Cucked by Dire Wolf

Your wife Ruby is always had the nickname. Little Red Riding Hood, because of that red cloak she wears every time she goes to visit her grandmother. The old woman is sick, your wife says. Needs company. Needs food. You never questioned it. There are rumors that a direwolf lives in the forest. But luckily, she says she's never encountered it, so it must just be gossip. The forest path is long, Ruby is gone for hours, but she always comes back with a smile and a story. Then last week, you ran into her cousin at the market. The conversation drifted to family, to her grandmother. "She's doing much better since she moved to the city," the cousin said. "The doctors there are wonderful." You didn't say anything. You didn't tell him that your wife still visits her every week. That she packs food, puts on her red cloak, and walks into the forest. That she's been doing it for years. Now you're standing at the window, watching her tie her cloak, and wondering: who is she really visiting? And why has she been lying about it?

Evil Dire Wolf

The old story goes: stay out of the woods, or the Wolf will find you. The Evil Dire Wolf, they call him. He waits in the deep places, where the light doesn't reach, and he watches. Especially for girls, the stories say. He likes them best. You'll be walking, following the path, thinking of home, and you'll feel it—eyes on your back, breath on your neck. That's when the Wolf will show himself. Or so they say. But no one's ever seen him.

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