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Wolves of the Whispering Wood
Wolves of the Whispering Wood
A retelling of Little Red Riding Hood. When Chloe's mad grandmother goes missing, she tries to uncover the mysteries surrounding her grandmother's past in order to find her. Chloe must enter the Whispering Wood, a dangerous no- man's- land, in order to find her.
4Fantasy / Sci-fi
L. M. Gregson (United States)
My grandmother was a strange woman. Everyone said so. They also said that it was a miracle that such a strange woman gave birth to such a perfectly normal son as my father. He was well respected in our small village of Perry and some of the villagers tried not to gossip about Grandmother for his sake. But Perry is a small place, and people here have precious little else to talk about. I had, on occasion, heard more that the usual gossip about her. While some called her troubled or mad or unstable, others called her a demon, a spellcaster, a witch. I suppose most of these rumors sprang from her many odd habits. I myself saw nothing too unusual about her. A bit quirky perhaps. She liked to go barefoot everywhere and hum old lullabies about the sea. She often mumbled to herself and occasionally broke into a long tale that she would babble to anyone who listened. And she had a seemingly unprovoked hatred of chickens. The knotted cane she carried was often employed to whack at the fluffed and feathered backside of our laying hens. These oddities seemed strange to me, but harmless- unless you were a chicken.
She lived with my family in our small stone cottage and had for as long as I can remember. I often asked my father why people said such things about her. He just shook his head and shrugged his large shoulders. He was a proud man, hardworking and practical. I could see that his mother was embarrassing to him. But he was always kind to her, never snapped when she brought frogs into the house or stuck her tongue out at the neighbors.
While my father tolerated my grandmother, my mother loved her and all of her eccentric habits. She seemed to have unshakable patience for my grandmother that had weathered the trials of having an 80 year old woman as a second child. My mother and grandmother often told each other stories. I would listen, wide eyed, as one of them wove a tale about distant lands and ancient kingdoms where a brave hero fought for their honor. These stories were splendid, but I loved the stories about the sea most. My grandmother told me about the time she had traveled to the sea with her father. Rarely, though, did my grandmother tell stories of her own life.
Her past life was largely a mystery to me. What I did know was just bits and pieces. Some had been told to me by my mother. Other stories I had heard from town. Strange stories. Stories about black magic and wolves. Somehow there was always something about wolves. Some claimed she could speak to them. Others said that she had been raised by them. I always laughed at this story because her real upbringing by wealthy parents was a far cry from gnawing bones and running around in the woods.
But some days I wondered about her. I wondered if there was something in her past that had sparked all these outlandish rumors about her. She did seem to have a strange affection for the wolves that were a plague to the village. On one such day my grandmother and I had visited the stream that bordered a meadow near our cottage. We often went there to fish or, like today, to wade in the clear, cold water. My grandmother’s feet were slick from her permanent lack of shoes and the cold water brought relief to their aches. When we reached the stream, I shucked off my clogs and helped her down the steep bank and into the water. I usually entered the water inch by torturous inch, allowing myself to acclimate, but Grandmother- as always- splashed her way in thigh deep as if it were bathwater. She smiled at my characteristic caution, her lips folding around her toothless gums as she did. Extending her wrinkled hand, she pulled me in. The cold water sent goosebumps racing up my legs and arms. As we waded, our feet slipped and slid over the smooth, gray rocks on the streambed. Grandmother babbled as we went, our hitched skirts clutched in our hands. We found a patch of strawberries on the bank and picked as many as we could carry. After we had walked a far distance down the stream we sat down on the sandy bank, our soaking dresses pulled up past our knees to let the sun warm our legs. The sun hung high in a flawless blue sky above our heads, spreading its warm rays to the green earth below. The strawberries we found earlier were warm from the sun and perfectly ripe. They were so good that we licked the sticky sweetness from our pink stained fingers and searched the bankside for more. We scavenged the bush like two hungry bears until every ripe strawberry within our reach had been devoured.
My grandmother smiled, “Sweet,” she says patting her stomach contentedly.
“Where do these berries come from Grandmother?” I asked, prompting a story that she has told me many times.
