Jack lived in the village. Little Red Riding-Hood lived in the forest. They met on the common, danced round a Maypole and drank cider.
"Come with me," cooed LRRH, dragging him into the woods.
Jack’s mother had warned him to beware of the forest. He dropped sandwich crumbs as markers in case they got lost.
The path veered. Light and birdsong faded. LRRH led him to a cottage, unlocked the door.
"Isn’t it pretty?" she growled, pulling Jack onto a blood-stained bed with claws where finger-nails had been.
Jack was lost, and the crumbs couldn’t help.
Celebrate National Flash Fiction Day with us! On Saturday, 15 June 2024, we're posting one prompt an hour from 00:00 to 24:00 BST. Write along with us and send your flash to nffdwritein@gmail.com by Sunday, 16 June, 23:59 BST for a chance to be published here at The Write-In....
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