Do Turtles Have Christmas?

This is a story I wrote last Christmas instead of focusing on my actual job. At the time, I already had the Christmas story for the blog planned out (you may recall, those of you who were there, that it was during a month-long tribute to Hans Christian Andersen) so I had to save this one for a year.


There's no way of saying this without coming off as egotistical, but I very much like this story. When I started writing it, it was just a cute little idea about turtles and Christmas, but I've grown very fond of it since that time. My hope is to one day have it published as a children's book with better illustrations than I can provide. Who knows? Maybe someday it'll be a holiday staple...well, a man can dream.




Greg got up that morning the same as always. He looked around his room with its tall, clear walls and went to get a drink from his dish. As he shook off the last bits of sleep he looked out his walls to see what the people were doing. They were putting decorations all over the house. Big red and green things that Greg didn't understand. In particular, a lot of them seemed to show a big fat guy in red pajamas and a white beard. Molly was asking her big sister, Mabel, a lot of questions.

“Is he really gonna come tomorrow night?”

“Of course he is. You wrote him a letter, didn't you?”

“Yes, but are you sure he read it?”

“I told you, Molly. Santa visits everyone who sends him a letter.”

“But how does he do it all in one night?”

“Magic, of course. I don't know exactly how it works, but I think he can freeze time or something.”

“Wow!”

There were a lot of words that Greg had never heard before. Santa. Rudolph. Some King or other called Nat. It was all very confusing to Greg. Luckily, later that day, Molly reached into Greg's room and picked him up to show him something. “Look how beautiful our tree is, Greg.” Greg looked and saw a large evergreen tree inside the house covered in colored lights and other ornaments. He had to admit it was beautiful but he didn't exactly know what it was for. “And tomorrow night, Santa's going to come and leave us presents for Christmas. And I asked him to bring something for you, too. Even though I don't know what turtles want for Christmas. Well, I'd better put you back. I have to go help Mommy in the kitchen.”

It was a very confused turtle whom Molly returned to his room a moment later. Christmas? What's Christmas? And who is this Santa who's supposed to bring me something? It was very overwhelming. But many of his questions were answered that very day. His room happened to be in such a place that it faced the TV so when the girls watched a movie called “A Christmas Carol” he learned a lot about this Christmas business.

Evidently, Greg concluded, it's a holiday that happens in the winter where everyone gets together and eats and drinks and has lots of fun and gives each other presents. It sounded nice, but it still left Greg with one burning question:

Do turtles have Christmas?

The holiday, it seemed, had something to do with a little baby called...something with a “J”, he couldn't remember. But the impression that Greg got was that this “Christmas” was this baby's birthday. Did you have to know the baby to celebrate? Are turtles allowed to celebrate? It seemed to have a lot to do with presents. Was it still Christmas if you didn’t get a present? Or give one?

According to Molly, the following day was called “Christmas Eve” and she and her sister watched a few more TV shows which told Greg a little more about the holiday. This Santa fellow lives at the North Pole and on Christmas Eve (that's tonight! he thought with some excitement) he flies in a magic sleigh pulled by eight flying reindeer (or nine, depending on the weather) and delivers gifts to all the good little boys and girls and...

His heart sank. Boys and girls. Not turtles. He was a boy turtle, sure, but he had the clear impression that this is not what they meant. Oh well, he thought, as he watched another show about a snowman with a special hat. No Christmas for me.


That night, Greg was awakened by a strange sound. A sort of “THUD” as if something had landed on the roof. Greg was frightened. If it was burglars, he was ill-equipped to do anything about it except hope and pray that turtles were not valuable on the black market. But then he heard another sound: Bells! Very small bells. Jingling bells. He remembered from his TV research that Santa's sleigh had bells on and often landed on rooftops. Am I going to get to see Santa Claus?

He did! Santa came down the chimney and set about his work. Putting packages under the tree, eating cookies, drinking milk, filling the stockings. Greg watched him, transfixed. The bright smile, the red suit, the white beard. He's just the way I thought he'd be, said Greg to himself. I may not get any presents, but it's enough to get to see him!

And then, just as Santa was about to leave, he turned his head in the direction of Greg's room. He looked at the turtle and smiled. “Well, hello there, Greg!” he said as he walked over to him. “You don't remember me, do you? Well, you wouldn't, I guess. You were so very small when I brought you here. You see, you were Molly's Christmas present last year. And she asked me to make sure you got a present this year. Don’t look so surprised,” said Santa, kindly at Greg’s reaction. “Didn’t you know? Christmas is for everyone. And you’ll get a present, too...but only if you go right to sleep! Now, now, rules are rules. If you want your present, you'll just have to wait till morning.”

