Little Red Riding Hoodie: A Modern Fairy Tale

by Phythyon, John

  “Really?” Sally countered. “You don’t have Brian. You didn’t get Juliet.”

  “I should have!” Molly said, her words dripping with poison, “Everyone knows you don’t deserve that part. You only got it because you’re such a teacher’s pet.” Molly leaned in. “It’s a woman’s part, and you’re just a girl. I mean look at you!”

  Molly gestured hard with her hand at Sally’s chest. Involuntarily, Sally looked down. She hated herself for that.

  “Juliet’s only thirteen, Molly,” Sally said, looking back up. “It’s hardly a ‘woman’s’ part. You’d know that if you’d actually read the play. That’d require you to use your brain, though, and it seems you’re pretty limited in that department. You probably have to conserve your resources.”

  Molly’s expression turned feral. Her mouth curled in a snarl.

  “I’ve had enough of your lip, Red,” Molly growled. “It’s time for you to find out what happens when you step over the line.” She turned to her toadies. “Grab her.”

  Wendy and Moira surged forward. Sally froze for just a second. It was long enough.

  She tried to move, but Moira got a hand on her sweatshirt and knotted her fist in it. Wendy reached for her, but Sally ducked, and Wendy only grabbed the top of Sally’s hood.

  Panicking, Sally kicked Moira in the shin as hard she could. Moira cried out and let go. Sally turned and ran, unaware Wendy had her by the hood. The old, frayed fabric ripped at the seam. The hood came halfway off before Wendy lost her grip.

  “Get her!” Molly shouted.

  Unsure where to go and in full panic mode, Sally dashed back into the stall, wishing for an exit. White-hot pain erupted on her skin where the key rested, and there was a blinding flash as the stall door flew open and the world fell away.

  Eighteen

  Sally wasn’t sure what had happened. She was just trying to get away from The Set. Then she felt a strange pulling sensation in her stomach, like she was being turned inside out. All she could see was white. There were no images, no colors. Nothing.

  Then, she was standing in the red-curtained room from her dreams. The shock and the transition made her want to vomit. She put her hand to her mouth and spent several seconds tamping down the urge. When she had it under control, she looked around.

  Though it looked like Madame Zelda’s tent at the carnival, she was convinced she was not at the fairgrounds. You didn’t get there through a stall in the girls’ bathroom at Roosevelt Middle School. This was somewhere else entirely.

  It was exactly as it had appeared in her dreams. The giant mirror was magically suspended from nothing against the far wall. It cast no reflection. Instead it seemed to swirl and change, as though thick smoke were contained behind the glass. The small table with the Empire base was set up in the middle. There were three chairs. Zelda sat in one of them. She smiled.

  “Hello, Sally,” she said.

  “H-Hi,” Sally replied.

  Sally trembled. Her dreams had entered the waking world several times with the appearance of Shakir’s dogs. But this was the first time she had entered her dreams from the real world. Her heart pounded.

  “I told you I’d see you again,” Zelda said. “Why don’t you come sit down?”

  She smiled reassuringly. Wordlessly, Sally obeyed. They sat staring at each other for a few moments.

  “Why,” Sally said at last, “why is all this happening? What does it all mean?”

  “You’re here to change your destiny, Sally,” Zelda said. “Or not.”

  Sally chewed her bottom lip for a moment. She wasn’t sure what to do.

  “I need to save my dad,” she said.

  “That may be possible,” Zelda replied. “Depending on what you choose.”

  “But how do I do it?”

  “Use the key,” Zelda said. “It will open whichever door you desire.”

  “How do I know which one to pick?”

  “You may select whichever one you want.”

  “But how will I know?” Sally practically shouted.

  She hated these evasive, non-answers. Didn’t this woman realize what was at stake here?

  “Multiple paths will be open to you,” Zelda said. “Each is barred by a door of some sort. The key will allow you to unlock the destiny you want. But you may choose only one. Once you use the key, there is no going back.

