by Mary Ting
To Mary’s angels, thank you for believing in me and for all your support.
To my bestie, Alexandrea Weis, for always being there for me and giving me great advice.
To my readers, thank you for your continuous support. Your friendship and love for my stories means the world to me.
Preview of the next book in the Tangled Fairy Tales Series
Redd Riding Hood
Chapter One
Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf
Redd
The unforgiving breeze stung my bones.
I shivered as its icy fingers clawed my nape. Even the squirrels felt the warning. They scrambled up to the intertwining branches, scampering from the last bit of sun as dusk drew near.
I wished I had listened to my instincts and begged Father to hunt another day, but I didn’t want him to think I was lazy. How was I to explain the foreign sensation in my gut, cutting off my air, or that my dream the previous night had terrified me so much I awoke in damp nightclothes?
He would think I had gone mad.
Scents of pine and soil filled my nose. The familiar bumps and curves of the landscape enticed me to enter, as if to say, “Safe. You are safe to enter. No harm will come to you, boy. You have come to me since you were a child, and I have never hurt you.”
Yellow and orange leaves fluttered like butterflies, swirling and dancing with the breeze. The branches were almost bare, getting ready for winter.
The snap of the twigs and thud of my feet meeting the dirt brought me back to my purpose.
My skin crawled.
Something tugged at my center again, but this time it wasn’t friendly. “Leave the forest,” it seemed to say. “Go now before it’s too late.”
The forest I loved, where I’d gone hunting countless times, became something to fear.
Why the sudden change?
I didn’t know why this sensation gnawed at me, stretching and growing the longer I stayed. But I ignored it. Pushed it aside. I feared Father would think I was a coward.
Whoosh.
Crack.
I flinched and whirled with my musket raised, my back to my dad’s. Something had rustled inside the bushes yards away. The leaves crunched to the left, with more shuffling in front of the bushes.
“Stay next to me.” My father gripped my shirt and yanked me closer.
My heart pounded, ready for the kill. I had shot a deer before, and every time my stomach clenched, but not this time. I wouldn’t let it.
I bottled up my anxiousness and told myself killing an animal was out of necessity. Winter was near and we had to get ready. I pushed aside the guilt.
Father slung the first musket’s strap tightly around his shoulder. Then he aimed the second toward the bushes ahead. Father always brought two when we went hunting.
He spun to follow the deer’s impossibly fast leaps. Unless there was more than one, it couldn’t have covered the ground that swiftly.
I crouched low, mimicking my father when I spotted a patch of brown, and then antlers. The deer would not only provide us meat, but a new coat for my sister.
Such an easy kill.
There was no challenge. The deer held still. One shot straight to its throat would mean a quick death.
Father waved his hand toward the deer, signaling that he was allowing me the killing blow.
I’ve got this.
I pressed my finger on the cool metal, and then the air shifted.
Cold. Dangerous. Haunting.
Phantom claws raked over me. I shoved that feeling down and squashed it. I would not let this fear leach away my nerve or spoil my aim.
Hesitation was never good. The image of Father’s frown flashed in my mind.
Not now. Not now. Not now. Do it. Shoot.
My finger tightened, ready to squeeze, but ...
Father jolted up and took a step back, almost knocking me over in the process. He glanced from tree to tree.
Still on bended knee, I curled my finger around the trigger again, but the deer had gone. Father had spooked it.
I cursed, but Father’s action worried me. Never had he scared away game.
Father pushed my musket down and hauled me up. “Shhh ...”
“Father—”
I had used the same quiet tone, but Father covered my mouth with a trembling hand.
He pressed his mouth to my ear. “Son. When I let go, you run. Run as fast as you can to home and do not look back. Do you hear me?”
Yes, I hear you. No, I will not run. I’m eighteen. I’m a man.
I wanted to ask questions, but when his grip on my shirt tightened, I acquiesced. No time to argue when it seemed so important to him. Then his hold on me loosened, but he didn’t fully let go.
A low growl from a dense thicket to my right raised the hair on my arms. My breath caught in my throat. Father must have known a predatory beast lurked about. I had been so focused on not missing my target, I had shut out all the noises around me—like looking through a tunnel at my prey.
The same guttural noise came from the opposite side, behind me ... and then ... A figure with eyes as red as fire, black and gray fur, and dagger-like teeth stood several yards away.
Not a deer.
Not a fox.
A wolf?
Twice the size of a wolf.
Dear God. What in heaven was the monstrous figure in front of me?
I had never seen such an enormous creature in my life. And just like that, I had turned into a scared little boy. Muscles trembling. Mouth shut. Brain useless. Heart galloping. One second earlier, I had been the predator. In a breath, I became the prey.
Go away. Just go away.
“Son. Don’t move.”
Father’s shaky voice was hardly audible as his fingers ever so slowly uncurled from my shirt, lifted his musket, and then fired. The deadly sound echoed throughout the forest, followed by the smack of the bullet in animal flesh.
The beast howled in pain and spun to reveal blood seeping from its side. I relaxed my shoulders and released the breath I held.
Safe. The forest did not forsake me.
Then a snarl loud as a thunderous storm erupted from the wounded creature.
My knees buckled and my breath stuck somewhere inside my throat. The same sound came from my left, and the right. Rustling and thumps convinced me we were not safe after all.
I’d thought the beast was alone, but it seemed it had brought its family with him. Wolves traveled in packs. I had forgotten until the continuous guttural noise surrounded us. There had to be dozens of them.
Run. Run. Run. No. Don’t be a coward. You can’t leave Father alone.
Father whirled and blasted his second musket, but I couldn’t move.
Help him, damn you. What’s wrong with you?
I finally raised mine to shoot, but something shoved me aside.
