We Let Him In

Old wisdom, new world. A fable for the ones still listening.

(Inspired by The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing)

I used to tell myself he was just misunderstood.

That’s what you do when the truth is too uncomfortable -

you rewrite it into something you can live with.

He came into our town all polished and sure. Said all the right things. Looked like someone who had answers. And we were tired - tired of being ignored, tired of the noise, tired of not knowing who to trust.

So we trusted him.

Some folks warned us. Said they’d seen his kind before. Said he had a record of taking and twisting and walking away. But we shook our heads. “That was back then,” we said. “He’s changed.”

He talked about faith. About tradition. About restoring what had been lost.

He made us feel seen.

We liked that feeling more than we liked asking questions.

So we looked away when things stopped adding up. When he turned neighbors against each other. When he mocked the weak and praised the cruel. We told ourselves it was part of the plan. Necessary. Temporary.

Until it wasn’t.

By the time we saw the teeth - really saw them - he was already full.

He’d taken what he wanted.

And we were left picking through the wreckage, trying to remember when exactly we stopped listening to our own doubts.

You want to know what keeps me up?

It’s not just that we were fooled.

It’s that we wanted to be.

Moral: Sometimes the wolf doesn’t sneak in. Sometimes, we open the gate—and hand him a coat.

___________________________

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Thanks for reading,

Woodrow Swancutt