It was dark, misty, still. The trees gave shadows and the wind brushed leaves. A chill rippled through the air. She walked. Weaving around the shadows on the moonlit path. A full moon. It shone, dimly. She kept walking, her red hood lightly flailing against her back. Her face, fresh with innocence and beauty.
He crept. Crept through the shadows, away from the light. Hungry. Saliva forming as the smell of her skin and hair wafted through the breeze. Growing near and disappearing as she followed the light. Claws, gripping the bark; hair standing on end. Delight. Hunger.
He emerged. She smiled. Red dress and red lips. Provocative yet untouched. They spoke. She was coy, but naïve. She refused him. He smiled, accepting her answer. He already knew where she was going. She continued. He faded into the shadows. She was unsuspecting. He was cunning. He knew a quicker path.
Still creeping, he reached the dull cottage. Candles flickered in the windows, lighting his dark, hairy figure. Yellow teeth and yellow eyes. The door creaked. His large frame shadowed the old woman. He was excited by her fear. Her eyes were wide. Her grey hands froze. No scream. Silence. He gripped her neck. He crushed it and sliced her open. Blood drained from her haggard body. Her head barely attached, eyes glassy and open. Blood speckled her cheeks and dripped from her mouth. A pool of red surrounded her on the floor.
Too easy. No struggle. No fight left in her. He tried to provoke her. A cry at least. He slashed her legs and her stomach. No attraction. She was old. She was dead. He pushed her under the curtain and sucked up her blood. Unsatisfied.
He waited. He could smell her before her saw her. Fresh, flowery, pure. He peered through the foggy window. Her red dress was appearing through the mist and trees. Saliva dripped from his blood stained jaw. He let out a low growl. He crept upstairs and waited. Impatient.
She appeared in the doorway. Stunned. Red dress and red hood. Her basket dropped. He lunged. Her big brown eyes filled with fear. His greasy, blood drenched hair touched her skin. He held her in his grip, claws penetrating her. He urged her to make a sound. She stayed silent. She was young and fresh. He enjoyed it. His razor sharp claws ripped into her legs. She screamed. He couldn’t resist anymore. He tore her throat and pulled her flesh from the bone as she flailed, then stopped. Dead. Her meat was tender. Her left her head. Red lips and red blood.