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The sun shone brightly as the little girl skipped along the path, whistling to herself and swinging her satchel in her right hand. She bounded forth with such ferocious joy that it jolted the wolf from his blissful slumber, causing him to get up with such ferocity that he banged his skull on the shelf.
"Not the ideal cure for a hangover," thought the wolf, deciding that he should go and get some fresh air and see what all the fuss was about - then maybe a full English breakfast to soothe his poor head.
He lazily opened the door, and barely dodged the satchel as if flew past his ear. The girl was oblivious to the wolf's presence; either that, or she was as snobbish as her old grandma. Either way, the wolf's curiosity had been piqued, and so he jogged along the path, following the small girl in the red cap and matching cloak.
Despite his age, the little girl's small, delicate legs were no match for the large strides of the wolf who, in a way that belied his years of alcohol abuse and continued refusal to participate in PE lessons at school, soon caught up with the child. Due to the way the animals had been ostracized from the woods' community, the wolf was one of the last staunch survivors, and as such he was a very lonely wolf. He would howl at night, lap up brandy and read his books, starved of company. However, this little girl surely couldn't have had time to mould such irregularly fascist opinions as her mother's mother...could she? Struggling to form complex sentences in his head and run at the same time, the wolf started to fall behind the little girl, who was whistling so loudly that she couldn't hear her furry friend following closely. He gasped for air, holding his stitch, and swung a paw out to tap the girl on the shoulder. She slowly skipped to a stop, and twirled round, revealing a face as sour as a tall glass of curdled milk with a slice of lemon on top.
"Mummy says not to talk to strangers!" said the self righteous little sod, and she was soon off again. The wolf was exasperated, as well as exhausted and extremely hung over, so rubbing his stitch he jogged over to the girl and roughly spun her around.
"Look, I'm no stranger. I'm..." he winced. "I'm a friend of your grandma's."
"Really? Grandma's never spoken about a...a WOLF before!"
The wolf let a gush of air escape from his mouth, relieved. The girl may have been a snob, but at least she wasn't a racist.
"Oh. Well, hello there little girl."
"Hello Mr Wolf!" she exclaimed cheerily, extending her hand. The wolf took it, and there was an embarrassing pause.
"So...nice weather, isn't it?"
The girl was unimpressed. The wolf tried again.
"What's in the satchel?"
"Just some stuff for granny. She's very ill, you see - she needs us to help her by bringing booze and cake."
The wolf's blood boiled. That vile wench was fit and well enough to poke those poor woodpeckers with a stick at three in the morning, she's fit and well enough to find her own shortbread and whiskey.
"I see. Need any help?" The wolf half-hatched a plan - he could take the booze and cake for himself; but then the wolf looked at the wide-eyed child in front of him and decided that he could never do something so deceitful.
"Oh, oh god no!" the little girl began to laugh hysterically. "As if I would entrust my satchel to a...to a wolf!" Once again she bounded off, and once again she almost knocked the wolf unconscious with her erratic bag swinging. The paws curled into fists after the terribly uncouth show of prejudice, and the wolf stepped off the path and in amongst the trees, thinking to himself: "that girl may know how to make a delectable Victoria Sponge, but she doesn't know the shortcut to granny's house!"
About fifteen minutes later, the cottage was in the wolf's sights. Smoke billowing out of the chimney, loud music playing - the epicentre of all the destruction and emotional erosion in the woods. The wolf choked down on the vomit as he stumbled his way past the various twigs and roots, back onto the main path. No sight of the little girl, and no sound of her whistling either. Perfect. The wolf knew that this was his chance to expose that woman for the disgustingly vicious bigot that she truly was, in front of her own granddaughter no less! It was perfect...the girl would be shocked, and the grandma would be shamed into leaving the woods, bringing peace and order back! The wolf would be a hero, and he'd get all the wolf girlies, and on top of all that, he'd have some booze and cake too! The sickened emotion brought on by the sight of the cottage was displaced by glee and quiet anticipation of glory as the wolf rapped on the door. The music was cut sharply and there was lots of bumping and shoving going on before a croaking, thin voice beckoned.
"...come iiiiiiiin..."
The wolf pushed the door open, and instead of revealing himself to the woman, instead surveyed her room. A guitar amplified was still plugged in, making a dull buzzing sound, but the guitar itself had been hidden. The ashtray played host to something that was recently stubbed out, that looked like a cigarette but smelled rather differently. The wolf smirked, before waltzing into view.
