Red's cloak was bedraggled with mud and a bit frayed at the edges when the cottage finally shimmered into view.

She didn't remember quite that many briar patches on the way to the old woman's home, or that many shadows falling between the branches of the trees and bushes...or the eerie yips and cries issuing from whatever direction happened to be directly behind her head. More than once she had slowed her pace-- awaited the right moment--and whipped around to catch the entity she KNEW existed, looming over her and bathing her with scents of violence and old blood...only to find herself alone.

The cottage was in aterrible state, with mounds of wildflowers breeding cracks into the river-pebble and mud walls; the was chimney being dragged slowly down by its own weight; and the grungy scum of disuse gathered on the bubbling panes of window glass.

Red stopped, only a few yards from the house. She gripped her basket so hard her knuckles turned white and cracked from the strain. Something was wrong.

As she had walked, drawing ever farther from her own home in the meadows, full of the scent of grass and beams of silent, warm sunlight, foreboding had paved her path and terror had laid breadcrumbs to push her back. The trees had lost their leaves but still the canopy of sticks like bones blocked all but the most watery of sunlight. The chatters of uppity chipmunks had lessened and stopped, as had the burbling of nearby brooks and streams which so comforted gentle Red. She had been commanded not to leave the path, so the causes for the sudden and unnatural death of the surrounding forest would remain ever a mystery to the girl.

"Grandmother?" she called, but her throat would only offer aspen-leaf whispers. "I- I'm afraid..."

Push on. There was nothing to be afraid of. Not the unnatural silence, or the unhealthy tint to the sky, or th-

crack

She uttered a shrill little scream that would've set the birds to bolting had there been any. Her brilliant hood whipped to the side as she turned her head; she pulled it down and off of her face to facilitate identification.

"Hello?" she demanded. Her voice, still hoarse with the breaking of age, cracked under pressure. "Who's there?"

Tree trunks blurred, bark shifted, and a lone stag separated from the rest of the forest. His coat was muddy; his whites a dull and ruddy clay; antlers worn raw-short. He was staring at her with one feverishly bright eye, pinning her with what could only be described as the gaze of the less than sane.

"Sir...sir stag?" Red whispered. Something was VERY wrong here-

Alerted by some cue outside the realm of any senses RED possessed, the buck flicked one ear toward the cottage and turned his head, blink-fast. His right eye was an empty hole. Torn out by savage claws and razor sharp teeth which had rent great furrows out of the side of the stag's face. His countenance was so alarming to behold that Red uttered a short cry and stumbled toward the cottage.

The stag turned his remaining eye back to her, watching her descent to the house. He was still. He was silent. He was a warning.

He faded away, just mist on the breeze.

Behind her, the curtains to the cottage flickered briefly before she turned. Burst through the door, slammed the flimsy barrier behind her...and committed herself to her most unfortunate fate.

"Grandmother are you here? Did you see it? Did you see what-- just-- happened...?" She slowed and faltered, then fell to an awkward stop. Her grandmother's cottage was a massacre. Drapes and clothing were skewed about the floor; a fire that had burned itself to death lay dormant around the fireplace; hanging herbs and soup broth had been sprayed about theground and there remained, testaments to the crime that had taken place not so long ago.

"Where are you?" Red breathed. She should run. She should get out of the house, abandon her basket of sweets and rolls, fly until she left these horrible dead woods and the evil shadow which held them so in thrall. But she did not.

She stepped forward. "Please-- are you here? What has happened? Are you alive?"

No sign ofresponse from even the darkest niche in the darkest corner of the grandmother's home. No signs of LIFE.

Something moved.

Red's head snapped to the left, to the ravaged straw-stuffed mattress that groaned in pain as its contents shifted about.

The comforter fell away beneath the movement of the massive figure on the bed...the shadow pressed upon the wall behind poor Red unfolded, lengthened, extended...it turned toward her.

He was monstrous. A mutation of nature, a predator rendered death itself by fangs and claws and tightly hinged jaws.

Even if she ran...there was no where to go. No safety she could reach, no sanctuary this great beast could not puncture. She was dead.

Red ran...and she fell.

And then there was a hellish, timeless agony, followed by a darkness so absolute it could only come after thecessation of life.

No hunter could save her now.

(I know this isn't Disney but inspiration hit and punched a hole in my skull so I gave in. Sry. ;.; )