Once upon a time there was a little girl named Mary, who owned the finest cloak in the village — a warm, hooded cloak made of beautiful red cloth, sewn by her mother. Mary loved it so much she wore it everywhere, every day, until nobody called her Mary anymore at all. Everyone just called her Little Red Riding Hood.
On the far side of the woods lived her grandma, who was feeling poorly that week. So one morning, Little Red Riding Hood's mother packed a basket with eggs, fresh bread and good butter, and said: "Take this to Grandma, love. Go straight there, don't dawdle, and don't talk to strangers on the way."
"Straight there, no dawdling, no strangers," said Little Red Riding Hood, and off she skipped down the path.
Well. She meant it when she said it.
But the path ran between meadows absolutely full of wildflowers — buttercups and bluebells and big white daisies — and Little Red Riding Hood thought: wouldn't Grandma love a bunch of these? And she stepped off the path, just for a minute. Just for one little minute.
She was so busy picking flowers that she never heard the soft pad, pad, pad of paws behind her, until a silky voice said:
"Good morning, little girl. What lovely flowers."
A grey wolf stood on the path, smiling a long smile.
Now, Little Red Riding Hood had never met a wolf, so she didn't know what her mother would have known at one glance. "Good morning," she said politely. "They're for my grandma. She's poorly in bed, so I'm bringing her a basket of food."
"Poor Grandma," said the wolf, very sympathetically. "And where does she live, this dear old lady?"
"The little white house past the woods. This path goes straight there."
"Does it indeed," said the wolf. And with a nod and a "do give her my best," he trotted away into the trees.
The moment he was out of sight, the wolf ran — flat out, ears back, through brambles and over logs, taking every shortcut in the woods. He shot past a woodcutter chopping timber, who lowered his axe and frowned. A wolf in a hurry is up to no good, thought the woodcutter, and he shouldered his axe and followed.
The wolf reached the little white house first, just as he'd planned. He knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer — because, as luck would have it, Grandma was feeling much better that day and had walked to a friend's house for tea. So the wolf let himself in, found no one home, and hatched his sneaky plan: he put on Grandma's spare nightgown, her nightcap and her reading glasses, drew the curtains until the room was good and dark, and climbed into her bed, pulling the covers right up to his chin.
Outside, the woodcutter arrived, saw the door standing open, and hid behind the big rock in the garden to watch. And waited. And waited. And — being a man who'd been up since dawn chopping wood — fell fast asleep against the rock.
Knock, knock!
"Who is it?" called the wolf, in his best quavery Grandma voice.
"It's me, Grandma! Little Red Riding Hood!"
"Come in, dear!"
In she came, with her basket and her flowers. The room was awfully dark. "Put everything on the table, dear," croaked the wolf, "and come closer, where I can see you."
Little Red Riding Hood came closer. Something, she thought, was not quite right. She came closer still, and peered at the figure in the nightcap.
"Grandma… what big eyes you have!"
"All the better to see you with, my dear."
"Grandma, what big ears you have!"
"All the better to hear you with, my dear."
"Grandma… what big TEETH you have!"
"All the better to EAT you with!" roared the wolf, and he sprang out of bed, nightgown and all!
Little Red Riding Hood screamed and ran round the table — and that scream woke the woodcutter, who came through the door like thunder, axe in hand. One look at a wolf in a nightie chasing a little girl was all he needed. He chased that wolf twice round the room, out the door, and deep into the woods, roaring that if he ever showed his whiskers there again, he'd be sorry — and the wolf, still wearing Grandma's nightcap, never stopped running.
A little while later Grandma came home from her tea to find her furniture tipped over, her spare nightgown missing, and her granddaughter being comforted by a woodcutter. Once she'd heard the whole story, she hugged Little Red Riding Hood tight, thanked the woodcutter with the fresh bread and good butter, and they all had a very late, very welcome lunch together.
And from that day on, Little Red Riding Hood went straight to Grandma's, every single time. Though you may like to know: whenever she visited, she still brought wildflowers — picked from her own garden, before she set out.