"What the hell are you doing in here, you mangy dog!" roared the grandma, leaping out of bed and tearing off her nightie to reveal a pair of faded jeans, and a t-shirt with numerous obscenities emblazoned across the front. She was chewing gum, and menacingly advanced towards the wolf, fingers twitching.
"I just thought I'd come and t-t-tell you..." the wolf's voice wavered as the grandma picked up her letter opener, and tossed it from hand to hand. "Tell you, tha-tha-that soon everyone will know what you r-r-really are, and you'll be k-kicked out of these woo-woods!"
She snarled a snarl that the wolf might have been proud of, had he not been facing a six inch blade. The woman lunged, but her weak frame restricted her reach. The wolf ducked easily, but unfamiliar with the surroundings he stubbed his toe on the dresser, and you know how badly that stings. He hopped around in agony, as the knife edged closer to his heart, when suddenly he knew that it was either him, or her. The wolf's claws were pinned down by grandma's left hand, but suddenly he flung his jaw open as wide as he could, and swallowed the grandma whole. The knife fell to the floor moments before the old, liver-spotted hands disappeared behind the sharp teeth of the wolf, and as it clattered on the trendy wooden flooring, the wolf realised what he'd done.
He'd killed a human!
There was no way out! He knew it was self-defense, but...he had burst in on her, breaking and entering followed by a vicious, brutal and frankly none-too-tasty murder! The wolf frantically dashed around the cottage, looking to get rid of any incriminating evidence. The knife went into a black bin liner, followed by the nightie and the smouldering joint, when suddenly...
"Oh grand-ma-ma!"
The little girl!
The door creaked open, and the girl walked in.
"I brought some booze and cake for you, grandma..." but she abruptly stopped, noticing the mess in the walk-in kitchen and living area.
"Why grandma, what a messy floor you have!"
"...all the better to, uh, save drawer space, my dear!" replied a thin, weak voice.
"Why grandma, what a funny smelling bin you have!"
"...all the better to, well, keep bears away from pawing through my rubbish, my dear!"
The girl walked round the corner of the room to face her grandma's bed, and her eyes widened.
"Why grandma, what a terrible messy beard you have! And what dirty, blood stained fangs, and...AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"
The scream ripped through the forest like claws through little girls, as the hooded figure picked up lamps and old bottles of Malibu, throwing them at the wolf who was struggling to free himself from the restrictive, albeit surprisingly comfortable nightie. He ducked the various ornaments being hurled at him, and in a futile attempt to explain the situation he tried to calm the girl.
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND LISTEN!"
The ashtray missed his head by inches.
"YOUR GRANDMA HAS GONE TO A BETTER PLACE. SEE, GRANDMA AND HER FRIEND THE WOLF WERE HAVING A LITTLE ARGUMENT, AND..."
The girl continued to scream, and was trying to pick up the bedside chair.
"LOOK, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! I CAN EXPLAIN..."
Before he could finish, the wolf realised something. The lumberjack was coming! He would have heard the first scream, let alone the next dozen, and was no doubt on his way with an axe and a hero complex. The wolf grabbed a pillow and shoved it over the girl's face. She kept trying to kick his shins, which really was very annoying, especially since his toe still heart. He tightened his grip, and eventually the pillow slipped away as the girl stopped writhing about, instead laying there, glassy eyed. The wolf had no time to feel any sorrow, though - an axe began to break through the door, even though it was ajar. Damn lumberjacks. The wolf dived out of the window, and sprinted away. Unfortunately, the lumberjack was in his prime and heaved his weapon out of the door, chasing the wolf. Of course, he had the upper hand - the wolf had a sore toe, bruised shins and a really bad stitch. In no time the lumberjack was mere paces from his furry foe, and with one swing he lopped his head off. The rest of the wolf sunk to its knees, and the lumberjack cut the torso right open and fished out grandma. He dusted her down, helped her to her feet and showed her the dead, bleeding carcass of the wolf.
It was over.
The next day, there was a grand funeral for the little girl, and all the village attended. The pire took place on the spot where an animal used to live. Only a few meagre possessions were salvaged - some books, and a small, empty hip flask. Grandma and the lumberjack held each other and wept, as the head of the wolf was tossed on top of the burning cabin, wrapped up in a red cloak. The moral of this story? When an elderly, abusive guitar playing hard drinker moves in to the middle of the woods, you just have to learn to accept it.