Greg shut his eyes obediently and tried to fall asleep. “That's better. Now don't open them till tomorrow. And Merry Christmas, Greg.” He heard Santa place something inside his room and creep away. In another moment he heard the sleighbells, the muffled cry of Santa and then...nothing. Santa was gone. It was tempting to sneak a peek at his present, but, showing a level of self-restraint seldom seen in turtles, Greg succeeded in keeping his eyes shut until he fell asleep.


“Merry Christmas!” Greg woke to the joyous cry of Molly and Mabel as they ran downstairs for their presents. Their parents followed, somewhat less enthusiastically, but still all smiles. Greg watched through the walls of his room as the girls opened their presents and showed them off for their parents. It was a wonderful scene and Greg was very happy to have seen it.

“Look,” said Molly, suddenly. “Santa left something for Greg, too.” Greg had almost forgotten. With the great effort that it took for him to move at all, Greg turned around and saw...a great big head of lettuce! And it was all for him. As Greg began to munch on the crisp green leaves he thought of what Santa had said to him before he left. “Merry Christmas, Santa,” he thought. “And thank you for the best Christmas I ever had.”


THE END
Merry Christmas!

NEXT WEEK: "Rip Van Winkle"

The Box of Robbers

This story was written by L. Frank Baum, who we know best as the other of all 14 of the “OZ” books beginning with “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.” This is one of the many original stories that appeared in his book of American Fairy Tales, proving that he is a master of fantasy in this world as well as in Oz.

Martha was alone. This, in and of itself, was fairly unusual, as Martha was one of those lucky children who had many people to look after her. Her mother and father, her Aunt Mildred, her father’s friend Glenn and her big sister. Today, however, her mother was at work, her father was shopping, Aunt Mildred wasn’t well and Glenn was out of town on business, which just left Martha’s big sister. Unfortunately, Martha’s big sister was at that age when she didn’t want to stay in the house looking after her little sister.

“Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a little while?” she asked Martha.

“I’ll be fine,” said Martha, and a moment later, Martha’s big sister was gone and Martha was alone in the house. For a while, she kept herself occupied, but soon she fell to boredom. Then she remembered an old doll’s house up in the attic which she could bring downstairs, dust off and put back into service. Once she was up in the attic, however, she found something else: A large wooden trunk that had previously belonged to her great uncle, Pablo. Pablo had brought it with him when he came to America from Italy and had made it known that it was never to be opened under any circumstances. Which was just as well, thought Martha, as there was no key to the lock. That’s when she remembered the key drawer!

A moment later she was in the kitchen emptying that drawer next to the silverware which was full almost to the brim with keys. Keys to old cars and houses long since left behind. Keys to closets from old jobs. Keys to jewelry boxes and toy chests which hadn’t existed for generations. And more than a few keys which seemed to hve no clear function. These were the keys Martha took upstairs and tried, one by one, in the old trunk.

Finally, key number 82 succeeded and turned easily in the lock. For a moment, Martha was nervous, but her curiosity got the best of her and he opened the trunk. The top flew open and to Martha’s considerable surprise, a man stepped out! A tall, thin man, in elegant, old-fashioned clothes (which looked very worn and ratty) who did not look for one second as though he’d be able to fit in that box. He stepped out and reached back into the trunk to help another man get out! This one was shorter and fatter, but just as strangely attired. Martha began to wonder if this was some kind of trick; if perhaps there was no bottom to the trunk. Just then, both of the first two men helped a third man get out. This one was older but had very broad, strong shoulders and his bizarre costume was topped with an elegant hat.

“Why did I have to be on the bottom?” said the man in the hat.

“Sorry, sire,” said the tall one.

“It just sort of happened,” said his fat companion.

“Well, no matter. We’re out now.” Finally, their eyes fell upon Martha. “And who might you be, my dear?”

“Martha,” she said, nervously but politely.

“Well, Martha,” said the man in the hat, noticing the keys strewn about the floor. “We are indebted to you for releasing us from that prison.”

“I don’t understand,” said Martha. “Who are you?”

“We are robbers!” was the answer, and the man who was now clearly the leader of the gang removed his hat and bowed very low indeed. “We are the most fearsome and terrible criminals of all time. A clever man named Pablo trapped us in this horrible box years ago. Speaking of which, what year is it, young lady?” Martha told them and all three men were completely shocked. “I did not realize we had been imprisoned that long! Still, we must not dwell on the past. We must move forward and pick up where we left off.”

