The following won first place in the Short Fiction and Creative Nonfiction division of the Walter Spara Writing Contest sponsored by the Department of English and Communications in the spring semester, 2012.
By Emily Krzan
“The Scarlet Cloak”
“Ohhh it’s so lovely, Mutti!” Ulrika squealed as she delicately ran her fingers down the length of her new red-velvet cloak.
Her mother gently took it from her arms, “Shall we see it on?” She placed it over Ulrika’s shoulders and worked the clasp.
“Well, what do you think,” she spun, “how is it?” As she twirled, light from the open window glanced down upon the rich velvet making it shine. Her mother simply smiled, “Meine schatz, you’re beautiful.” Brigetta pressed her daughter into her arms.
The old woman looked on from the kitchen’s simple wooden table in disgust. “Did you not hear a single word I said to you, you stupid woman,” she spat, “Scarlet is the color of whores. The child is but twelve and already you’re flaunting her about like wares to be sold! If her father were to see-”
“Her father is not here, Christiana, and if he were he’d be nearly ten years too late.” “Ulrika,” Brigetta held the crone’s gaze, “why don’t you go on and fetch us water for tea? I think your grandmother needs something to calm her mind.” Ulrika threw the cloak across the table and, jaw set, strode out of the cottage leaving the door wide open.
“He’s not coming back, you know.”
Christiana pounded her fists on the hard wood, her bottom rising from the chair, and shouted, “My son is a good man! He wouldn’t abandon his family and certainly does not deserve a wife of such little faith.” The old woman collapsed back into her seat, looking lost and alone.
Ulrika’s father was a woodsman and the light of Christiana’s life. One morning, when Ulrika was still a toddler, Brigetta awoke to a screaming baby and an empty bed. After calming the baby, she found all of her husband’s belongings missing, along with their traveling trunk and what small amount of wealth they had accumulated. Without her beloved son, Christiana had become a bitter, hardened old woman. Sometimes it’s hardest to recognize the wrong in your own children. Brigetta often pitied Christiana.
Brigetta sucked in a deep breath and explained in a cool, calm fashion, “The color serves a purpose, Christiana, we talked about this. She’s constantly disappearing into that forest. If anything were to happen to her…,” her mind wandered for a moment to the memory of bodies found in shameful states but banished the thought quickly, “If anything were to happen, the red cloak would stand out against the green of the trees and bushes.”
“Why not just teach the child the dangers of the forest? Wouldn’t it do better to tell her the old tales? Wouldn’t it be better to instill fear than to make it easier to identify the corpse?” Christiana scoffed, “You’d rather prepare for her death than prevent it.”
She closed the distance between them in two long strides. Her hand flew out but she caught it just before impact. She sat, balling her fists and placing them against her forehead, eyes closed. “I don’t know what to say, Christiana. I’ve tried it all. I’m at my wits’ end. She’s such a willful child… I’m doing the best I can.”
The haggard old woman rose, smoothed her skirts, and crossed to the door. She stood with one gloved hand on the frame for a moment, then spoke; “Maybe your best isn’t good enough. You will send her to my cottage in the forest twice a week, where we will begin instruction on how a lady conducts herself. The child is a heathen; the way she prefers to spend her time alone in that forest… It’s unnatural. I don’t know how I ever thought you could rear Ulrika any different from yourself but it ends now. I will be expecting her mid-morning on Thursday, in respectable garb.” And with that, she was gone.
Ulrika woke every morning just before sunrise. She allotted enough time to bathe and get together peace offerings for her grandmother. It had become habit over the years for her to gather a small basket of favors before heading off to her grandmother’s house; it softened her savage temper. She stopped at the modest mirror next to the door to arrange herself; she combed her fingers through her thick mane of curly ebony hair then gazed to assess her work. She examined her fine, high cheekbones and straight teeth. These past five years hadn’t changed her beauty, merely enhanced it. For a finishing flare she twirled her cherry-red cloak over her shoulders and began her half of a mile trek through the forest.
Her mother and grandmother had insisted upon her taking the well-worn path that cut straight through the forest, but she found it infinitely more entertaining to pick her way through the underbrush. There was nothing to fear here; she felt more comforted and at home in these trees than in her own bed. Before entering her grandmother’s cottage she deposited her beloved red cloak in its long-time hiding place. She left it behind latticework that surrounded the house overgrown with blood red rose vines, which seemed to be waging war on the small cottage that had intruded upon their territory.
“Grandmother?” she said into the darkness as she threw back the thick curtains concealing the house’s extensive windows, “Grandmother, are you in? It’s time for my lessons.”
Her grandmother crept from the dark depths of the house, shielding her eyes. “I’m here child, pull those damn curtains! You know I can’t think with all that blasted light.” Christiana caught sight of the basket and immediately her demure changed. “Oh, I see you’ve brought your grandmother some goodies! Come, come, let’s see what you have there,” she picked greedily through the contents of Ulrika’s basket. “What, no walnuts?”
“You said you hated walnuts. You said only pagans enjoyed consuming miniature brains.”
“Well I guess this will do.” She gasped, “Ulrika, what in God’s holy name happened to the hem of your dress?!” She grabbed for the tattered cloth. Ulrika quickly stepped out of reach, “I passed too closely by your rose vines on my way in and got caught on their thorns, they’re hanging over your path now you know.”
Christiana peered coldly into her eyes, “Lying is a sin, child. You cut through those cursed woods again, didn’t you? Haven’t I made it clear how I felt about that?” Ulrika tongued the iron-tasting split that was just starting to heal in her swollen discolored lip. Yes, she had made herself rather clear.
“Dark creatures reside in this forest; dark creatures that would do unspeakable things to a lovely young woman such as yourself.”
