Red Faced Hood

Everyone here heard the story about the Big Bad Wolf. Boy did it rock the village. A tale like that doesn’t come around very often you know. I actually live a quiet life and like it too if you don’t mind. The city life is a place far away. I lived there for a couple of years and became a bit of a hood actually. There’s nothing doing in the country apart from keeping the neighbours awake during a drunken binge. Mostly I lose myself to the fresh home cooked breakfasts that rise above the woods beyond. I still wear the corny black AC/DC shirts though. Everyone calls me Red because of my hair and freckles and I do my best to live up to my tough reputation.

My second middy of the evening usually winds me down a bit. Nobody is concerned in the country. I’m a prick when I get too many in me but even that is not enough to rile anybody. I told the fellas at the bar about my Gran, who everyone knows. She lived by herself a mile or so on the other side of Dead Man’s Wood. I was convinced she had not been herself lately. When I dropped by unexpectedly, as you do in the country, she looked different and acted different and so I reckoned maybe she was getting a bit forgetful like old folk do. She is 64 after all. Perhaps she needed to go into a nursing home.

‘Bugger off, Red. There’s more fluff in your head than your Gran’s I reckon. The way you talk, anyone would think she was ready for the undertaker,’ laughed George. He poured me another beer and I was left to my own imagination. I could not see why George was winking to the other guys.

The next day though when I went to visit my Gran, she seemed definitely rattled. Not like herself at all. She was wearing a wispy silk dressing gown that barely covered her body. I’d read about old people running around as happy as Larry in their birthday suits. Poor thing was definitely losing her faculties, I thought.
‘Red! This is a surprise. What are you doing here?’
‘Nothing. Why, what’s wrong Gran? You look all worried like.’
‘It’s nothing, nothing at all,’ she spluttered and then sat in the kitchen nervously twirling the corners of the red tablecloth I bought her for Christmas. She could not find anything to say to me. Yes, I thought. The signs of dementia are all too apparent.
Suddenly, she brightened and said, ‘Be a love will you and get me a Phillips screwdriver from the shed.’ It was an odd request but I did as she asked. I thought I’d check to see that everything was still there anyway. Sometimes, people with dementia give stuff away, you see. When I came back, Gran had disappeared. Since she wasn’t a full quid anymore, I wasn’t really surprised. God! How easy it was to miss the signs. I looked for clues to see how long the old gal had been this way. The only thing that caught my eye aside from some glossy heels was her handbag on the kitchen table. I rummaged through to see if she was taking any medications but all I found was makeup, keys and purse.
‘Where are you, Gran?’ I called. I heard a cry then coming from the bedroom. Sounded like she was probably regressing into childhood. I felt a bit awkward standing there holding her lipstick and went to comfort her as best I could.

I stuck my head through the door. The heavy curtains blocked out the light. She had tucked herself into bed and I could barely make her figure under the thick quilt. Her breathing was laboured and I was about to ask if she was ok when she growled ferociously. I saw her head pop up from under the covers and I caught a flash of teeth. ‘Jesus Gran that’s some pair of choppers you’ve got there,’ I said. They were bigger than I remembered. In the dull light, her eyes seemed quite yellow too. I didn’t even know she had liver trouble. She was squirming around and I took a step forward when her arms and legs suddenly thrust outwards. ‘Gran, are you all right?’ She wasn’t obviously, because just then I spied two dirty paws on her pillow.

I suddenly realised what was happening. ‘Er will you excuse me for just a moment Gran?’ I left the room and went to the kitchen. I needed a plan and a quick one at that. I heard Gran cry out again. Without another thought, I took what I needed from the kitchen and fled to the bathroom. When I came out five minutes later, I was a different person. Some hastily applied makeup, ill-fitting heels and a red tablecloth knotted toga style round the length of my body and I was set to save my Gran. Back in the room, the poor old gal was still thrashing around.
From the doorway I drawled in falsetto, ‘Hey there wolfey, what big eyes you have.’
The wolf sat up, took one look at me and burst out in disbelief, ‘Holey moley!’ Gran, cried out, ‘what, where, why?’ I staggered to the curtains (hey it’s not easy walking in heels when you’re a 6ft hood), and toyed with its edges.
‘You wanna taste of me?’ My hand circled tantalisingly across my hips. In a flash, the wolf moved to the edge of the bed, his drooling mouth hanging wide open.
‘My, you do have big teeth, don’t you?’ I said as the beast slid across the room toward me.
The wolf licked his shiny lips. ‘All the better to eat you…’ Bam! Before he could say anything else, I punched him one in the face. He was out like a light. I stuck my heels into him then good and proper. In between kicks I said, ‘That’s what you get when you try to eat little old ladies like my Gran!’

I left the unconscious wolf where he fell and settled Gran in the lounge. In the bathroom, I put my AC/DC t-shirt and steel caps back on. I got a cold beer out of the fridge and went to see how my Gran was bearing up. She was shaken but otherwise okay. I gave her a bear hug and offered to chuck the wolf in the garbage with my can. Gran smiled sweetly, looked away and said thanks but she would handle the big bad wolf from here.
‘It’s no trouble, honest.’ She scratched my goatee affectionately, the way that Gran’s do and said I’d already done so much for her. It wouldn’t be good for her to be too dependent now would it?
Well, it looks like she is not as vague as I thought after all. Gran hugged me at her door saying it’s mighty tough to pull the wool over my eyes and get away with it. She’s got that right! I just feel better knowing that she can sleep easy at night.
Gran even insisted I keep her lipstick and heels as a memento – but that is one fairy tale you will not hear.

Great fun, that was, Delta. Who IS afraid of the big bad wolf? (One of my kids couldn't say wolf, it always came out as wool-uff.)

This story was funny as all get-out,and possibly a gem. With you there writing, I can see why the Aussies keep their continent to themselves, it's quaranteened you see, and they don't want to infect the rest of the world with laughter!

thanks Steve. I'm a bit shy about my short story writing but I should publish more on lit-net since you guys make a gal feel good about her stuff!

Great story.

thanks ed