Little Red Riding Hood

The Wolf's Story

(the REAL story)

As told by the Ghost

of the "Big Bad Wolf"
and written by

Johan V Campbell.
As is said "He who writes the history controls the past" well I
couldn't write any history now could I, I was history, I was dead,
killed by that insensitive brute, that specieist, that vicious bully the
wood cutter. I always knew that he had it in for me. People used to say
I would slink around the forest, slink? Ha! more like timidly creep,
trying to keep away from that bully, I'll bet he wouldn't be so brave
without his great big axe.

Anyway back to the story. The sheer unjustness of this whole issue
has been disturbing my supposedly everlasting sleep. When I think of
all those tender, and no I don't mean it that way, see how you've been
conditioned, innocent, sensitive little children being fed all these lies,
being taught to hate us poor wolves, I could just sit and howl. Only I
can't, you can't sit when you're dead, you can't howl when you're
dead, no, all you can do is lie around for all eternity. Just goes to show
how you only really miss something when it's gone.

Now where was I, I get sidetracked easily you know, must be as a

result of that head wound that I suffered, you try thinking straight
with an axe in your head. Oh yes the story. Story? Pack of lies is more
like it.

First of all lets clear up this "Big Bad Wolf" issue. Small, skinny and
timid, is more accurate, I was getting on in years you know and having
to constantly be on the lookout for that bully of a woodcutter made
hunting, well scavenging actually, there's never much left to hunt
after humans move in to an area, difficult, and it had been a
particularly bad winter with few visitors and fewer scraps.

So there I am minding my own business as usual when I pick up the

delicious scent of a picnic basket, with great cunning I track it down
to it's source, and there she is "Little Red Riding Hood" Little? Little?
you don't know what you are talking about. In that neck of the woods
they breed them tough. she could kick start a Jumbo Jet she could
"Little?" Remember "Little John" in Robin Hood? Well she was that
kind of "Little".

As for "Riding Hood" well if you understand the "slang" the vernacular
of the day, you would know that that referred to the fact that she
was a "Biker chick" and she was bad, I mean real bad and mean. You
know what I mean, RIDING, like on a motorbike, HOOD like gangster.
Now for all you bikers out there don't get revved up I didn't say, nor
do I imply that all "bikers" are bad, just that she was, that's why she
got the name see.
Anyway there she is just a walking down the road singing "where's
that wolf I'd like to break him into three" (remember "Doo wa didee")
see the kind of wicked sense of humour they have around here.

Well there is no way I am going to approach her. Firstly your average

human does not respond well to being approached by a wolf, secondly
you all think that we are just dumb animals anyway and other than Dr
DooLittle humans can't talk to animals, funny that, you talk to trees
and computers and cars and traffic lights and... and that's OK? And
thirdly I have, sorry had, a strong survival instinct, inherent animal
cunning, or something like that, sheer cowardice actually.

If I had approached her what do you think her reaction would have
been, really now do you think she would really have uttered a polite
"Good day Mr Wolf" No either she would have instantly leapt upon my
decrepit body and pretended I was a Jumbo Jet or she would have let
out a mighty yell and her dad the wood cutter, they didn't mention
that in the story did they, would have been there in a flash to protect
the virtue of his precious little darling. (Isn't it amazing how blind we
can be when we don't want to accept the truth, she was at least as big
as he was, and he was big, yet he still called her "baby")

Oh no! I stayed well out of sight until I was sure that she was heading
for Grama's house. Now did you ever stop to think about why Grama
lived in the woods while the rest of the family lived in town, bet you
didn't. No, you were too caught up in the drama of the "Big Bad Wolf"
and feeling sorry for "delicate" miss "Riding Hood". (Sorry didn't mean
to sound bitter, but the truth is, I AM!) Well it wasn't just because
she dribbled and was socially incompatible with the rest of the family,
even though this was true. It was actually because she was a
moonshiner, that's right, she was hiding out in the woods to illegally
distil whisky. I'll bet you didn't know that now did you. See I told you
it was all a pack of lies.

