The Guardian of the Rose-Bush

A little story I wrote... inspired by Angela Carter's stories on wolves...

The Guardian of the Rose-Bush

Transylvanian nights are always the dwellings of shadows. When the pale moon decides to expose her full glory, the wall that divides man and beast gets torn down. What is man? What is beast?

Every village girl knows well enough than to venture deep into the forest when darkness reigns supreme; they know well enough then to trust a stranger in any guise. To the villagers, Satan is as real as any beast that dwells on Earth and that the night belongs to him and his children. Witches were not just stories, neither are vampires and werewolves. The villagers vulgarly worshipped the Holy Cross and the Madonna statue along with the garlic wreath and silver bullets, in hope of protection that is often non-existent.

An old woman with a black cat and a knack for herbal remedies would be hung or burnt the moment she stepped into the village. A man with nocturnal behaviors would be kept under watchful eyes and when any sheep were to die strange deaths, fingers would almost always point to him. Then he would be killed; a silver bullet to the head. Human oddities were treated with utmost distrust and fear. While beauty and light are worshiped by all.

In every village, there will always be a girl with the most exceptional beauty. She was always envied by the others. She will always be courted by the most dashing and handsome youth of the village. They will be worshipped in silent agreements by the rest of the village as the ideals. Yet ideals never existed.

One night, the young girl, with her blue teary eyes, was seen running straight into the forest; letting eternal darkness engulf her. No man would dare enter the devil's kingdom under the dim light of the moon, yet that was where she was heading. She only had her crimson cape to guard her from the cold and anything else that decided to harm her. She cried her dying heart to forget the sight of the handsome youth she loved copulating with another girl in a bestial frenzy; crying with demonic ecstasy to the night. She ran and ran; dropping shiny pebbles as she did so, so that she could find the path back later… that is if she wanted to return at all.

She ventured deeper than any man ever dared to even during the day. She ran as far as her weak legs could carry. She cast away all the foolish superstitions about the forest that her old grandmother had told her so often. She ran until she found a rose-bush.

It was growing in a little clearing, with the wild and untamed trees and vines protecting it from every side. Even in the darkness, she could see the vivid bloodred petals of the flowers. She could see it clearly as if her eyes were transformed by the night. Nothing was more beautiful. Nothing. She stepped forward; her hand outstretched. Of course she wanted one of them. Just one though; the most beautiful one. But just as her pale fingers touched one of their petals, something lunged at her.

She retreated the moment her mind processed what just happened; any slower and she would have her throat being torn out by the beast. Its eyes were that of Satan; with the heat of hellfire burning within it. Those eyes, they glow with brighter than the moon. A grown man, unarmed, would have died instantly looking into these eyes. Yet, the girl stared straight into it. The beast moved no closer to her. It merely circled the rose-bush as if guarding it; like a dragon guarding his treasure. It moved no closer. It merely watched her. She merely watched the wolf.

It was only when she realized that the reign of the sun was approaching that she garnered enough courage to run away, leaving the beast alone with his rose-bush. She followed her pebbled trail back not daring to pick them up. No one would even dare to take their own sweet time in the forest, even in daylight.

The beast had frightened her, yet, the creature's strange behavior intrigued her. So that very night she disappeared once again into the forest, looking for its weird inhabitant.

She found it of course.

Why didn't you kill me before, she had asked it, realizing how stupid she must look talking to an animal.

Yet the beast tilted its large head slightly, as if it understood her. As if it was listening. Realizing that the creature would not harm her, unless she touched the roses, she continued talking to it, telling it everything. She told it about her tragic love story. It watched and listened. She told it everything; even things she would never share with another human being, what more a beast. And it listened.

Before long, dawn came again. She had to return to the village soon. Just as she was about to leave, she felt a tug on her cape. It was the wolf tugging her with its massive jaws. But she was not afraid. The wolf retreated slowly to the rose-bush then circled it, like it did the first night but this time, it was not guarding, but inspecting.

There it was, the most beautiful, the reddest of the all the roses, and wolf plucked it with the gentleness of a babe with its jaws. It handed the flower to the girl who accepted it unquestioned. And then, she saw its eyes again, it still burned like fire yet there was sorrow and compassion, maybe even love, it them; they looked almost human. Then she left the beast once again again.

She took the flower home. The flower stood in her room, lone, singular, yet magnificent.

She returned every night. And every dawn she left. She told it more than she ever told anyone else until no one knew her better than the wolf. Yet during one visit, while she was engrossed in telling the beast her plight, the sun rose without her realizing it. And when she did notice the harsh light intruding into the blissful darkness, it was too late.

The black fur of the beast withdrew within itself to reveal skin as pale as alabaster. Its tail disappeared into it revealing fresh and youthful flesh. Its claws retracted and only tender, gentle hands were left behind. The jaws contracted while the head shrunk, leaving only a face of young man. And now, before her was no longer a beast but a naked man who. He's beautiful despite his sickly and pale skin, she thought. He rose up to his feet revealing his endowed pudenda.

Then, realization sunk into her rapidly. She had spent her nights with a man, not a beast, but a man. The horror overwhelmed her maiden body.

Stay back, she told him.

It's me, he said. I'm the wolf. I planted the rose-bush. I gave you the flower. And I love you, he said. But she had heard enough. Her honour is at stake here.

She ran back to her village with the agility of the wind; her untouched pebbled road as her guide. She needed to find help fast, but who? Afraid and confused, she asked for help from the dashing youth she had once loved, and still did. She told him everything. He still loved her, she realized.

With the fury of a lover, he garnered the force of the entire village to kill this beast. That night the men went into the forest like an ancient plague bent on destruction. They naively followed a single virginal girl with a red cape to lead them to the demon; guided by her pebbles. They entered the realm of darkness armed with torches, guns, silver bullets, superstitions and worthless religious symbols. How blinded they were.

She brought them to the rose-bush but the wolf was not there.

Come out you beast, she yelled to the forest. Spurred by emotions so wild she could not comprehend, she grabbed one of the torches and lit up the rose-bush before her.

The rich sanguine colour of the roses melted into the flames, forming a demonic hue. And there they were, those eyes; hiding behind the roses; lurking in the darkness. She could here the pain in its growl; she could here its pain.

Was it crying, she asked herself. Of course not. Its kind have no emotions.

With a swift movement of her virgin hands she ordered the men to fire. Her voice echoed like God's wrath and her eyes burned with a single emotion; hate. The thunderous sounds of guns filled the night until everything ended with a single pathetic cry. A single silver bullet to the heart of the beast did the job, well. It was quick and easy. But it wasn't painless. No, it sure hell wasn't.

There was no wolf anymore. All that was left behind was the naked corpse of a pale young man. And right before that corpse, the youth the girl loved, and still did, asked for her hand in marriage. And right before that corpse, she said yes.

They brought the naked body of the young man and hung in the village square, stoning it despite the fact that it was dead. The beast's corpse was stoned till the villagers got bored, then it was merely forgotten by everyone. The wilting rose that once stood in the girl's house was discarded and replaced by flowers her lover, her husband, offers her. And she lived happy until she died.