“Fairies plant them along the riverside,” she said matter-of-factly. “Fairy berries are the sweetest. Back before your time and mine, fairies grew them in nice square patches like humans do now. But at night giants would come down from the mountains and pick those patches clean. So, those fairies wizened up. They figured that if they spread their plants out the giants wouldn’t be able to find them as easily. So fairies plant them all around, like on this riverbank, but humans still plant in silly square fields. And when they wake up to melons that have been trampled during the night they blame it on deer. What they don’t know is that giants love those vegetables even more than the critters. The fairies know how to keep their strawberries safe.”
I giggled, holding up my pink hands. “Not safe from us.”
“I suppose they should plant broccoli instead,” she said laughing, “then no one would eat it.”
I rose and helped her to her feet and we dusted the dry grass from our skirts. We dipped our hands into the cold water to rinse away the stickiness.
Suddenly Grandmother’s face fell, “Your mother loves strawberries too.”
“Thats alright Grandma,” I said, feeling a bit ashamed myself, “We’ll pick her some on the way back.” With that we started the walk back, following the stream to our home. We kept an eye out for more strawberries. I spotted quite a few in a large clump of thick brambles and we started to fill our skirts with them. I crawled under some of the thickest vines to access the bulk of them. As we picked, Grandmother sang a song about a cow who fell in love with a milkmaid. Just as she reached the last verse of the song she stopped abruptly and the strawberries spilled from her skirt. I looked up from my hands and knees to see her eyes staring at the dark tree line.
“Grandma…” I started, but she clamped a wrinkled hand over my mouth. I searched the trees in vain for what has startled her so. Suddenly, I saw movement. Low to the ground, crouching; a wolf. Amber eyes peered out at us from the dark forest and a low growl rumbled from its throat. Black hair on the wolf’s back stood up straight as a terrifying warning. My breath caught in my throat. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered my father warning me never to look a wolf in the eyes, but I could not tear myself away from the transfixing eyes of the wolf. I hoped against hope that the wolf would go on its way. My grandmother remained stock still but perfectly calm, hand still over my mouth. Eventually the growls subsided and then, like a ghost, the wolf melted back into the black forest. The space was empty as if the wolf never existed at all. For a full minute afterward my grandmother and I remained motionless, holding our breath with eyes trained on the trees. But the wolf did not reappear. Quickly and without a word we rose and hurriedly crossed back over the stream. Several times, I glanced back to the spot where the wolf had been. My grandmother also looked back, but her eyes betrayed no fear. There seemed to be longing in her eyes. I often thought back to that day; I knew that she had a love for most animals but there was almost a familiarity with the wolf. It was strange to see my silly, absent minded grandmother transform into someone with control and no fear. I had asked her about it later.
“Beautiful,” was all that she had said.
“But Grandmother, wolves are dangerous,” I had protested.
She had smiled and shaken her head as she always did when she thought I was too cautious.
“Beautiful,” she said again.
She lived with my family in our small stone cottage and had for as long as I can remember. I often asked my father why people said such things about her. He just shook his head and shrugged his large shoulders. He was a proud man, hardworking and practical. I could see that his mother was embarrassing to him. But he was always kind to her, never snapped when she brought frogs into the house or stuck her tongue out at the neighbors.
While my father tolerated my grandmother, my mother loved her and all of her eccentric habits. She seemed to have unshakable patience for my grandmother that had weathered the trials of having an 80 year old woman as a second child. My mother and grandmother often told each other stories. I would listen, wide eyed, as one of them wove a tale about distant lands and ancient kingdoms where a brave hero fought for their honor. These stories were splendid, but I loved the stories about the sea most. My grandmother told me about the time she had traveled to the sea with her father. Rarely, though, did my grandmother tell stories of her own life.
Her past life was largely a mystery to me. What I did know was just bits and pieces. Some had been told to me by my mother. Other stories I had heard from town. Strange stories. Stories about black magic and wolves. Somehow there was always something about wolves. Some claimed she could speak to them. Others said that she had been raised by them. I always laughed at this story because her real upbringing by wealthy parents was a far cry from gnawing bones and running around in the woods.
