Red Rider's Hood

2 Thirteen steps to Grandma's house

Stiltskin's Antiques was a little hole-in-the-wall shop. My mother used to drag me there when I was little. It was where I got my old Radio Flyer wagon, so the place wasn't all bad. As I didn't have a cell-phone habit, I couldn't call Grandma from the car, and the pay phones I passed weren't about to take a fifty-dollar bill, so I figured Grandma wouldn't mind waiting just a little while longer. She was the one who was fond of say­ing "all good things come to those who wait," and the sack of money was certainly a good thing.

There was a space right out in front with half an hour still on the meter. I should have found this suspicious. I should have realized there were forces conspiring, but I just figured it was my lucky day. I locked the bag of cash in my trunk and went in.

"Well, if it isn't the Red Rider," Marissa Flowers said as she saw me step in.

The place smelled like wet wood and old folks, but everything in there was beautiful. Pink and blue crystal, delicate porcelain, and of course, Marissa. She was at the cash register, polishing a tea set to perfection.

"What brings you here?" she asked, batting her eyes and tossing her long hair, which was dark with blond highlights.

I felt myself going red and hoped she didn't notice. "I need a birthday present for my mother," I told her, which wasn't a complete lie. I eventually would need one.

"What kind of antiques does she like?" Marissa said.

"Beats me. I don't know anything about antiques."

"Neither do I," she admitted. "When I took the job, I couldn't tell brass from bronze, or crystal from Corning Ware. But I'm learning."

She put down the silver set so gently it didn't make a sound, and then began pulling out a whole bunch of bright colorful glass vases that weren't anywhere near my price range.

"How about one of these?" she asked. "Do you like any of them?"

"Yeah, I like them all," I told her. I couldn't look in her eyes. If her brother had made it seem like the sun had stopped shin­ing, she made it seem like the place had no roof and the sun was beating down.

Did you ever get the feeling that everything was too perfect? like the moment was so good that something had to be wrong? Kind of like the way a fish sees that bright, shiny lure just before it chomps down and gets hauled out of the water to become someone's lunch.

"Say, I was wondering what time you get off?" I asked.

"Why?"

I shrugged and looked away. "Oh, I thought you might like to go to the multiplex and see a movie."

"With you?"

"No, with Godzilla," I said. "So, you want to come?"

"That depends. Is Godzilla paying?"

"Well," I said, "since Godzilla asked, Godzilla will pay."

Marissa laughed. "Don't worry, Red. I'll pay for myself."

My jaw almost dropped clear to the musty floor. "So that means you're going?"

"I get off at six-thirty," she told me.

"All right. See you then." I'm not the kind of guy to skip, but I have to tell you, I practically skipped out of that antique shop and into my car. As I drove off, it was as if my wheels didn't even touch the ground.

Grandma lived in the oldest part of the city. On both sides of the street were rows of dark brick homes with tall stoops. Each had thirteen steps―"like gallows," Grandma was fond of saying.

The sidewalk was all broken up, like a fun-house floor, by die roots of the hundred-year-old sycamores that arched over Forest Boulevard. They made the sun play peekaboo, painting the streets in polka dots of light. It was a great street for Hal­loween, because by fall, the whole street was layered in golden leaves that crunched under your feet. But now, in July, the leaves made a big green canopy, like some sort of urban rain forest.

I pulled my car into the driveway, got the money sack from the trunk, and climbed the thirteen steps to Grandma's house, holding it tightly in my hand.

As I neared the front door, a hot breeze tore through the trees, making them quiver. Something tumbled down across my hair and over my shoulder. I brushed it off, thinking at first that it was a spider, but it was only a leaf. A big, summer-green sycamore leaf.

Why had the leaf fallen? I wondered. For the slightest instant, I had the strange feeling that the trees were trying to tell me something. "Sssssssstay outssssssssssside," their leaves rusded. "Don't sssssssstep in."

I shook off the feeling and rang the bell. No answer. I tried the bell again and still no answer.

Well, I am late, I thought. Maybe Grandma went out shopping. I tried the door. The knob turned, the door was unlocked. That was odd. Grandma was never one to leave her door unlocked. The neighborhood wasn't the safest. I pushed open the door and the old hinges creaked.

"Grandma, are you in there?"

I heard breathing. Faint, raspy breathing.

"Grandma?"

I stepped in, propping the door open behind me. Grandma kept her house dark. It was to keep the sun from aging the car­peting and furniture, she always said. Old Venetian blinds cov­ered every window. That and the trees outside made it always seem like night in her house. I tried a light switch, and it didn't work.

"Grandma, did you forget to pay your electric bill again?"

