Chapter 2

Iran and I ran and I ran. Okay, so maybe I just ran and ran. Gotta give up that pack-a-day habit. Anyway, it was quite enough running for me to get totally turned around in the dense forest. I had no idea where I was, nor where I had come from.

Maybe in more ways than one.

I tripped over something and went flying into a tree. Fortunately, I was still together enough to put my arms up to protect my head. But it still knocked the wind right out of me and gave me a mouthful of dirt. I spit the dirt out the best I could.

I lay on my stomach for a moment, still catching my breath while I listened for sounds of pursuit. Then I put my head down in my arms and cried for a while. I couldn't believe the disappointed look in Sheila's eyes when she said she'd told me not to follow them. I couldn't believe they were just making a bloody movie!

Really, I was the injured party here. C'mon, I was just trying to help out a friend. I've read all about battered partners and all that, and of course I look out for Sheila—we've been friends since grade school! No one could ever be good enough for her. Not even Sal.

Now, okay, fine. Maybe sometimes in the past I was a bit over eager and all, but I knew this time I had been fully within my best-friend rights. I pushed myself to my feet, wiped my face on my sleeve, and sat down on a rock to catch my breath and try to figure things out. And light up a smoke.

I already knew I felt like an asshole, and should've listened to my best friend when she told me it was all right. But still, I would have expected Sheila to come after me, to look for me. I couldn't have come so far that I'd be beyond her yelling my name.

But I didn't hear anything.

I couldn't even see the underbrush I must have trampled before barreling into that tree. Then I saw a flash of red through the dense branches, which really didn't make a lot of sense unless it was someone looking for me.

"Hey!" I called out, and the red stopped briefly, then rushed along even faster than before. I got to my feet to follow. It wasn't hunting season, and besides, didn't those guys usually wear shades of obnoxious and toxic orange?

Besides, whoever it was—and as I chased after the red, I knew it was a person—was either a dwarf or a child wearing a long, red hooded cloak.

It took a bit, but eventually I got a peek at what was under the hood. She was young, a teenager at the most, with blonde hair that curled around her face. Red glanced behind her once or twice, as if to see if I were following—but never acknowledged me.

She looked vaguely familiar. She carried a picnic basket in one hand and moved quickly, yet surely, through the woods, as if she were afraid a big, bad wolf was out to get her.

I followed little Ms. Red Cloak, hoping she'd lead me back to my car, or to someone who would know where I might've parked. After all, this forest couldn't be so big anyone who lived here wouldn't know where the cottage was.

So I followed her over the river and through the wood, feeling safe lagging far behind her because her red cloak would make her visible all the way through the Hundred-Acre Wood.

This forest was a lot bigger than I thought it was. And a lot hillier than anything in Michigan had a right to be.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she arrived at a neat and tidy little log cabin that looked like an oversized version of Lincoln Logs. Red walked up the stone pathway that led to the front door (from the middle of the woods?) and boldly knocked.

"Grandmother?" she cried. "Oh grandmother! I have come to bring you a basket full of treats from my mother!"

Speaking of treats, my stomach growled. I inched closer until I could smell the fried chicken. Now that was a treat that could get me to do my Snoopy dance.

"Grandma? Where are you?" Red pounded on the door again. "Please answer, darkness comes swiftly and I am afraid of the wolves in this forest."

Oh, ya gotta be kidding me.

"Dear," a gravelly voice croaked from inside the cottage, "I am very sick and can't get out of bed."

"But then whoever will let me in?"

"The door is unlocked. Come in and tend to your poor, ill grandma."

Now, I know lots of women and lots of men. Lots of TGs, TSs, TVs and every other possible combination and degree in between— and one thing I could tell you was that wasn't a woman with that voice. I wasn't quite sure what it was, but it wasn't a woman, of that I was certain.

While I was trying to decide what to do, the girl in her red cloak opened the door and went in.

Red cloak, with a hood. Little girl in the woods. Isolated cabin.