But some days I wondered about her. I wondered if there was something in her past that had sparked all these outlandish rumors about her. She did seem to have a strange affection for the wolves that were a plague to the village. On one such day my grandmother and I had visited the stream that bordered a meadow near our cottage. We often went there to fish or, like today, to wade in the clear, cold water. My grandmother’s feet were slick from her permanent lack of shoes and the cold water brought relief to their aches. When we reached the stream, I shucked off my clogs and helped her down the steep bank and into the water. I usually entered the water inch by torturous inch, allowing myself to acclimate, but Grandmother- as always- splashed her way in thigh deep as if it were bathwater. She smiled at my characteristic caution, her lips folding around her toothless gums as she did. Extending her wrinkled hand, she pulled me in. The cold water sent goosebumps racing up my legs and arms. As we waded, our feet slipped and slid over the smooth, gray rocks on the streambed. Grandmother babbled as we went, our hitched skirts clutched in our hands. We found a patch of strawberries on the bank and picked as many as we could carry. After we had walked a far distance down the stream we sat down on the sandy bank, our soaking dresses pulled up past our knees to let the sun warm our legs. The sun hung high in a flawless blue sky above our heads, spreading its warm rays to the green earth below. The strawberries we found earlier were warm from the sun and perfectly ripe. They were so good that we licked the sticky sweetness from our pink stained fingers and searched the bankside for more. We scavenged the bush like two hungry bears until every ripe strawberry within our reach had been devoured.
My grandmother smiled, “Sweet,” she says patting her stomach contentedly.
“Where do these berries come from Grandmother?” I asked, prompting a story that she has told me many times.
“Fairies plant them along the riverside,” she said matter-of-factly. “Fairy berries are the sweetest. Back before your time and mine, fairies grew them in nice square patches like humans do now. But at night giants would come down from the mountains and pick those patches clean. So, those fairies wizened up. They figured that if they spread their plants out the giants wouldn’t be able to find them as easily. So fairies plant them all around, like on this riverbank, but humans still plant in silly square fields. And when they wake up to melons that have been trampled during the night they blame it on deer. What they don’t know is that giants love those vegetables even more than the critters. The fairies know how to keep their strawberries safe.”
I giggled, holding up my pink hands. “Not safe from us.”
“I suppose they should plant broccoli instead,” she said laughing, “then no one would eat it.”
I rose and helped her to her feet and we dusted the dry grass from our skirts. We dipped our hands into the cold water to rinse away the stickiness.
Suddenly Grandmother’s face fell, “Your mother loves strawberries too.”
“Thats alright Grandma,” I said, feeling a bit ashamed myself, “We’ll pick her some on the way back.” With that we started the walk back, following the stream to our home. We kept an eye out for more strawberries. I spotted quite a few in a large clump of thick brambles and we started to fill our skirts with them. I crawled under some of the thickest vines to access the bulk of them. As we picked, Grandmother sang a song about a cow who fell in love with a milkmaid. Just as she reached the last verse of the song she stopped abruptly and the strawberries spilled from her skirt. I looked up from my hands and knees to see her eyes staring at the dark tree line.
“Grandma…” I started, but she clamped a wrinkled hand over my mouth. I searched the trees in vain for what has startled her so. Suddenly, I saw movement. Low to the ground, crouching; a wolf. Amber eyes peered out at us from the dark forest and a low growl rumbled from its throat. Black hair on the wolf’s back stood up straight as a terrifying warning. My breath caught in my throat. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered my father warning me never to look a wolf in the eyes, but I could not tear myself away from the transfixing eyes of the wolf. I hoped against hope that the wolf would go on its way. My grandmother remained stock still but perfectly calm, hand still over my mouth. Eventually the growls subsided and then, like a ghost, the wolf melted back into the black forest. The space was empty as if the wolf never existed at all. For a full minute afterward my grandmother and I remained motionless, holding our breath with eyes trained on the trees. But the wolf did not reappear. Quickly and without a word we rose and hurriedly crossed back over the stream. Several times, I glanced back to the spot where the wolf had been. My grandmother also looked back, but her eyes betrayed no fear. There seemed to be longing in her eyes. I often thought back to that day; I knew that she had a love for most animals but there was almost a familiarity with the wolf. It was strange to see my silly, absent minded grandmother transform into someone with control and no fear. I had asked her about it later.
