Page 6 of Ruining Red
With each step, the path grows eerily quiet.No longer does the howling ring out from the trees.Even the snow stops, clearing my vision to better see the house that awaits me.Cocking my ears toward the trees, I listen for any signs of life and find none.
No birds call out to each other.No rabbits or deer scamper about in search of food.It’s only me.
Alone.
For the first time since this journey, tendrils of ice wrap around me, coiling over my limbs until shivers wrack my body.The only thing granting me peace is Grandmother’s door.She’s so close now.If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can smell the burning embers of her fireplace.
So close.So impossibly close, and yet, so far away.The distance yawns before me, lengthening with every breath.Once more, my body is aflame, causing me to twist and turn, clutching at my midsection as I hunch over.
I will not allow this trip to get the best of me.Even if I die trying, I will reach my destination.Pushing past the discomfort, I continue trudging forward, only stopping when the need to catch my breath is so intense that my lungs burn in protest.
Eventually, I make it.Collapsing against the door, I rest my forehead against the rough wood.My fingers trace the designs etched deep as I force my mind to calm.It’s not until I’m breathing in a nice, even cadence that I open the door.
There, in her massive bed, resides my grandmother.At least, it’s an elderly woman who resembles the person I’ve come to know as the matriarch.Granted, her skin is thin, stretched tight over protruding bones.
There’s a glimmer of the woman I once knew, but she’s swallowed up in shallow cheeks and cracked lips.Tears threaten to prick my eyes as I walk over with the basket.How selfish of me to think about becoming the next matriarch when the woman is still alive and in obvious discomfort.
I fear I must break the silence somehow.I glance over her face, thinking of something, anything to say that won’t come across as impertinent or rude.
“Well met, Grandma,” I murmur, setting the basket by her side.“What large, lovely eyes you have.”
She laughs, a rusty sound that creaks with age and neglect.“Ah, my dear granddaughter.Though old, they can still see you very well.”
I glance at the side of her face where her curls rest.“And I suppose your ears are well?”
“Quite.Though aged, they still hear all.”
With a smile, I pull a hunk of bread from the basket and take it over to the fireplace.“Forgive me, Grandma, but I fear the cold weather has made this bread nearly impossible to eat.Allow me to warm it up so it’s easier for you to chew.”
“Nonsense, child,” she cackles.“These teeth may be old, but they can bite well enough.Come, show me what you brought.”
The moment I come close, my insides twist.Something isn’t right about any of this.Handing her the bread, I empty out the remaining contents, revealing some pastries, drink, and some odd glass bottles.
I set them out in neat, organized rows next to her on the nearby shelf.Without hesitation, I tug at her bedspread.“Forgive me, Grandma, but surely this cannot be comfortable.”
Her eyes narrow as she watches me fuss about, straightening here, tucking there.But still, nothing seems to fix it.It’s an itch that burrows under my skin that I cannot scratch.The matriarch sits there, not saying a word.
Pacing, I run my hands along my sides, doing my best to staunch the incessant need to fuss and fiddle.I’m so deep in my thoughts, that I’m unaware that others have entered the room until I collide with another warm body.My eyes fly up, locking with an older woman.
She’s not nearly as old as the lady in the bed, but somehow, she looks more like what I remember the matriarch looking like.“G- Grandma?”My gaze flies between her and the woman in the bed.
“Thank you for your assistance.That is all.”
With a shrug, the old woman grips at her face and tugs.Dumbstruck, I watch in horror as the skin slides away, revealing a girl from the village.Tanya, I believe.We never interacted much, but her golden hair, yellow as if kissed by the sun, always stirred feelings of jealousy in me.
Even now, as she clutches the ruffly nightcap, I watch, my stomach twisting as the flaxen curls bounce free.The gray hairs that cling to the fabric were fake as well.Is this another test?
Backing away, I lift up my hands as if that will protect me.“I don’t understand.”
My grandmother scowls down at me.“I do not expect you to.”Nodding over her shoulder, I watch in horror as more people file into the space.
Family and friends, most of them males, trod in behind her, their boots thudding against the wooden floor.The sound rings in my ears, setting my heart to pounding.The only explanation is they are here to bear witness to me elevating in rank to matriarch.To think anything less makes my blood freeze in my veins.
“Have you ever wondered why you wear that red hood?”
I finger the garment in question, thrown off by this line of inquiry.“Mother said it was a symbol, a mark to keep me safe.”
“That is the polite answer, yes.But I fear it’s far more sinister.”Striding over, she grips the hood in her hand and tears it down, revealing my hair to everyone.
