Little Red Riding Hoodie: A Modern Fairy Tale

by Phythyon, John

  But with each step, the sound grew louder. At first, it sounded like shuffling. Then she thought she could hear growling and tearing. Alarmed, she quickened her pace.

  At last, she stood at a door. The sound was definitely coming from behind it. She swallowed hard and opened it.

  She stared into Tommy’s room. He lay on his bed on his back. A figure in a red cloak knelt over him. She heard chanting.

  “Shakir! Shakir! Shakir!”

  The red-cloaked figure looked up at her. It was the wolf-headed woman from Sally’s other dreams. Blood dripped from her jaws – Tommy’s blood. He lay dead and bleeding from where she had torn out his throat.

  Sally recoiled in horror. Someone put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Sally?”

  She woke up with a scream. Tommy jumped back, scared.

  It was dark, but the moonlight poured through the window, illuminating him. His eyes were open wide, his head was sweaty, his hair mussed, and he looked like he’d seen a monster.

  “Tommy, are you okay?” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  She opened her arms, and he rushed to her. She hugged him tightly, glad to find him alive, that she had only been dreaming again.

  As she held him, she realized she too was perspiring. It was a cold, clammy sweat, and her PJ’s stuck to her skin. The clock on her nightstand read, “2:14.”

  “Sally?” Tommy said.

  “Yes?”

  “I had another nightmare. Can I sleep with you?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I told you before you could, and I meant it.”

  He climbed in without hesitation. She moved over to accommodate him, and he folded himself into her arms and buried his head in her pillow.

  “What was your dream about?” she whispered.

  “The same one,” he said. “Monsters chased me, and then a witch ate me.”

  Sally’s heart stopped. A “witch” ate him? Could it be?

  “What did the monsters look like?” she asked.

  “Big, hairy dogs,” he said. “But they weren’t dogs. They were monsters.”

  Sally’s skin began to crawl. She knew better than to press Tommy for details on the dogs. His seven-year-old mind probably couldn’t remember them anyway.

  “What did the witch look like,” she asked instead.

  “She had a monster-head and a red cape,” he answered.

  “A monster-head? Like a wolf’s?” Sally said, fearing the answer.

  “Yeah,” Tommy said.

  Sally pulled Tommy tightly to her. She held onto him as though he could somehow protect her from the implications of what he had said. He snuggled into her arms, apparently believing she could do the same for him.

  “It’s okay, Little Man,” she lied as she stroked his head.

  There was no doubt in Sally’s mind. Tommy’s dreams and hers were linked somehow. When she had seen the dogs chasing him, seen Shakir hovering over him with his blood in her mouth, she had somehow looked into his dream. Shakir was the witch that ate Tommy in his dreams. But what did it all mean?

  Tommy fell asleep quickly in her arms, but Sally had trouble returning to slumber herself. She listened to Tommy’s rhythmic breathing and was grateful at least one of them was getting some peace. But she drifted in and out of consciousness for the rest of the night. Every sound woke her, and she never fell back into REM. Throughout the night, she heard wolves howling in the distance.

  Eight

  Alison arrived promptly at six on Saturday night to pick Sally up.

  “Bye, Dad!” Sally said, rushing out. “Love you!”

  She shut the front door quickly before Alison could make it up onto the porch. The house wasn’t very clean today. Sally had been too excited for the carnival to bother cleaning, Tommy had been a one-boy wrecking crew, and her father had spent most of the day on the couch watching college football. Sally didn’t want Alison to see the state of things.

  “What’s up?” Alison said.

  “Nothing,” Sally replied.

  “Ready for some awesome, carnival funness?”

  “Funness?”

  “What?” Alison said.

  “I swear,” Sally teased, “between the French and the made-up words, you don’t even speak English anymore.”

  “Shut up and get in the car,” Alison said, punching her on the arm.

  They reached the vehicle, a silver-blue, simulated wood-side, Taurus station wagon that was at least twenty years old and looked like it had been driven around the world three times.