"Not the ideal cure for a hangover," thought the wolf, deciding that he should go and get some fresh air and see what all the fuss was about - then maybe a full English breakfast to soothe his poor head.
He lazily opened the door, and barely dodged the satchel as if flew past his ear. The girl was oblivious to the wolf's presence; either that, or she was as snobbish as her old grandma. Either way, the wolf's curiosity had been piqued, and so he jogged along the path, following the small girl in the red cap and matching cloak.
Despite his age, the little girl's small, delicate legs were no match for the large strides of the wolf who, in a way that belied his years of alcohol abuse and continued refusal to participate in PE lessons at school, soon caught up with the child. Due to the way the animals had been ostracized from the woods' community, the wolf was one of the last staunch survivors, and as such he was a very lonely wolf. He would howl at night, lap up brandy and read his books, starved of company. However, this little girl surely couldn't have had time to mould such irregularly fascist opinions as her mother's mother...could she? Struggling to form complex sentences in his head and run at the same time, the wolf started to fall behind the little girl, who was whistling so loudly that she couldn't hear her furry friend following closely. He gasped for air, holding his stitch, and swung a paw out to tap the girl on the shoulder. She slowly skipped to a stop, and twirled round, revealing a face as sour as a tall glass of curdled milk with a slice of lemon on top.
"Mummy says not to talk to strangers!" said the self righteous little sod, and she was soon off again. The wolf was exasperated, as well as exhausted and extremely hung over, so rubbing his stitch he jogged over to the girl and roughly spun her around.
"Look, I'm no stranger. I'm..." he winced. "I'm a friend of your grandma's."
"Really? Grandma's never spoken about a...a WOLF before!"
The wolf let a gush of air escape from his mouth, relieved. The girl may have been a snob, but at least she wasn't a racist.
"Oh. Well, hello there little girl."
"Hello Mr Wolf!" she exclaimed cheerily, extending her hand. The wolf took it, and there was an embarrassing pause.
"So...nice weather, isn't it?"
The girl was unimpressed. The wolf tried again.
"What's in the satchel?"
"Just some stuff for granny. She's very ill, you see - she needs us to help her by bringing booze and cake."
The wolf's blood boiled. That vile wench was fit and well enough to poke those poor woodpeckers with a stick at three in the morning, she's fit and well enough to find her own shortbread and whiskey.
"I see. Need any help?" The wolf half-hatched a plan - he could take the booze and cake for himself; but then the wolf looked at the wide-eyed child in front of him and decided that he could never do something so deceitful.
"Oh, oh god no!" the little girl began to laugh hysterically. "As if I would entrust my satchel to a...to a wolf!" Once again she bounded off, and once again she almost knocked the wolf unconscious with her erratic bag swinging. The paws curled into fists after the terribly uncouth show of prejudice, and the wolf stepped off the path and in amongst the trees, thinking to himself: "that girl may know how to make a delectable Victoria Sponge, but she doesn't know the shortcut to granny's house!"
About fifteen minutes later, the cottage was in the wolf's sights. Smoke billowing out of the chimney, loud music playing - the epicentre of all the destruction and emotional erosion in the woods. The wolf choked down on the vomit as he stumbled his way past the various twigs and roots, back onto the main path. No sight of the little girl, and no sound of her whistling either. Perfect. The wolf knew that this was his chance to expose that woman for the disgustingly vicious bigot that she truly was, in front of her own granddaughter no less! It was perfect...the girl would be shocked, and the grandma would be shamed into leaving the woods, bringing peace and order back! The wolf would be a hero, and he'd get all the wolf girlies, and on top of all that, he'd have some booze and cake too! The sickened emotion brought on by the sight of the cottage was displaced by glee and quiet anticipation of glory as the wolf rapped on the door. The music was cut sharply and there was lots of bumping and shoving going on before a croaking, thin voice beckoned.
"...come iiiiiiiin..."
The wolf pushed the door open, and instead of revealing himself to the woman, instead surveyed her room. A guitar amplified was still plugged in, making a dull buzzing sound, but the guitar itself had been hidden. The ashtray played host to something that was recently stubbed out, that looked like a cigarette but smelled rather differently. The wolf smirked, before waltzing into view.
