I Hate Red

As my friends and family have received such a great response to their short stories that have been posted on my blog, I have been asked to post another short story written by a very good friend of mine. 

The story was written back in 2002 as an exercise for a writing course. In my humble opinion it turned out very well and I personally enjoyed reading it. 

I hope you do too!

I Hate Red

By Blair Holmes

Fiona hated the colour red, she always had. In her mind it was the worst colour imaginable, after all blood was red and that wasn't nice stuff.

"Why do I have to wear this?" She shouted from inside her bedroom.

"Don't argue with me, you know your grandparents like you in that dress. They bought you that for Christmas," snapped her mother.

Fiona sighed as she looked in the mirror. 'I hate red,' she muttered as she walked out of her room stamping her feet loudly against the floorboards.

Fiona's mother stood at the front door. "Ah, you look beautiful," she said as her daughter walked down the stairs.

No I don't, thought Fiona. All I need is a pair of Ruby slippers, then I'll look like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.

"Now remember, give your grandparents a kiss from me," said her mother as she handed Fiona a basket full of food and gifts.

"Yes mum," she whispered. She daren't mention her dress this close to her mother's right hook.

As she walked off along the path she glanced back and saw her mother waving at her. Fiona gave her mother a quick wave, and then continued on her journey towards the forest.

The sun was high in the sky, and there was a gentle breeze, which blew through her long brown hair. As she entered the forest she saw a huntsman standing in the long grass, his binoculars fixed to his eyes.

"Hello," Fiona called out.

The huntsman placed his finger to his lips, "Shh," he whispered.

"What are you hunting?" She asked softly.

"Bigfoot." Replied the huntsman.

Fiona almost burst out laughing, but instead she just smiled and continued along the path.

As Fiona walked along she began humming a tune from one of her favourite pop bands. She was so engrossed that she hadn't even noticed that something was following her. 

Suddenly it jumped out in front of her.

Fiona froze, as there, large as life, stood a wolf, it's huge eyes popping out of their sockets in delight of seeing this tasty snack.

"That's a nice tune," said the wolf, "What's your name, little one?"

"Fiona," she replied calmly, this was an enchanted forest after all, so she wasn't surprised that the wolf could speak.

Now, I should point out that this wasn't your bog standard wolf, the likes of which you see in 'Lassie' and say 'Ah, how cute.' This was a giant among wolves, apart from being able to speak, which you may think quite odd, it was also well over six feet tall. It's teeth sharp and threatening. And this particular wolf was very skinny, and looked terribly, terribly hungry.

It could have easily gobbled up Fiona there and then. But instead it continued to speak.

"Where would you be going on such a nice day?" asked the wolf?

What a stupid wolf, thought Fiona, why doesn't it just shut up and eat me?

"I'm going to my grandparents cottage, on the other side of the forest. And I have brought some food and some gifts for them too."

The wolf sniffed the basked of goodies.

"Smells good," it said, "well, I would love to stay and chat, but I seem to have pressing and tasy business elsewhere."

And without saying another word, the wolf strutted off through the long grass.

The clearing, in which Fiona's grandparents cottage stood, was quiet and picturesque. There was a pond on one side, and a small wooden fence surrounding the cottage. Smoke gently puffed out of the chimney, and the smell of a Sunday roast filled the air.

That's odd, grandpa is usually asleep on that deck chair right about now, thought Fiona as she walked up to the cottage.

She knocked on the door. There was no answer.

She knocked again, but this time she heard a faint voice calling out.

"Come in, come in," it said.

Great, too lazy to open their door, she thought as she rummaged for the key.

"Ah, there it is," muttered Fiona as she unlocked the door and let herself in.

"Grandma? Grandpa?" She called out.

"In here," said a croaky voice which was coming from the bedroom.

Fiona walked in, and stared at grandma lying in her bed.

"Where's grandpa?" She asked.

"He's popped out," replied grandma, her voice sounding even croakier than before.

Fiona looked her grandma up and down. Her feet were sticking out of the end of the bed.

"My, you do have big feet grandma," said Fiona who couldn't remember ever seeing her grandma's feet before.

"All the better for walking," replied grandma, "now, what have you brought in your basket?"

Fiona walked around the bed and placed the basket of goodies on the bedside table. Then she looked round at her grandma , and almost jumped back in shock.

She looked a lot worse that normal, and she definitely needed a shave.  I'm not kissing that, she thought remembering what her mother had said.

"My, what big eyes you've got," said Fiona, noticing grandma's eyes bulging in their sockets.

"All the better to see you with," replied grandma.

"My, what big teeth you've got," said Fiona, taking a step back.

"All the better for eating you with,"

Fiona gasped as she recognised the voice of the wolf she'd met earlier.

Suddenly, before Fiona had a chance to move, the wolf leapt out of the bed and gobbled her up in one loud gulp.

Meanwhile, in another part of the forest, the huntsman was still searching for Bigfoot. Quietly he crept along, staying in the shadows of the trees, unheard, unseen. The wind ruffled his short dark hair. His ears seemed to twitch with every sound of the forest.

There, something moved, he thought as he quickly ducked down in the long grass.

He looked through his binoculars then quickly dropped them in surprise. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, and again looked through his binoculars, just to make sure he hadn't dreamt it.

That's odd, why would a wolf be wearing a nightgown? And such and ugly one too?

Silently he followed, curious of where the strange looking wolf was gong. The wolf was extraordinarily fat and rather slow, so it was easy for the huntsman to keep up.

The sun was quite low in the sky as he continued to follow the wolf out of the forest.

This would make a splendid trophy, thought the huntsman, imagining what the villagers would say when he brought home a wolf that size.

Suddenly he realised that the wolf was out of sight, oh no, where's it gone, he thought. He looked left and right, up and down, but it was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh great, I've lost another hunt," muttered the huntsman.

"May I ask what you were hunting?" Asked a voice from behind him.

The huntsman almost jumped out of his skin. He turned around and there stood the wolf. The same wolf he'd been following.

"I, I was hunting you." Said the huntsman with a tremble in his voice.

The wolf laughed.

"You? Such a little man? Hunting Me?" Asked the wolf in mockery. "I'm over twice the size of you! My claws alone are the size of your whole hand! It is me who should be hunting you! In fact, I think I will, I was looking for a dessert." Suddenly the wolf bared all it's teeth, and leapt forward, towards the huntsman.

Quickly, the huntsman jumped out of the way, but he was a fraction too slow. The wolf's claw scrapping against his shoulder.

"Ahhh," he screamed, feeling a cold pain run down his arm.

He glanced around and lifted his rifle with his good arm.

The wolf ran towards him. He fired a shot which slowed the wolf down but didn't stop him. The wolf continued to charge. The huntsman reloaded his gun and fired again. This time the wolf stumbled and then collapsed on top of the huntsman.

He could smell it's last breath as he crawled out from underneath it. Exhaused, he lay down beside the wolf, resting his head against the beast's chest.

Startled, he looked up. He could swear that he heard voices coming from inside the wolf. 

Must be hearing things, he thought as he rested his head back against the beast's chest. But again he could hear voices. 

This time he got out his hunting knife, and carefully opened up the dead creature.

The huntsman couldn't believe his eyes as there in front of him stood Fiona, her grandma and her grandpa, all covered completely in a mixture of blood and red berries, which the wolf had eaten earlier that day.

"I HATE RED," screamed Fiona at the top of her voice. 

And never again, did her grandparents buy her anything that was the colour red.