“Beautiful,” was all that she had said.
“But Grandmother, wolves are dangerous,” I had protested.
She had smiled and shaken her head as she always did when she thought I was too cautious.
“Beautiful,” she said again.
Read Reviews
Review 1:
Compelling hook?
Fresh?
Strong characters?
Entertaining?
Attention to mechanics
- You demonstrate a professional quality of writing throughout the story.
Narration and dialogue: Balance
- Your story struck a good balance between narration and authentic dialogue.
Narration and dialogue: Authentic voice
- Your characters’ voices were convincing and authentic.
Characterization
- Your characters were multidimensional. I found them believable and engaging and they genuinely responded to the events of the story.
Main character
- Connect us to your main protagonist with a deeper characterization. Could your protagonist have a few more distinguishing character traits?
Character conflict
- Your characters drew me into their world from the very beginning. Their goals, conflicts and purpose were clearly introduced and I wanted to find out more about them.
Plot and pace
- Maintaining the right pace and sustaining the reader’s interest is a challenging balancing act. The story had a clear and coherent progression with a structured plot. A truly absorbing story!
Suspense and conflict
- The joy of reading often lies in the element of suspense prompted by internal or external conflicts. Your story makes compelling reading!
Technique and tight writing
- The writing was tight and economical and each word had purpose. This enabled the plot to unravel clearly. Your writing exhibits technical proficiency.
Point of view
- The story successfully solicited the reader’s empathy through the clever use of the narrator's point of view. You show great deftness in handling point of view.
Style and originality
- I loved your fresh approach. Creating a unique writing style while maintaining quality of prose requires both skill and practice. Impressive.
Atmosphere and description
- A writer’s ability to create mood and atmosphere through evocative description is vital to the reader’s experience. It’s a real skill to craft out how the characters react to the setting and atmosphere and perhaps your story could go further in its description. The reader wants to experience the same sensory and poignant journey as the characters.
Authentic and vivid setting
- The scene needs to be vivid and realistic in order to hold the reader’s attention. Being concise and plausible at the same time is tricky. Giving this further attention could perhaps be worthwhile.
Opening line and hook
- Great books, nowadays, start with a powerful opening and compelling hook in order to keep the reader engaged. Have you baited the reader enough?
Review 2:
Compelling hook?
Fresh?
Strong characters?
Entertaining?
Attention to mechanics
- You demonstrate a professional quality of writing throughout the story.
Narration and dialogue: Balance
- There needs to be more balance between narration and dialogue. Avoid overdoing the narrative and remember that dialogue can diffuse long claustrophobic text.
Narration and dialogue: Authentic voice
- The protagonist didn’t always respond believably against the backdrop of the story. Ask yourself if people would really answer to a situation in that way. Think about whether the characters’ voices could be more convincing for their age, background, gender, time period, genre, gender and ethnicity. Dialogue should be natural and consistent throughout the story.
Characterization
- Make sure your characters are multidimensional. Do they have strengths and weaknesses? Mere mortals make the most interesting stories because they are like you and me and we are able to empathize with their journey. That’s how the connection with a character is formed.
Main character
- Connect us to your main protagonist with a deeper characterization. Could your protagonist have a few more distinguishing character traits?
Character conflict
- The reader’s experience of the story is heightened when the characters’ goals, conflicts and purpose are clear. Perhaps giving this aspect of the story further attention could be worthwhile.
Plot and pace
- Maintaining the right pace and sustaining the reader’s interest is a difficult balancing act. Are you sure all the material is relevant to the plot, setting and atmosphere? Make sure each sentence makes sense to the reader, and each paragraph moves their experience forward.
Suspense and conflict
- The joy of reading often lies in the element of suspense prompted by internal or external conflicts. The first page should introduce some intrigue, something that causes the reader to turn the page. Think about the conflict and tension in your story. How effectively has it been introduced?