"What the hell are you doing in here, you mangy dog!" roared the grandma, leaping out of bed and tearing off her nightie to reveal a pair of faded jeans, and a t-shirt with numerous obscenities emblazoned across the front. She was chewing gum, and menacingly advanced towards the wolf, fingers twitching.
"I just thought I'd come and t-t-tell you..." the wolf's voice wavered as the grandma picked up her letter opener, and tossed it from hand to hand. "Tell you, tha-tha-that soon everyone will know what you r-r-really are, and you'll be k-kicked out of these woo-woods!"
She snarled a snarl that the wolf might have been proud of, had he not been facing a six inch blade. The woman lunged, but her weak frame restricted her reach. The wolf ducked easily, but unfamiliar with the surroundings he stubbed his toe on the dresser, and you know how badly that stings. He hopped around in agony, as the knife edged closer to his heart, when suddenly he knew that it was either him, or her. The wolf's claws were pinned down by grandma's left hand, but suddenly he flung his jaw open as wide as he could, and swallowed the grandma whole. The knife fell to the floor moments before the old, liver-spotted hands disappeared behind the sharp teeth of the wolf, and as it clattered on the trendy wooden flooring, the wolf realised what he'd done.
He'd killed a human!
There was no way out! He knew it was self-defense, but...he had burst in on her, breaking and entering followed by a vicious, brutal and frankly none-too-tasty murder! The wolf frantically dashed around the cottage, looking to get rid of any incriminating evidence. The knife went into a black bin liner, followed by the nightie and the smouldering joint, when suddenly...
"Oh grand-ma-ma!"
The little girl!
The door creaked open, and the girl walked in.
"I brought some booze and cake for you, grandma..." but she abruptly stopped, noticing the mess in the walk-in kitchen and living area.
"Why grandma, what a messy floor you have!"
"...all the better to, uh, save drawer space, my dear!" replied a thin, weak voice.
"Why grandma, what a funny smelling bin you have!"
"...all the better to, well, keep bears away from pawing through my rubbish, my dear!"
The girl walked round the corner of the room to face her grandma's bed, and her eyes widened.
"Why grandma, what a terrible messy beard you have! And what dirty, blood stained fangs, and...AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"
The scream ripped through the forest like claws through little girls, as the hooded figure picked up lamps and old bottles of Malibu, throwing them at the wolf who was struggling to free himself from the restrictive, albeit surprisingly comfortable nightie. He ducked the various ornaments being hurled at him, and in a futile attempt to explain the situation he tried to calm the girl.
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND LISTEN!"
The ashtray missed his head by inches.
"YOUR GRANDMA HAS GONE TO A BETTER PLACE. SEE, GRANDMA AND HER FRIEND THE WOLF WERE HAVING A LITTLE ARGUMENT, AND..."
The girl continued to scream, and was trying to pick up the bedside chair.
"LOOK, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! I CAN EXPLAIN..."
Before he could finish, the wolf realised something. The lumberjack was coming! He would have heard the first scream, let alone the next dozen, and was no doubt on his way with an axe and a hero complex. The wolf grabbed a pillow and shoved it over the girl's face. She kept trying to kick his shins, which really was very annoying, especially since his toe still heart. He tightened his grip, and eventually the pillow slipped away as the girl stopped writhing about, instead laying there, glassy eyed. The wolf had no time to feel any sorrow, though - an axe began to break through the door, even though it was ajar. Damn lumberjacks. The wolf dived out of the window, and sprinted away. Unfortunately, the lumberjack was in his prime and heaved his weapon out of the door, chasing the wolf. Of course, he had the upper hand - the wolf had a sore toe, bruised shins and a really bad stitch. In no time the lumberjack was mere paces from his furry foe, and with one swing he lopped his head off. The rest of the wolf sunk to its knees, and the lumberjack cut the torso right open and fished out grandma. He dusted her down, helped her to her feet and showed her the dead, bleeding carcass of the wolf.
It was over.
The next day, there was a grand funeral for the little girl, and all the village attended. The pire took place on the spot where an animal used to live. Only a few meagre possessions were salvaged - some books, and a small, empty hip flask. Grandma and the lumberjack held each other and wept, as the head of the wolf was tossed on top of the burning cabin, wrapped up in a red cloak. The moral of this story? When an elderly, abusive guitar playing hard drinker moves in to the middle of the woods, you just have to learn to accept it.
