Little Redcap

"Your future and theirs lie in your own hands, beware of undue ambition; it will mar all your plans. Appease the Nain Rouge. Beware of offending him. Should you be thus unfortunate, not a vestige of your inheritance will be given to your heirs. Your name will be scarcely known in the city you founded."

- From the fortune allegedly told to Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac. As chronicled in 'Legends of Detroit' by Marie Caroline Watson Hamlin. 

Transcript

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You only planned on moving your craft corner for a week, maybe two at most. You just needed the space for other things, just for a little while. And then those other things, ones that started out little, became big things. And then those big things began to dominate every aspect of your life. They took over your time, and they filled the rest of your house, if not physically, mentally. There was nowhere you could go to escape the stifling stress. No sanctuary in your house left untouched. Then one day, you get just a crumb of your free time back. You become your old self again, as the things that have taken over your life start to shrink. And you realize it’s been over a year since you moved your craft corner. You stop what you’re doing, finally able to take a breather without the consequences being dire. And you haul your little corner desk back from the garage. You get out your leather and your embroidery thread and your bag of old bones, and you get back to work, right then and there. You’re taking your life back, damnit. You stay up half the night, feeling inspired for the first time in so long, and you create your masterpiece. Out of leather and teeth and sparkly pink glitter, you create: The Podcast Inside Your House.

Redcap did everything in response to stimuli. When the sun came up, it knew to hide. When it was cold, it knew to shelter from the worst of the wind. It knew to avoid the rain too, because that would dilute the precious gore stuck in its matted cap. And when the cap on its head began to dry and crack, and it started to feel its strength ebb away, Redcap knew that it was time to hunt.

But tonight it doesn’t need to venture far to find prey. Because two humans have come wandering into its home all on their own. There’s a big one and a little one, and as they sneak in through a crumbling wall, Redcap finds itself remembering things. 

Redcap only remembered in response to stimuli, too. It couldn’t conjure up the past, but familiar sights or sounds would remind it of the last time it felt or saw, or fought. Redcap was particularly prone to bouts of memory in the late fall, when the leaves turned brown and crunchy and made their way into whatever windowless ruin Redcap called its home. The constant crunch under its feet had a way of keeping the past on its mind, the noises bringing up flashes of other places, other decayed homes it had haunted. 

Usually, Redcap ignored its memories, pushing them away to focus on hunting. But tonight, Redcaps' cap was still tacky from a recent kill. Though it can’t pass up a free meal, that means it doesn’t have to rush with these humans. No, it finds itself for perhaps the first time in its very long life curious about the memories that flood its mind as it watches the humans sneak around in its lair. 

They’ve come in through a crumbling wall, one of perhaps a dozen or so entrances. They pass through a set of yellow plastic curtains to get into a big open area below the rafters where Redcap likes to sleep. The rest of the factory is divided into different levels, so Redcap likes this spot because it lets it see as much of the factory as possible. From the floor to the ceiling, it’s all just one massive space. And for just a moment, Redcap simply watches the humans, sated enough to be curious at their presence. 

There’s a big human and a little one. The little one, a girl, has long red hair. And the big one, a male walks as if he knows he’s being hunted, always looking around, always watching for eyes watching him back. But Redcap knows the human doesn’t sense its presence; some humans are just like that, always afraid of being caught by something. And tonight, Redcap would oblige. 

Redcap usually liked to wait until nightfall to hunt, but the sun was close to setting, so it felt awake enough to pursue them. Redcap climbed down from its perch, moving effortlessly, silently. Though it loves to crunch the leaves when it’s home alone, tonight it steps around them. And as Redcap follows the humans deeper into the factory, their appearances unlock a flood of memories. They remind the creature of the two humans who’d been present on the night that it was first born, so very long ago. It had been a cold day back then, too. The same time of year with the fallen leaves all losing their color, but no snow on the ground just yet.

For just a moment, Redcap lets itself get lost in memory.

Redcap had come into this world violently. Formed in a freshly dead carcass, it had awoken already needing to breathe air. It had had to claw its way out, asphyxiating on blood as it worked to pry apart flesh and muscle and ribs. It had made it out just in time to gasp for air before it drowned. And it scarcely had time to breathe before it was hit with an uncontrollable hunger. 

It nibbled on its mother's body, moving her long red hair out of the way to try tasting the flesh on her mangled back. But the taste of her body was sour, and it made Redcap sick.  

But when it heard scuffling and talking, it reacted on instinct. It knew that food was at hand. Redcap had always understood human speech, even though it was a different language back then. And it understood that there was a voice in the distance expressing disbelief, maybe even a hint of regret. Saying things like “That’s impossible,” and “What have I done?’ 

