Read Online The Asylum for Fairy-Tale Creatures by Sebastian Gregory - Free Book Online Page A

vegetation and weeds stretching for miles and miles. There would be no way around it at all. It was then that the shadow crept over her and a chill tickled her spine. She turned to see the giant form of the wolf.
    Previously Red Riding Hood had only seen the wolf in half-light. But now here under the clearest of days the wolf was the most terrible of all creatures. Its bristled fur, sharp as needles, was the black colour of nightmares and covered its entire huge, muscled form except in the patch to the right of its face, which was red and raw from their last meeting. One eye was hatred yellow and the other, amongst the damaged fur and flesh, was white as marble. As were the fangs that dripped slobber into the dirt.
    “You,” sneered Red, her heart beating so hard in her chest, she could almost hear nothing else.
    The wolf growled. “They took you away from me but I followed your scent. It was seared into my skin and I tore the asylum down to find you, little girl.”
    Red Riding Hood held her ground in the huge beast’s shadow. She could smell its hot breath on the air and it huffed and puffed. Steam rose from its pitch-black fur.
    “You think I fear you?” she said. “You took everything from me, including my sanity, with not even fear for comfort. You mean nothing, wolf, nothing.” Her words were pure contempt.
    The wolf began stalking forward, its claws digging furrows into the ground.
    “There is always more to take, little girl. There is always the bones.”
    And the wolf remembered…
    Into the forest so long ago under warmth of the trees, Grandma picked toadstools into her basket. The flowers were bright and birds were playful in the trees. The scrawny man approached, stumbling through the undergrowth. He wore rags and fell to his knees. When he opened his eyes the grandma’s kind face was peering back.
    “Still, sir, still—you are exhausted.”
    “Thank you, kind madam.”
    The grandma saw the blood on the man’s rags.
    “Are you hurt, sir?”
    “No, madam, the blood is not mine. It was a wolf—a wolf attacked our village. I escaped but I was the only one,” he said, falling into exhaustion.
    “My home is not too far and my granddaughter will be here soon. She will bring help.”
    “All the better,” he murmured.
    And back at the asylum the wolf lurched after the girl, jaws as wide as the gates of hell. The girl was quick and ran but this time not out of fear. Instead into the forest of thorns she went, leading the wolf as if he were the prey and the tiny girl in the blood-red hood were the hunter.
    The thorns held no fear for the girl. She followed her grandma’s advice and her boots held to the path. She ducked and moved with the confidence of a child who made weekly trips to her grandma’s house in the woods. Not too rushed and with steady movements, she moved throughout the deadliest forest in the kingdom with barely a scratch. Yet the wolf, eager for blood, ploughed into the thorns, tearing and snarling at the girl. Snapping those jaws and roaring in rage. The girl went on ignoring the chaos bearing down upon her. She was home again, running through the forest on to Grandma’s with a basket full of good things. There was no asylum, no wolf, just the forest, warm and friendly, the smell of pine filling her lungs. She was almost skipping when her breath failed and she came to exhaustion, unable to run any more. Her arms were a criss-cross of thorn scratches and a sliver of blood ran down her cheek, her red hood shredded.
    But what of the wolf? Eventually, retracing her steps, she found the beast. Or what was left of it. The wolf had gone and the man remained, bleeding and caught in the thorns. He hung there, pierced and stuck like a roast hog, unable to move, unable to cry for help, a sad, sad thing that deserved no pity. His eye looked at Red Riding Hood again for one last time before he died. She felt nothing.

Mostly Contented Ever AfterThere once was a young girl who visited her grandma