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The sun shone brightly as the little girl skipped along the path, whistling to herself and swinging her satchel in her right hand. She bounded forth with such ferocious joy that it jolted the wolf from his blissful slumber, causing him to get up with such ferocity that he banged his skull on the shelf.
"Not the ideal cure for a hangover," thought the wolf, deciding that he should go and get some fresh air and see what all the fuss was about - then maybe a full English breakfast to soothe his poor head.
He lazily opened the door, and barely dodged the satchel as if flew past his ear. The girl was oblivious to the wolf's presence; either that, or she was as snobbish as her old grandma. Either way, the wolf's curiosity had been piqued, and so he jogged along the path, following the small girl in the red cap and matching cloak.
Despite his age, the little girl's small, delicate legs were no match for the large strides of the wolf who, in a way that belied his years of alcohol abuse and continued refusal to participate in PE lessons at school, soon caught up with the child. Due to the way the animals had been ostracized from the woods' community, the wolf was one of the last staunch survivors, and as such he was a very lonely wolf. He would howl at night, lap up brandy and read his books, starved of company. However, this little girl surely couldn't have had time to mould such irregularly fascist opinions as her mother's mother...could she? Struggling to form complex sentences in his head and run at the same time, the wolf started to fall behind the little girl, who was whistling so loudly that she couldn't hear her furry friend following closely. He gasped for air, holding his stitch, and swung a paw out to tap the girl on the shoulder. She slowly skipped to a stop, and twirled round, revealing a face as sour as a tall glass of curdled milk with a slice of lemon on top.
"Mummy says not to talk to strangers!" said the self righteous little sod, and she was soon off again. The wolf was exasperated, as well as exhausted and extremely hung over, so rubbing his stitch he jogged over to the girl and roughly spun her around.
"Look, I'm no stranger. I'm..." he winced. "I'm a friend of your grandma's."
"Really? Grandma's never spoken about a...a WOLF before!"
The wolf let a gush of air escape from his mouth, relieved. The girl may have been a snob, but at least she wasn't a racist.
"Oh. Well, hello there little girl."
"Hello Mr Wolf!" she exclaimed cheerily, extending her hand. The wolf took it, and there was an embarrassing pause.
"So...nice weather, isn't it?"
The girl was unimpressed. The wolf tried again.
"What's in the satchel?"
"Just some stuff for granny. She's very ill, you see - she needs us to help her by bringing booze and cake."
The wolf's blood boiled. That vile wench was fit and well enough to poke those poor woodpeckers with a stick at three in the morning, she's fit and well enough to find her own shortbread and whiskey.
"I see. Need any help?" The wolf half-hatched a plan - he could take the booze and cake for himself; but then the wolf looked at the wide-eyed child in front of him and decided that he could never do something so deceitful.
"Oh, oh god no!" the little girl began to laugh hysterically. "As if I would entrust my satchel to a...to a wolf!" Once again she bounded off, and once again she almost knocked the wolf unconscious with her erratic bag swinging. The paws curled into fists after the terribly uncouth show of prejudice, and the wolf stepped off the path and in amongst the trees, thinking to himself: "that girl may know how to make a delectable Victoria Sponge, but she doesn't know the shortcut to granny's house!"
About fifteen minutes later, the cottage was in the wolf's sights. Smoke billowing out of the chimney, loud music playing - the epicentre of all the destruction and emotional erosion in the woods. The wolf choked down on the vomit as he stumbled his way past the various twigs and roots, back onto the main path. No sight of the little girl, and no sound of her whistling either. Perfect. The wolf knew that this was his chance to expose that woman for the disgustingly vicious bigot that she truly was, in front of her own granddaughter no less! It was perfect...the girl would be shocked, and the grandma would be shamed into leaving the woods, bringing peace and order back! The wolf would be a hero, and he'd get all the wolf girlies, and on top of all that, he'd have some booze and cake too! The sickened emotion brought on by the sight of the cottage was displaced by glee and quiet anticipation of glory as the wolf rapped on the door. The music was cut sharply and there was lots of bumping and shoving going on before a croaking, thin voice beckoned.
"...come iiiiiiiin..."
The wolf pushed the door open, and instead of revealing himself to the woman, instead surveyed her room. A guitar amplified was still plugged in, making a dull buzzing sound, but the guitar itself had been hidden. The ashtray played host to something that was recently stubbed out, that looked like a cigarette but smelled rather differently. The wolf smirked, before waltzing into view.
