My earliest memories are asking my mother to re-read my favorite story every night before bed. It didn’t matter that I had heard it every night before bed and that I had just heard it, I always wanted to here it again. She tried to get me to like other tales from the brothers Grimm, but none I loved as much as the tale of the little girl in the red hood.

My infatuation with the story may have been because we lived in a small cottage just outside of town at the edge of the wood. Grandmother moved into town years before my birth, but before then her house was nestled away in the woods. The house still stood over looking the creek, and Grandmother still owned it. Why wouldn’t she? She loved that house, she only moved from it so to appease her children’s fears about living so far away from everything and everyone when Grandfather died.

The house itself was a beautiful one that we visited once a month for a day of ‘family fun’. My mothers brothers and sisters and their wives and husbands and children would come as would Grandmother. We would have a large picnic outside for lunch on the first day that left us too full for dinner and after we had played to our hearts content we would go inside and sleep. The only rooms unoccupied by slumbering relatives were the kitchen, basement, and bathrooms.

The first memory I have of our weekend there holds what may have furthered my obsession with the story. I was around the age of three and had wandered away from my older cousins who were supposed to keep an eye on me. I heard a rustling in a nearby bush and went to investigate. A wolf pup of the deepest black fur and lightest blue eyes popped out of the bush chasing a butterfly. When it saw me it stopped and began to back away slowly until two full grown wolves appeared, one grey, the other much larger one black. I knew enough then that I should keep still and not make a sudden move towards the pup who eyed me curiously. The grey one grey one bent its head down and nudged the pup with its nose towards me. The pup turned to look at the large black one who bowed its head in return and the pup took a tentative step forward followed by another, and another until it had reached me. I held out my small hand for the pup to sniff and it did. Carefully, as my mother had told me to do when petting a dog I did not know, I reached out and scratched behind its ear. My cousins chose that moment to call out my name distracting me, I turned to look and saw that they were no where in sight and turned back to the pup. The wolves had gone.

Sometimes I believe it to be a dream, but then I remember the feel of the soft fur beneath my fingers.

I never saw the wolves again.
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I'm still working on a few kinks with the layout, so forgive the extreme brightness of the chapter title.