| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
.
| Written by Beth Overmyer / Artwork by Marge Simon |
| Red |
It is necessary to understand that Vulfs are part wolf and are very hungry by nature. Also, it is important and
just as necessary to understand that the word “little” is a subjective—and often derogatory—description…at
least, to a fifteen-year-old.
Let us instead say that, back in the year 1870, there was a young lady who was loved by her mother and
grandmother. She was not exceptionally pretty, what with her freckled complexion and fire-red hair; and she
was not considered among the very genteel. No, Carolyn “Red” Hood was a youth with university degrees in
Physics, Chemistry, Biology and Intergalactic Relations.
One day, at the precocious age of eight, Red’s friends were climbing the monkey bars and getting into all
sorts of tomfoolery, as children do. Red, however, was tinkering with her portable welding kit and dabbling in
Latin verse.
“Red wants to be a boy!” one of her playmates said. “Just look at her, in her stupid flying goggles and cap.
She wishes she was a boy!”
The other children laughed as Red grew redder and redder. “Well, what if I do?”
This had made her playmates laugh even harder. “Oh yeah?” Doogie Finnegan said. “Well, you ain’t got a
choice. It’s in your PMA.”
Red rose to her full three-foot two inches. “It’s ‘DNA,’ you primeval, larvae-sucking bigot. And what if I decided
to take up genealogical studies? Huh? What if I entered into genetic engineering, and altered my
chromosomes? What do you have to say to that?”
All the children seemed unable to say anything, until Bobby Bulker regained his wits. “You talk big for
someone so little.”
On instinct, Red reached for her tin blaster, which she then directed at Bobby’s chest. “What did you call me?”
“Put that thing away,” Doogie said. “That thing hasn’t even been invented yet.”
“Someday, my friend,” Red saidover the others’ roars of mirth. “Someday.”
~ * ~
One day, seven years and five inches later, Red sat down to work on a thesis for her Earth Studies class.
“Why will steam power be obsolete in the year 2010?” she said out loud. Red thought for a moment and was
about to write her opening statement, when the phone rang. “Hello. Butchers, Bakers and Candlestick-
Makers Incorporated. Red Hood speaking. How might I direct your call?”
“Oh! Red! I’m so glad you’re there,” Mrs. Hood’s agitated voice said.
Red dipped her pen into an inkwell and began doodling. “Oh, hi, Ma. What’s wrong? You sound frazzled.” She
was just making a triple loop, when her mother broke down sobbing. “Ma! Calm down and tell me what’s
happening.”
“It’s your gran, I’m afraid,” the woman managed between hiccups.
“What’s wrong? She’s not dead, right? She’s surely not married again, is she?”
“No, Red. None of those things, though it is bad enough. She hurt her back, unaligned something, while
hanging an iron rod in the cellar. She’s in a tremendous amount of pain, dear.”
With a sigh of relief, Red replied, “Oh, is that all? Surely the doctor prescribed codeine for her.”
“No.”
“Vicodin?”
“No.”
Red thought for a moment. “Just plain aspirin?”
“No! Red, she’s on an IV drip of something rather, and has been prescribed bed rest for at least two weeks.”
“Uh-huh. I see.”
There was a slight pause. “Would you mind taking Gran some food? Oh, and while you’re there, would you
also run a load of wash for her?” Mrs. Hood asked.
“Sure. I’ll use the money you gave me for lunch to buy some bread and cheese.”
Mrs. Hood sighed in apparent relief. “Oh, thank you so much, dear.”
“Sure thing, Ma. I’ll just be on my way.”
“Good. Now remember: Look both ways before you cross the street. Don’t tie your shoelaces on railroad
tracks. Oh, and never talk to strangers.”
“Ma, it’s my job,” Red complained.
“Over the phone, yes. But I mean in person. You never know what strange alien creature might be lurking
nearby, ready to devour you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ma. Love you. ‘Bye.”
As the conversation concluded, the front door’s bell tinkled, and in walked a tall, furry man with a twitching
tail. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Dick Schlect of—”
Quite amazed, Red interrupted him. “Great Alaston’s Theorem! You’re a Vulf!” she cried. “From Vulfron.”
“Quite,” Dick Schlect replied. “I couldn’t help but notice that you are rather alone.” He flashed her a pointy
smile, which perhaps ought to have reminded Red that Vulfs aren’t all human. Dick Schlect of Vulfron moved in
closer, his smile widening, when the sound of a welder’s arc crackled over the silence.
Red wiped her nose and gathered the daffodils from her desk. “Nope. The boys are working overtime today.
We have a big order of candleholders to ship out,” she said. Perhaps her gran would enjoy the flowers. On
this thought, she stuffed them into her basket, along with her lunch money.