"What the hell are you doing in here, you mangy dog!" roared the grandma, leaping out of bed and tearing off her nightie to reveal a pair of faded jeans, and a t-shirt with numerous obscenities emblazoned across the front. She was chewing gum, and menacingly advanced towards the wolf, fingers twitching.
"I just thought I'd come and t-t-tell you..." the wolf's voice wavered as the grandma picked up her letter opener, and tossed it from hand to hand. "Tell you, tha-tha-that soon everyone will know what you r-r-really are, and you'll be k-kicked out of these woo-woods!"
She snarled a snarl that the wolf might have been proud of, had he not been facing a six inch blade. The woman lunged, but her weak frame restricted her reach. The wolf ducked easily, but unfamiliar with the surroundings he stubbed his toe on the dresser, and you know how badly that stings. He hopped around in agony, as the knife edged closer to his heart, when suddenly he knew that it was either him, or her. The wolf's claws were pinned down by grandma's left hand, but suddenly he flung his jaw open as wide as he could, and swallowed the grandma whole. The knife fell to the floor moments before the old, liver-spotted hands disappeared behind the sharp teeth of the wolf, and as it clattered on the trendy wooden flooring, the wolf realised what he'd done.
He'd killed a human!
There was no way out! He knew it was self-defense, but...he had burst in on her, breaking and entering followed by a vicious, brutal and frankly none-too-tasty murder! The wolf frantically dashed around the cottage, looking to get rid of any incriminating evidence. The knife went into a black bin liner, followed by the nightie and the smouldering joint, when suddenly...
"Oh grand-ma-ma!"
The little girl!
The door creaked open, and the girl walked in.
"I brought some booze and cake for you, grandma..." but she abruptly stopped, noticing the mess in the walk-in kitchen and living area.
"Why grandma, what a messy floor you have!"
"...all the better to, uh, save drawer space, my dear!" replied a thin, weak voice.
"Why grandma, what a funny smelling bin you have!"
"...all the better to, well, keep bears away from pawing through my rubbish, my dear!"
The girl walked round the corner of the room to face her grandma's bed, and her eyes widened.
"Why grandma, what a terrible messy beard you have! And what dirty, blood stained fangs, and...AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"
The scream ripped through the forest like claws through little girls, as the hooded figure picked up lamps and old bottles of Malibu, throwing them at the wolf who was struggling to free himself from the restrictive, albeit surprisingly comfortable nightie. He ducked the various ornaments being hurled at him, and in a futile attempt to explain the situation he tried to calm the girl.
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND LISTEN!"
The ashtray missed his head by inches.
"YOUR GRANDMA HAS GONE TO A BETTER PLACE. SEE, GRANDMA AND HER FRIEND THE WOLF WERE HAVING A LITTLE ARGUMENT, AND..."
The girl continued to scream, and was trying to pick up the bedside chair.
"LOOK, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! I CAN EXPLAIN..."
Before he could finish, the wolf realised something. The lumberjack was coming! He would have heard the first scream, let alone the next dozen, and was no doubt on his way with an axe and a hero complex. The wolf grabbed a pillow and shoved it over the girl's face. She kept trying to kick his shins, which really was very annoying, especially since his toe still heart. He tightened his grip, and eventually the pillow slipped away as the girl stopped writhing about, instead laying there, glassy eyed. The wolf had no time to feel any sorrow, though - an axe began to break through the door, even though it was ajar. Damn lumberjacks. The wolf dived out of the window, and sprinted away. Unfortunately, the lumberjack was in his prime and heaved his weapon out of the door, chasing the wolf. Of course, he had the upper hand - the wolf had a sore toe, bruised shins and a really bad stitch. In no time the lumberjack was mere paces from his furry foe, and with one swing he lopped his head off. The rest of the wolf sunk to its knees, and the lumberjack cut the torso right open and fished out grandma. He dusted her down, helped her to her feet and showed her the dead, bleeding carcass of the wolf.
It was over.
The next day, there was a grand funeral for the little girl, and all the village attended. The pire took place on the spot where an animal used to live. Only a few meagre possessions were salvaged - some books, and a small, empty hip flask. Grandma and the lumberjack held each other and wept, as the head of the wolf was tossed on top of the burning cabin, wrapped up in a red cloak. The moral of this story? When an elderly, abusive guitar playing hard drinker moves in to the middle of the woods, you just have to learn to accept it.
