Claudia Rotesfahrenhüdchen was cold. Very cold. It seemed that she was always cold but, this one evening, she was especially freezing. The February night was approaching and she had perhaps twenty minutes to get off the streets before night fell. It was at night that the bombs fell and it was dangerous to be outside. Every night, roads and buildings were torn asunder by the bits of fire that fell from the sky. That happened every morning, come to think of it. And each afternoon. It was only in the evening that the bombings let up. It was in the evening that Berlin could live its life; its wretched, dirty half-life, for two hours a day, without being sent to the great unknown.

That morning, as explosions cracked and rumbled, as though God Himself were passing gas, Claudia’s mother received a phone call from her own mother. It was a miracle that the phones and the power were actually working that morning. Claudia’s grandmother had been injured the day before in the bombing. Her kneecaps were shattered from being thrown against the wall of her tiny, rundown flat and she couldn’t walk. Her husband had joined the Wehrmacht when they began to get desperate and had long since disappeared into the Eastern front. She lived on the opposite side of the city, where the Jewish quarter had been.

She needed food. Like everyone else, she was on the verge of starving but, unlike them, she couldn’t go out to scrounge and scavenge for scraps. She was pleading with her daughter, begging for her to send over even the tiniest bit. Claudia’s family had once ran a bakery, so they were slightly better off than their neighbors. They had a small stockpile of stale bread that they had been hoarding, dipping into ever so rarely. Claudia’s mother chose the three best loaves and wrapped them in a blanket, so they would be hidden. She gave them to the little girl and, as evening fell, sent her daughter out.

"Go to your grandmother and give her these," she said, already lamenting the lost bread. Without a word, Claudia obeyed and left.

On she ran, as fast as her malnourished legs could carry her. It was, as she came to the old financial district, now empty and little more than a ghost town, that she noticed a strange, blind man ambling towards her. He was tall and walked with a cane. The evening sun was reflected back to her in his dark glasses.

"Fräulein!" he called out. "Wart!" Young woman! Wait!

Panting, Claudia slowed to a stop and turned to face him. Her little heart was beating, both from exertion and fear. The man cut an imposing figure, with his dark no-eyes and gaunt, face. He almost looked like a corpse, with pale, white skin stretched over his jagged bones.

Did he want her bread? To rape her? Horrible, horrible possibilities ran through her head.

"Fräulein…" the man said, sighing deeply. "Wohin laufs’ du so spät?" Where are you running this late?

"Nach meine Omas," Claudia replied. To my grandma’s.

"Ach…" the man sighed, smiling. "So ein gutes Mädchen…" What a good girl. Claudia blushed at this.

The man squatted down on his haunches. His bony knees jutted through his long coat, almost as though he were aroused twice over.

"Kleines Fräulein, wie heiss’ du?" Little girl, what is your name?

"Claudia, Mein Herr. Ich muss geh’, meine Oma…" Claudia, Sir. I must be going, my grandma…

"Ja, ja, deine Oma… So ein gutes Fräulein bist du… Der Stolzt des Deustchland ist Mädchen wie du… Liebs’ du Deustchland?" Yes, yes, your grandma… Such a good little girl you are. The pride of Germany is girls like you… Do you love Germany?

"Ja! Sehr viel, Mein Herr!" Claudia replied enthusiastically. Taking care not to drop her bread, she clapped her heels together and raised her arm. "Sieg! Heil!"

The man laughed. His laugh soon turned into a cough and he doubled over, almost falling over, as he hacked. He coughed up a wad of phlegm and spit it onto the street.

"Claudia, wills’ du Deustchland hilfen?" Claudia, do you want to help Germany?

Claudia hesitated for a second but then nodded. "Was kann ich tun?"

Ignoring her, the man went on. "Wills’ du die Bombenangriffen halten? Und das Vaterland bergen?" Do you want to stop the air raids? And save the Fatherland?

Claudia’s heart beat faster in her chest. "Ja! Bitte, mein Herr, was muss ich tun?" Yes! Please, Sir, what do I need to do?

The man’s face twisted into a slow, cruel smile. Carefully, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, white envelope. He handed it to her.

"Nimm dies zur 184 Ferngleid Strasse. Es ist ein klein Liedergeschäft. Du muss nicht es lesen!" Take this to 184 Ferngleid Street. It’s a small leather shop. You can’t read it!

Claudia nodded. "Zum Befehl, Mein Herr!" she said, saluting as though she were in the army. The man smiled.

"Gut… Geh, Claudia! Nacht kommt." Good. Go, Claudia! Night is coming.

And so, Claudia ran again. She ran far out of her way, the letter clutched in her hand, along with the bread. She was panting and wondering about the letter. What could it be? Allied codes? New orders? She was tempted to look but quickly brushed the idea out of her mind. What if she found out and knew? And then, the Bolsheviks captured her and tortured her and then what would become of Germany?

After nearly fifteen minutes, she arrived at the shop. She was huffing as she entered.

"Guten Abend!" she called out. The shop was empty, it seemed. The heavy stench of leather hit her almost immediately and she gagged. Her eyes watered. It hung in the air, stagnant and invaded her nostrils. It filled her lungs and she thought she would throw up.

"’Abend. Was möchten Sie…?" came a voice from the back room. A moment later, a rather rotund man came out. His white smock was splattered with blood and he was wiping his hands with a towel. Claudia was taken aback for a second but, then, she remembered that, of course, leather came from cows so it was natural that he would have blood on his hands.