“Where you left off?” said Martha. “You mean stealing?”

“Of course. That’s what we do. We’re robbers, after all.”

“You shouldn’t steal! It’s against the law!”

“Well, what else can we do? Thievery is what we’re best at.”

“You could take on some other profession. How do you feel about banking? Teaching? Are you good with animals? How fast can you type?” For fully thirty-six minutes, Martha tried to suggest a career that would appeal to these robbers. But, in the end, they had shaken their head at every idea in turn.

“Sorry, Miss Martha,” said the leader. “But there is one thing we can do and one thing we like to do. And that is to steal. So, gentlemen: To work!” While Martha watched in horror, the men started going through the attic, looking for anything they could steal. And just when they were about to descend the stairs and leave with their ill-gotten booty (or their ill-booten gotty), suddenly the doorbell rang. The robbers, having been prisoners for so long, had never heard an electric doorbell and were frightened.

“It’s just someone at the door,” said Martha and, at the robbers’ request, she went to see who it was. Now, in actual fact, it was just a delivery boy who had left a pacakge on the front step and rang the doorbell before he left. But Martha had a plan. She ran back up the stairs and said, as if in a panic, “It’s the police! They’ve got the house surrounded!”

“How many are out there?” said the terrified robbers.

“At least a hundred,” said Martha. “You had better hide!”

“Where?”

“Back in the trunk. They’d never think three men would fit in there. It’s the safest place.” So the robbers climbed one by one back into the trunk from whence they had so recently emerged. And when the lid was shut, Martha, quick as a flash, turned the key and locked it. Then she took all the keys and put them back in the key drawer in the kitchen, except the key to the robbers trunk. That one she kept with her at all times. Then, the following summer, when her family went on a trip to the beach, she hurled the key into the sea so that nobody could ever open the trunk ever again.

Martha’s big sister came home less than an hour after she had left to find her little sister playing happily in the front room. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said. “I met my friends and then I started to feel guilty about leaving you alone and came home as fast as I could. I’m sorry, Martha.”

“Don’t be,” said Martha, with a knowing smile. “After all…what could’ve happened?”

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• American Fairy Tales by L. Frank Baum. Besides "The Box of Robbers" this volume contains such wonderful stories as "The Capture of Father Time," "The Girl Who Owned a Bear" and "The King of the Polar Bears." And, of course, you should definitely check out his Oz stories.

NEXT WEEK: "The Hare and the Hedgehog"

The Ghost and the Girl

This story is based on the ghost stories of Ireland, the land of the Banshee, changelings and other supernatural spectres you wouldn’t expect to come from the same place as leprechauns and tin whistles. The main plot is from “The Fate of Frank M’Kenna” by William Carleton, but I have lengthened it and changed small details. One thing I really wanted to convey was the idea that it’s not the ghosts of our dearly departed who need to move on: It’s us. We keep the dead on earth because we can’t let them go. We try to keep them alive for our own selfish reasons and deny them the reward they deserve. I’m not saying we should just erase your dead friends and family from our minds, but, as this story shows, by dwelling on death, we risk missing out on life.

M’Kenna had two sons. The oldest, Tom, was a good boy, clever, hard-working, obedient, and the greatest pride of his father’s life. The youngest, Frank, was willful, defiant, independent and the greatest shame of his father’s life. He refused to go to church, shirked his chores and did pretty much whatever he wanted regardless of his father’s words. Finally, one winter’s morning, Frank had planned to go hunting hares in the woods with a few friends. This, for Frank’s father, was the last straw. “If you don’t come with me and your brother to church, then I hope you never come back again!”

He didn’t mean it, really, it was said in anger, but it still hurt Frank’s feelings. “Whether I come back or not,” he said, “I am going. Now!” And he took up his walking stick and made his way to the forest. Frank’s father instantly regretted what he had said, but he let the boy go and he and Tom went to church.

Frank and his friends spent most of the day pursuing a particularly tricky hare who kept leading them deeper and deeper into the woods. As time wore on, it began to snow. Soon it turned into a blizzard. A terrible snowstorm, the worst seen in years. Frank’s friends wanted to go home at once to avoid getting lost in the woods. But Frank, still seething from what his father had said, was determined to catch that hare after all the trouble it had put them through. His friends tried very hard to convince him, but in the end, they had to give up and run home, leaving Frank alone in the storm.

