Woo, I can't believe it's been nearly a year since I dated this little beauty! Well, I'm back everyone, with all new adventures for the Red Lady. There'll be new faces, there'll be old faces, but no matter, we're gonna have a good time.

I don't trust myself to stick to any set schedules, but my plan is to upload three stories over the course of October: "Red Clay", "Red October", and "My Bloody Valentine", since they're all sort of Halloween related. Then I'm taking November off to finish You Are Not Alone (no, I haven't forgotten) for NaNiWriMo, and then there's going to be a Christmas special, and after that...we'll see. ;)

Thank you so much to my old readers for coming back, and if you're new here, welcome! I hope I don't disappoint! :D ~Catie

PS-I am not Jewish, but I did some cursory research of Judaism. However, if I misrepresent, PLEASE LET ME BECAUSE I AM A HUMAN BEING AND I MAKE MISTAKES, BUT IT'S NEVER MY INTENTION TO OFFEND ANYONE.

Rural Scotland, 1941

In the small hamlet of Stewart, there was a modest general store, providing all the simple needs the townsfolk wanted.

This store was managed by Mr. Ross, a middle-aged man who felt as though he was a very elderly man indeed, as he watched a case of Mason jars slip from his stockboy's hands and fall to the floor, shattering into millions of tiny glass shards. "Ach, Joseph," he groaned.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to-!" the boy babbled frantically.

"You never mean to, boy. But it seems you cannae go a week around here without breaking something. I'm sorry, laddie, but I'm going to have to take this out of your pay again," said Mr. Ross, coming out from behind the counter to hand the boy a broom and dustpan. "Sweep this mess up and put it in the bin outside. I'll carry in the glassware from now on, alright?" If Mr. Ross had not been so kindly, he would have fired the young man weeks ago.

"Aye, sir," said Joe meekly as his employer disappeared out the front door. He bent down and started sweeping up the glass pieces.

Joe MacDonwald knew how lucky he was to have this job, and he appreciated Mr. Ross keeping him on even when he proved to be a clumsy burraidh. He knew the only reason the man hadn't fired him was because he knew the 24 year old hadn't had the easiest time in life.

Joe's whole family-himself, his mother, his father, and his younger brother-had all become ill when Joe was 12. Joe had recovered, but the rest had all succumbed to the disease and passed away, one by one. The MacDonwalds had been poor farmers, with nothing to their name, so their small patch of land had been quickly repossessed by the bank, and Joe lost his entire family and home in one fell swoop. The young boy was forced to fend for himself, alone. Joe supported himself by taking odd jobs around the community, usually working as a hired hand on other family's farms. Because of this, Joe never got to have proper schooling like the other children.

Despite barely having enough to eat in his youth, Joe grew up to be almost freakishly large. His 6 foot, 8 inch stature tended to draw stares wherever he went. And he wasn't just tall; he was big. All the physical labor he done over the years had built up the muscles in his arms, chest, and legs. Even his feet were a size 14. He looked as if he could easily pull a medium sized tree right out of the ground. His size and strength didn't pair well with his clumnsiness.

Joe sighed and rose with his dustpan full of glass. He had only scooped up a small portion of the shards; it would take him at least four more trips to clear it all away. He headed for the back exit and walked outside, ducking under the doorframe.

Joe descended the concrete stairs and dumped the glass in. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered to himself. He had never managed to do anything right. Joe looked up at the wispy white clouds in the sky, searching for hope in them.

"Hey, big guy."

Joe turned to see a short, plump woman about his age, perhaps a little older, with long red hair and grey/blue eyes. Her clothes were rather strange: blue jeans, white trainers, and a red man's undershirt with a couple of undone buttons at the top. "Er, aye?"

"You seen anything strange around here?" The woman asked.

"I, uh...what do you mean by strange?"

"I mean strange."

Joe shrugged. "Strangest thing I've seen 'round here lately is you, little lass."

The woman smirked. "Touché." She turned and began walking away.

"Say, wait a tick. Who are you, anyway?"

The woman stopped. She looked at him over her shoulder and grinned again. "Who am I, you ask?...I am the Red Lady." And then she left.

Joe shrugged.

Joe whistled as he walked up the road that evening. He waved to folks he passed, and they nodded back or said, "'Lo, Joe," in response.