"Not the ideal cure for a hangover," thought the wolf, deciding that he should go and get some fresh air and see what all the fuss was about - then maybe a full English breakfast to soothe his poor head.
He lazily opened the door, and barely dodged the satchel as if flew past his ear. The girl was oblivious to the wolf's presence; either that, or she was as snobbish as her old grandma. Either way, the wolf's curiosity had been piqued, and so he jogged along the path, following the small girl in the red cap and matching cloak.
Despite his age, the little girl's small, delicate legs were no match for the large strides of the wolf who, in a way that belied his years of alcohol abuse and continued refusal to participate in PE lessons at school, soon caught up with the child. Due to the way the animals had been ostracized from the woods' community, the wolf was one of the last staunch survivors, and as such he was a very lonely wolf. He would howl at night, lap up brandy and read his books, starved of company. However, this little girl surely couldn't have had time to mould such irregularly fascist opinions as her mother's mother...could she? Struggling to form complex sentences in his head and run at the same time, the wolf started to fall behind the little girl, who was whistling so loudly that she couldn't hear her furry friend following closely. He gasped for air, holding his stitch, and swung a paw out to tap the girl on the shoulder. She slowly skipped to a stop, and twirled round, revealing a face as sour as a tall glass of curdled milk with a slice of lemon on top.
"Mummy says not to talk to strangers!" said the self righteous little sod, and she was soon off again. The wolf was exasperated, as well as exhausted and extremely hung over, so rubbing his stitch he jogged over to the girl and roughly spun her around.
"Look, I'm no stranger. I'm..." he winced. "I'm a friend of your grandma's."
"Really? Grandma's never spoken about a...a WOLF before!"
The wolf let a gush of air escape from his mouth, relieved. The girl may have been a snob, but at least she wasn't a racist.
"Oh. Well, hello there little girl."
"Hello Mr Wolf!" she exclaimed cheerily, extending her hand. The wolf took it, and there was an embarrassing pause.
"So...nice weather, isn't it?"
The girl was unimpressed. The wolf tried again.
"What's in the satchel?"
"Just some stuff for granny. She's very ill, you see - she needs us to help her by bringing booze and cake."
The wolf's blood boiled. That vile wench was fit and well enough to poke those poor woodpeckers with a stick at three in the morning, she's fit and well enough to find her own shortbread and whiskey.
"I see. Need any help?" The wolf half-hatched a plan - he could take the booze and cake for himself; but then the wolf looked at the wide-eyed child in front of him and decided that he could never do something so deceitful.
"Oh, oh god no!" the little girl began to laugh hysterically. "As if I would entrust my satchel to a...to a wolf!" Once again she bounded off, and once again she almost knocked the wolf unconscious with her erratic bag swinging. The paws curled into fists after the terribly uncouth show of prejudice, and the wolf stepped off the path and in amongst the trees, thinking to himself: "that girl may know how to make a delectable Victoria Sponge, but she doesn't know the shortcut to granny's house!"
About fifteen minutes later, the cottage was in the wolf's sights. Smoke billowing out of the chimney, loud music playing - the epicentre of all the destruction and emotional erosion in the woods. The wolf choked down on the vomit as he stumbled his way past the various twigs and roots, back onto the main path. No sight of the little girl, and no sound of her whistling either. Perfect. The wolf knew that this was his chance to expose that woman for the disgustingly vicious bigot that she truly was, in front of her own granddaughter no less! It was perfect...the girl would be shocked, and the grandma would be shamed into leaving the woods, bringing peace and order back! The wolf would be a hero, and he'd get all the wolf girlies, and on top of all that, he'd have some booze and cake too! The sickened emotion brought on by the sight of the cottage was displaced by glee and quiet anticipation of glory as the wolf rapped on the door. The music was cut sharply and there was lots of bumping and shoving going on before a croaking, thin voice beckoned.
"...come iiiiiiiin..."
The wolf pushed the door open, and instead of revealing himself to the woman, instead surveyed her room. A guitar amplified was still plugged in, making a dull buzzing sound, but the guitar itself had been hidden. The ashtray played host to something that was recently stubbed out, that looked like a cigarette but smelled rather differently. The wolf smirked, before waltzing into view.
