Deliciously Deadly: a Red Riding Hood retelling

Chapter 1

What does it mean, really, to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?

For most of us, it's probably the result of a stroke of bad luck. Some unfortunate coincidence of fate that puts us into unfortunate circumstances entirely out of our control.

What about those who insert themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, and as a result, find themselves running for their life? Well, some of you might call that stupid.

Now, now, it's a little harsh calling a seven-year-old stupid, don't you think? Though I suppose truth often hurts and it is hard to deny that little Lottie just really... wasn't... a clever seven-year-old.

You see, when all the villagers moan and cry about some monster who appears at night to steal their poultry and cattle, you would expect a clever seven-year-old to cower in the shadows of their parents.

Lottie's parents were long gone by the time the residents of Wilkin Village moaned and cried about such a monster, but she still had her dear old grandmother to cower behind. Only she chose not to. She got terribly curious instead, and you all know what kills the cat.

Then when the adults go monster-hunting while the moon is full and bright, you would also expect a clever seven-year-old to heed their protective guardian's advice and stay home with the door locked and the windows shut.

But we have already established that Lottie was curious and stu— not the brightest little girl. So when the villagers of Wilkin marched off into the woods with their weapons and torches, of course, she snuck along and followed them.

Fast forward an hour or two, Lottie squatted behind a blueberry shrub while the villagers before her quibbled on about what the monster even was. Some were adamant it was a large bear. Others swore on their second and third cousins' lives that they'd seen a giant chicken. Whatever it was, they had landed an arrow or two in it before it ran off into hiding.

"We should give chase while it's wounded."

"But it's too dark."

"Did anyone see where it went?"

"Left."

"Nay, right."

"Yer eyes too old."

So engrossed they were in their argument that none saw Lottie crouching low in the shadows, sneaking right past them in her single-minded intent on taking a look at the so-called monster.

Deeper and deeper into the woods she went, her little red boots crunching on the dried leaves of fall and alerting all the hungry animals within a mile that fresh meat had arrived.

In the distance, she heard a soft whimper. She should have turned back then (a cleverer child certainly would have), or at least hesitated and thought for a second about what she was doing. But all she did was allow that treacherous curiosity to lead her towards the source of the noise.

Long story short, that was how Lottie found herself screaming and running for her life with a big black wolf chasing her through the woods, and the only bright idea she had was to throw a stick and hope it plays fetch because she certainly couldn't outrun it and all the villagers who had dogs threw sticks to play fetch with them and a wolf was like... well, a big dog. Right?

Darting around a thick old tree, Lottie picked up a few dead branches scattered around its base. Then she stayed crouched behind the tree, praying to all the gods and goddesses she could name (which were not many), and lobbed one stick of branch as far as she could to her left.

Chancing a peek around the trunk of the tree, she met with the gleaming yellow eyes of the deadly predator still coming right at her from eighty yards away.