Are you tucked in, little one? Good. Because last night we left Red walking happily along the forest path, not knowing that two golden eyes were watching her from behind a wide old oak tree.
Well, my darling, right at the very next bend, out from behind that oak tree stepped a wolf.
Now, this was no ordinary wolf. He walked on his hind legs, just a little, the way clever forest creatures sometimes do in stories like this one. He wore a rather dashing green waistcoat with brass buttons, because — and this is true — he did fancy himself quite the gentleman. His fur was a warm, autumn-leaf orange, his tail was bushy and proud, and his smile, when he smiled, showed just a few too many teeth.
"Well, well, well," said the Wolf, bowing low with a flourish of his tail. "Good morning, little miss. What a very fine red cloak you're wearing. And what a heavy basket! Wherever could you be going, all alone in this big forest?"
Now, Red was a clever girl — remember that — and her mother's words were still fresh in her ears. Do not tell strangers where you are going. So she straightened up, held her basket a little closer, and said politely, "Good morning, sir. I'm just taking a little walk, thank you."
The Wolf's smile didn't budge, but his golden eyes narrowed just a touch, the way eyes do when someone is thinking very hard. "A walk! How lovely. And might I ask — what a delicious smell is coming from that basket? Bread, I'd wager. And... honey?"
"It's just a picnic for myself," said Red quickly, holding the basket even tighter.
Now, my little dreamer, the Wolf was clever too — cleverer, perhaps, than any wolf ought to be — and he noticed something rather interesting. He noticed that Red's basket had six apples poking out the top, tied with a note that said, in careful handwriting, "For Grandma, with love." Oops. A little peek of paper, and the whole plan was practically given away.
But the Wolf, being sly, said nothing about the note. Instead, he tried a different, softer sort of trick.
"You know," he said, strolling alongside her — though Red made sure to keep a full arm's length of distance, being a sensible girl — "I don't often see such lovely flowers as the ones just over there." He pointed one clawed paw off the path, toward a little clearing absolutely bursting with wildflowers — purple ones, yellow ones, and tall white daisies nodding in the breeze. "Wouldn't your dear... whoever it is you're visiting... love a fresh bouquet? Much nicer than store-bought."
Red hesitated.
Now, she remembered her mother's warning — stay on the path, don't wander off. But oh, those flowers really were beautiful, and surely just one quick little detour wouldn't hurt anything, would it? And besides, Grandma did so love fresh flowers on her kitchen table...
"I suppose... a small bouquet couldn't hurt," Red said slowly.
The Wolf's smile widened, just a touch too wide. "Splendid idea! You pick your flowers, little miss, and I shall... continue my own walk. Good day to you!" And with a polite bow and a swish of his bushy tail, he trotted off down the path — but the very moment Red turned toward the flowers, his polite little trot burst into a full, galloping run.
Red, humming happily to herself, stepped off the path and into the sunny clearing. She picked a purple one. Then a yellow one. Then three white daisies, because three was her lucky number. She was having such a lovely time, in fact, that she quite forgot to notice how far the path had drifted behind her, or how the shadows under the trees had grown just a little longer, or how very quiet the forest had suddenly become.
Meanwhile — far ahead, weaving fast between the trees on all four legs now, faster than any gentleman-wolf in a green waistcoat had any business running — our sly friend was racing straight for one very particular cottage: the one with the crooked chimney and the garden bursting with sunflowers.
He knew exactly where he was going. That little peek of paper on the basket, remember? For Grandma, with love. And everybody in the forest — rabbits, birds, badgers — knew good and well that only one grandmother lived down that lane, in that cottage, with that garden.
The Wolf grinned his big, toothy grin as the cottage chimney came into view, smoke curling from its top.
"Knock, knock," he chuckled to himself, licking his lips — not out of any real mischief you need worry about, little one, just a wolf's very best impression of a very clever plan. "Let's see who's home."
Sweet dreams, little dreamer. Tomorrow night, we find out exactly what happens when a clever wolf in a green waistcoat comes knocking on a grandmother's door — and Grandma, it turns out, has a trick or two of her own.