I'd spent a long time wondering what happened to the girl afterward. The books never mentioned that.
Maybe Red grew up checking every locked door twice. Maybe she learned to recognize footsteps before faces. Maybe she spent the rest of her life wondering whether the woods had changed her, or whether she'd always belonged there.
I took another drag.
The cigarette had more sense than I did.
The wolf was the interesting part. Every version of the story gave him the same job. Big teeth. Bad intentions. A stomach full of unfortunate people. An uncomplicated bastard.
Real wolves were harder to spot.
Some wore expensive suits. Some had pleasant voices. Some never entered the room at all. They just waited until you were alone and started talking from somewhere behind your eyes.
Those were the worst. You couldn't shoot them, couldn't outrun them, and calling the police would only make you look like an idiot.
They knew the path better than you did. Knew where you hesitated. Knew which questions could keep you awake until morning.
And they had a peculiar talent for making you feel guilty about being afraid.
I flicked ash into the darkness.
There were nights when I almost missed the old forest. At least there, a creature showing its teeth had the decency to admit what it wanted.
Down below, traffic moved through the rain. Hundreds of little red lights disappearing between the buildings, each one carrying somebody toward a destination they probably regretted choosing.
I wondered how many had followed the path exactly as they'd been told, only to find the wolf waiting at the other end.
The cigarette burned down to the filter. I crushed it between two metal fingers and watched the last ember die.
The girl in red had survived the woods. That was supposed to be the happy ending.
I pulled the hood lower, got to my feet, and headed for the stairwell.
The wolf could stay out in the rain.
He'd already taken enough of my night.