Okay, now all of that could either belong in a horror or porn flick. But add in the sick grandmother, who was unquestionably not a woman, with a gravelly voice, and it all added up to one thing. One thing that was, without a doubt, not possible. Nonetheless, one couldn't be too safe, so I quickly found the obligatory axe by the woodpile.

It was heavier than it looked. Grandmother must've had someone doing the chopping for her—someone like the local woodcutter perhaps. That is, unless she was The Little Old Lady from Pasadena, mixed in with the woman who wears a purple hat, and Miss Universe.

The cutting edge looked dull, so I found a slice of rough, thick leather, and did my best to sharpen the blade. Unfortunately, I cut the leather into two pieces. Oh, god, why couldn't I have taken some sort of knife class in college? Maybe even a good culinary course? Well, okay, those would've had me sharpening blades with something metal.

Oh well. I'd done the best I could. I brought the heavy axe up to rest on my shoulder and went to the cabin. I didn't have all day to waste, after all.

Having learned my lesson not too long ago, I tried the door before charging through it. It was unlocked, so I silently entered.

"Grandmother, what big eyes you have!"

"The better to see you with, my dear."

Okay, so when I was dashing through the forest, I ran into a tree, hit my head, and was now out cold, lying on the damp forest floor, probably with a concussion, and lots of little animals nibbling at me.

"Grandmother, what big ears you have!"

"The better to hear you with, my dear."

Oh, well. As long as I was here, I might as well do something. Especially since I knew how this story went.

"But Grandmother, what big teeth you have!"

I didn't bother trying the bedroom door first. Instead I opened it with a swift kick. Thank god for kickboxing!

What greeted me was so much like a scene from a Disney movie that I almost laughed out loud. A wolf lay on the bed, wearing a little old lady's cap and nightgown, and speaking English.

"The better to eat you with, my dear!" the big, bad wolf shouted, leaping from the bed and grabbing Little Red Riding Hood.

"This is so overdone," I said, bringing up the axe with both hands and swinging it from my shoulder to lop his head off. Or at least, that was the game plan. What actually happened was the swing threw the wolf back onto the bed with a deep red gash across his throat.

I thought I heard his neck crack on the second swing, but I still wasn't sure, so I tried again. It took four swings total for me to be sure the big, bad wolf was dead. And the head was still kinda attached. Okay, so I was no woodcutter.

I turned to the stunned girl, really not wanting to look at the really dead, bloodied, neck-skewed wolf's corpse any longer. "For chrissakes, when was your grandmother ever quite so furry? And are you gonna even try to tell me her nose was anywhere near so prominent?"

"That, that wasn't my grandmother!"

"Duh. Now run and get me a nice sharp knife." She stood still, looking at the blood pooling on the floor. "Yo, Red, can we hurry it up a bit? Your grandma's being digested even as we speak."

Red ran to out of the room and quickly returned with an evilly sharp knife. I took it, hoping to god I was right about this, because I was sure Red would be really sad if granny was dead. If memory served, grandma could still be retrieved from the wolf's overextended belly. (Really, did Red think grandma was pregnant or what?)

I took the knife, looked away, and aimed toward the beast's gut— only stopping my own hand at the last moment. I couldn't exactly do a random stab-in-the-gut now, could I? Grandma was in there!

I thought about lighting a smoke, but Red was staring at me expectantly, and I really did think the old woman was being digested. And I remembered why I decided against becoming a surgeon—I mean, I even had trouble dissecting Marsha, my dead frog in ninth grade bio!

I looked at the girl, then turned and sliced the beast open, gutting him like a fish. Wow. A sharp knife really does make a difference.

And there was grandma, gasping for breath. The wolf had swallowed her whole.

Just then, the front door burst open, and the woodsman came charging in, his own axe in hand.

"You're a little late," I said, kicking away my axe.