Frank didn’t come home the next morning, and his father and Tom organized a search of the woods. It was difficult as the ground was covered in a good foot and a half of snow, but the people of the village searched high and low through those woods only to find no trace of Frank. They set out again the next day and the day after that, as the weather got warmer and the snow began to dissipate. On the fourth day after his departure from his father’s house, Frank was found. The snow had melted to reveal his body, lying curled on the cold earth, frozen to death.

There was a house very near where the body was found, owned by a man named Daly, and his own front door was taken off its hinges and used to carry Frank’s body back to town. The funeral procession was a sad one, M’Kenna and Tom sobbing the loudest and begging God and Frank to forgive them their harsh words toward the boy. The body was dressed in Frank’s finest clothes (except for the trousers; they couldn’t find his Sunday trousers, so they had to make do with another pair) and laid to rest in the earth.

It happened that Daly had a daughter of about fourteen who lived in the small house with him and who had, without her father’s knowledge, seen the young man’s corpse being carried away. The night after the funeral, Rose, for that was the girl’s name, woke her father with a terrible scream. When Daly went to see what was the matter, Rose swore that she had seen Frank M’Kenna standing in her room. Daly searched the house and saw no trace of the boy and assured his daughter that Frank was gone to his rest. Rose agreed and went back to sleep.

But the very next night, Frank appeared again. Another scream, another search of the house, another return to sleep for father and daughter. This happened every night for many days. Soon, Rose learned not to scream and instead simply covered her head in the bed sheets, only to find Frank gone when she looked out again. The nights wore on and Rose actually got used to Frank’s visits. So much so that, about a fortnight after his first appearance, she actually dared to speak to him.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “Why are you haunting this house?”

“This house was my Cóiste Bodhar[1],” said the ghost of Frank M’Kenna. “The door bore me to my final rest. I have business on earth that I must complete before I can move on.”

“What is it?”

“My Sunday trousers. It might seem like a small thing, but it is important to me. My friends took them before my body was dressed for my funeral and have since been fighting over who gets to keep them. None of them may keep them. If I was not buried in them, they must be given to charity.”

The next day, Rose told the villagers what Frank’s ghost had told her. Indeed, she was correct. Frank’s friends had been fighting over the trousers, but, after Rose’s testimony, they were promptly donated to the local parrish. The people were astounded by this news of Frank’s visitation. And all the rest of that day, it was all anyone talked or thought about. And that night, Frank appeared to Rose again, and she told him that his wishes had been fulfilled.

“Thank you, Rose,” said Frank. “Now perhaps I can go to my rest.”

But, curiously enough, he did not. That night he and Rose went on talking for a while before he vanished. She told everyone of their conversation and, once again, the ghost of Frank M’Kenna was all anyone was thinking about all that day. He appeared again and again in this way and he and Rose talked on all sorts of interesting subjects. God, Heaven, angels and so on. Rose learned more about the life after this one than any living human being has ever known. And every day she hungered for her meetings with Frank and every night she reveled in them.

It is said that we often hurt the ones we love and that’s precisely what Rose was doing. After many, many visits and many, many talks, Frank felt bold enough to ask Rose for a request.

“Of course, Frank,” she said, for she was quite fond of him by this time. “Anything you like.”

“You must forget about me.”

“What?”

“I told you when we met that I had business with the living that needed to be finished before I could move on, and that was true. But now something else is keeping me bound to this plane.”

“What’s that?”

“You. You keep me here. Every day you wait for me to appear. You long for the wisdom from beyond the grave which I grant you. And when a living soul clings too tightly to the memory of one who is deceased, it prevents that spirit from moving on.”

“But, seeing you is the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You are very young, Rose. Too young to dwell on death. There is so much wonder in this world, and we only get to know it for a short while. Let me go, Rose. Live your own life.”

A tear rolled down Rose’s cheek. “I’ll miss you, Frank.”

“Don’t be sad, Rose. We’ll see each other again. But hopefully not for a very long time.”

Rose smiled in spite of her sadness. She lowered her head and closed her eyes and whispered “goodbye.” When she looked up again Frank was gone.

That was the last time Rose ever saw Frank. She stopped looking forward to his visits and occupied herself with other pursuits. Frank left this world for good and all, but Rose didn’t quite keep her promise: She never forgot Frank entirely. And let’s hope none of us ever forget the wisdom he passed on: There is so much wonder in this world, and we only get to know it for a short while. 

So know it well.

THE END

For More Great Stories, Click HERE

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[1]  Pronounced “KOE-shta-BOW-er,” meaning  “Death Coach.”