“But I see you’re leaving soon,” the Vulf said.
“That’s right. I’m afraid my gran had a little accident.”
“Oh my!” said Dick Schlect. “I hope she’s all right.”
She nodded. “She’s fine, ‘cept for her back. I’m just off to the grocer’s to pick up bread and cheese for her
lunch.” It took her a moment to realize the Vulf was still waiting for something, and turned when his stomach
growled. “I’ll be back in two hours; but if you need anything, Tom, Richard and Harry will be here ‘til five…”
The Vulf seemed to realize he was staring, as he apologized for his rudeness and asked, “Where, exactly,
does your grandmother live?”
“Over the river and through the woods,” Red said, “right past the space port and the wax museum. Well, sir, I
hope our business can be of help to you.”
“Oh, but it already has,” he said, “more than you’ll know.” Again his stomach gurgled. “Sorry; indigestion you
know.”
Red nodded. “I’m on my way to my grandmother’s house. So long.” With that said, she threw on her red
bomber jacket and her flying goggles, picked up the basket and headed off to the grocer’s.
~ * ~
Over the river and through the woods Red skipped. Her basket was burdened with cheese and bread, but
she didn’t mind the weight; anything to get her away from that stuffy office was welcomed.
Once she reached the small cottage, Red noticed some unfamiliar tracks by the door. They looked like wolf
prints, but she was certain it was no such thing; wolves hadn’t been in those parts since the dawning of the
Steam Age.
“Gran,” she said. “Gran, are you in there?” She rapped her fist on the door. “Hello?”
“Yes, who is it?” a strange voice asked.
Red froze. “Gran? Is that you?”
“Oh, it is I; I’m afraid I caught cold. But who might you be?”
“It is I: Red.”
“Type in the security code, dear: one four seven nine zero.”
Red did as she asked, then opened the door. She took one glance at her grandmother and said, “My, Gran;
your arms are looking on the large side. Have you put on weight?”
Her Gran looked put out by this statement, but replied, “No, my dear. Granny’s been weightlifting. That’s how
she injured her back.”
Red thought for a moment. “Huh. I thought Ma said you unaligned something when you picked up that iron
rod.”
“Yes, you see, I lost my barbells and needed something to work out with, so that had to do.”
“Oh. Got it. But, gosh, your ears are longer than when I last saw you.”
Gran seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Well, I was—Clothespins!”
“Clothespins?” Red asked.
“Yes. I was hanging up the wash and accidentally pinned my ears to the line. I pulled and I pulled, and that
stretched out my cartilage.” The woman let out a long sigh.
Red threw off her jacket and removed her goggles. “Wow!”
Gran groaned. “For goodness’ sake, child, what now?”
“It must be my imagination, but your eyes are looking really huge. They’re the size of my hovercraft’s dome
lights!” Squinting, the girl went again to turn on the light so she could better see her grandmother.
“No, don’t turn on the light! The reason my eyes are so big is because I’ve been in the dark for so long.”
“Oh, I see what’s going on here.”
“You do?” asked Gran, sounding apprehensive.
Red nodded. “Your pupils won’t contract.”
“Right!” shouted Gran. “That’s right, they’re not contracted.”
“Well, I’ll keep the light off, then. But you can’t be well. Your teeth are looking all pointy and, well, big.”
“Yes, little one, all the better to eat—”
“What did you call me?” Though Red loved the old woman dearly, the word “little” had pushed a button. She
reached to her side, unholstered her blaster and shot two consecutive rays of unadulterated heat at the ugly
brute.
The body of her grandmother flopped over in bed, tongue lolling.
Horrified at what she had done, Red turned to run from the room, but stopped when she heard a familiar
voice.
“Help!” someone said. “Help!”
“Gran?” She approached the body, which, upon further investigation, turned out to be not that of her
grandmother but that of the Vulf! “Gran!”
“In here! Quick, before I suffocate.”
Red pulled out her dagger and cut away at the Vulf’s carcass, being careful not to cut into the lump that was
her grandmother. “Oh, I’m so happy I didn’t kill you!”
“I as well,” said Gran.
They embraced, and the rest is a happily ever after.
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Beth's story publications include "A Fairytale Intervention" (found at AlienSkin, RIP) and "Murder
at the Orient Buffet" (Big Pulp.) Her short story "Cooking With Faust" will be published in Pill Hill
Press' Wretched Moments anthology.
Visit her website: http://bethovermyer.blogspot.com
at the Orient Buffet" (Big Pulp.) Her short story "Cooking With Faust" will be published in Pill Hill
Press' Wretched Moments anthology.
Visit her website: http://bethovermyer.blogspot.com