"Ich habe dies gebracht… Von ein Mann habe ich an der Strasse getroffen…" she said, still panting and gagging. I’ve brought this… From a man I met on the street…

"So? Gib es hier…" Is that so? Give it here… The man took the envelope, opened it and scanned it quickly. His face showed some strange emotion Claudia couldn’t identify but then, as though resolved, he nodded and folded the letter back up.

"Sehr gut. Du bist ein tolles Mädchen, kennst du das?" he said with a smile. Very good. You’re a great girl, you know that?

Claudia blushed.

"Komm hier," the leather maker said, going into the backroom, beckoning her in. The room was strewn with pieces of leather and knives. There was another door on the other side and from there, Claudia could smell the worst of the leather.

"Es ist ein Schwachzeit für Deustchland… Aber gewinnen wir!" he said, winking at her. It is a bad time for Germany… However, we are winning! He picked up a knife and began sharpening it, sighing. "So ein Schwachzeit…"

Leaning against his workbench, the leather worker looked at Claudia strangely. She herself was wondering what the letter contained. She wondered if she could ask. Things seemed to be all right. He had just said they were winning, so she could ask now, couldn’t she?

Just as she was about to speak, the man spoke to her.

"So ein Augen hast du…" he said slowly. What eyes you have…

"Also sehe ich Sie besser!" she replied, blushing again. So as to see you better!

"Und so hübsch Ohre hast du…" he said. And what beautiful ears you have…

That was a bit strange. Still, Claudia beamed and said, "Danke! Also höre ich Sie besser!"

The man licked his lips and started towards her, the knife flashing in the soft light of the room. "Und… und… so lecker sieht dein Fleish aus…" And… and… how delicious your meat looks…

"Err… Was?"

At that moment, the door to the shop opened and a voice called out. "Herr Kaufmann? Können wir mit Sie sprechen?"

The man froze. His ruddy skin paled and, in a dreamlike state, he floated into the front of the store. Claudia followed behind him and peaked out of the door. There were two policeman.

"Ja, Herr Kaufmann," one of the men began. Then, he noticed Claudia. He was visibly disturbed by her presence and whispered something to his companion. The other man groaned. "Mein Gott…" He rushed forward and took Claudia’s hand and led her out of the shop.

"Schatz, wo wohnst du?" he said sweetly, leading her down the street. Sweetie, where do you live? Claudia told him and looked back at the store in confusion.

"Was passiert?" she asked the policeman. What’s going on? He shook his head.

"Nein, nein… Es ist nichts. Du hast gut gemacht. Wir müssen schnell machen. Nacht kommt." No, no… It is nothing. You’ve done good. We must hurry. Night is coming.

And so, they hurried back to Claudia’s house. Her mother was visibly shaken when the policeman led her daughter in. She began to ask questions but he shushed her and led her into the other room. They were in there for about five minutes. Finally, Claudia heard her mother give a strangled cry and, then, they re-entered the room. Her mother was crying.

"Mutti!" Claudia cried. Her mother cried again and ran forward, embracing her daughter. "Was ist es?"

"Ach, meine Claudia, meine Claudia, meine Claudia…" her mother sobbed over and over.

The policeman stayed with them until his partner arrived. He was obviously tired and was carrying the note that Claudia had delivered.

"He’s gone," the officer said, shaking his head.

"Wer?" Claudia asked. None of the adults said anything. Then, the one who had just entered knelt down and began to speak.

"Claudia, the neighbors on Ferngleid street had been complaining about smells coming from Kaufmann’s shop. Worse than usual. And people had been disappearing lately… We had our suspicions, so we decided to investigate…" He stopped. He was quite obviously disturbed. "After you two left, I began to inquire to Herr Kaufmann about his business. About where he was getting enough leather. About how he could remain fat when all of us starved. I followed him into his backroom, where you had been and questioned him. He got more and more nervous before he finally asked to go to the bathroom. I waited ten minutes and then went to check on him."

The police officer sighed heavily.

"Er hat sich aufgehängt." He had hung himself.

Claudia gave a little gasp.

"I cut him down and began to look around the building. I went into his workshop and, well…" He paused, bowing his head down for a second and then looked up at her. "It was filled with bodies. Cut up, slashed apart, dismembered… Limbs hanging like slabs of meat on hooks. There were three things in that room: Bodies, leather, and…" He paused again, as though he couldn’t get the words out. "Sausage."

Claudia turned and began to throw up. After she calmed down, she looked up at the officer.

"Aber, was war im Brief...?" she asked. What was in the letter?

"Nein, bitte, nein," her mother pleaded.

The officer moved to slide the letter into his pocket but, Claudia, with youthful quickness, grabbed it out of his hand and unfolded it. It read:

Franz-

This is the last one I’m sending you.

Notes: This was written as the result of a friendly competition with my girlfriend to see who could write a more twisted retelling of a classic fairy tale. I turned Little Red Riding Hood into a cannibalistic allegory for the Holocaust while she turned the Gingerbread Man into a disturbing and perverted romp through the world of sexual slavery.

Yes, it’s pretty obvious that I’m not a native speaker of German. Any corrections to my usage or grammar are welcomed. The title, Rotesfahrenhüdchen, is a botched attempt to translate the phrase "Little Red Riding Hood."