"What the hell are you doing in here, you mangy dog!" roared the grandma, leaping out of bed and tearing off her nightie to reveal a pair of faded jeans, and a t-shirt with numerous obscenities emblazoned across the front. She was chewing gum, and menacingly advanced towards the wolf, fingers twitching.
"I just thought I'd come and t-t-tell you..." the wolf's voice wavered as the grandma picked up her letter opener, and tossed it from hand to hand. "Tell you, tha-tha-that soon everyone will know what you r-r-really are, and you'll be k-kicked out of these woo-woods!"
She snarled a snarl that the wolf might have been proud of, had he not been facing a six inch blade. The woman lunged, but her weak frame restricted her reach. The wolf ducked easily, but unfamiliar with the surroundings he stubbed his toe on the dresser, and you know how badly that stings. He hopped around in agony, as the knife edged closer to his heart, when suddenly he knew that it was either him, or her. The wolf's claws were pinned down by grandma's left hand, but suddenly he flung his jaw open as wide as he could, and swallowed the grandma whole. The knife fell to the floor moments before the old, liver-spotted hands disappeared behind the sharp teeth of the wolf, and as it clattered on the trendy wooden flooring, the wolf realised what he'd done.
He'd killed a human!
There was no way out! He knew it was self-defense, but...he had burst in on her, breaking and entering followed by a vicious, brutal and frankly none-too-tasty murder! The wolf frantically dashed around the cottage, looking to get rid of any incriminating evidence. The knife went into a black bin liner, followed by the nightie and the smouldering joint, when suddenly...
"Oh grand-ma-ma!"
The little girl!
The door creaked open, and the girl walked in.
"I brought some booze and cake for you, grandma..." but she abruptly stopped, noticing the mess in the walk-in kitchen and living area.
"Why grandma, what a messy floor you have!"
"...all the better to, uh, save drawer space, my dear!" replied a thin, weak voice.
"Why grandma, what a funny smelling bin you have!"
"...all the better to, well, keep bears away from pawing through my rubbish, my dear!"
The girl walked round the corner of the room to face her grandma's bed, and her eyes widened.
"Why grandma, what a terrible messy beard you have! And what dirty, blood stained fangs, and...AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"
The scream ripped through the forest like claws through little girls, as the hooded figure picked up lamps and old bottles of Malibu, throwing them at the wolf who was struggling to free himself from the restrictive, albeit surprisingly comfortable nightie. He ducked the various ornaments being hurled at him, and in a futile attempt to explain the situation he tried to calm the girl.
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND LISTEN!"
The ashtray missed his head by inches.
"YOUR GRANDMA HAS GONE TO A BETTER PLACE. SEE, GRANDMA AND HER FRIEND THE WOLF WERE HAVING A LITTLE ARGUMENT, AND..."
The girl continued to scream, and was trying to pick up the bedside chair.
"LOOK, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! I CAN EXPLAIN..."
Before he could finish, the wolf realised something. The lumberjack was coming! He would have heard the first scream, let alone the next dozen, and was no doubt on his way with an axe and a hero complex. The wolf grabbed a pillow and shoved it over the girl's face. She kept trying to kick his shins, which really was very annoying, especially since his toe still heart. He tightened his grip, and eventually the pillow slipped away as the girl stopped writhing about, instead laying there, glassy eyed. The wolf had no time to feel any sorrow, though - an axe began to break through the door, even though it was ajar. Damn lumberjacks. The wolf dived out of the window, and sprinted away. Unfortunately, the lumberjack was in his prime and heaved his weapon out of the door, chasing the wolf. Of course, he had the upper hand - the wolf had a sore toe, bruised shins and a really bad stitch. In no time the lumberjack was mere paces from his furry foe, and with one swing he lopped his head off. The rest of the wolf sunk to its knees, and the lumberjack cut the torso right open and fished out grandma. He dusted her down, helped her to her feet and showed her the dead, bleeding carcass of the wolf.
It was over.
The next day, there was a grand funeral for the little girl, and all the village attended. The pire took place on the spot where an animal used to live. Only a few meagre possessions were salvaged - some books, and a small, empty hip flask. Grandma and the lumberjack held each other and wept, as the head of the wolf was tossed on top of the burning cabin, wrapped up in a red cloak. The moral of this story? When an elderly, abusive guitar playing hard drinker moves in to the middle of the woods, you just have to learn to accept it.
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