the Crones boiled the children alive and sipped the broth while they were screaming. Another claimed that the Crones possessed clan members and masqueraded as them. Yet another rumour went that the Crones were ancient spirits, seeking vengeance upon the clans for wrongs nobody remembers. They all sounded too insane.

Red’s heart finally started settling down when Great ma’s hut came into view. She smiled in relief. Finally.

It was a small, quaint little thing. Thatched roof, small windows, a chimney spewing smoke, and a small garden gave it a homy air. Red banished the images of the Crones rushing at her with the warm memories she had of this place. Of the times she had spent with Great ma and been quite happy.

Certain details tried to interfere with her attempt at appearing upbeat when she greeted Great ma. The haphazard, almost broken-down state of the vegetable patches in the garden. The grime coating some of the windows. All the dead leaves and twigs that hadn’t been swept in days.

Banishing the negative thoughts they induced from her mind, Red smiled and knocked on the door. “Great ma! It’s me, Red.”

A short laugh of pleasure responded. Followed by a cough that was quickly cut off. Red pursed her lips, but quickly resurrected her smile as the door creaked open.

Great ma stood at the doorway, bringing with her the smell of delightful cakes. “Oh, hello dear!” She stepped aside. “Come on in, come on in. You look like you’ve been in another tussle. Crones giving you too much trouble?”

Red gratefully entered the warmth and comfort of the hut. Ah, so nice.

Great ma looked just as she always did. She wore her long, billowy robe of purple silk covered by a thick apron, her hands gloved in oven mittens and her hair encased in a little cap. Nowadays, Great ma tended to cover up her face with a pale-yellow cream.

“Crones are always a pain, Great ma,” Red said. She looked out the window, the garden’s disrepair still visible through the grime coating glass panes. “And it looks like I’m not the only one taking a tumble.”

“Oh, I just let them be. Not worth shooing them away all the time, dear. Sometimes, you need to let nature take its course.”

Red banished thoughts of Crones with a smile. “Look, I’ve got everything you want.”

“Oh?” Great ma looked appreciatively at the jar in Red’s hand. “That explains your tumbled state.”

Red laughed. “It was nothing.” She set the jar down on the table with the baked cakes, then pulled out a smaller jar from within her dress. “Here you go, Great ma. I took some of the cream from Mother too.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have, dear. Your mother is going to get annoyed with me again.”

“She already has enough, she doesn’t need to keep saving for more.”

Great ma took the littler jar of cream with a nod of gratitude with her mitten-covered hands. “Ah, youth in a jar. Don’t think too harshly of your mother, Red. You’ll understand when you’re older why this is so valuable.”

 Red rolled her eyes but decided against commenting. She sat down at the table and took a moment to rest.

Meanwhile, Great ma went about fussing as she always did, tidying up the place a bit. Normally, she was always neat and clean, but she hadn’t had much energy to keep up with domestic demands over the last few weeks.

As she walked around, Great ma asked Red about her studies, how things were going along back at the clan, and gave a brief rundown of her last week. The usual conversation.

Red did her best to keep up a smile. Happy. She had to be happy, for Great ma’s sake.

“I can’t believe your mother let you come again after last week,” Great ma said. She smiled at Red. “Not that I mind.”

“She didn’t want to.” Red wasn’t fond of how much convincing it had taken to let her mother give her permission to come over. She had half a mind just not to bother next time and come over anyway. “But I managed.” She frowned at Great ma. “Not that I should have had to.”

Great ma slowly turned away. “Now, now, dear, you know that isn’t fair.”

“Please, Great ma. Why can’t you move back to the clan? How long are you going to stay in these Crone-infested woods?” Red couldn’t help that her voice broke a little. “Are you really going to stay here till you die?”

Great ma smiled sadly. It made a pinch of the cream she had applied, which had now dried on her face, flake off a bit. The skin underneath looked more grey than natural green.

She reached over and patted Red on her head. “We all know there’s little room at the clan. The little your mother can spare for me all the way out here is already a great deal. Everyone has to move out. You will too, one day.”

“That isn’t what I mean, Great ma. Someone…” Red struggled to find the right words. “Someone who’s struggling shouldn’t have to live alone. You should be able to come back, if you need to.”

Great ma puffed up her chest, though that made her cough again. She had to take a calming drag from her pipe. “Now, now, who says I can’t deal with things by myself?”

Red sighed, looking around. Five small mushroom cakes. Last week, there had been seven. Ten two weeks before that. Her eyes twitched at the dust that had settled on some of the framed drawings that Great ma had hung on her walls. Some of those had been drawn by her too.

No. Enough. Wasn’t she supposed to have been upbeat when spending time with Great ma? She had come here to be happy. Even if she wasn’t enjoying the experience herself, she could at least make sure Great ma felt good. Why was she dwelling on the way things seemed to be getting worse?

Red ate another one of the mushroom cakes and made noises of delight. They might have decreased in quantity, but they were still delicious. “So good as always, Great ma.”

“I’m glad you love them, dear.”

Satisfied that Red seemed satisfied again, Great ma went about her day.

Meanwhile, Red got up and began tending to the place. She mopped the floor, dusted some of the shelves and drawings—trying not to focus on the ones she herself had made too much over the others—and swiped away all the leaves and twigs.

Great ma protested that Red really shouldn’t be doing her work, but her protests were feeble. Poor old goblin didn’t even have the energy to do that.

It just made Red feel worse.

“Great ma,” she said at the end of her visit, before she was about to leave. “Why do you have to live around the Crones, though?”

Great ma raised an eyebrow. “Well, you know the stories, dear. Those old hags migrated in from distant lands and—”

“Sure, but why here? Why can’t you move away from them?”

Great ma looked sad for a moment before suddenly laughing. She needed another drag from her pipe to calm down the subsequent fit of coughing. “Well, we can’t have these wild creatures driving us from our homes, now can we?”

Red would have suggested driving the Crones away, but she knew that they were pests. The Crones never went away. They kept coming, and coming, endlessly. Always there.

“Take care, dear,” Great ma said from the doorway, offering a parting eave. “And stay on the beaten path.”

Red waved back. “You too, Great ma. And I will.”

As she walked homeward, the Crones reappeared at the depths of the forest. The evening shadows clinging to them made them appear more sinister. Not too many of them. Wasn’t hard at all for Red to stave them off with a “Lawn!” here or a “Dough!” there.

But before she exited the forest, Red looked back, a slow promise settling on her heart. Maybe she couldn’t reverse Great ma’s aging. Maybe she couldn’t fix everything wrong with her old ancestor’s life.

But what she could do was stop the Crones from bothering her. In fact, as Red finally turned away, she decided she was going to make sure the Crones never bothered Great ma again.