Goldilocks and the Three Bears

This is another popular story with an interesting history. In fact there was a story by Robert Southey in 1837 about three bears, but the human character was an angry, gray-haired old crone who broke into the bears' home. This version (a-hem!) bears strong (suspiciously strong) similarities to a story about an old woman and three bears that had been published six years previously. Of course, in this earlier version, the bears proved to be disturbingly vindictive toward the old woman. They set her on fire, try to drown her, and ultimately are only able to kill her by impaling her on a church steeple...ugh! Twelve years later, another story appeared, this time by Joseph Cundall, who has turned the old woman into a little girl with silver hair (later golden hair, thus "Goldilocks"). 

Some of you may wonder why it's taken me so long to include this story in my collection. Well, the truth is, I had a hard time making the whole breaking-and-entering thing plausible. Just barging into someone else's house is pretty much universally held to be a no-no, so I needed to figure out how that could be reconciled with the character's otherwise sweet and loveable, Shirley Temple-esque demeanor. The answer came from, of all places, "Fractured Fairy Tales," about which I have written before. In one of their versions of Goldilocks, they establish the character as being "careless with other people's things!" I happen to have a close relative who has this same shortcoming, so that helped immensely.

Goldilocks was a little girl with pretty golden hair, which is good, cuz otherwise it’s be pretty silly to call her “Goldilocks,” don’tcha think? And though she had many good qualities (smart, pretty, good sense of humor, impeccable fashion sense and she always did the dishes when it was her turn) she also had one glaring, irrefutable bad quality: She was very, very careless with other people’s things. Any friend who lent her a doll or a book or something invariably regretted doing so because she treated other people’s things so badly. If she broke the spine of a book or the head came off a friend’s doll, she just thought “Well, at least it wasn’t mine.”

She lived with her family in a lovely house on the outskirts of a wide wood, and one day, she decided she would go and explore the woods. She wandered deep, deep into the forest, taking note of the beautiful flora and fauna around her. But time passes quickly when you’re having fun, and it seemed like she had just begun when she realized it was getting close to suppertime and she had to head home…unfortunately, by now Goldilocks was very, very much lost in the woods. Suddenly, the beautiful flora and fauna seemed strange and sinister and she just wanted to go home.

But, having no compass, no map and no way of knowing where she’d already been, poor Goldilocks just kept getting loster and loster…where we will have to leave her for the time being, for elsewhere in the forest was a house just as quaint and lovely as Goldilocks’. The only real difference was that it had no front porch, a larger chimney, an extra guest room on the main floor…Oh! And the people who lived there were actually bears.

A family of bears, in fact. A Poppa Bear, a Momma Bear, and a Baby Bear (well, more of a Little Kid Bear, but “Baby Bear” sounds better, so it’ll have to do) who were just sitting down to a dinner of porridge. Now, you might not like porridge for dinner, but bears happen to love it, especially with lots of honey, which, as I’m sure you know, bears like on pretty much everything, which is why you should never order a pizza with a bear.

But when Poppa Bear tasted his first spoonful of porridge, it was so hot it burned his tongue. “YOW!” he cried. “This porridge is much too hot!”

So the bears decided they would go for a quick walk in the woods while they let their dinner cool. And no sooner had they left then Goldilocks arrived. Overjoyed at seeing a house in the middle of this dense forest, Goldilocks rudely ran inside without even knocking or asking permission. And, when she saw several bowls of porridge sitting on the table seemingly waiting for her, she was doubly excited and she sat down in front of the first bowl of porridge took a big spoonful and—

“YOW!” she cried. “This porridge is much too hot!” And she was so excited that she dropped the bowl and spilled it all over the table. So, she moved onto the next bowl, to which she added some cold milk to make it cooler. “No,” she said. “Now it’s too cold.” So she turned to the last bowl added slightly less milk and took a bite. “Ahh! Now this is juuust right!” And she finished the whole bowl in a flash.

But she ate too fast, and it upset her tummy, so she wanted to sit down and relax a bit. She tried to sit in the great big arm chair, but it was too big. Then she saw a little chair by the fireplace, but it was too low. Finally her eye (and then the rest of her) fell on a comfy-looking rocking chair which was juuust right. Unfortunately, she rocked too fast and broke the chair.

Of course, Goldilocks didn’t worry too much about that (after all, she thought, it’s not as if it were my chair) especially because eating all that porridge after such an exhausting trip through the woods had made her sleepy. So she went upstairs to see if she couldn’t find someplace to lie down.

You’ve probably guessed what she found upstairs. Three beds. The first bed was too hard. The second bed was too soft. But the third bed was juuust right and she climbed in and fell fast asleep.