He passed Mrs. Malcolm's house and saw the older woman standing outside. She must be tending her vegetable patch. "'Lo, Mrs. Malcolm," he called to her across the fence. "How're the carrots comin' in this fall?" Joe loved carrots, and Mrs. Malcolm always gave him a bundle for helping her harvest the vegetables.

Mrs. Malcolm sighed. "The carrots are fine, young Joseph, but someone has broken into me yard and smashed me pumpkins." She pointed to a patch of sod where orange shells lay busted open, as if something very large had stomped on them.

"Oh, no," Joe said. "Mrs. Malcolm, if there's anything I can do-"

"Unless yeh can turn back time, not really," sighed Mrs. Malcolm. "There'll be no pumpkin bread this autumn, I'm afraid."

"That's a shame. Everyone loves your pumpkin bread. G'night, Mrs. Malcolm." Joe began heading back down the road, but he suddenly stopped when he realized he'd stepped in something gooey. Oh no. These were his only shoes. Well, whatever kind of dung it was, Joe couldn't smell it. Maybe it was just mud.

Joe stayed in the barn loft of a family who had been friends of his folks when they were alive. They were willing to give him room and board for very little money. But when he was approaching the barn for the night, he was met with the man of the family, looking stern, with Joe's steamer trunk in his hand. "Mister Anderson, what's wrong?"

Mr. Anderson frowned at him. "Tell me where it is, boy."

"Where what is?"

"The radio, the one we kept in the barn. What did you do with it?"

"I haven't done anything with it, sir," said Joe.

Anderson's scowl deepened. "Haven't we been good to you, boy? Give you a place to sleep, give you food from our table, and we don't ask for much in return. Five dollars a month and help with chores round here from time to time, and this is how you repay us? By stealin' from us?"

Joe's jaw tightened. "I haven't stolen a thing in my life, sir. And that's the truth, with God as my witness."

Mr. Anderson shook his head. He thrust the trunk at Joe. "Take your stuff and get off my property. And just be glad I don't call the law on ya. But I will, if you ever come back on my land again."

"I have not stolen from you!" Joe exclaimed.

"I said go."

Joe picked up his trunk and turned away, angry and hurt. This had to have been the worst day ever.

Joe sat with his head bowed in the pew, silently praying, his yarmulke balanced atop his thick brown curls. It wasn't until he felt someone's hand upon his shoulder that he looked up. "Hello, Rabbi," he said.

"It is late, my son," said Rabbi Lennox, with a warm smile.

Joe sighed. "Just...needed some guidance, sir."

"This is a good place to seek it. What troubles you, may I ask?"

Joe sighed. "I don't know what to do. Why do I have to be so big and clumsy and awkward? I feel like if I break one more bottle in Mr. Ross's store, his patience is finally going to run out and he'll fire me. Then when shall I do? I feel like there's just no place for me in this world. Maybe I was meant to die when the rest of my family did."

"Now that's not true," Rabbi Lennox said. "You have a purpose. The Lord doesn't make mistakes. You just haven't found it yet. Have faith, Joseph—in God, and yourself."

Joe sighed. "I do have faith in God...I just wish I knew what my purpose is."

"In time, He'll show you. It just may not be your time yet." Lennox sighed and patted Joe on the shoulder. "You've had a heavy burden since you were quite young, Joseph, and you've born it with such grace. Someday, all your suffering will be over, and you will be happy and at peace, and you'll see your family again."

Joe smiled sadly. "Thank you, Rabbi. You've been very kind."

"Kindness weighs nothing, my son." The rabbi caught sight of Joe's trunk. "Thinking of staying the night?" he chuckled.

"Oh, I...I just brought this with me because...I don't exactly have anywhere to go," said Joe.

"Oh no, my lad," said Rabbi Lennox, shaking his head. "You do. My home is small, but I've got a couch, and a warm fireplace, and a pot of hearty stew. They're all more than welcome to you."

Joe smiled again, for real this time. "Thank you, sir. I'd be very grateful."

The next morning, just before dawn, Joe was walking to Mr. Ross's store. But suddenly he paused as he heard the sound of something large bounding toward him. Joe looked his left to see a large mass of reddish orange glop coming right for him.

"Ah!" Joe cried, diving out of the way.

The...clay monster or whatever it was rushed past him. And then—

"Whoa!" The strange girl from before, the one who'd called herself Red Lady tripped over Joe's legs, stumbling to the ground herself. "Shit, it's getting away!" she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet and taking off after it.

"Wait a second!" Joe exclaimed, hurrying after her. "What was that?!"