Cup of Tea (Short Stories)

Red

I stopped, key halfway in the lock. Footprints. Leading up the porch. I took a step back, now noticing the front door, wedged open. My hand moved to the shotgun on my hip. My grandmother had said she would be in the garden, and I wondered if the footprints could've been hers. But they were too big, too... strange and deformed. A gasp escaped me.

The scent of dirt and fresh rain filled my nostrils, but there was something else. Blood.

I narrowed my eyes at the door, hesitating. I shook myself and stepped inside. Get it together. Whoever it was, I could take them. And I already had a suspicion who.

The floorboards creaked under my thick, muddy boots. I flipped on the lights, still wary of what I might find. The old farmhouse was a mess. The sofa flipped, torn books littering the floor, and shards of glass scattered about.

A dark figure shot up out of the mess. My breathing quickened, but I did my best to stay calm. I aimed the gun, but the beast moved too fast. I didn't even get a good look at it before it raced up the stairs, clumsily smacking against the rails. I cursed under my breath and clenched my fists. I brought my gun back down and made my way to the stairway.

Crunch. I stopped and raised my foot to see what I stepped on. A small broken picture frame. I picked it up, careful not to cut myself. I frowned. It held an image of my grandmother and me, smiling in front of an old buggy of hers. I had lived with her for as long as I could remember, even before the Lupine Virus had broken out. The virus that had transformed the world as I knew it. Taking innocent people and transforming them into heartless killers. Wolf-like beasts with one instinct and one instinct only. To feed. To prey on the weak.

I bit my lip and let the frame fall to the floor with a clatter. Making my way up the stairs, I reminded myself what I had to do. I shuddered. There's no room for the weakness of emotion now.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I rested my hand on the rail. From there, I could see the door to my grandmother's room ripped from its hinges. A low growling sounded from inside. I stepped over the door, three massive claw marks etched across the wood.

The beast stared at me, standing as high as it could. It hunched with the low roof. Horse, ashy fur spiking out from it, twisted claws curling outward from its massive paws. Thick foam oozing from its jaws. It glared at me with its eyes. Those gold, soul-penetrating eyes, daring me to choose.

I raised the gun, wavering. My arms faulted, but I forced myself to stay strong. The weight of the small gun felt heavier than it had ever been.

The wolffish creature whimpered, knowing what would come. It's cries changed into a growl and it prowled towards me. I needed to pull the trigger, I reminded myself. If I didn't, I would die, ripped apart by the once-human beast that stood before me. I readjusted my grip, knowing what I had to do. I always knew this would happen.

And yet I wasn't prepared for it.

A sharp bark, followed by a gunshot. A thud reached my ears as the wolf collapsed, eyes rolling back into her skull. I shut my eyes, scared of what I might see. I took several deep breaths, trying to stop my shaking hands. In... Out... In... Out... I forced myself to look. A red pool of blood surrounded the wolf. My grandmother. I stared, expression blank, as if it wasn't real. I couldn't wrap my head around it.

My grandmother was dead. And the blood was on my hands. That's why they call me Red.

Red Riding Hood, werewolf hunter.