The Wolf, The Woodcutter, Granny & Red Riding Hood – A Twisted Retelling

Millie slouched in her seat, already bored as the unfamiliar substitute teacher, Miss Maple, stood before the class. With a silver bun wobbling precariously atop her head and ankles stuffed into the stoutest shoes Millie had ever seen, Miss Maple had an air of someone who had long ago stopped caring what anyone thought.

“Good afternoon, class,” Miss Maple greeted. “Today’s Wednesday, which means storytime. A tradition in my classroom.”

Millie barely concealed her groan. Storytime? She wasn’t in kindergarten anymore. Still, as Miss Maple asked, “Who’s heard of Little Red Riding Hood?” all hands shot up—except Millie’s, who sat back with arms folded and eyes rolling.

Miss Maple smiled sweetly, as if she hadn’t noticed. “Then I’ll begin. Once upon a time…”

Millie sighed deeply. She pushed her chair back onto its rear legs and let her mind drift, convinced this would be the longest afternoon of her life.

CRASH!

Millie hit the floor with a thud, sending a ripple of laughter through the class.

“Are you alright?” Miss Maple asked, hurrying to her side.

Millie blinked up at her, dazed. “Is Granny okay?”

The classroom exploded in giggles.

“Settle down!” Miss Maple scolded the others, helping Millie back to her chair. Millie sat up, cheeks burning, but something strange was happening. She could still see Miss Maple’s mouth moving, but her voice was fading, replaced by the rustling of leaves and distant bird calls.

She blinked. Her classmates blurred, their outlines shimmering until they vanished entirely. The classroom faded away, replaced by a cobblestone path lined with daffodils and leading up to a quaint wooden cottage.

A loud cry rang out from inside.
“HELP! HELP! The woodcutter’s gone mad!”

Millie stood, confused. Surely she was dreaming. She pinched herself hard.
“Ouch!” The pain was real. The welt on her arm proved it.

“HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE!” the voice cried again.

Nervously, Millie approached the door and knocked with the heavy claw-shaped knocker.
“Hello? Is everything okay?”

Suddenly, the door flung open and an elderly woman pulled Millie inside. She looked suspiciously like Miss Maple, though her silver bun was messier and her apron smeared with flour.

“Thank goodness!” the woman gasped. “The woodcutter’s gone completely mad!”

Millie ducked as a wooden chair leg flew past her head.
“I’m sick of it!” a deep voice bellowed. “I’m done chopping wood! Get an electric heater like everyone else!”

Millie stared in disbelief. The kitchen was in shambles—splintered furniture, a collapsed table, and a massive wolf dozing by the fireplace, his fur rising and falling gently.

“Wolfy’s not the problem,” Granny muttered, seeing Millie’s wide eyes. “He’s just a big old softy.”

“Softy? He’s the size of a horse!” Millie whispered, inching closer to Granny.

Suddenly, the woodcutter stomped past, accidentally stepping on Wolfy’s tail. The wolf bolted upright, growling menacingly.
Granny rushed over, stroking the wolf’s chest. “Easy now, Wolfy…bad woodcutter! Bad!”

Millie’s head was spinning. “Where’s the classroom? How did I get here?”

“I told you, dear. The woodcutter’s lost his mind,” Granny said matter-of-factly.

“I…must be dreaming,” Millie mumbled, touching her throbbing welt.

“Tea!” Granny announced abruptly, crossing to the stove. “Nothing settles a crisis like tea. Would you like a cup?”

“Yes, please,” Millie replied faintly, still trying to make sense of everything.

“I’ll have one,” the woodcutter sniffled from the corner, where he now sat sulking on the bed.

“Not until you explain why you’re destroying my home!” Granny snapped.

The woodcutter sighed deeply. “It’s the same every day—chop, chop, chop! Trees for firewood. I never get time to paint! Painting is my passion.”

Millie glanced at the easel tucked by the fireplace, a half-finished painting of a forest scene waiting patiently.

She suddenly had an idea. “Why don’t you all swap places?”

Granny raised a brow. “Swap places?”

“Yes! You sit by the fire to keep warm, Wolfy can rest on the bed, and the woodcutter—well, he can paint without chopping up furniture.”

Granny sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea. What about Wolfy? He’ll get cold.”

“He’s got his fur coat!” Millie said, laughing. “And a shawl, if necessary.”

“Brilliant!” the woodcutter declared, dragging the rocking chair close to the fire. “Come on, Granny.”

Granny hesitated but then shuffled to the chair. “Well, if Wolfy doesn’t mind the bed…”

Millie rummaged through the chest of drawers and held up a red cloak. “This would look nice on Granny…or me?”

Granny chuckled. “A gift for my granddaughter. She visits every Wednesday.”

“What’s her name?” Millie asked, donning the cloak.

“Millicent. We call her Millie.”

Millie froze. She glanced out the window—and there, walking up the path, was… herself.

Her head swam. The room spun. As she stumbled, she knocked the easel straight into the fire.

“Nooo!” the woodcutter cried, rushing to save his canvas—but it was too late. In frustration, he grabbed his axe and began chopping again.

“Not again!” Granny moaned. “HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE!”

As Millie collapsed, hot tea splashed over Wolfy, waking him with a howl. He lunged toward her, jaws wide.

Millie’s last thought was: What big teeth you have… before everything went black.

CRASH!

Millie hit the classroom floor again.

“Are you alright?” Miss Maple asked, her familiar bun bobbing.

Millie blinked, her heart racing. “Is Granny okay?”

The whole class roared with laughter, but Millie just smiled to herself. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but one thing was certain—Wednesday storytime was never going to be boring again.

Moral of the Story

Imagination can make even the dullest afternoon an adventure. Sometimes, the line between reality and dreams is thinner than we think—and a clever idea can fix more problems than an axe ever could.