Sinister behind the Mask

Chapter 8

Diana’s POV

I began to recite the most disturbing tale I’ve ever read to Sam. He sat in silence as he waited for me to read.

‘Only listen. The story begins something like the tale.

There was once a little peasant girl, pretty and nice as a star in its season. Her real name was Blanchette, but she was more often called Little Golden-Hood, on account of a wonderful little cloak with a hood, gold- and fire-colored, which she always had on. This little hood was given her by her grandmother, who was so old that she did not know her age; it ought to bring her good luck, for it was made of a ray of sunshine, she said. And as the good old woman was considered something of a witch, everyone thought the little hood rather bewitched too.

And so it was, as you will see.

One day the mother said to the child, "Let us see, my Little Golden-Hood, if you know now how to find your way by yourself. You shall take this good piece of cake to your grandmother for a Sunday treat tomorrow. You will ask her how she is, and come back at once, without stopping to chatter on the way with people you don't know. Do you quite understand?"

"I quite understand," replied Blanchette gaily. And off she went with the cake, quite proud of her errand.

But the grandmother lived in another village, and there was a big wood to cross before getting there. At a turn of the road under the trees, suddenly, "Who goes there?"

"Friend wolf."

He had seen the child start alone, and the villain was waiting to devour her; when at the same moment he perceived some woodcutters who might observe him, and he changed his mind. Instead of falling upon Blanchette he came frisking up to her like a good dog.

"'Tis you! my nice Little Golden-Hood," said he.

So the little girl stops to talk with the wolf, who, for all that, she did not know in the least.

"You know me, then!" said she. "What is your name?"

"My name is friend wolf. And where are you going thus, my pretty one, with your little basket on your arm?"

"I am going to my grandmother, to take her a good piece of cake for her Sunday treat tomorrow."

"And where does she live, your grandmother?"

"She lives at the other side of the wood, in the first house in the village, near the windmill, you know."

"Ah! yes! I know now," said the wolf. "Well, that's just where I'm going; I shall get there before you, no doubt, with your little bits of legs, and I'll tell her you're coming to see her; then she'll wait for you."

Thereupon the wolf cuts across the wood, and in five minutes arrives at the grandmother's house. He knocks at the door: toc, toc.

No answer.

He knocks louder.

Nobody.

Then he stands up on end, puts his two forepaws on the latch and the door opens. Not a soul in the house. The old woman had risen upon hearing the wolf, and she had hidden herself inside the closet in such haste that she had left her bed unmade, with her great nightcap on the pillow.

"Good!" said the wolf to himself, "I know what I'll do."

He shuts the door, pulls on the grandmother's nightcap down to his eyes, then he lies down all his length in the bed and draws the curtains.

In the meantime the good Blanchette went quietly on her way, as little girls do, amusing herself here and there by picking Easter daisies, watching the little birds making their nests, and running after the butterflies which fluttered in the sunshine.

At last she arrives at the door.

Knock, knock.

"Who is there?" says the wolf, softening his rough voice as best he can.

"It's me, Granny, your Little Golden-Hood. I'm bringing you a big piece of cake for your Sunday treat tomorrow."

"Press your finger on the latch, then push and the door opens."

"Why, you've got a cold, Granny," said she, coming in.

"Ahem! a little, a little . . ." replies the wolf, pretending to cough. "Shut the door well, my little lamb. Put your basket on the table, and then take off your frock and come and lie down by me. You shall rest a little."

The good child undresses, but observe this! She kept her little hood upon her head. When she saw what a figure her Granny cut in bed, the poor little thing was much surprised.

"Oh!" cries she, "how like you are to friend wolf, Grandmother!"

"That's on account of my nightcap, child," replies the wolf.

"Oh! what hairy arms you've got, Grandmother!"

"All the better to hug you, my child."

"Oh! what a big tongue you've got, Grandmother!"

"All the better for answering, child."

"Oh ! what a mouthful of great white teeth you have, Grandmother!"

"That's for crunching little children with!"

And the wolf opened his jaws wide to swallow Blanchette.

But she put down her head crying, "Mamma! Mamma!" but the wolf had caught her little hood and devoured her little by little as the grandma watched from the closet.

"Ah!" she cries, but, the wolf showed no mercy. "Chomp! Chomp!" Quickly he devoured her limbs.

The weak old dame had watched her grandchild get devoured, where the vagabond, stretched his limbs and sprang out of the bed to hunt for his next prey.

Oh! what a horrendous sight it was, the scene was bathed in blood as the old dame lost her senses. Of she jumped out of the closet and walked towards the well.

The howling of the beast still audible. The old woman stood upon the well as she glared into her reflection.

Poor little Blanchette pleaded over and over again to spare her life to the wolf that never stopped, the guilt of her sins was far too heavy to carry. And the old woman took no time to free herself of it. She jumped into the well screaming her apology to Blanchette, the Little Golden-Hood. And in fine weather Blanchette may still be seen in the winds with her pretty little hood, the color of the sun. But to see her you must rise early.’

After having finished the story I closed the book and fell numb in silence.

“The ‘Blanchette’ is the person the killer has killed and the ‘Grand mother’ is the victim attacked who has witnessed the crime and the ‘Wolf’ is our killer”, Said Sam as he closed his eyes.

“Yes, and if the story is to be trusted then, there is a good chance that the victims could be suicidal, like the grandmother of the story”, I said as I took a heavy breath.