Though Redcap understood the words, it didn’t care about them. To the creature, the voice simply meant that there was food nearby. 

Redcap's feet were red and bloody from crawling out of its mother's still-warm corpse. It left a trail of red footprints as it ran through the halls of a long-forgotten castle. As Redcap chased its prey, it looked around, vaguely aware that a castle was a place where other people, other humans, were supposed to be. But there were none there. The stone floors were dusty, there were cobwebs everywhere, and save for Redcaps' footsteps and the panting and sobbing of the man it was chasing, the halls of that haunted place were silent. 

Though Redcap was fast, its steps were shaky and uncertain, like a newborn deer. Had the man not been stumbling, scared, he might have gotten away. But he couldn’t see in the dark the way Redcap could. The man tripped over a fissure in the stone, where the castle had begun to sink and break away from itself. 

Redcap knew what to do on instinct. It clawed the man’s ankles to keep him down, feeling things snap and pull under his flesh. Redcap was a small creature back then, scarcely a baby, and it needed the man to be low to the ground. Then Redcap started slicing at random with its long claws, until the man stopped thrashing so much. Redcap discovered it had sharp, sharp teeth when it began to eat. All the while, the man wailed about how the girl deserved it; she’d gone with him after all. Why would she follow him if she didn’t know what he wanted? 

But the pleading fell on, well, not deaf ears, but uncaring ones. Inhuman ones that concerned themselves only with eating. A beast that cared only about survival.

Through the years, that was all Recap had ever been, a creature surviving. And tonight, as it stalks its prey through its home, it feels something strange stirring. It finds itself more concerned with listening in on the humans, with conjuring up memories, than with hunting. 

The humans are walking next to each other, taking photos. They pause to admire peeling paint, broken windows, and sunbeams coming in from the skylights above. And Redcap finds itself sympathizing with its prey for perhaps the first time ever. These humans seem to love its home just as much as it does. 

Redcap had, on occasion, watched explorers in the middle of the day and let them go unharmed, sated and unable to hunt in the full sun. It would let them admire its home, and it would let them leave. But these explorers had come close to sunset, when the orange and yellow light was scarce and the shadows were creeping in, and Redcap's hat was just beginning to dry.  

The people made their way from the big open area to where the factory splits off into different stories, all connected by crumbling stairs and holes in the floor. It’s a maze, and as they start to climb higher and higher, they’re sealing in their fates. Redcap knows that explorers like to look at everything, to touch everything, but these explorers go right for the top story, which Redcap finds curious. 

They venture out onto the top floor, where most of the windows are still intact, and even if they weren’t, the jump would almost certainly be fatal. There’s only one staircase still standing, and they only walk further and further from it. It’s like the humans can sense how to best corner themselves, how to have no chance to escape. 

As they walk, it becomes clear that something is wrong. The big one is trying to make itself bigger. It leans in close to the little one, talking loud and fast. It keeps touching her hair, too. The little one, meanwhile, is trying to make itself scarce, shying away, quietly rebuffing the big one. 

And just before Redcap can pounce on them both, the little one takes off running. Redcap wonders if they’ve heard it, seen it somehow, even though Redcap knows it was being oh so quiet. But the big one doesn’t run. No, it starts walking calmly after the little one, and Redcap realizes it’s stumbled onto someone else’s hunt. 

Redcap does something then that it doesn’t quite understand. It stomps on the crunchy brown leaves beneath its feet, alerting the man that he, too, is being hunted. Redcap had never played with its food before, and it wondered why not. Because the sight of the man looking behind himself, scared, it gives Redcap such a thrill. 

They’re in the gray twilight now, but it’s not dark yet. The human spots Redcap right away. His eyes widen in fear, just as the little one’s had, and he takes off running. As they each hunt their prey, Redcap stomps the leaves below its feet with wild abandon, conjuring up memories of the past. 

It remembers playing in the leaves in its first home, that castle in the hills so many years ago. Frolicking when its cap was freshly bloodied, the only time it found itself doing anything but surviving. For the first time in its life, Redcap finds itself sentimental, missing the rolling hills it used to gaze out of from busted windows. Here, there was only more industry, more blasted out factories outside of its home. 

The man is yelling for the girl now, telling her it was just a joke, that there’s some fucking monster here they need to hide from. The girl is silent, focusing on running. Focusing on surviving. 