Dirt painted my face. My palms slammed against rough pebbles and twigs. I spat out the soil and hopped back to my feet, searching for my weapon.
Just as I spun, a smaller wolf gripped father’s musket in its heavy jaw and held it immobile. Then the wolf my father had wounded tore into his shoulder with his teeth and swiped a claw across his neck.
I wanted to believe this was a nightmare I would wake up from, but Father’s head tumbled from his body, blood marking a trail of its direction.
The ground split open and sucked me under. I screamed, but no sound escaped.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
Father ...
Horror rendered me speechless. My limbs buckled. I became immobile as the boulder behind me.
With my father’s blood dripping from its mouth, the wolf locked eyes with me, advancing triumphantly. Its gait steadfast, its eyes promising the same fate.
This monster didn’t seem like a mindless animal, but instead a beast with purpose and understanding—more than it should.
Five wolves stood behind the larger wolf.
Shoot it. Kill it.
I was
desperate to grab something ... anything to defend myself. When I eyed my musket next to the tree, another wolf pawed it to the side.
Its mocking expression seemed to say, “You’re dead. You’re our dinner now.”
Father had died to save me. He had pushed me when the first wolf attacked. And this is how I would repay him? No. I would not die here. I would not die today.
I picked up a stick as the wolves began to pace, taunting me. The leader with black and gray fur snapped its jaws and roared. It pawed at the ground, like the way the dogs did after taking a shit. But this was no friendly gesture. Either he was performing some kind of wolf ritual before the kill, or he was giving me a warning.
I pointed my stick at him, and then whirled to the other wolves that paced near me.
Nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide.
I was good as dead, but I would fight ‘til my last breath with every ounce of strength I had left.
The faces of my mother, my little sister, and my truest friends Noah, Beth, and Ruby flashed in my mind. They would be left to starve in their own grief with Father and me dead.
After the wolves killed me, they would most likely eat me to the bone. Food was scarce in the forest; they must be starving to so boldly attack musket-armed humans.
The dark gray wolf to my left sprang, opened its mouth, and yanked my stick away. A soldier to ensure no harm would come to the leader. Once I had no weapon to defend myself, the leader wolf dove for me.
Someone help me, please.
The pack leader lunged for me.
I should have felt pain beyond measure, felt my flesh rip and blood flow. In fact, I should be on the ground and mauled by the pack.
But another wolf, with startling white fur, had attacked the leader. Though smaller, it roared like a lion and fought like an experienced warrior. Its strength seemed incredible.
They tumbled, churning up dirt and pebbles. The other wolves backed away, watching.
Do something, idiot.
I picked up my musket and pointed at the two wolves. I could have shot at the pair, maybe scare off the others and get rid of the nightmares, but I couldn’t. The white wolf had saved me—I thought. Maybe it had waited for the right opportunity to attack the alpha. Regardless, it saved my life.
Coward. Shoot them all. Hurry.
I aimed my musket at the nearest wolf, but none attacked. They snarled, sharp teeth showing and jaws snapping. My instincts beckoned me to shoot, but my heart wouldn’t let me. I would only kill to defend myself. Even though they had killed Father.
I fired toward the sky, hoping it would startle them. The surrounding wolves backed away, but the fighting two didn’t stop. Taking my chance, I reloaded with trembling hands and pulled the trigger.
The leader wolf broke away with a jerk and a hideous yelp. It licked at a smudge of blood on its shoulder and whimpered as its soldiers circled it protectively. As a unit, they disappeared into the deepest dark shadows. The white wolf was not among them.
I hurried to search for the last wolf, fearing it would attack me next.
Red stained the beautiful white coated wolf, but it wasn’t its own blood. The wolf stood on a boulder, staring at me with stunning golden eyes. Strange. Not a threat. Perhaps to thank me.
But I didn’t understand why it had attacked the other wolf. Maybe they had a history. Maybe this wolf was sick of the other wolf leading the pack. Whatever its reason for being there, I thanked it.
I waited, breath heaving, my chest rising and falling as fast as the wolf’s. When it loped away, I dashed toward my father.
Oh God. The horror. The blood. My father. He didn’t deserve this wretched death. I would never forget the beast that killed my father. I would never forget ... never forgive ... my lack of courage.
My fault.
Father had died because of me. Because I wasn’t fast enough. He had protected me, but I had failed to protect him.
But why had the white wolf saved me? Fate had kept me alive. Why?
I dropped to my knees, my heart shattering to a thousand pieces, dead as the leaves on the ground. Uncontrollable tears fell. The pain unbearable from my loss, the guilt tearing me apart inside and out.
“I’m so sorry, Father. I should have been braver. I am ashamed of myself.”
I was at a loss of what to do. How could I explain what had happened to my family?
Kneeling in the dirt, I grieved as darkness fell upon the world. I let time slip away.
I wished I could too.
About the Author
Mary is an international bestselling, award-winning author. She writes soulful, spellbinding stories that excite the imagination and captivate readers around the world. Her books span a wide range of genres, and her storytelling talents have earned a devoted legion of fans, as well as garnered critical praise.
Becoming an author happened by chance. It was a way to grieve the death of her beloved grandmother, and inspired by a dream she had in high school. After realizing she wanted to become a full-time author, Mary retired from teaching after twenty years. She also had the privileged of touring with the Magic Johnson Foundation to promote literacy and her children’s chapter book: No Bullies Allowed.
Mary resides in Southern California with her husband, two children, and two little dogs, Mochi and Mocha. She enjoys oil painting and making jewelry. Being a huge Twilight fan, Mary was inspired to make book-themed jewelry and occasionally gives it away as prizes to her fans.
www.JaclynandtheBeanstalk.com
www.TangledTalesofTing.com