"Red," I heard. "Red, is that you?" Her voice sounded funny, like she had a cold. I followed her voice to the bedroom, and there she sat, in the darkness, under her covers.

"Did you bring me my bread?" she whispered.

I held up the bag.

"Good, good." She cleared her throat. "Come a little closer, my child. Let me see you."

Grandma was the only person I allowed to call me child. As I stepped closer and my eyes began to adjust to the light, I could see that her Afro, all curly and gray, was even bigger than I had last seen it.

"Man, Grandma, what big hair you have."

"The better to style with, my dear."

Her finger reached out and beckoned to me. I took another step closer. Outside the trees hissed their eerie warning, and now there was a smell in the room. It wasn't the smell of moth­balls and air freshener that usually filled her house. This smell was alive and dark. It was gamy, like the breath of a tiger after eating its kill. I took a step closer. There was a glass beside the bed filled with water and Grandma's false teeth. They were magnified by the curved glass.

"Wow, Grandma," I said. "What gnarly teeth you have."

"Better to smile at you with, my dear."

She put out her hand and patted the bed for me to sit down, but even in this dim light, I could see there was something very odd about those hands.

"My, Grandma," I said. "What hairy knuckles―"

But I didn't get the chance to finish. Suddenly Grandma leaped off the bed, and I was pushed back against the wall. Both of her hands were around my throat. I reached up, pulled at her hair, and it came off. It was only a wig.

"Guess we're gonna have to do this the hard way!" she said, in a voice that didn't sound like my grandma at all. "Give me the money!"

I kept trying to suck air through my throat, but those strong hands had closed off my windpipe. I knew from that voice exactly who it was. Although I couldn't see his face all that well in the dim light, I knew.

Cedric Soames.

I reached out behind me, grabbed the cord to the blinds, and tugged as hard as I could. Light flooded the room. I could see his eyes now, wild and furious. I had never been this close to him, but now I could see there was definitely something inhuman about his eyes.

Other figures stepped out from behind the curtains, from the closet, and from the other rooms. There were more than I could count, because my vision was getting dim from the lack of oxygen.

I knew right away that they were the Wolves, Cedric's gang. Their trademark was an open shirt that showed off their chest hair―although most of them had to use mascara to make it look like anything. Cedric was the only really hairy one.

"Just take it," I tried to say "Just take it."

Cedric twisted his lip into a snarling smile.

"I don't take things," he said. "But I do accept gifts. Are you giving me that money?"

Although there wasn't an ounce of me that wanted to do it, I also didn't want to die. I let the bag slip from my hands. One of the others picked it up, and when he stood up and looked at me, I could see who it was. Marvin Flowers, gold tooth and all.

Now that I had dropped the bag, Cedric loosened his grip enough to let me gasp some air.

"Where's my grandma?" I asked.

"We ate her," said one of the other Wolves.

"Yeah," said Cedric. "I think I still have a piece of her between my teeth. Marvin, go see if there's any dental floss."

I pushed Cedric for that one. I knew he might hit me hard, but no one makes fun of my grandma like that. Especially after stealing from her.

"What did you do with her?" I demanded.

"Same thing we're gonna do with you."

Cedric looked at me angrily, but he didn't hit me. He stared at me with his nasty eyes. They were an amber brown, so light they could almost be yellow―an ugly yellow, like the stuff you cough up when you've got the flu. And smack in the middle of those ugly eyes were dark pupils that seemed to go all the way to the back of his head―and then some.

"You don't get what's happening here, do you?" Cedric growled as he held me back against the wall. He was older than me, bigger than me, and his biceps were as thick as my legs, but I didn't care.

"Yeah, I know exactly what's happening here," I growled right back at him. "You're ripping off money from a poor defenseless old lady. That's low even for a scuzzball like you."

I thought I'd get a five-knuckle brunch for that, but instead he laughed. The rest of the Wolves laughed as well, copying whatever Cedric did―as if they'd be in trouble if they didn't.

"You don't know a stinkin' thing." Then he leaned closer, whispering into my ear. "There are worse things than being robbed ..." I could smell the sick old-meat stench on his breath, like he really had eaten my grandmother. ". . . worse things than dyin' even. You be a good boy, Little Red, and maybe you'll get to live awhile. Maybe you'll get to die in your own natural time."

"I'd rather die than have to stand here looking at your ugly face. Your mama should've got a refund for it when you were born."

He squeezed my throat again. "You watch yourself, Little Red Rider. You don't want to get me angry. Not today. Defi­nitely not today."

"Why?" I dared to ask. "What makes today so special?"

"Because," said Cedric, "tonight there's a full moon."