  “Why doesn’t your dad get a new car,” Sally asked with a laugh.

  “I wish I knew,” Alison answered. “He acts like it’s a member of the family, and it would be cruel to abandon it. I think it’s cruel that he drives me to school in it.”

  Sally laughed again and got in on the passenger side. Alison walked around.

  “Hello, Sally,” Mr. Jamison said, turning around in his seat.

  “Hi, Mr. Jamison,” Sally said with a smile as Alison got in next to her. “Mrs. Jamison.”

  “Hello, dear,” Alison’s mother said.

  Alison’s parents were considerably older than Sally’s, and Alison was their only child. Mr. Jamison wore his hair shoulder-length, but it had turned iron grey, which Sally thought made him look silly. She thought men with long hair were attractive, but Mr. Jamison was old. Long hair was a young person’s thing. He wore round, wire-rimmed spectacles and a floppy Fedora.

  Mrs. Jamison’s long, golden-blonde hair was tied back into a bun. Though it had the occasional streaks of grey in it, her hair had retained most of its original color, and it was easy to see the origins of Alison’s yellow locks. In fact, Alison bore a striking resemblance to her mother. Their eyes were the same color of blue and spaced the same distance apart. The shapes of their cheeks were the same, although Alison’s mother’s were a little more drawn. She had laugh-lines around her eyes and across her forehead, but every time Sally saw her, she thought that this was what Alison would look like in about thirty years.

  In many ways, Sally wished desperately they were her parents. The kindly looks they always gave Alison and her friends made Sally jealous. Alison’s mother looked old because she was aging, not because her spouse had left her and she drank too much. When Alison did well, her father praised her instead of making sure she wasn’t shirking her responsibility to take care of the rest of the family. Sally imagined life at Alison’s was as idyllic as what she saw on Disney Channel.

  Sally sat in front of the vanity mirror in Grandma’s bedroom. She wore a pink, Tinkerbell t-shirt and a pair of shorts and smiled happily as Grandma brushed her hair.

  She took the ends of Sally’s hair gently in her left hand and applied the silver-handled brush to it with her right.

  “Always start with the ends, Sally,” she said. “Brush them to get the tangles out, but don’t pull; you’ll split the ends that way. Just brush gently.”

  Sally beamed at the mirror as she watched her silver-haired grandmother stroke her hair. She was deliberate but smooth. Sally didn’t think she could ever learn to be so careful.

  “Once you have the tangles out of the ends, you can start moving up,” Grandma said, raising the brush to the back of Sally’s head. “But don’t go all the way to the top. Just about halfway. You want to smooth the tangles again.”

  Sally watched in fascination. Her grandmother gazed beatifically at the blonde hair in her hands.

  “Finally, we get to the top,” Grandma said, bringing the brush to Sally’s scalp. “Once again we use soft, easy strokes until all the hair is laying perfectly.

  “Now, this is the real secret. Once you have it all untangled and arranged, brush it one hundred strokes. That releases the natural oils and makes it silky and bright. Do that every night before bed, and you’ll have lovely, lustrous hair, Sally.”

  Sally felt sorrowful. She missed Grandma terribly, and she was far too busy to take the time to brush her hair one hundred stro
kes every night. She barely had time to get all her homework done after cleaning up from dinner.

  “Everybody ready to have some fun?” Mr. Jamison said, snapping Sally out of her despondent reverie.

  “Yep!” Alison said.

  “According to Alison, we’ll be having awesome, carnival funness,” Sally said.

  Alison backhanded her in the arm. Sally giggled despite the pain. Mr. Jamison shook his head.

  “My daughter, the philologist,” Mr. Jamison said.

  “What’s a philologist,” Sally asked.

  “Something my dad likes to say, when he doesn’t want you to understand him,” Alison said.

  “Like you and French?” Sally said.

  Alison punched her again. Sally snickered.

  “A philologist is a person who studies language, dear,” Mrs. Jamison said.

  “All right, people,” Mr. Jamison said. “We’ve got awesome, carnival funness to have. We’d better put it in gear.”