  “Additionally, whatever you choose, you will lose something. Whatever you gain has a price.”

  Sally sighed again. She hated this. How could she possibly know the right thing to do?

  “Where are these doors?”

  “Through the mirror,” Zelda said. “You’ve been there in your dreams. Now it’s time to actually make the journey.”

  Sally looked over at the mirror. Like it had in her dreams, it now showed a room filled with hundreds of them, each showing a different scene.

  She stood up. She was tired of talking to Zelda. If destiny was upon her, she wanted to make her choice now. She’d resolved yesterday to find the key and save her father. She’d promised him this morning she would fix everything. She had no idea how any of this was possible or how she would explain what happened when she got back to school. For all she knew, she was unconscious and dreaming again.

  It didn’t matter, though. She had a job to do.

  She crossed the room to the mirror and looked into it. The key radiated heat on her chest. She drew it out of her torn sweatshirt and gripped it tightly in her right hand.

  “Sally,” Zelda said. “Shakir will attempt to stop you. She does not want you to change your destiny or those of anyone else you can affect. Choose wisely, and be careful.”

  “Anything else?” Sally said, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” Sally said, turning back to her.

  She meant to glare at her, but Zelda was gone. Sally sighed. She didn’t want to be surprised or frightened anymore, but the warning that Shakir would be coming for her chilled her. She remembered what happened in her dreams only too well.

  Sally turned back to the glass and gazed through it, examining the strange hall of mirrors. Then she drew in a deep breath through her nose and held it as she squeezed the key in her right hand and reached out to the gilded frame with her left.

  She was instantly transported to the hall. It was more disconcerting than in her dream. In the surreal dream world, it had all felt normal. In this waking vision, it seemed wrong.

  For as far as she could see in any direction, there was nothing but white – white sky, white ground, and white walls. And there were hundreds of mirrors suspended in midair by no visible means. As usual, each reflected a different scene from somewhere else, like it was a TV instead of a looking glass. She recognized some of them from the dream in which she had last visited this room.

  She walked among them. All showed horrible scenes – visions, she suddenly comprehended, that depicted the loss of innocence. This was Shakir’s demesne.

  She was surprised to see Brian in one of them. He lay on his bed daydreaming. Somehow, she knew that it was about her. His mother, a frumpy woman with kinky, black hair and a broad face, burst into his bedroom.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said. “You need to be studying.”

  “But I’ve already finished my homework,” he protested.

  “Then read ahead,” she told him. “You need to keep your mind occupied. If you don’t, next thing you know, you’ll be dreaming about some harlot. She’ll be all you think about, and then you’ll listen to anything she tells you. Before you know it, she’ll be seducing you into leaving your studies, and then you won’t get good grades. And you won’t be able to get into college. Then where will you be?”

  “Stuck here,” he said under his breath.

  “What did you say?” his mother demanded.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  He got up off
the bed and went to his backpack. He retrieved a book from it, sat down at his desk, and opened it.

  “That’s my good boy,” she said sweetly.

  She moved over to him and kissed him on the cheek and hugged him very tightly. Brian appeared nonplussed.

  “Your mama loves you,” she said.

  Sally moved on. She didn’t think she should be watching Brian’s life. It was too nosy. She didn’t want to be a voyeur.

  She came across another mirror that cast Tommy’s reflection. He stood in the lunchroom at school, looking angry and sad. His arms were crossed.

  “You forgot your lunch?” another boy said to him.

  He didn’t say anything. He just nodded.

  “That’s terrible,” the other boy said.

  “What are you gonna do?” a girl said to him.

  Tommy shrugged. The girl and the boy looked concernedly at each other.

  “You should tell Mrs. Womack,” the boy suggested.

  “Yeah, she could fix it,” the girl said.

  Tommy shook his head angrily.

  “But why not?” the boy said.

  “Yeah,” the girl said. “I bet she could call your mom to bring it or give you some lunch money.”