Well I took the short cut and got to Grama's house first, I had to
work out a plan to get that basket of goodies. Now here's the real
joke, in the "Fairy tale" and boy is it ever a "Fairy tale" the author,
liar that he is, would have you believe that I ate Grama. Me! eat
Grama, with my teeth I couldn't even eat a tenderised steak, let alone
a tough old bird like Grama, and let me tell you about moonshiners,
they're tough and Grama she was the toughest of them all, why she
made those "Biker chicks" seem like Sunday School teachers.
And even worse this over imaginative story teller would have you
believe that not only did I eat Grama but I swallowed her whole, talk
about imagination on steroids. Well I don’t know if you have ever seen
a wolf, about the size of a large Alsation, now there is no way, no
matter how creative your imagination is that I could have swallowed
grama whole get, real will you. Any way on with the story, the truth
must out.

Luckily Grama was out and I, with animal cunning, thought here's my
chance, I'll nip into the house and hide, in hind sight not such a good
plan, and when Red Riding Hood gets here she'll see that Grama isn't
home, put the basket down and go. I will then leap out of hiding seize
the basket of goodies and "apicknicking we will go" my mouth was
watering at the thought. (Isn't it amazing how clearly you can see the
folly of your "brilliant" plans when you look back at them. I should
have just waited in the woods. Ah well I didn't, no point in crying over
spilt milk, blood and brains are another matter though.)

However in my old and decrepit state I was not as fast as I used to be

and I had scarcely entered the house when I heard "Little Red Riding
Hood" come up the path, in a panic I chose the bed and leapt under the
covers and I mean under the covers, not a whisker sticking out. All
that nonsense about "Ooh Grama what big eyes you've got" and "ooh
Grama what big teeth you've got" do you really think that I could have
fooled "Little Red" she might have been blond, Scandinavian you know,
but she sure wasn't dumb.

When "Little Red" came in the house and saw the bundle in the bed she
said "Grama is that you?" (I take back that bit about not being dumb,
I mean Grama's house? Grama's bed? Like, who else could it be?) With
a quavering voice I replied, "yes dear I'm not well, got caught by
something catching so you better not stay or you'll catch it too"
clever don't you think, would have worked too, because Little Red said
"Sorry to hear that Grama I've brought you some goodies in a basket
I'll just put it down and be on my way I'll send my Mom to see to you"
BUT as she was about to leave who should walk in the door but GRAMA.

Hello "Little Red" she says "what brings you here?" "Grama" says
Little Red "If you are here then who is in your bed?" Unfortunately
for me Grama had brought that hulking bully of a woodcutter, her son,
along for to test the latest brew. The two girls I might have managed
to evade but there was no escaping him and his motto was "Take no
Prisoners" I knew I was in dead, pardon the pun, trouble when I heard
him say "Stand aside I'll handle this"

The rest as you know is history My only sense of satisfaction is that

they would have had to wash long and hard to get the blood stains, not
to mention the other stuff, out of the bedding.

Of course they had to make their story up, the one you've believed up
till now, in order to protect themselves from the "Animal Rights"
activists. Strange isn't it how it's OK to destroy our environment to
feed your greed, how it's OK to drive us into smaller and smaller areas
and kill us slowly, from a distance, with "civilisation" but it's not OK
to actually be physically involved in killing us.

Well that's another story for another time, I have lots of time for
this philosophical stuff now you know.

Well I feel better now that I've got that off my chest. Maybe I'll get
some sleep.

Oh I almost forgot, this axe in the head thing you know. even though
it's just a memory now it still has the habit of interfering with other
memories, you know what I mean. Where was I now? Oh yes! As I said
I almost forgot. There is justice after all, although posthumous
justice is not nearly as satisfying as justice whilst you are alive and
can gloat over it.

Anyway what with all the hullabaloo over dead "big bad" wolves and
hysterical "little" girls and "doddery" old Grandmothers, there were
suddenly just too many people poking around to get their share of the
tragedy, talk about rubber necking, to keep the real goings on secret.
So it wasn't long before Grandma's real job came to light and she was
carted, kicking and screaming, off to jail, remember the whisky?
"Darling Daddy" the great bully was kicked out of the forest and lost
his job as woodcutter for aiding and abetting an illegal act. I'm
betting he is sorry now, "ha ha" And as for dear "Little Red", because
Daddy was now unemployed and needed aid, she was sent off to live
with her Aunt in Alaska and had to learn to pack fish.