Little Red Riding Hoodlum
by Pope Evans and Sam Goldsmith
“That was an awesome concert! It was, like, the best I’ve ever been to in my entire fucking life. I can’t hear a thing, my ears are ringing so hard!”
“Uh-huh.”
“What? Did you say something?”
“No.”
“What? Well, I had a fucking amazing time. Man, was that drummer awesome or what?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That was by far the best concert ever, except maybe when Metallica came to town last week. What did you think, Wolffie?”
“Huh?”
“I said, ‘What did you think?’”
“Oh. It was okay, I guess.”
“Only okay?”
“I mean, I thought it was pretty good, I think.”
“Is there something wrong, Wolffie? Is there something on your mind?”
“Well, yes, I have been considering something recently.”
“What is it? You know you can tell me anything, Wolffie.”
“Red, I think we should stop seeing each other.”
“What?!”
“I have to come clean. I was only dating you for your mom’s cookies.”
“Wolffie, you can’t be serious!”
“I’m sorry, Red. I even ate your grandmother so she couldn’t have any.”
“Wolffie …I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”
“That day we met in the woods, you know, when you were all by yourself-I could smell the cookies from far, far away, and I just had to get them.”
“But what about all those times when we-“
“It was all an act. And it was completely worth it.”
“I … but … Fuck you, son of a bitch! You bastard! I hate you! You’re nothing but a fucking big bad wolf!”
Once upon a time, Red Ridinghood rode home aboard a stolen Harley Davidson on which she had spray-painted on the side, “Try and ride this red hood”. She parked in the driveway and dismounted, removing her black helmet to reveal her fiery one-inch Mohawk. She wore a red spiked dog collar. Her nose, ears, lips, and eyebrows were all pierced, as well as some other places that were concealed. Her jeans and T-shirt were torn at the sleeves, revealing a series of tattoos that depicted a nude man being devoured by giant rats. She had drawn them herself. She also had a long scratch on her forearm that she had hastily bandaged with a bandana.
When she opened the front door, the familiar smell of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven reached her nostrils. She plopped down on the couch and dug her hand in the couch cushions in search of the TV remote.
“Is that you, Red?” said her mother from the kitchen.
Red groaned.
“You’re home early. Was it a minimum day?”
Red rolled her eyes. She had finally found the remote and had turned the TV on to the wrestling channel.
“Weather’s been nice for the last few days,” continued Red’s mother. “What a relief after all that rain.”
“I didn’t notice,” grumbled Red.
“Really? That’s a shame. It would’ve put you in a much better mood. Just look out the window at all that sunshine.”
“I hate sunshine.”
Red heard her mother’s footsteps move toward the kitchen window. “That’s too bad. This weather must be making you miserable, then.”
“Mom, I can’t hear the TV.”
There was a short pause. “That’s a nice bike, Red,” her mother said. “Where’d you get it?”
“Mom!” Red moaned.
“Did you get it from the Jacobsen’s? I know they just bought a bike…”
“No, Mom. It’s from the dealership.”
Red’s mother entered the living room and began to clear the table. “The one in Gorgonsville? Oh, dear me. How on earth did you get past the security? That’s the one right by the police station, if I recall correctly.”
Red sighed. “It wasn’t a problem, Mom.”
“Oh?” said her mother without looking up. “Then where’d you get that scratch on your arm from?”
Red hid her arm behind her back. “It’s nothing.”
Her mother stopped what she was doing and stared at Red, arms folded across her chest. “Now, Red, if there’s one thing I’ve told you, it’s that I can only post bail once every three months. I’m afraid that’s all my salary will allow. You’ll just have to be more careful next time you steal something. Remember what happened last time?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Red? Where are you?”
“I’ve been booked again.”
“Oh, dear. You couldn’t have done it an hour earlier? Your dinner is getting cold.”
“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”
“And I was making my eggplant casserole, too.”
“Oh. Then you can pick me up after dinner.”
“Are you sure? Won’t you get hungry?”
“I’ll just eat the prison food. It’s really not that bad.”
“Okay, dear. Why don’t I pick you up after dinner-Oh! But that’s when Survivor is on! Do you mind if I pick you up a little later, honey?”
“Whatever.”
“Great! Love you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
A bell rang in the kitchen. “Oh, my cookies are done!” said Red’s mother, disappearing into the kitchen. “You will deliver a batch to your grandmother, won’t you?”
Red sank back into the couch. “I don’t feel like it.”
“Really, dear? That’s odd. You’ve always been so eager to do it in the past, even volunteering to do it when I would’ve walked myself.”
“Fine, I’ll deliver the stupid cookies. And don’t call me ‘dear.’”
“Whatever you say, dear.”
Red entered the forest clutching a picnic basket. She barely remembered the way to her grandmother’s house because she had been going to Wolffe’s house for the last four months to give him the cookies instead. The jerk. Now that her grandmother was dead, Red wondered what to do with the cookies. She took one out of the basket and began to munch on it. She decided she would go to her grandmother’s old house and finish them and maybe steal a few things.
Red eventually found herself at her grandmother’s doorstep. The door was unlocked, and Red walked in. She sat down at the table and began to eat the cookies when she heard a thud from upstairs. At first she didn’t think much about it, that it was probably just the house being noisy. But when she heard the sound again, she realized that there must be something else that was making it. She began to walk slowly and quietly up the stairs and the sound drew nearer and nearer with each step. At the top of the stairs was a door, and it was obvious that the sound was from the other side. She gingerly opened the door to see…
“Wolffie?”
“Red?”
“What the hell are you doing in grandma’s bed? And why are you wearing a bonnet?”
“Um, I’m simply sleeping.”
“It’s 3:11.”
“It’s Siesta.” Wolffie sniffed. “Mmmm. I smell cookies.”
“Shut the fuck up, you bastard. You used me for my mother’s cookies, and I’ll never forgive you.”
“Fine. Then just go. I never liked you anyway.”
“Fine! But at least will you tell me what you’re doing in grandma’s bed?”
At that moment Red’s grandmother sauntered in from the bathroom. She was wearing a dress of wrinkles: her 79th birthday suit. She had one decrepit, wrinkly hand on her hip and the other decrepit, wrinkly hand on her head, revealing her unshaved underarm. She said in a low tone, “I’m ready for some sugar, you big bad wolf, you.”
“Jesus Christ!” screamed Red, turning away and covering her eyes. “Holy shit! I did not need to see that!”
“Granny,” hissed Wolffe, “now’s not a good time.”
“Why not, you animal? Am I too much for you? You’re such a beast!”
“Shut up!” cried Red. “Shut up! Shut up! You two are sick! I thought you said you killed her, Wolffe!”
“No, I said I ate her.”
“Ewwwwww! You sicko! I’m gonna hurl!” And with that, Red ran screaming from the house, never to return.
When Red arrived home, her mother knew something was wrong.
“Red! Good heavens, you’re shaking like a leaf! What happened?”
“Oh, Mom!” Red collapsed into her mother’s arms. “It was horrible! There was this wolf and this old fart and a giant and a bumble bee and a box of chocolates and a pair of headphones and an evil telemarketer and a spaceship and a milk carton and a file cabinet and badly-written poem and… and… oh, Mom!”
“Hush, dear, it’ll be all right.”