  “He can’t call his mom,” a second girl said. She had raven-black hair just like Molly Richards. Did Molly have a little sister, or was this just coincidence?

  “Why not?” the first girl said.

  “He can’t call his mom, cuz he doesn’t have one,” the black-haired bully said.

  “You shut up,” Tommy growled. “You shut up, or you’ll be sorry.”

  The second girl looked contemptuously at him. The other two children stared, worried.

  “Oh, really,” the bully girl said. “What are you gonna do? Are you gonna tell your mommy on me? Oh, wait! You can’t! You don’t have a mommy!”

  Tommy charged her and tackled her to the floor. Sally’s eyes popped open wide. The girl screamed as Tommy got on top of her and started hammering her with his fists.

  Sally shed a tear and turned away. This had to be the incident that got Tommy suspended from school.

  A second realization came over her. Everything she was seeing in these mirrors was real. In her dreams, they were often surreal or imaginary events like Tommy being chased by Shakir’s dogs. But now, she was watching things that had actually happened. She wondered if they were all in the past, or if some of them were in the present or yet to come.

  As if to answer her question, she caught sight of yet another mirror, which showed Alison and Brad leaving the stands at the football game only about ten minutes ago.

  “What’s going on?” Brad said.

  “I’m trying to give them some time alone, so Brian can make a move,” Alison said.

  Sally smiled. He had. Thanks, Alison.

  “Do you think he will?” Brad said.

  “I have no idea,” Alison replied. “I’m not sure he knows how. But a little alone time may inspire him to try.”

  Brad nodded. They reached the concession stand.

  “I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” Brad said. “Meet you back here?”

  “Sureness,” Alison said.

  Brad wandered off. Alison took out her phone. Sally couldn’t tell what she was doing with it while she waited in line. It looked like she was browsing the Internet.

  After a moment, she looked up and scanned her surroundings, like she was expecting something. Then she turned her phone sideways and texted someone.

  Sally scanned Alison’s surroundings to see what she might be looking for and was alarmed to see Molly, Wendy, and Moira observing Alison from a distance. Moira was on the phone.

  Alison finally made it to the front of the line, bought a Coke, and then left the concession stand, heading inside for the bathroom. Molly and company followed at a discreet distance, with Moira continuing to talk on the phone.

  “Watch out!” Sally yelled, but it was no use. Alison couldn’t hear her. Besides, Sally was watching something that had already happened. She couldn’t change the past.

  Alison had taken a few steps inside when the boiler room door opened and Brinna sprang out. She smashed both of her fists into Alison’s nose with a baseball swing. Alison was lifted up off her feet. She dropped her soda and crashed to the floor, landing hard. Sally screamed. Alison didn’t move.

  “Got her!” Brinna crowed.

  “Nice move,” Molly said as she rushed up.

  “I told you I could get her,” Brinna said, pride in her voice.

  “Shut up and get her out of sight,” Molly hissed.

  Brinna reached down, grabbed Alison’s arms, and dragged her into the boiler room as Molly rushed in after her. Kylie, who had been holding the door, slammed it shut.

  “All right,” Molly said, “Time to teach her a lesson.”

  Kylie brought over a can of paint. Brinna retrieved a large box of packing peanuts.

  “What color did you get,” Molly asked.

  “Pink,” Kylie answered as she knelt over the paint can and started prying it open with a screwdriver. “It was left over from painting my room this summer.”

  “Are you sure it will be enough,” Molly asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Kylie said. “This can is mostly full. My dad overestimated how much we were gonna need.”

  “Excellent,” Molly said. “I love that it’s pink. That’s perfect.”

  “Explain this to me again,” Brinna said.

  “In the old days, to punish criminals, they used to tar and feather them,” Molly said.

  “Where’d you hear about that?” Brinna said.

  “My dad explained it to me after we saw The Music Man,” she replied, sounding irritated. “They talk about tarring and feathering Professor Hill, when they find out he’s a con man.

