A large shadow flew in front of me, cawing at my presence. The black bird knew something but wasn't about to talk to me. I arrived at the old cottage and knocked on the weathered door. No one answered.
"That's funny," I thought. "She said she'd be home at this hour."
"Grams, it's Joan. Are you here?" I asked through the unpainted door.
Using my key, I entered the home. In the foyer were her coats and gardening tools. One of them was missing. I stepped further and approached my grandmother's bedroom. That's when I saw a shovel leaning near the door frame. Thinking she had forgotten it when interrupted, I shrugged it off as a an forgetful trait.
"Grams," I called again and still I received no answer.
"Cough, cough," I heard from the bedroom.
Fearing the worse, I ran toward the room and stood in the doorway. There was someone under the covers.
"Who might you be?" a throaty voice asked.
"It's me, Joan. Are you all right?"
Then to my surprise a hairy beast jumped toward me.
I grabbed the shovel and took a deliberate swing toward the wolf's head. I beat him again until he laid dying on the floor. That's when I heard a faint voice beneath my feet.
"Joan, where are you?" she called.
I rolled the dead wolf to one side and lifted the carpet away from the closed cellar door.
"It's me, grams," I said.
She stood on a short ladder under the flooring. I extended my arm to help her step into the bedroom.
Hugging me, she looked at the dead wolf and back to my eyes.
"Oh, you wore the little red riding hood I made for you," she exclaimed. "Thank you so much for saving me. I was so worried the wolf would harm you."
"No problem, grams. Let's call Mr. Hunter down the road and see if he can help get rid of this animal."©A.Nation2019