Once there was a little girl who lived at the edge of the forest with her mother. Everyone called her Little Red Riding Hood because she wore a red velvet hood that her grandmother had made for her, and she seldom took it off.
One morning her mother packed a basket with cake still warm from the oven and a bottle of wine. She set the basket on the table and said, “Little Red Riding Hood, your grandmother is not well. Take her these things and stay on the path. Do not wander into the woods, and do not speak to strangers.”
Little Red Riding Hood promised to do as she was told. She put on her red hood, took up the basket, and stepped out into the bright morning. The air smelled of pine and damp earth. Birds called from the branches overhead.
She walked along the narrow path between the trees. Sunlight fell in patches on the ground. She passed blackberry thickets and a small brook where the water ran clear over stones. She hummed a little song and kept her eyes on the way ahead.
A wolf came out from behind a tree. He had been watching the path for some time. He saw the basket and the red hood and thought the girl looked easy to manage. He stepped forward and greeted her politely.
“Good morning, Little Red Riding Hood,” said the wolf. “Where are you going so early?” She answered without fear, “I am going to my grandmother’s house with cake and wine because she is ill.” The wolf’s ears twitched at the news.
The wolf asked which way her grandmother lived. Little Red Riding Hood pointed down the path. “Her house stands under the three big oak trees, not far from the mill,” she said. The wolf smiled with all his teeth and said he hoped the grandmother would soon be well.
The wolf thought quickly. If he reached the grandmother first, he could take her place and wait for the girl. He told Little Red Riding Hood that the woods were pleasant and that she should stop to listen to the birds and gather flowers for her grandmother. She looked at the bright blossoms growing among the ferns and thought it would be kind to bring some.
While Little Red Riding Hood left the path to pick flowers, the wolf ran straight to the grandmother’s cottage. He knocked at the door with his paw. The grandmother, weak from her illness, called out, “Who is there?” The wolf answered in a voice meant to sound like the child, “It is Little Red Riding Hood with cake and wine.”
The grandmother told him to lift the latch. The wolf pushed the door open, sprang inside, and swallowed the old woman whole. He put on her nightcap and nightgown, climbed into the bed, and drew the curtains. Then he lay still and waited.
Little Red Riding Hood walked on with her arms full of flowers. She reached the cottage, knocked, and heard a strange, rough voice call, “Who is there?” She answered, “It is your granddaughter with cake and wine.” The wolf told her to lift the latch and come in.
She stepped inside. The room was dim. She saw the shape in the bed and felt something was not right. She set the basket down and walked closer. “Grandmother,” she said, “what big ears you have.” The wolf answered, “The better to hear you with, my child.”
Little Red Riding Hood looked again. “Grandmother, what big eyes you have.” The wolf replied, “The better to see you with, my child.” She stepped nearer still. “Grandmother, what big hands you have.” The wolf said, “The better to hold you with, my child.”
At last she stood at the bedside. “Grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have.” The wolf answered, “The better to eat you with,” and sprang from the bed. In one bound he swallowed Little Red Riding Hood as well.
The wolf, now full and sleepy, climbed back into the bed, pulled the covers to his chin, and soon began to snore. The sound rolled through the little house and out into the quiet woods.
A huntsman passing by the cottage heard the heavy snoring and wondered why the grandmother should make such a noise. He stepped to the window and saw the wolf lying in the bed wearing the nightcap. He understood at once what had happened.
The huntsman opened the door quietly and went inside. He raised his axe, but he did not strike at once. He thought the grandmother might still be saved. Instead he took a pair of scissors and carefully cut open the wolf’s belly.
The first thing he saw was the red hood. He cut further, and out stepped Little Red Riding Hood, frightened but unharmed. Then came the grandmother, weak and pale but still alive. They helped her to a chair and gave her water.
The wolf lay still, for the cut had ended him. The huntsman filled the belly with heavy stones and sewed it shut again. When the wolf awoke and tried to run, the stones dragged him down and he fell at the door of the cottage.
Little Red Riding Hood ran to her grandmother and held her hand. The old woman’s breathing grew easier. Color returned to her cheeks. She drank a little of the wine and tasted the cake her granddaughter had brought.
The huntsman stayed long enough to make sure the grandmother was comfortable. He promised to return the next day with more wood for the fire. Little Red Riding Hood thanked him and promised she would never again leave the path when sent on an errand.
The grandmother rested through the afternoon. Little Red Riding Hood sat by the bed and told her about the flowers she had gathered and the wolf she had met on the path. The old woman listened and nodded, glad to have her granddaughter near.
When evening came, Little Red Riding Hood helped her grandmother into fresh sheets and banked the fire. She closed the shutters and made sure the door was latched. Then she sat by the hearth and waited for her mother to come looking for her.
Her mother arrived at dusk, carrying a lantern. She saw the stones at the door and the quiet house and understood that danger had passed. She embraced her daughter and the grandmother and gave thanks that both were safe.
From that day the family kept closer watch over one another. Little Red Riding Hood still wore her red hood when she walked to her grandmother’s house, but she stayed on the path and spoke to no one she did not know. The woods remained as they had always been, full of shadows and birdsong.
The grandmother recovered her strength. She and her granddaughter often sat together by the window, watching the light move across the clearing. They spoke of small things: the taste of cake, the sound of the brook, the way the wind moved through the oak trees.
Years later, when Little Red Riding Hood was grown, she still remembered the day the wolf waited in the bed. She told the story to her own children so they would know what can happen when a child leaves the path and trusts a stranger’s smile.
The cottage stood under the three oak trees for many seasons after. Travelers passing on the road sometimes heard an old woman singing and a younger voice answering. The red hood hung on a peg by the door, faded by sun and time but never taken down.