Page 6 of Big Bad Wolf

Maybe that’s why, when the sun starts to dim and I still have no idea where I’m going, where I’m sleeping, what I’m eating, and how I’m going to relieve myself that doesn’t involve squatting behind a bush and getting piss all over my slip of a dress… again… I begin to have second thoughts after all. Sure, fairytales come with happy endings for the heroes and heroines, but there are lessons in there for the children, too.

“Hey, kiddies,” I mumble to myself as I stub my toe for the countless time, “you know the moral of this story? Don’t throw away your life savings because JOSIE521 online says that there’s a mythical forest that promises you magic and money and a wish if you’re brave enough to face the beasts.”

Brave? Me? You can call me reckless. Determined for sure. A hopeless romantic… yeah, that’s me. But I’m not all that brave. I just hate to be proven wrong, and I wanted to believe so badly that I could do this.

Can I do this?

I shift the red cloak on my shoulders, kind of regretting that I agreed to spend three nights in the foreboding forest at all. The fabric is heavier than it looks, trapping body heat against my skin, though the black nightdress underneath is barely there. Somewhere along the way I’ve started to sweat, beads of moisture welling up under the twist of hair that I’ve tucked under the hood.

I’m hungry. Sandy assured me that any of the fruit I come across in the woods is safe enough to eat. Same with the running water so long as it looks clear and not murky. Halfway through the day, I was thirsty enough to cup some of the water up to my mouth and take a sip. I haven’t gotten the runs yet—knock on wood—so I think it was okay. Unfortunately, I haven’t found any of that fruit she mentioned. With breakfast a distant memory, that’s just one more regret to add to the list.

But, despite the regrets, my sore feet, my empty belly, I keep on moving. For some reason, staying still in one spot sounds like a worse idea, and I’m holding out hope that—as though this really is a fairytale—I could be lucky enough to stumble upon an empty cottage and borrow a bed and a roof and, hopefully, a toilet for the night.

As I do, I try to fall back on instinct, on the same survival logic that’s gotten me through worse places than this. You got this, Char. Find some more water. Locate any kind of shelter, whether I crash somewhere or borrow, like, a cave or a lean-to. Figure out what’s useful, and what’s not. Keep moving until something changes.

Only nothing does.

Hours pass—or, at least, I think they do. The sun continues to shift overhead, but not in a way that makes sense to a girl from the suburbs. It feels too fast and too slow all at once, like time is playing tricks on me. I haven’t found another stream after the earlier one. No berries, no apples, no broken branches that suggest a trail, no sign that anything lives here at all.

It’s just trees, trees, trees everywhere I look.

I stop, turning slowly in a circle, my eyes tracking the same trunks, the same shadows, the same empty stretch of forest in every direction.

“Okay,” I say under my breath. “Not ideal, but it could be worse. Hell, it could be raining.”

I spend so much time on my own that it’s a long-time habit of mine to talk to myself. Out here, though? My voice sounds wrong. It’s too small, too quiet, like the forest swallows it the instant the words leave my mouth.

Shielding my eyes, I peer up through the trees, searching for clouds through the growing darkness. With my luck, I just put that out into the world and rain will start falling any second now.

When it doesn’t—and I heave a small sigh of relief—I shrug, pick a direction, and start walking again, as fast as I’m able.

The longer I walk, the quieter the forest grows. Which, when you’ve been told again and again about the monsters that lurk among the trees, you start to think that someone really is fucking with you.

At first, it’s subtle. The few birds I heard chirping and squawking fade out one by one, their birdsong replaced with nothing at all. The breeze dies down until the leaves above me stop rustling, hanging still and heavy in the air. Even the soft crunch of my steps feels too loud against the silence pressing in around me.

Shit. If I’m the only one making any noise in here, anyone—anything—listening will be able to track me by sound.

I slow my steps, dragging the long cloak behind me before I come to a sudden stop.

You know what? The quiet in here… it isn’t peaceful. It’s waiting.

It’s watching.

Oh, no…

A prickle of sudden fear crawls up the back of my neck. That instinct—the one that’s kept me alive in places that were supposed to be safe and weren’t—suddenly flares to life, and I have to swallow a soft moan.

Yeah. No denying it now.

I’m being watched.

I turn sharply, scanning the trees behind me, my gaze flicking from shadow to shadow, searching for movement, for anything out of place, and finding nothing.

Only the trees. Just the forest.

And yet⁠—

“Hello?” I call out before I can stop myself.