Redcap crunches more leaves and thinks of its second home. Another castle, but this one less grand. It was perhaps a tenth of the size, and was made mostly of wood rather than stone. It was harder to hide in, and Redcap had only seen three autumns there before the villagers chased it out. 

After that, it had been another grand castle, one with an abundance of human skeletons in it, where no living human dared to go. Redcap had loved the peace there, the safety from the nearby people. 

A sign above a rotting conference room that reads “Cadillac” reminds Redcap of the man who brought it here. The name conjures up memories of a human trying and failing to make a deal with Redcap. It remembers the arduous boat journey, the spells and incantations the man tried to use to control Redcap. But whatever kind of demon the man thought Redcap was, he was disappointed. In the end, he’d simply let Redcap go, unsure how to kill it. Unleashing Redcap into the new world. 

It was all ruins after that, all rotting buildings of drywall and metal and brick. Gone were the days of stone castles and rolling hills back in Redcap’s homeland. 

Recap follows only one set of footsteps now, the girl having hidden. The man sprints to yet another corner, hoping that one of the other staircases will lead him to safety, but Redcap knows it won’t. Redcap corners him on the lone half step that clings to what used to be an escape. 

The man looks so familiar, so much like the very first man it had killed hundreds of years ago. But Redcap is much, much bigger now. It doesn’t have to swipe at the man's feet to get him on the ground. Recap towers over the man now, and it simply yanks him down as if he were a doll. Redcap’s favorite part of a human is the stomach, and as the man struggles and thrashes about, Redcap starts eating. 

It’s interrupted when the man stabs it with something sharp, but Redcap simply swats the man's hand with its claws, sending both the knife and the hand holding it flying. 

As Redcap eats, it starts to get sleepy, and it pulls off its cap. It soaks it in the man’s blood, and as it does, it strokes the matted, woven hair. Looking at the rotting fibers, red from blood, but red underneath it too, Redcap remembers the girl. 

The strange feelings that Redcap had been feeling all night intensify. It thinks of its mother, and it feels sentimental, almost sad. It lies down for a nap, ready to let the girl escape on her own. But she surprises Redcap. 

The girl approaches Redcap, hands up as if she’s worried she might scare it. She says, “You saved me.” There’s no fear in her voice, but Redcap knows there should be. Redcap knows it doesn’t look human. It’s been called a demon, a monster, a hell beast, and it understands these words well enough. 

“Thank you,” the girl said. She reaches out to touch Redcap on its scarlet shoulder, and she squeezes the hot skin in a way that Redcap knows is meant to be reassuring. Redcap wonders, not for the first time, how it knows the things that it knows about the human world.

And as Redcap wonders, memories come flooding back to it. It remembers rolling hills, running through them in the sun. It remembers a village, with people and animals and food, and Redcap remembers being warm, even in the winter. 

The girl tries to walk away then, but Redcap grabs her arm, and for the first time, she looks at it with fear. Redcap pulls her over to the knife and the severed hand of the man who intended to use it on her. Redcap goes on instinct then, knowing what to do but not knowing why. 

It puts the knife in the girl's hand and guides the blade to its own belly. The girl is upset, confused, but Redcap pushes her small hand, forcing the knife to pierce its flesh. The girl looks away for a moment, but when she looks back, she’s not disgusted, she’s no longer scared, she’s simply shocked. 

The girl is slicing on her own now, and Redcap collapses. She kneels over it, still parting the flesh of Redcap's stomach, but also holding its hand, a comforting gesture Redcap hadn’t felt in hundreds of years. 

Finally, the girl sets the knife down and drops Redcap's hand. She reaches into Redcap's massive wound and soon pulls out a new, bloodied hand. A small human hand. And soon, Redcap sees a head with red hair emerge, a girl being yanked from its stomach. Its hair looks just like Redcap's mother, and as the girl turns to face Redcap, it recognizes her face too. Redcap's mother had already had her eyes gone, replaced by bloody pits, when Redcap was born, but even with her face intact, Redcap knows it’s her. Her eyes are back now, and they shine blue in the gray light of post-sunset. 

Redcap watches the girls walk away, then, hand in hand. Ready to brave the night out in the ruins, but now both a little bit wiser. They walk on edge now, scanning their surroundings. They stay in the spots that are lit up by the rising moon, now both knowing what kinds of monsters might be waiting to pounce if they venture too close to the shadows. 

Thank you for tuning in to this episode of the podcast inside your house! To hear every tale of terror as they are released, subscribe to our show on your podcast app or on Youtube or follow us on Facebook and Bluesky. 

Until Next Time: remember that not all who wander are lost, but boy is it sure easy to get lost if you go and start wandering.