Cassie and the Woolf Page 4

  Caleb’s brain fought with itself.

  I miss that smell, he thought first.

  Get ahold of yourself, he thought next. This is a trap. The old lady and that sniveling little girl of hers are tricking you.

  Nonsense, he thought. They’re feeding you. Remember those smells? Oh, that roast. And the mashed potatoes and gravy. You can almost taste it, the meat falling off the bone. The steaming, simmering soup, full of chicken and vegetables and dumplings. So rich . . .

  Snap out of it! he thought. Snap out of it!

  And the elevator dinged. The doors opened, and the elevator car filled with the scents of supper. He closed his eyes and smiled, letting the delicious smells rush over him.

  His mind was clear once again. Nothing in the world would keep him out of Apartment 516 now.

  Caleb nearly staggered down the hallway, past the screaming mothers and wild children, toward the slightly open door of Apartment 516.

  “Cassie?” he said as he got close. He thumped the door twice with his fist. “It’s me.”

  The door swung open as he knocked, and he went in.

  “Should I close it?” he asked, though he still didn’t see anyone inside, and no one had responded to his greetings from the doorway.

  And it didn’t matter, because when he’d stepped a few feet into the apartment, the door closed behind him.

  He spun, surprised, and spotted the sweatshirt, folded and clean and sitting on a small table. He picked it up.

  “Uh-oh,” he said quietly to himself as he dropped the hoodie.

  “Is anyone here?” he called out. He moved slowly along the dark hallway. A light shone into the hall from the kitchen, and Caleb could practically see the scents of his supper slithering along the walls and floor like snakes made of steam.

  He rounded the corner and stepped into the light of the kitchen. His eyes fell first on the banquet arranged on the table.

  It was everything he knew it would be: a huge roast surrounded by vegetables; a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes beside a ceramic gravy boat, sending delicious steam through the kitchen; a covered tureen, with its ladle beside it and with drippings of chicken soup running down one side; and a beautiful pie, with a crisscross pattern across its top. From the smell he could tell it was apple pie.

  Caleb nearly fell upon the food, hungry like a wolf as he was, but something else caught his eye. In fact, it seemed to catch all his senses at once, and he felt himself snap awake.

  He realized he was suddenly alert, aware of where he was, how far he’d walked. The kitchen had no air in it, he realized, and the windows were all closed and covered with steam. He couldn’t catch his breath.

  But that’s not what startled him so. That’s not what sent a cold shiver up his sweating back.

  The oven door stood open. All the burners were on. But the stovetop and the oven gave no heat. All they gave was the hiss of gas entering the little apartment, filling it up.

  Caleb, forgetting the feast, turned and ran for the door. He pulled and pounded, but it wouldn’t open. He ran for the living room and struggled with the window, then with the door to the balcony. Both were sealed shut.

  “Help!” he shouted, pounding on the big glass panes. But help didn’t come. Caleb ran for the bedroom, hoping a window in there might work, even a crack—even the tiniest bit of fresh air might save him.

  He collapsed in the hall, dropped to the parquet floor like a heap of rags, and everything went black.

  ~26~

  Cassie rode in the back of the ambulance with the boy. Grandma sat in front. Cassie sat right next to Caleb, stroking his limp hand, feigning tears. Once in a while, she would sniff loudly.

  “You okay?” the paramedic asked her. “He’s going to be fine.”

  Cassie sniffed and nodded. “I hope you’re right,” she said. “He’s my best friend.”

  The paramedic patted her shoulder. “It’s a good thing you got there when you did,” he said. “I just can’t understand why he didn’t open a window or get out of that apartment. He really could have died.”

  Cassie peeked out from under her red hood. “It’s all my fault,” she said. “I should have gotten there sooner. This is all my fault.” She pretended to cry again.

  “Now don’t say that,” said the paramedic. “It was an accident.”

  Cassie sniffed again, but she didn’t respond. The ambulance sped through Forestville. The siren was on, and cars were pulling over to let them rush by.

  “That’s right, darling,” Grandma called from the passenger seat in front. “Don’t blame yourself, dear Cassie. It’s really my fault. There’s no one to blame but me. You know that. I forget things, now that I’m getting old. I feel terrible.”

  The paramedic caught Cassie’s eye and smiled.

  She smiled back, and the paramedic didn’t notice anything sinister about it.

  ~27~

  Caleb woke up under spotless white sheets in a spotless white room.

  His vision was blurry, and for an instant he thought for sure he was dead—waking up in heaven.

  But then there was beeping—like an old computer—quite near his head. Something tugged at his arm when he moved. Something pressed against his nose.

  His vision cleared, and he saw tubes and wires running from here and there, to his arm and his face and his chest, and to machines and plastic bags hanging on his right and left on either side of the the bed.

  The bed. Next to the bed, something red. A red shape. Cassie, with her hood.

  Cassie smiled at him. Caleb felt her hand on his.

  “Where am I?” Caleb said. His voice was cracked and dry.

  “Oh, Caleb,” said Cassie. Her voice sounded so strange. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  His mind reeled. He remembered the feast—had he eaten? His memory was so fuzzy.

  “It was all our fault!” Cassie said. She sounded like she’d been crying. She dropped her head and rolled it back and forth on his hand. “We’re so sorry.”

