The basket was wicker, with one twisted handle in the middle. The weaved wood created a two-toned effect, interspersed light and dark weaves. There was a gingham cloth covering the top, and it looked heavy and full. The little girl holding it was straining, her chubby arms shaking from the effort of holding a basket nearly as big as her aloft. Each step she took it banged against her knees, and her face was screwed up with effort and pain. I weighed the propriety of offering my help against the ‘stranger danger’ mentality, but she was headed to the woods all alone. I was momentarily enraged by whoever allowed her to wander alone and unprotected.

I approached cautiously. “Hi there, sweetheart. Where are you going with that heavy basket?” I cringed at how creepy the words sounded, but she turned a trusting, rosy face to me and smiled. Looking at her I realised she was slightly older than I had first thought – maybe nine or ten, rather than six or seven. Small for her age.

“Hello sir” she lisped, and I was charmed by her old-fashioned manners.

“Would you like a hand with that basket?”

“Yes, please, although I am going quite far. My Grandma lives on the far edge of the woods.”

“Well then, you’re in luck. I’m heading that way myself. Here, let me take that from you. Oof, that’s quite a load. What have you got in there – bricks?” The little girl’s laugh rose and fell with a gurgling tinkle like a waterfall.

“Silly! It’s food for my Grandma. She likes chutney. And cheese.” Relieved of her burden, she skipped beside me, chatting about her day, about her Nan, her school, her mum (her Dad didn’t seem to be around), and her own love of chewy sweets. I agreed that they were the best, as I pushed my way through the undergrowth. After a while I was wishing I had left her to her fate as the basket got heavier and my arms got longer, and my palms sprouted blisters. The trees towered above, dappling her skin as she twirled and ran ahead of me. Occasionally she would slip around a bend and the undergrowth would hide her from my sight for a few minutes. I would stop and strain to hear her footsteps above the chatter of birds and small wildlife. Sometimes I had to call after her to wait. I had never before taken the direct route through the woods, preferring to catch the bus. I had begun to regret my lazy life, as I felt sweat trickle between my shoulder blades, and prickle my forehead and jaw.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I called, as I caught a glimpse of her red skirt ahead of me. “Do you have any water in this basket? I could do with wetting my whistle, as it were.”

“Oh no, sir, we can’t open the basket. It’s just chutney and cheese. That will just make you thirstier.” But she did slow down, and walked beside me for a time, in silence. Due on my part to my parched throat and rapidly disintegrating mood. At least the trees were so dense now that the sun was almost completely blocked. The green twilight that was all that was left of the sunny day gave me some respite.

I was about to suggest a rest when a rustle and cracking could be heard up ahead. I faltered a little: it sounded like something large was moving towards us. I started to speak, but before my mouth was half open, she squeaked “Grandma!” and ran ahead, out of sight. I strained to hear her footsteps, and realised with a shiver of dread that it was suddenly easy to hear her – the forest had fallen silent. Dread seized me and I dropped the basket as fight or flight adrenalin fizzed down my arms and legs. Then, just as suddenly she was back, her hands clasped in front of her, and her smile gleeful.  “Grandma came to meet me!” The rustling intensified, and a nightmare stepped into view. The snarl, the huge, pointed teeth, the black, coarse hair. The dog… no, it must be a wolf…. stood next to her, and her pig-tailed head barely reached its shoulder. I felt a vibration judder through my chest and realised it was the creature’s growl, so low that it was felt, rather than heard.

“Grandma wanted me to say thank you for carrying my basket, and for providing the meat for our feast.” I barely had time to process the meaning of her words before the creature pounced. Hot breath caressed my neck as I was knocked to the floor, skewered by a tearing pain. I tried to gasp, but there was nothing to breathe but coppery viscous liquid. I tried to touch my neck, where I knew a gaping hole must be, but my hands wouldn’t move. When the darkness started to close in, I welcomed the cessation of pain. As I died, I felt the rough tongue lick my cheek in a benediction.