She had heard the stories of cunning black creatures with fur as coarse as wire that, when standing, were as tall as a man. She knew of the fear that they inspired into the hearts of her fellow villagers.
The old stories were passed from generation to generation; it was believed that there, concealed within the Black Forest of Germany, lurked an awful creature- an adalwulf. The adalwulf would lure young women into the forest with promises of clean, clear water and a place of rest for the weary, where, once entrapped, they would perform unspeakable acts; very few survived. This is what kept Ulrika from wandering too far afield.
Ulrika shuddered, the terror of her ancestors was felt in her bones, but never before had Ulrika seen such a creature in her life, and she had spent a great deal of it exploring that “accursed forest”, tasting its wild berries and strange fruits.
“Now tell me Ulrika, how do you plan on encouraging the love of a man with hair as matted as yours? Even those clear blue eyes can be over-looked when hidden beneath that mess.” She tut-tutted, “So handsome, like your father.”
Ulrika’s back stiffened as she clenched her fists and stared a hole through the floor, not giving Christiana the pleasure of seeing the scarlet flush rising to her face. She had had quite a few suitors come for her, and each appraised her as if she were a fresh cut of red flesh hanging from a hook among the butcher’s goods. None were as clever as she, none presented a challenge, none were worth the time her mother forced her to waste. She rejected them all.
“You look weary, Grandmother. Why don’t I make you a soothing cup of tea?”
“You know, my rheumatism has been flaring up,” she trembled, suddenly adopting a feeble air. “That would be lovely, Ulrika. Thank you.”
Among the many advantages of getting to know the forest is learning its secrets, such as what makes a person lapse into a deep slumber for hours at a time. It had become a fantasy of hers to pretend as though she lived out here in the forest and, wanting to make this dream reality, she sought to learn as much about the local flora as possible. The moment Christiana’s eyelids started to droop, Ulrika was out the door, grabbing her cloak and headed straight for the woods.
~
Needing something to distract her from the arrogant woman’s prying ways, she advanced further into the forest than she ever had before. In her quest for discovery she stumbled across an extensive grove of brambles. Never before had Ulrika seen such large, luscious blackberries. She gingerly plucked a berry at its peak of ripeness from a cluster that was causing the vine to bend under its weight, the pressure from her light touch making it ooze burgundy juices. Just as she was about to pop the perfectly formed fruit into her mouth, she caught movement within the very edge of her sight. There, not five feet from her, stood one of the most terrifying creatures she’d ever seen.
His hair was silver as a sliver of moonlight, his mint eyes full of forgotten wisdom. Both stood frozen in their tracks; she, caught somewhere in between fleeing and investigating the new creature before her, and he, captured by her enchanting gaze.
At that moment, the strangest thing happened: the beast ran. No one had ever run from her before. She knew that she was supposed to be afraid of this creature, but she had fallen in love with his strangeness. She gave chase.
He tried to shake her, flying through the dense underbrush faster than anything she’d ever encountered. He was cunning, taking her through places where there were thorns to grab at her and no discernible path, but she too had lived in these trees and trailed him with minimal difficulty.
Suddenly he turned and snarled, “Why do you hunt me child? I could kill you.”
“Have no fear,” she whispered as she came closer, “I will not harm you.” She placed a hand on the beast’s face to calm him, and the beast saw what beautiful eyes she had, “All the better to see you with,” and what gentle hands she had, “All the better to caress you with,” and what plump, red lips she had, “All the better to taste you with.” She leaned forward and kissed the beast.
Hasty with passion Ulrika quickly splayed out her red cloak and the two lay together there in the woods.
Unbeknownst to the two entangled in a lustful heap, they had strayed to close to the cottage, where Christiana had woken to the sound of a struggle in the forest.
~
Ulrika returned her cloak to its hiding spot and entered her grandmother’s cottage, expecting to find her exactly where she’d left her: comatose on her many cushions. Instead, the old witch was sitting at the kitchen table, shaking with fury.
“You wicked, wicked child. Do you know what you have done? You adulteress, harlot… Whore! There is no place in God’s kingdom for the likes of you!” She threw back her chair, sending it toppling to the ground, and flew at Ulrika.
“Grandmother no! I’ll repent! I promise! I’m sorry!” She screamed as Christiana came to strike her. Her arms came up to protect her, bracing for impact, when Christiana stopped suddenly, dropping her arms to her sides. She calmly walked over to the cushions and sat facing the opposite direction.
“There’s a point at which you’ve strayed too far. At that point, God turns his back on you, Ulrika. There’s a point at which not even God wants you anymore. I tried to save you child, but no amount of pleading can save you now.” she smirked with a sick sense of satisfaction.
Ulrika brought one hand to her mouth, dumbfounded. God didn’t want her anymore? Could He have really abandoned her? And this woman, her own blood, was pleased with this? A white hot, primal rage overtook her, yet she spoke so soft and so slow her grandmother hadn’t understood her.
“What was that, meine schatz?” she laughed.
“I said, so there’s no hope for me, right?” She silently pulled the knife her mother had given her for protection.
“I’m afraid not, child, God doesn’t let prostitutes into the halls of his house.” she sighed.
“Well then, if you insist.”
~
It was two days before anyone came looking for the girl in red. When the search party came upon the little cottage, they found the door hanging wide open. Inside was the body of Christiana, gore and blood flung across her small sitting area as if torn to pieces by a wolf. The only sign found of the girl in red was shreds of beautiful scarlet cloth caught up in the thorns of blood red roses.
~
No one knew for sure what fate had befallen Ulrika, but now there was a new story whispered with the old tales, in hushed voices, behind closed doors.
It was said that there was a beautiful young enchantress who donned a red velvet cloak, beckoning young women from just beyond the tree line.