"What are you doing?" I asked incredulously. There was a man dressed in a wolf costume. His head poked up from behind the foliage. I don't think he realized.

A twig snapped. I looked away. He was gone.

I blinked once, then twice, and then continued on my way.

Grandma asked me to buy her some flour and chocolate chips for her cookies. I love her cookies. They're soft and chewy and all-around great!

Grandma was strange. She lived in a shack Grandpa made in the forest before he died. We all worry for her. If something happens to her it would be very difficult for her to receive any help.

I was walking through these woods for the one-thousand-two-hundred-and-third time. I know this place like the back of my hand because I visit Grandma so often.

There's a family of deer who live here. Once I helped the mother deer when her foot was stuck and ever since the deer let me pet them now and again.

I saw the mother, she looked tired. She looked at me, or a bit behind me, and ran.

A twig snapped. I looked. The wolf-man was back.

There was blood on the man's collar.

He glared at me. I stared back.

"D-do you need anything?" There was a stick on the ground. Big. Heavy. I shimmied.

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The man stepped forward. I could see him now. He was dirty. There was mud, dirt, and grime all over him. It matted his hair, colored his skin, and marred his clothes. He had a scraggly beard and overall looked unkempt. His skin was pale and sickly. His hair was black and long. He wore a white dress shirt and black trousers. Both were wrinkled and rather dirty.

Covering his back was a wolf pelt. He wore the head of the wolf like a helmet and stretched the arms out to cover his arms. The pelt seemed to stretch down his back and cover him from behind fully, but I could not see it from where I was to confirm.

I shimmied ever closer. My foot hit the stick. It had a knob at the end, making it good for bludgeoning. I could also slam my foot down and launch it up into my hand.

He leapt. I stomped.

The stick flew up. I put out my hand and caught it. Ouch.

I swing.

Whoosh.

Thwack.

The makeshift club hit the man in his arm.

He held his arm in pain.

He whimpered.

He glared at me. I glared back.

I blinked. He blinked. He ran away.

From behind him I could see that the wolf pelt covered his back fully and went down a bit below the man's knees. Should he crawl it'd be hard to distinguish him from an actual wolf. The back of the man's dress shirt was covered in more blood.

The adrenaline wore off. My hand pulsed in pain. My body slumped. I frowned.

I had nothing but cookie ingredients in my backpack. They would not be very helpful.

I re-adjusted my grip on the makeshift club. Now in the proper position to whack weirdos.

Aware and alert I walked.

...

A rustle from the bushes.

I looked. The wolf-man looked back.

I held my makeshift club in front of me, ready.

He grinned. There was blood on his teeth.

He backed off and ran away.

Aware and alert I walked.

...

I saw Grandma's shack. It was made of a rather dark wood, and had a chimney. It was the only home I knew with a fireplace. There was one window. It was open.

I walked and peered down. Footprints. Too large for me. Too large for Grandma.

I edged close to the window.

I peeked over the windowsill.

Grandma was asleep?

She was usually busy at this time. She must be getting tired in her old age.

I walked inside. The door had no lock.

A scent wafted to me. I smelled iron. Strange.

I lay my makeshift staff at the door.

I drop my bag at the table.

Quietly I walk to the bed.

Gently I shake her.

Her skin slides off.

Underneath is sickly pale skin covered in blood. Grandma's blood.

"Grandma" sits up.

Her face falls off.

My body slumps. A tear escapes.

The wolf-man grins.