  “I couldn’t get ahold of any tar, and I’m not about to rip up one of my goose-down pillows for this mouthy bitch. But I’m thinking paint and packing peanuts ought to be a pretty good substitute.”

  Kylie laughed. Brinna looked gleeful.

  “Yeah, paint and packing peanuts ought to be a pretty good substitute,” Brinna said.

  Molly’s phone chimed. She looked at it and then grinned evilly.

  “That was Moira,” Molly said. “Little Red Riding Hoodie is headed to the bathroom. Have you guys got this?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Kylie said. “You can depend on us.”

  “Yeah,” Brinna said. “You can depend on us.”

  “Good,” Molly said. “I’m gonna go put little, flat-chested Juliet in her place. Don’t forget to take lots of pictures so we can put ’em on Instagram. I want Jamison wanting to kill herself when we’re done with her.”

  “God, Molly,” Kylie said, awe in her voice. “You’re a first-class bitch!”

  “Never do anything halfway,” Molly said as she left.

  Sally turned away with tears in her eyes. The revelation of how horrible Molly really was, of how they had humiliated Alison and hurt her, of how Molly actually wanted Alison to die was too much. She couldn’t believe anyone was that cruel. She wasn’t sure she wanted to live in a world with people like Molly in it.

  Overcome with despair, she ran, weaving through mirrors, not stopping to look at any of them. She didn’t know where she was going; she just wanted to get away from the awful images.

  She looked back for a moment, hoping that the horrible things were not somehow pursuing her. She didn’t see the gargantuan mirror in front of her and ran straight into it. The collision knocked her to the ground, and she lay on the strange, white floor with her shoulder smarting.

  Sally looked up and saw her father in the glass before her. Curious, despite her fear and desperation, she pushed herself to her knees and shambled closer to it.

  He was in the bathroom, and the water was running in the tub. It looked like he was going to take a bath, which Sally thought was strange. As far as she knew, he only ever showered.

  He stared at himself in the mirror. Sall
y seemed to be on the other side, as though she were looking through a window at him.

  Her father hadn’t shaved in at least three days. His mousy brown hair was wild. He wore a dirty t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He leaned on the sink, and next to him was a half-full bottle of vodka that he kept sipping from.

  That was new too. Sally had only ever seen him mix vodka with tonic or soda. She’d never seen him take it straight, especially not directly from the bottle.

  “Well, you’re a hell of a piece of work, aren’t you, Arthur?” he said, slurring his speech. “Your wife left you for some stud. You can’t hold a job. And now that social worker is going to take your kids from you.”

  Sally gasped. Had the scene in her dreams been true?

  “You’re such a pathetic excuse for a father, you can’t even cook dinner for your kids. You’ve got to have your daughter do it. Your son gets suspended for beating up girls. Your twelve-year-old daughter has to do all the cooking, cleaning, and childcare. He keeps wetting the bed, and she has to wash the sheets and the PJ’s.

  “You spend what little life you have in this bottle. There are losers, Arthur Prescott, and then there’s you.”

  “Daddy,” she said, but he couldn’t hear her.

  “Maybe it’s better this way,” her father went on after he drank some more vodka. “Maybe the kids will be better off. A foster family will at least let Sally be a kid again instead of forcing her to be a mother to a little brother and a housekeeper to an alcoholic.”

  He grabbed the vodka bottle and took another big swig on his way to the tub. He turned off the water and got in without taking off his clothes. Then he sat down, put the bottle between his knees and took a knife off the side of the tub, where he’d evidently pre-placed it.

  “Daddy, no,” Sally said, crying. “Daddy, please don’t leave me.”

  “I’m sorry, Sally,” he said, as if he had heard her. “I’m sorry, Tommy. You deserved better than me.”

  Then he started dragging the blade across his wrist, drawing blood. Sally screamed, but he didn’t stop.

  She flung herself to the ground, bawling. It wasn’t fair. She was supposed to save everyone, and instead she was going to lose everything. She was a failure – as big a failure as her father.