The Third Case: Red Riding Hood – A Dark Retelling of the Classic TalePermalink: the-third-case-red-riding-hood

“Poor girl, scared to death by a big bad wolf.”
“She must have been so traumatized…”
“And her poor grandmother, what a terrifying ordeal…”
“Do you think the old lady ever got that basket?”
“Such a shame… she was only a little girl.”

But was that the full story?

What exactly was in that basket?
Who really was Granny Red?
And what became of the Big Bad Wolf?
Why red, of all colors?

That’s where I come in.
Fantasy Investigator. Journalist. Detective.
Polkadot, reporting for duty.

The Forest of Legend

Thug hated these kinds of days—the kind where his boss was entirely too quiet. When Polkadot, his mysterious employer, was quiet, it meant she was thinking. And when she was thinking, it meant Thug would soon find himself somewhere he’d rather not be.

They stood at the edge of a sprawling, unnaturally dense forest. Tall, looming trees tangled with vines, dark shadows stretching like yawns of an ancient mouth waiting to swallow intruders whole.

Thug, clutching his little satchel of provisions, tried to reason with her.
“Ma’am, are you certain this is the correct forest? Maybe the one we passed earlier—”

Polkadot interrupted without so much as glancing his way. “Thug, can’t you feel it? This forest is alive with power. It hums in the air.”

Thug couldn’t feel anything of the sort—only the prickling of fear down his furry spine. Yet, he followed as always, because no assistant worth his salt leaves his boss to wander alone. As Polkadot adjusted the handlebars of her enchanted bicycle—The Con-Artist—she muttered, “This is the forest where legends happened, still happen, and, if we’re lucky, will happen again.”

With that, she pedaled forward, into the murk.

Shadows and Memories

The deeper they ventured, the heavier the air became. It smelled of moss, damp wood, and something else—something metallic, like rusted iron.
Polkadot’s voice was steady. “Thug, do you recall the tale of the girl with the red hood?”

He nodded cautiously. “Of course. A little girl, a red cloak, a cunning wolf, a saved grandmother. Standard bedtime fare.”

Polkadot smiled faintly. “There are many versions, Thug. And what if I told you… that not a single one was the truth?”

Thug shuddered. The Con-Artist rang its little bell impatiently, like even it sensed something watching.

Before he could respond, Polkadot stopped abruptly. She stared into the pitch-black canopy above.
“We’re camping here.”

“What? Here? Are you serious?” Thug’s wings shivered. “What if something—someone—finds us?”

Polkadot patted his head. “That’s precisely what I’m hoping for.”

The Con-Artist transformed smoothly into a caravan, tattered flag flapping: The Con-Artist. A skull with a blue bow tie adorned the front.

“We wait, Thug. Until the forest permits us to enter properly.”

The Witching Hour

They didn’t sleep. Polkadot sat cross-legged, eyes shut in meditation. Thug tried to keep calm as strange sounds echoed outside: hoots, snarls, and—once—a chilling chuckle.

Then came footsteps. Slow, deliberate.

Polkadot opened her eyes.
“Follow.”

Without hesitation, Thug did, his tiny legs barely keeping up. They trailed a figure cloaked in red, gliding effortlessly through the blackness.

In a clearing stood a quaint cottage, half-sunk into a hill, its doorway camouflaged by shrubs. The red-hooded girl—her cloak vibrant even in the dark—picked up a basket and knocked. An old woman opened the door. Together, they entered. The door shut.

Silence.

Suddenly, an unearthly howl split the air. The cottage door burst open—out stormed a beast, a grotesque wolf-like figure tearing at its granny disguise, jaws stained with crimson. Its eyes locked on Polkadot and Thug.

Thug whimpered, trying to flee, but Polkadot held him firm. The wolf lunged—

And just as suddenly, Thug was yanked through reality, landing back by The Con-Artist, panting and wide-eyed.

“We’re inside the forest now,” Polkadot muttered. “The true forest.”

“What just—what was that?”

“We’ve stepped past the illusion.”

Before Thug could respond, a growl emerged from the shadows. Two glowing eyes stared them down.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

The voice was deep, layered with ancient fatigue.

Polkadot stepped forward. “And yet here we are. Business, you see.”

“You’re meddling with forces beyond you. Leave, before it’s too late.”

Polkadot smiled thinly. “I don’t have a life to fear for.”

“I smell power in your blood… no, not you—him,” the voice sneered, eyeing Thug.

A chilling howl echoed, closer.

“They’ve picked up his scent. They’re coming.”

“What’s coming?” Thug squeaked.

“Not wolves,” the voice murmured. “You’ve been chasing shadows. The girl died long ago. Her grandmother bit her. She was the first.”

“What are you saying?” Polkadot demanded.

“Vampires. The girl. The grandmother. A curse that never died.”

The red hood materialized, hovering. Then, with a blink, the girl herself emerged—feral, fanged, a banshee of rage. She pounced at Polkadot, and the forest erupted in chaos. Red and blue flashed, claws and spells colliding.

“Thug!” Polkadot screamed, her voice desperate. “Glow your paws! Now!”

Without hesitation, Thug rubbed his paws together. Light bloomed—blinding, warm. He leapt forward into the blur, pressing his paws to the writhing figures.

A scream tore the air. Then silence.

Ashes and Aftermath

Thug awoke atop a pile of ash, Polkadot watching over him.

“You did well,” she said softly.

“I did?”

“Yes.” She pointed at the ash. “She’s gone.”

But another voice broke through.

“She was already dead.”

It was the wolf, crouched nearby, hollow-eyed.

“You’ve only made it worse. Her grandmother will come. She has a clan. She will hunt you both.”

Polkadot crouched before him. “She can’t kill you. You’re already dead.”

“I… I am?”

“The day she bit her granddaughter, she made her first kill. You. Her white coat turned red with your blood.”

Realization washed over the wolf. He hung his head. “I remember… I’ve been running for eternity.”

“You’re free now.” Polkadot whispered.

“No. This is my prison.”

“Then be free of this world.”

Before their eyes, the wolf’s spirit faded, like morning mist.

Polkadot picked up the basket the girl had dropped. She peeked inside and grimaced.

“Vampires,” she said. “All blood and red and hunger.”

The case was solved.

Epilogue: A Change of Scenery

Morning light finally broke as they exited the forest. Thug fluttered beside his boss, relieved beyond words.

“Mam… what about Old Granny Red?”

“We’ll meet her,” Polkadot said, her eyes on the horizon. “Soon enough. The realm is open now. The real hunt begins.”

They walked on in thoughtful silence until Polkadot declared cheerfully, “I’m due for a change of scenery. Too many spirits and forests. Let’s visit civilization.”

“Civilization?”

“A ball, Thug. I feel like dancing.”

And just like that, they set off, the forest shrinking behind them—but its shadows ever watching.

Moral of the Story

Every tale hides a deeper truth. Sometimes the hunter is the prey, the victim is the predator, and the woods never let their ghosts rest for long.