  “He’s going to be fine,” said a woman’s voice nearby. Caleb found the doctor standing at the foot of his bed.

  She smiled at him. “You’ll be out of here really soon, Caleb,” the doctor said. “Don’t worry.” On the way out, she dropped his file in a slot by the door.

  Cassie leaned in closer. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said. Behind her, the blue curtain that encircled Caleb’s bed ruffled and shook on its hooks.

  “I don’t get it,” Caleb said.

  He could remember more clearly now. He hadn’t eaten. There’d been no one else there. The door had closed behind him. The windows were locked. The oven was on.

  It was—

  “A trap,” he said. “You trapped me.”

  Cassie’s mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. “What?” she said. “Why would I trap you?”

  “I found my hoodie, by the door,” Caleb said. “You knew it was me.”

  “Why, whatever are you talking about?” Cassie said, her hand on her chest.

  “Stop,” Caleb said. He sat up, just the tiniest bit. The cables and tubes and wires prevented him from sitting up straight. “I know you trapped me. You were getting revenge.”

  “Revenge?” Cassie said. “Revenge for what, Caleb?”

  She smiled, just a tiny bit, and Caleb was sure he was right.

  He nodded and snarled. “Revenge because you and your crazy grandma knew it was me,” he said. “You knew it was me who tied her up and knocked you down and stole your food.”

  Cassie jumped to her feet and looked shocked. “It was?” she said.

  Caleb crossed his arms. Cassie grinned down at him, her teeth white and shining.

  That smile made Caleb shiver.

  The curtain flew back. There was Grandma, and a man was with her.

  “That’s en
ough, dear,” Grandma said. She was smiling too. “You’ve had your fun.”

  Cassie shrugged, pulled up her red hood, and walked out. Her raincoat squeaked as she went. Grandma followed her.

  The man, though, with his loose brown tie and wrinkled blue dress shirt, stayed right there. “I suppose you know who I am,” the man said.

  Caleb nodded. “Yes, officer,” he said.

  “They knew it was you, all right,” the policeman said, sitting down in the empty chair. “They knew it was you the whole time.”

  Caleb stared at the ceiling.

  “The only thing I don’t get,” the officer said, “is why you went back.”

  Caleb remembered the smells of that supper, pulling him from the park and clear across Forestville. “Me either,” he said. “Me either.”

  The fairytale known as Little Red Riding Hood is at least three hundred years old. It was first published in 1697 by Charles Perrault as Le Petit Chaperon Rouge, but the story’s origins may have been even older. Some people think that the story might have originated in France as early as the tenth century AD.

  In the original tale, a little girl walks through the woods, bringing food to her grandmother, who is ill. A wolf is in the woods too, and he has his eye on the girl.

  He talks to Little Red and finds out where she’s going. Then he distracts her by telling her to pick some flowers for her grandmother.

  While Little Red picks flowers, the wolf goes to her grandmother’s house and pretends to be Little Red in order to get inside. Then he swallows the grandmother and dresses up as her to wait for Little Red.

  When Little Red arrives, she notices immediately that her grandmother looks strange, saying things like, “What big eyes you have, Grandmother!” But before she can escape, the wolf swallows her up.

  In some versions of the tale, a hunter breaks into Grandmother’s house, kills the wolf, and saves Little Red and Grandmother, who were swallowed whole and are still alive. In other tellings, the women were not swallowed at all and are rescued by the hunter before the wolf can attack.

  Choose one from each group, and write a story that combines all of the elements you’ve chosen.

  A boy who wants to be king

  A princess who doesn’t want to get married

  A young man who has never met his parents

  A girl who has a pet bird

  A palace

  A tree fort

  A city apartment

  A farmhouse

  A pigeon

  A cow

  A dog

  A mouse

  A daisy

  An apple

  A ruby ring

  A pretzel

  A tired mother

  A fairy

  A terrible queen

  An elf

  New York City

  The French countryside

  Japan

  25th-Century America

  About the Author

  Olivia Snowe lives between the falls, the forest, and the creek in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

  About the Illustrator

  Michelle Lamoreaux was born and raised in Utah. She studied at Southern Utah University and graduated with a BFA in illustration. She likes working with both digital and traditional media. She currently lives and works in Cedar City, Utah.

  Twicetold Tales is published by Stone Arch Books

  A Capstone Imprint

  1710 Roe Crest Drive

  North Mankato, Minnesota 56003

  www.capstonepub.com

  © 2014 Stone Arch Books

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Snowe, Olivia.

  Cassie and the Woolf / by Olivia Snowe ; illustrated by Michelle Lamoreaux.

  p. cm. -- (Twicetold tales)

  Summary: Caleb Woolf has designs on the basket of food that Cassie Cloak takes to her grandmother every Sunday, so they set a trap to teach him a lesson.

  ISBN 978-1-4342-3786-6 (library binding)

  ISBN 978-1-4342-6278-3 (paper over board)

  ISBN 978-1-4342-9553-8 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-62370-137-6 (ebook)

  1. Fairy tales. 2. Folklore--Germany. [1. Fairy tales. 2. Folklore.] I. Lamoreaux, Michelle, ill. II. Little Red Riding Hood. English. III. Title.

  PZ7.S41763Cas 2013

  398.20943--dc23

  2013002779

  Designer: Kay Fraser

  Vector Images: Shutterstock