  He leaned back in his seat, shifted into “Drive,” and pulled away from the curb. Sally smiled contentedly. She was determined to make this a night to remember.

  ***

  After they had parked the car, Sally and the Jamisons trooped over to the entrance of the carnival. There was a ticket stand close by. Mr. Jamison pronounced it the perfect place for them all to rendezvous at the end of the evening. To Sally’s delight, he and Mrs. Jamison had no urge to hang around with the girls all night. They planned to spend their own time together, figuring Sally and Alison would prefer it that way anyway. So far, things were going perfectly.

  “All right, girls,” Mr. Jamison said before they parted company, “meet us back here by ten o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  “We won’t, Dad,” Alison said.

  “You’ve got your phones, so there is no excuse for not knowing what time it is,” he added.

  He favored her with an affectionate look. Mr. Jamison had a winning smile. His whole face lit up. Alison pretended not to notice that her father was gazing at her lovingly, but Sally knew she saw it. Alison blushed slightly and turned away coyly. Feelings of jealousy welled up in Sally again. Alison didn’t know how lucky she was.

  With an effort, she pushed such thoughts out of her mind. She was here to have fun. She wasn’t going to let her mother ruin things from afar.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jamison,” Sally said, smiling.

  “You’re welcome, Sally,” he replied. “Come on, Evelyn. Let’s go see about that funhouse.”

  Alison grabbed Sally’s hand and led her away at a run. Surprised, Sally was nearly pulled off her feet before she caught her balance.

  “Come on!” Alison squealed. “Let’s get some tickets! I want to ride the twister.”

  Over the course of the next two hours, the girls explored the carnival as thoroughly as possible. They rode as many of the rides as they could afford, hitting the twister, and the giant slide twice. They bought cotton candy and stuffed their faces. Then they wandered down the midway, playing ring toss, at which neither of them was any good, the water gun race, in which they were beaten by a boy Tommy’s age, and finishing with throwing darts at balloons. Alison did well at that, popping enough balloons to earn a small teddy bear that winked and had a sweater with huge wooden buttons.

  “He’s adorable!” Alison declared. “I’m naming him Buttons.”

  “Good name,” Sally said.

  Afterwards, they rode the Ferris wheel. As soon as they got in, Sally began dangling her legs. She liked the feeling of being lifted into the air without her feet on the ground.

  “Feels like I’m flying!” she said.

  Alison laughed, but after a moment she asked Sally to stop, since she was rocking the car. A little regretfully, Sally complied.

  As the operator loaded the wheel, they stopped at each level. When their basket came to the very top, Alison threw up her hands and squealed with delight. Then she settled back into the car and stared dreamily off into the distance.

  “I love it up here,” she said. “I can see the whole world.”

  “It’s so great at night,” Sally commented.

  “Why? You can’t see as much,” Alison asked. “I think it’s better during the day when you can see off across the horizon.”

  “Yeah, but at night, all the lights from the city are lit up,” Sally said. “I like the way they twinkle. It’s like it doesn’t matter what’s going on in your life or in the world; there’s all these pretty lights to look at. I like it.”

  “It does look nice,” Alison said. “I still think it’s better during the day, though.”

  Alison fell silent. She chewed her lower lip for minute. Then her face lit up.

  “Ooh!” she said. “Perfect time for The Question Game!”

  “It is?” Sally said.

  “Totally!”

  “Fine, you go first.”

  “Okay,” Alison said. “What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever seen?”

  Sally turned and stared at her incredulously. Alison looked confused.

  “Really?” Sally said.

  Understanding exploded across Alison’s face.

  “OMG, I’m so sorry,” Alison said. “That was thoughtless of me!”

  “It’s okay,” Sally said quietly.

  It wasn’t okay. It frustrated her that, as supportive as Alison was, she sometimes totally forgot what Sally was going through.

  “What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” Alison said.

  Sally shook off her disappointment at the first question and considered an answer. It was important to be honest in this game, but even though they didn’t keep score, a clever answer was also worth more.

