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"For those of you who do not know, the wolf has killed again. Hide your children! Lock your doors and whatever you do, do not venture towards the woods..."

"What does he mean mother?"

"Nothing Eliza, nothing to worry about,"

10 years later…

Eliza frowned. The gate was not normally left open, not on a full moon anyway. The forbidden sign had been removed from its usual position and the gate lay in pieces upon the floor. A cold feeling overcame her as if two eyes were boring into her, then time stilled and a pair of glistening red eyes appeared beside her. Then everything went black.

Miniature snowflakes brushed against her pale skin. She had never felt so alone in her life. Until her eyes lay upon the wolf. Frantically Eliza dashed across the snow; hastening her pace as the monster caught on and for one moment she knew he would kill her, the look in his eyes said it all. Then the wolf stopped. Dropped to his knees and wined pitifully in her direction.

It was just a matter of time, clearly; maybe this was how all of its victims felt as they came to meet their gory end. There were never any bodies, just little squares of their clothing left as a memory for the grieving families.

"Help, please someone! "She screamed desperately

Her creamy white cloak flittered in the breeze as the wind picked up.

"He'll eat me alive," Eliza sobbed.

Maybe this was what was meant to happen. Almost every harvest a sacrifice was made towards the wolf, a lamb; a human; it wouldn't matter so long as the wolf took the offering and left the village in peace until the next harvest. If she thought about it, no-one had been offered this year.

From beneath an old withered oak tree, the wolf growled menacingly and slowly yet surreptitiously crept towards Eliza. Sensing her chapter was to be drawn to an end, she braced herself, wrapped her cloak around her shaking body and shut her eyes.

The wind picked up, whilst the sky smothered the moon in a blanket of darkness. Nothing was to be heard but the desperate screams of Eliza. Finally there was silence.

Lying upon a layer of snow, Eliza Frank lay still. Her wavy hair swept around her like a curtain and her skin chalk white. Her once white cloak was now coated in red , for she was now lying in her own pool of blood .

And to this day she was called Little Red Riding Hood.