I washed my hands and the knife on the way out, slipping the handy blade into the back of my jeans. Maybe I wasn't in a movie, but I knew the time for a quick exit. But that still didn't stop me from grabbing a piece of that mouth-watering chicken from Red's basket.

Back into the dark woods I went, munching happily on a second piece of chicken. It was gonna play hell with my cholesterol, but it was all a dream. A really silly dream. And I was gonna wake up now.

How long did this forest go on for anyway?

Yup, right now, I was gonna come to on the forest floor and get some grub and go to the hospital for the concussion I was sure to have. My stomach rumbled its compliance with the decision to get food before going to the hospital. All I had to do was wake up and find my car.

Right now. As in, this instant.

But the scenery didn't change. I was still walking alone through the woods, and when I looked back, I couldn't see Grandma's cottage, nor any hint of smoke from the chimney.

I hadn't walked that far. It was as if the structure had simply disappeared. That wasn't possible.

But I had just slit open a wolf—ick!—and had a woman jump from its tummy, unharmed. I had just met Little Red Riding Hood, for fuck's sake. Nothing was possible because it was all a bad dream. A nightmare.

Thank god I wasn't on Elm Street. Then these dreams would have some guy with knives attached to his fingers, wanting to kill me, instead of damsels in distress, wanting me to save them. Oh no, what if this dream was being prompted by my thoughts? Freddie Krueger could be around any boulder or pine!

A white rabbit leapt across my path, scaring the shit out of me. I half expected to see a blonde girl in a blue dress to be following the rabbit. Poor innocent little bunny. I ate rabbit once. It was rather tough. Not the least bit like chicken. But of course, that might have just been my mother's non-existent cooking skills.

Somehow, regardless of the chicken wings, I was still hungry, and even remembering that god-awful rabbit dinner made me realize this simple forest was teeming with potential food. Birds warbled in the trees overhead, a deer leapt into a thicket, and small furry critters burrowed happily in the dirt. It was chock full of good things for my grumbling tummy. But that would require hunting, killing, skinning and cooking—none of which I was good at. I wasn't even sure if I could start a fire without matches or a lighter.

But, of course I had a lighter. That pack-a-day habit comes in handy! Speaking of, I suddenly realized why I was so tense. I hadn't smoked in a while. Took a bit for me to forget to smoke.

I pulled the pack from my jacket pocket, extracted one, and lit it. The smoke filled my lungs as the nicotine filled me with a sense of calm and relief. God, I needed that.

I knew I couldn't actually hunt, kill and eat innocent woodland creatures, even though I had just killed a wolf. But that was a dream. Having to really premeditate, beyond sharpening an axe, would be so... premeditated.

As the nicotine filled my system, relaxing me and giving me a mild buzz, I looked around and realized that Disney wasn't that wrong. Trees and underbrush and animals could look quite menacing and monsterific in the dark. They towered over me, like they were leaning toward me, stalking me, reaching for me.

No. Bad thoughts. Couldn't have those thoughts now. Perhaps I should wonder if all the animals were as close as they sounded. It was as if they had never seen people—they weren't scared of me, not running away or anything. Peculiar, really.

Except that maybe these weren't all cuddly bunny-type animals that wouldn't attack me. Maybe these were more wolf types ready to devour my lean, tender flesh, and enjoy its succulence.

Okay, no more bad thoughts. Don't think about Freddie, I warned myself. Of course, then all I could think about was Freddie. For a distraction I wondered what really was around me. I flicked my lighter (everything's afraid of fire, right?) and I realized I was looking at a patch of wild strawberries. Now, they weren't as large as regular ones, but I knew they wouldn't kill me. So I knelt and began a major scarf-fest. I could forget about the dirt and whatever had recently crawled over them, since this was a dream. Wasn't it? After all?

They were food, and that was all that mattered. I could hunt and ingest these all right. They were probably organic and therefore extra good for me.

But they didn't last long. I ate my way through them and was still hungry. I looked around for more berries, or something else that I knew I could safely eat, and that's when I saw...

A trail of bread crumbs.