It was about this time that the bears came home and were shocked to see the state of their house. “Someone’s been eating my porridge!” said the Poppa Bear. “Yes, and someone’s been eating my porridge,” said Momma Bear. “Someone’s been eating my porridge,” said Baby Bear, “And they ate it all up!”

“And look!” said Poppa Bear. “Someone’s been sitting in my chair, too.” At first, Momma Bear wondered how her husband could possibly know that, until she saw her own chair, the one by the fireplace and said, “Someone’s been sitting in my chair.” And when Baby Bear saw the broken pieces of wood in the spot where his chair used to be, he said, “Someone’s been sitting in my chair and they broke it!”

Since they couldn’t find the culprit downstairs, the bears went upstairs to the bedroom. Well, bears, as you probably know, always make their beds in the mornings, so it was clear to them that—“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed!” said the Poppa Bear. “Someone’s been sleeping in my bed, too,” said the Momma Bear. “Someone’s been sleeping in my bed,” said Baby Bear. “In fact, someone’s still sleeping in my bed.”

All this commotion had effectively woken Goldilocks up and when she saw three bears glaring angrily at her she was more scared than she had ever been in her life. Poppa Bear was about to give her a stern lecture about the importance of being respectful of other people’s property, but he never got a chance to, because the minute he opened his mouth to speak, Goldilocks thought he was going to try to eat her and she ran like the dickens out of the house, through the woods and found her way home in record time.

Of course, there would have been no need for a lecture after what Goldilocks had experienced. After that day, she was always very careful with things that didn’t belong to her and her friends and family now knew that they could lend her their favorite toys, games, books and things without fear. As for the bears, well they learned that it’s kind of stupid to go for a walk in the woods without even locking your front door and, for extra measure, they installed a home security system. So they too lived happily, and securely, ever after.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• "Faerie Tale Theatre" (TV) This episode stars John Lithgow, Tatum O'Neal and Donovan Scott.

NEXT WEEK:  "The Heir to the Throne"


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Little Red Riding Hood

This is perhaps one of the most enduring fairy tales of all times. And, like Cinderella, its elements have passed into the basic lexicon of our society. The lesson it teaches is universal: take extra care with strangers.

In most early versions, both Grandmother and Red herself were eaten, but as time wore on, and sympathy for Little Red grew, she was rescued by her father, a huntsman, or, according to playwright James Lapine, a baker. It wasn’t until the Brothers Grimm got their hands on it a hundred and twenty years after the story became popular that Grandma was rescued!

Some versions are more gory than others. I, for example, have omitted the bit where the wolf catches Grandma’s blood in bottles and tricks Red into drinking them! Think about little things like that before you scold people like me and Walt for “cleaning up” fairy tales, okay?

W

olves are wonderful animals. Beautiful creatures with much to offer. They only eat the weakest sickest member of any given herd so that the herd itself stays strong. They are one of a very few wild animals that mate for life. And, though somewhat chilling, their howl is one of nature’s most beautiful and haunting sounds. Unfortunately, there is an old saying that goes, “one bad apple will spoil the bushel.” And the same is true of wolves. One or two bad ones have become famous and these remarkable animals have been maligned ever since. This is the story of one such bad apple, a rogue wolf by the name of Treebark. A real villain with a heart of coal.

Once upon a time and long ago, there was a little girl called Red. Now, Red was not her real name, mind you. But that’s what everyone called her because she loved the color red. Red loved red passionately. Her toothbrush was red, her favorite foods were strawberries and apples (red delicious, of course), her favorite comedian was Red Skelton, her favorite singer was Helen Reddy…

Sorry, I got carried away there.

Also, her favorite thing in the whole wide world was a special cape and hood which was of a style that was popular at the time called a “riding hood.” It was bright red and her Grandmother had made it for her, which is why she was always called Little Red Riding Hood…or Red Riding Hood for short…or Red for shorter…or, on occasion, “R” for shortest.

Anyway, Red’s Grandmother lived in a house inconveniently located on the opposite side of Wolf Woods, wherein lived close to a hundred wolves. But Red wasn’t afraid when she went to visit her grandmother. A clean, well-lit path cut through the forest to allow travel, and the wolves seldom ventured out far enough to interact with their human visitors…usually.