  “Probably Molly falling on her face during her Romeo and Juliet auditions,” Sally said.

  Alison laughed hard and clapped her hands. Sally grinned.

  “That’s cheating,” Alison said, still chuckling. “But it’s awesomazing, so it slides.”

  “Awesomazing?”

  “Yeah,” Alison said. “It’s, like, awesome and amazing – awesomazing!

  “I kind of like that, actually. I think that’s my new word.”

  “It’s new, all right,” Sally said.

  “You watch,” Alison said. “It’s gonna be sweeping the halls of Roosevelt Middle School on Monday.”

  Sally shook her head.

  “What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

  “Last summer, my parents took me to the nature preserve,” Alison said. “They had a butterfly exhibit, and I got to watch this butterfly come out of its chrysalis. It was so cool. It looked all slimy, which was kind of gross, but when you think about the transformation a caterpillar undergoes, it was, like, miraculous. I just thought it was really beautiful seeing this tiny thing start a whole new life.”

  Sally nodded. She wished there were a chrysalis she could climb into. Her metamorphosis into butterfly hadn’t even begun. She was stuck in a little girl’s body, despite being an adolescent with an adult’s responsibilities. Why couldn’t her body catch up with the rest of her?

  She sighed. It was her turn to ask a question.

  “If a genie said he would grant one wish to you, but you also had to give it to your worst enemy, what would you wish for?”

  “Oh, you’re mean!” Alison said. “How could you even think of anything to wish for?”

  “That’s the whole idea,” Sally said. “You can get something really good, but you have to share with a bad person.”

  “What would you wish for?” Alison said.

  Sally thought about it. Technically, Alison was supposed to answer first, but Sally knew it was a hard question.

  “Well, I want my mother and grandma back,” Sally said. “I miss my grandma so much. But I don’t know if Molly Richards is missing family members or not. So I guess, I’d wish for my family to heal and be whole.”

  Alison gaped at her. Her mouth hung open as big as it had when Sally was cast as Juliet.

&nbs
p; “You’d wish that for Molly?” she said.

  “Sure,” Sally said. “I want it for me, so I’d be willing to give it to her too. Besides, if everything were great with her family, maybe she wouldn’t be so mean.”

  “Doubt it,” Alison said. “She’s a turbo bitch. She’s Bitchzilla.”

  Sally laughed. Alison’s ability to make up words made her smile, especially when she turned it on their mutual enemies.

  “What about you?” Sally said. “What would you wish?”

  Alison thought about it for a moment. The Ferris wheel turned, and Alison’s expression didn’t change, despite her hair flying up as the basket dropped.

  “I’d wish to keep my best friend forever,” Alison said at last.

  Sally blinked at her. Was she saying what she thought she was?

  “Obviously, I’d want to keep you as my BFF,” Alison went on. “But I’d want my wish to hurt my enemy. So by wishing for that, Kylie would be stuck with Brinna forever. So I’d get to keep you, which would be, like, the best thing ever, and Kylie would get screwed.”

  Sally shook her head. Leave it to Alison to find a winning angle.

  “You are evil,” Sally said.

  “No, I’m clever,” Alison said. “And practical!”

  Sally laughed. She leaned back in the basket and enjoyed the ride for a few moments.

  “Sally,” Alison said, “do you suppose we’ll actually be best friends forever?”

  “Why wouldn’t we be?” Sally said.

  “We’ll always tell each other everything?”

  “Yeah,” Sally said. “We’ll always be together. We’ll get boyfriends together and do our homework and learn to drive and get our diplomas. Then we’ll go to college, and we’ll both study something really important. When we get out, we’ll make really important breakthroughs in our fields and become world famous. And then we’ll find a couple of men to marry, but we’ll make sure they know we’re in charge. If they don’t like it, we’ll dump ’em.”

  Alison giggled. She smiled broadly at Sally’s fantasy.

  “You don’t think Brian can be made to understand that you’re in charge?” Alison teased.