Technique and tight writing
- When writing is tight, economical and each word has purpose, it enables the plot to unravel clearly. Try and make each individual word count.
Point of view
- Point of view helps the reader identify whose perspective we are engaging with, i.e. who is narrating the story. It can sometimes be helpful to double check that the point of view in the story is successfully handled. Ensure you consistently use the same point of view and tense throughout, either: a) First person; b) Third-person limited; or c) Third-person omniscient.
Style and originality
- Creating a unique writing style while maintaining quality of prose is tricky. As writers, we face the daunting task of making sure we are not being predictable. Can you find a way to give the content and characters more of a unique edge? Perhaps say something boldly, something fresh or show an unorthodox approach to a topic?
Atmosphere and description
- A writer’s ability to create mood and atmosphere through evocative description is vital to the reader’s experience. It’s a real skill to craft out how the characters react to the setting and atmosphere and perhaps your story could go further in its description. The reader wants to experience the same sensory and poignant journey as the characters.
Authentic and vivid setting
- The scene needs to be vivid and realistic in order to hold the reader’s attention. Being concise and plausible at the same time is tricky. Giving this further attention could perhaps be worthwhile.
Opening line and hook
- Your strong opening and compelling hook was a promise of wonderful things to come. I was hooked!
Review 3:
Compelling hook?
Fresh?
Strong characters?
Entertaining?
Attention to mechanics
- The grammar, typography, sentence structure and punctuation would benefit from a further round of editing to avoid distracting from the quality of the story.
Narration and dialogue: Balance
- Your story struck a good balance between narration and authentic dialogue.
Narration and dialogue: Authentic voice
- The protagonist didn’t always respond believably against the backdrop of the story. Ask yourself if people would really answer to a situation in that way. Think about whether the characters’ voices could be more convincing for their age, background, gender, time period, genre, gender and ethnicity. Dialogue should be natural and consistent throughout the story.
- Your characters’ voices were convincing and authentic.
Characterization
- Your characters were multidimensional. I found them believable and engaging and they genuinely responded to the events of the story.
Main character
- Connect us to your main protagonist with a deeper characterization. Could your protagonist have a few more distinguishing character traits?
- Your protagonist exhibited a unique voice and had original characteristics. Their actions and dialogue were convincing!
Character conflict
- The reader’s experience of the story is heightened when the characters’ goals, conflicts and purpose are clear. Perhaps giving this aspect of the story further attention could be worthwhile.
Plot and pace
- Maintaining the right pace and sustaining the reader’s interest is a challenging balancing act. The story had a clear and coherent progression with a structured plot. A truly absorbing story!
Suspense and conflict
- The joy of reading often lies in the element of suspense prompted by internal or external conflicts. The first page should introduce some intrigue, something that causes the reader to turn the page. Think about the conflict and tension in your story. How effectively has it been introduced?
Technique and tight writing
- When writing is tight, economical and each word has purpose, it enables the plot to unravel clearly. Try and make each individual word count.
Point of view
- The story successfully solicited the reader’s empathy through the clever use of the narrator's point of view. You show great deftness in handling point of view.
Style and originality
- Creating a unique writing style while maintaining quality of prose is tricky. As writers, we face the daunting task of making sure we are not being predictable. Can you find a way to give the content and characters more of a unique edge? Perhaps say something boldly, something fresh or show an unorthodox approach to a topic?
Atmosphere and description
- A writer’s ability to create mood and atmosphere through evocative description is vital to the reader’s experience. It’s a real skill to craft out how the characters react to the setting and atmosphere and perhaps your story could go further in its description. The reader wants to experience the same sensory and poignant journey as the characters.
Authentic and vivid setting
- The scene needs to be vivid and realistic in order to hold the reader’s attention. Being concise and plausible at the same time is tricky. Giving this further attention could perhaps be worthwhile.
Opening line and hook
- Great books, nowadays, start with a powerful opening and compelling hook in order to keep the reader engaged. Have you baited the reader enough?