One day, Red’s Grandmother became very ill. In fact, between you and me, there were concerns about whether or not she’d make it through the night. So, Red’s Mother asked her to take a Basket of Goodies through Wolf Woods to Grandmother’s House. Red, whose best friend in the world was her Grandmother, was more than happy to oblige, and left as soon as she got back from school. Now, Red had made this trip before on numerous occasions. And she had always promised her mother that she would stay on the path and not wander into the woods. For, friendly though the people were with the wolves, there were other dangers to consider. So Red had no reason to believe that today’s trip would be any different.

What she didn’t know is what was going on deep in the forest at that very moment. The wolves were holding an impromptu tribunal for one of their own.

“Step forward, Treebark of Narria,” said Greybeard, the Chief Wolf. Treebark stepped forward as every eye of every wolf in his pack glared at him in disgust and shame. Treebark felt no remorse. “Treebark of Narria,” Greybeard continued, addressing him by his family name as a matter of protocol, “you stand accused of crimes against the pack. You have behaved not in the interest of your fellow wolves, but only in your own. You have attacked a defenseless animal without provocation. You have failed even to show remorse for your actions. Do you deny these charges?”

“No,” said Treebark. And in that one syllable he succeeded in displaying his utter contempt for all things wolfish.

“Have you anything to say in your defense before this council passes sentence?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” said Treebark. “You’re weak! All of you! We are strong, fierce creatures. With the right motivation we could rule this forest and beyond. We could act with total impunity. But, no. We have to be civilized. Hold trials and call each other by our family names. Well, go ahead and pass your little sentence. The worst you can do is kick me out of the pack, and I wouldn’t stay if you begged me!”

Greybeard did indeed banish Treebark from the pack. He left smiling. The other wolves became worried at what he might do, but only briefly before getting on with their lives. Never dreaming that, while his name would never be spoken among their number again, his actions would live in infamy…

When Treebark left the tribunal, he picked a direction and walked aimlessly. He muttered and mumbled to himself, cussing out the other wolves as he did so. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he was hungry. And there was a certain kind of animal he’d always been eager to try. As he came upon the path, he saw one such animal walking along happily. Seeing his opportunity, Treebark leapt out at the animal and said, “Hello, little girl.”

“Hello, Mr. Wolf,” said Little Red Riding Hood, politely.

“Where are you off to on this fine day?” Treebark was being exactly as charming as it’s possible to be when you are a sinister, bloodthirsty monster.

“I’m off to visit my Grandmother on the other side of the wood. She isn’t feeling well.”

“I am sorry to hear that. But, look, if you continue on the path it will take you another half an hour, maybe longer, to get there. I can show you a shortcut through the woods.”

“No. Sorry, Mr. Wolf, but I promised my mother I would stay to the path. Goodbye, Mr. Wolf!” Before Treebark could think of anything else to say, Red skipped away down the path. He was angry at himself, but then an idea struck. He had at least half an hour to run through the woods, beating Red Riding Hood to her Grandmother’s House. Once there, he could devour Granny and set a trap for Red herself. A two course meal!

Treebark licked his chops with glee and bounded into the woods, moving as fast as he could. In the process, he knocked a bird’s nest out of the tree it was nestled in. The bird who belonged to it was furious as she now had to build the whole thing from scratch, which meant waiting another day to lay her eggs. She shouted after Treebark but the wolf didn’t listen. It’s doubtful if he even heard. He had only one thought on his mind: Lunch!

When he arrived at Grandmother’s House, Treebark knew he’d need a plan to get inside. He thought of one quickly and knocked on the door. The thin, feeble voice of a usually vibrant old woman, pinned down with illness, came from within. “Who is it?” she asked.

“Good afternoon, can I interest you in a new set of encyclopedias?” said the wolf, doing his Best Encyclopedia Salesman Voice.

“No, thank you,” said Grandmother. Treebark thought for another moment, then knocked on the door again. “Who is it?” said Grandmother.

“Pizza man,” said the wolf, doing his Best Pizza Delivery Boy Voice.

“I didn’t order a pizza,” said Grandmother, wondering if pizza had even been invented yet. Finally the wolf hit upon the winner. He knocked on the door. “Who is it?”

“Certified letter for…er…Grandmother!” said the wolf, doing his Best Postal Employee Voice.

“Oh, just a moment, I’ll let you in.” Treebark stifled a chuckle as he heard Grandmother undo all seven locks on her front door. When she swung open the door she was shocked to find, not a Postal Employee with a Certified Letter, but rather a huge, slobbering wolf with sharp teeth and claws looming over her. Needless to say, but I will anyway, she screamed and ran away. Treebark was nipping at her heels the whole way, until Grandmother dove into the cellar and locked the door behind her.

