honkinbigteeth | 001. let me in

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You wander through the woods in the dark. Your body doesn't feel right anymore, like it doesn't belong to you. You're tired, and full, and your senses are too sharp. Through the trees, ahead, you can smell the cottage before you see it. You can smell the smoke of the candles that have been blown out, the bodies inside. You can hear whimpering, children in the cottage. Your siblings, you remind yourself. It's night, and you've finally made it back home. You can smell the people inside, your family, but when you go to the door, you find it locked.

You don't look down at your hand on the door. Instead, you tap against the wood, very very gently, because you don't want to wake anyone, and in a voice wavering so much you can barely believe it belongs to you, you call out to your mother.

She doesn't answer. Maybe they didn't hear. You tap again, quietly, on the window.

"Mom," you say again, more to yourself than anything. "This is really serious. Something really serious is happening." You're scared, and you just know you have to get inside.

You notice scratches left on the glass from your claws. You hide your hand beneath your cloak, where you can't see it, and call out, just a little louder, for your mom, who you know now you can smell just on the other side of the window.

She comes closer, and you think for a moment she'll let you in, but instead you hear her voice inside, frightened and angry. "Get out of here! Get away!"

Your heart pounds, not sure how to react to this at first. But you try calling to her again, your voice going higher and higher in panic.

"Mom, I just, if you could just let me in, I could explain everything." You remember the anger in her voice and add, "I'm sorry. You were right. I really shouldn't have strayed, and there were great consequences. I wish you had warned me how serious the consequences were, because I thought it was just about wasting time, but it was much, much, much more grave."

There's no response. Just silence from inside, and the stark scent of fear, and sweat, and blood. You try the handle again, trying to make it budge.

"Please, Mom, let me in! The door is barred, and - "

"I don't know what you are," your mother's voice says. "But my daughter is dead."

Dead? You try to remember, or understand. It doesn't make sense. "She's not, she's right here. She's right here, she's not dead."

"Wear her skin all you like, but I know. Look at you!"

You look towards the window, and you see, in the window, a silver looking glass. In the glass is the reflection of a little girl with matted hair and blood drying on her face and wild, wild hungry eyes bulging in her face. And you can see that -

You hiss, and you turn away. You don't want to see any of that. You don't want you look, you just know this isn't right. You just want to go home.

"I think there's just been a terrible misunderstanding," you say in a small voice. "Mom, Grandma is dead. And we have to talk about this. Grandma's dead. I don't have anywhere to go if not here. Mom, please, it feels like the door is barred, and I can't get in, and I don't know what I might do to try to get in - "

"You don't know what you might do?" your mom's voice asks in suspicion.

Why did you say that? Why did you say that? You just need to be inside so badly. You need to be home, safe, where this will feel like a bad dream.

"I don't know what's going on. I know you think I'm dead, but I'm not. I'm very, very alive, and I'm scared."

She doesn't respond. But you can hear the voices inside, sharper than they should be, discussing. Your mom and your aunt, inside the house, talking in low whispers you can make out perfectly. We know that the wolf can wear the clothes of others. We know it can mimic their voice. Our only hope is that with the morrow, the woodsman will come. We know.

You think of an ax among a pile of logs, you think of the hot breath of the beast on your neck, and you're angry, suddenly. "Yeah, well, the woodsman doesn't fucking come," you shout.

"I'm sorry I cursed," you add hastily, your voice going pleading again. "I'm sorry I cursed, I'm sorry."

"Don't hurt us," says your aunt. "Please, don't do anything to the home."

"I won't, I won't, I won't." What they're asking doesn't make any sense, but it doesn't matter. You say it like a promise, like a child being scolded and only wants to make it right, for the trouble to pass.

"Come to the door," your mother says. "And I will let you in."

You feel relief wash over you, a wave of it, and you try to get your clothing as neat and presentable as you can. But as you try to adjust your cloak and hide your hand in your pocket, the fabric of the hood tears as your hand - claw - hand shifts it. That's your special red cloak grandma made you, and you're always careful with it, but you feel so much more strength in you than you've ever felt before.

It's fine, you whisper to yourself. I can fix it. I can fix it. You take a deep breath. I can fix everything. Something's gone seriously wrong, but I can fix it. Mom will know what to do.

And you push on the door, and find that it is no longer barred. You let yourself in, trying to calm yourself down.

Everything's normal. Everything's back to normal now, everyone's happy. Well, no. You remember - Grandma. Grandma, we'll figure out.

And as you open the door, you see the tall wooden clock that had been set against it previously, barring your way. And falling from the top of the clock, you see a glint of silver. You move, on instinct, but feel a burning pain in your arm.

"Who - who threw that?" The pain is confusing you, for a moment you think one of your siblings has flung something at you as a joke, but then you see the blade jutting out, embedded deep within the fur and muscle of your arm. Why - "Mom?"

"Run! Run!" There's a pounding in your ears as you suddenly see it with more clarity, like a stranger looking in on this situation might see. A trap placed at the door to pierce your throat or your heart, while your mom and aunt and siblings try to rush out the back door. And the pounding in your ears grows, and you feel something boiling up inside you, a hot and terrible anger you've never felt before.

"You lured me in with your own love? You fucking scam of a woman." You stalk into the house. They haven't run quickly enough, they haven't made it out of the house yet. You see a table set for dinner, smell the burning candles and the meat, all set out at settings full of food save for one. The humans in here are frozen with terror as you bolt into the cottage and effortlessly flip the table, throwing the dinner to the ground.

"Did you have a nice dinner? Did you all sit down to a nice dinner while you presumed I was dead?" You seem to be growing larger as you say this, towering over them, under your shoulders and head touch the ceiling and the humans quake before you. "If I was so dead, where was my funeral! Where's my headstone?"

In the back of your head, you hear the rumble of a deep voice. Breathe in and out. You must not forget to breathe.

You breathe in, and as you exhale, you think of the table without a place for you, the mother who would not believe you, your family that attempted to flee from you in your moment of need. And your breath becomes the howl of wind that shatters the windows, peels away the rafters, and blows your family away into the sky.

You stand there, stunned, in the wreckage of your home. What? What did you just -

Huff and puff, little one says the voice of the wolf in your head.

"What have you done to me?"

You run.