Little red riding hood. The comforts of home pulling against the call of the wild. We want the labyrinth, with the little red skein of wool to bring us out. The dark, Germanic forest with the tiny cottage and the bright hearth. The cruel jaws of the wolf with the blade to cut us out, impossibly gasping fresh air again. The sublimity of the near-death experience, without the bitter ending. The dark calls us, and we say, not yet. Stay on our screens, in our imaginations. We want to see you. We don’t want to have you. Not ever. Let us watch a little longer.