Treebark banged on the door with all his might but couldn’t get through. Eventually he remembered Little Red Riding Hood. If she saw the front door open and no sign of Grandmother, she’d get suspicious and probably call the police or something. So, thinking even more quickly than before, Treebark ran into Grandmother’s closet, found a nightgown and cap and a pair of her spectacles. With his cunning disguise in place, he shut the front door, leaving it unlocked, climbed into bed and waited for Red to come.

She did at last and knocked on the door. “Come in,” said the wolf, doing his Best Grandmother Voice (wolves are experts at voices, as well you know, and can imitate practically anybody). Red came in, thinking that Grandmother sounded funny because she was sick, but when she saw the figure lying in the bed, she knew at once that it was the wolf she had met on the road. Of course, she had no reason to suspect anything sinister was going on, so she played along and simply said, “Are you feeling any better, Grandmother?”

Treebark, unaware that Red was onto him, said, in his Granny Voice, “A little, dearie.”

“Grandmother!” said Red with fake shock, “What big eyes you have!”

Treebark again thought quickly and said, “All the better to see how you’ve grown, my dear.”

“Grandmother! What big ears you have!”

“All the better to listen to your sweet voice with.”

“Grandmother! What big arms you have!”

“Come here and give Granny a big hug, dearie.”

“And, Grandmother, what a big mouth you have!”

“All the better to eat you with, my dear!” And with that, Treebark forgot all pretense and dove at Red. Now Little Red Riding Hood knew something was wrong and screamed and ran for her life. The wolf, luckily, tripped on his nightgown, so Red had time to run for the cellar door only to find it locked, but as soon as Grandmother heard Red’s voice yelling, “Help! Help! He’s after me!” she unlocked the door and pulled her grandchild in after her. Treebark pounded on the door, but Grandmother had locked it right away. Now the wolf was furious.

“Fine!” he bellowed when he had grown weary of trying to break down the door. “You can’t stay down there forever. And I’ll be right here waiting for you.” To their horror, Red and Grandmother saw that the wolf was quite right. There was no food or water in the cellar. They were trapped!

But just then, when things looked blackest, a ray of hope fluttered past the window. The little Momma Bird whose nest Treebark had upset had rebuilt and was now prepared to follow the wolf’s trail and give him a piece of her mind. When she arrived at Grandmother’s house and saw what was going on, she was horrified. She hated the thought of that horrible beast eating those innocent people, so she flew off in search of help.

She found it in the form of a Hunter, who was having a very bad day. He hadn’t caught so much as a squirrel, when the little Momma Bird fluttered in front of his face and explained to him what was going on. Eager to help (and to save face in front of his hunter friends by catching something), the Hunter followed the Momma Bird to Grandmother’s House and knocked on the door.

“Who is it!?!?” barked the wolf, forgetting that it was not his own house.

“Er…Mr. Wolf: You may have already won ten million dollars!” said the Hunter, doing his Best Contest Spokesman Voice. Hunters are actually not that great at voices, but the wolf bought it anyway and, eager to win ten milion dollars, abandoned his place in front of the cellar and went to answer the front door…which proved to be the last thing that Treebark ever did.

And so, it looked as though everyone would end up happily ever after. Grandmother got well again and decided to move closer to her family so that Red wouldn’t have to wander through the woods quite so much. The pelt of Treebark brought a handsome price to the Hunter who was forever grateful to Little Red Riding Hood and her entire family. And the little Momma Bird has five babies, all of whom grew up into beautiful little birdies.

As for the wolves, they never knew of Treebark’s treachery, but if they did, they wouldn’t have been too worried. No one was likely to take this one incident and blow it out of proportion and condemn all wolves the world over…

But then word got out about the pigs…but that’s another story!

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• The Big Bad Wolf (1934) Walt Disney’s sequel to Three Little Pigs featuring Red Riding Hood and Grandma
• Little Red Riding Rabbit (1944) Bugs Bunny cartoon in which Red is brinigng a rabbit to grandma instead of “goodies”
• “The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show”/”Fractured Fairy Tales”: Riding Hoods Annonymous. In which the Wolf is in a self-help program to kick the Riding Hood habit and joins the PTA
• “The 10^th Kingdom” (TV) Scott Cohen as “Wolf” plays the grandmother trick on Kimberly Williams
• “Faerie Tale Theatre” (TV), Malcolm McDowall as the Wolf, Mary Steenburgen as Granny
• “Into the Woods” Red and the Wolf sing “Hello, Little Girl” by Stephen Sondheim

NEXT WEEK: "Sleeping Beauty"