Little Red Riding Wolf.
Ned McCann.
EXT NIGHT.
A FULL MOON EDGES FROM THE SILLOUETTE OF A ROCKY RIDGE.

THE MOON LOOKS DOWN AND CASTS ITS LIGHT ON A FOREST CANOPY.

A LONE CROW FLIES ACROSS THE MOON’S FACE, CAWING AS IT SWOOPS TOWARD THE TREES.

WE HEAR THE SOUNDS OF LAUGHTER. MALE LAUGHTER, GREAT GOUTS OF IT; LOUD, JOCULAR, AGGRESSIVE, AS THE CROW LANDS AND PERCHES ON A TV ANTENNA.
PAN DOWN TO A GUY PISSING NOISILLY AGAINST A WALL.
GUY
LAUGHS, SHAKES HIMSELF, AND STUMBLES IN DIRECTION OF LIGHT. WE HEAR OFF A CRASH, TINKLING OF GLASS AND MUFFLED CURSING.

CROW STRETCHES ITS WINGS AND MOVES ALONG THE ANTENNA.


INT. TAVERN.
HILDE PULLS BEER FOR A MOB OF GUYS BEHAVING BADLY.
TWO OF THEM ARE ARSE UP ON THE SNOOKER TABLE TRYING TO LIGHT FARTS, AS THE TV SCREEN ABOVE HILDE FLICKERS MID MADONNA CLIP.

THOSE GUYS GATHERED AROUND THE BAR, ROAR, POINT AT THE ROLLING SCREEN, AND HARASS HILDE.

HILDE IS ALONE BEHIND THE BAR. BETWEEN SETTING UP SCHOONERS AND SHOTS, SHE PICKS UP THE REMOTE AND POINTS IT AT THE SCREEN.
_____________________________

MADONNA SHAKES HER POINTY TITS AND THRUSTS HER BELLY.

THE GUYS ROAR.

EXT.
THE CROW MOVES ON THE ANTENNA.
______________________________________
INT. TAVERN.
THE GUYS ROAR AGAIN AS MADONNA FADES TO STACTIC.
HILDE. THROWS THE REMOTE AMONG THEM.
"Well, see what you can do, then."
___________________________________________________
ON THE SNOOKER TABLE A JET OF FLAME GUSHES FROM BETWEEN ONE OF THE GUYS’ LEGS AND THE GUYS ROAR AGAIN.
AT A SMALL TABLE BESIDE THE BAR, TWO MEN SIT DEEP IN CONVERSATION. THE TALLER OF THE TWO, THE VERGER, HAS HIS BACK TO US.
HILDE.
Hey, dad. How about a hand here? I’m flat out.
DAD.
In a minute. I’m busy.
THE VERGER TURNS AND SMILES TO HILDE. WITH HIS LONG, VULPINE TEETH, BEETLING BROWS, AND DEEP SET EYES HIS SMILE IS HIDEOUS.
VERGER.
Busy, busy, busy, m’dear.
HILDE TURNS AWAY FROM HIM WITH AN EXPRESSION OF DISGUST AND LOATHING.
THE TWO MEN RETURN TO THEIR DISCUSSION. THERE IS A PAPER ON THE TABLE BEFORE THEM AND THEY REFER TO IT AS THEY DISCUSS.
HILDE CONTINUES PULLING BEERS, AS THE GUYS BECOME MORE BOISTEROUS. A BOOFIE, BIG BLOKE –TATOOED MUSCLES BULGING FROM A BLUE SINGLET, LONG, UNTRIMMED BEARD, POKES HIS TONGUE FROM A MOUTH OF BLACKENED STUMPS.
BOOF.
Show us yer tits, then.
AND MAKES A GRAB ACROSS THE BAR AT HILDE.
SHE POINTS THE HOSE AT HIM AND SPRAYS HIM WITH BEER.
HILDE.
Show us yours, they’re bigger.
LAUGHTER.
DAD.
I gotta be goin’. They’re getting out of hand.

VERGER.
Yes, I wouldn’t want spoiled goods.
DAD.
I don’t deal in spoiled goods.
VERGER.
That’s all right, then. HE SCRIBBLES A SIGNATURE ON THE PAPERAND SHOVES THE PAPER ACROSS THE TABLE.

AS DAD SIGNS THERE IS A CRASH OF BREAKING GLASS OFF.
HILDE.
Dad. They’re wrecking the place.
DAD.
I gotta be goin’
VERGER.
I’ve got to be going myself.
DAD TURNS TO THE BAR.
DAD.
Comin’ damnit.
HILDE.
Well hurry up, then.
DAD TURNS TO WHERE THE VERGER HAD BEEN SITTING, BUT THE VERGER HAS GONE.DAD PICKS UP THE PAPER HE HAS SIGNED. HE LOOKS AT IT AND THEN ACROSS TO HILDE.
HILDE IS NOW SPRAYING BEER ACROSS THE BAR.
HILDE.
Dad.
HE LOOKS AT THE PAPER AGAIN AND FOR A FLEETING SECOND HIS FACE SHOWS REMORSE.
DAD.
Allright, you lot. Let’s be having you.
HE FOLDS THE PAPER, SHOVES IT IN HIS POCKET, AND MAKES TOWARDS THE BAR.
EXT. NIGHT.
IN THE FOREST, LEAVES HIGH IN THE TREES WHISPER TO EACH OTHER AS BELOW THEM SOME UNSEEN, BUT HOARSLY PANTING CREATURE WISPS ALONG THE SECRET PATHS OF THE FOREST FLOOR.
A GAGGLE OF PENNED GEESE STRETCH THEIR NECKS AND THEIR EYES REFLECT THE MOON. THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER UNEASILY AS WHATEVER IS PANTING AND SLITHERING THROUGH THE UNDERGROWTH APPROACHES THE DOOR OF A COTTAGE.

INT. GRANDMOTHER’S COTTAGE.
A CRUCIFIX ON A DAMP AND SMOKE STAINED LIMEWASHED WALL.
BENEATH IT, AN OLD WOMAN LIES ABED. HER FACE IS FEARFUL AND HER WIDE EYES STARE STRAIGHT AHEAD AS SHE PULLS THE QUILT TO HER CHIN.
ON THE QUILT IS A BIBLE. AS HER HAND FLICKERS AND WORRIES THE PAGES WE NOTICE HER EYES. THEY ARE BLUE-VAPID.
WE HEAR A LOUD SCRATCHING SOUND AT THE DOOR. THE OLD WOMAN’S ARTHIRITIC FINGERS FUMBLE ACROSS THE BRAILLE SYMBOLS ON THE BIBLE AS SHE TURNS HER HEAD TO THE SOUND.

EXT.
A FROG SNARES A PASSING INSECT WITH ITS TONGUE AND JUMPS INTO A POOL.
______________________________________________
INT.
THE OLD ONE STRAINS HER EARS. BUT ALL SHE CAN HEAR NOW IS THE TICKING OF THE CLOCK SITTING ON THE BEDSIDE TABLE SURROUNDED BY BOTTLES OF MEDICATION AND A GLASS CONTAINING TEETH.
LITTLE BUBBLES RISE AND BURST AMONG THE TEETH.
THE BUBBLES REFLECT RED AS A BURNING LOG FALLS IN THE GRATE AND THE OLD ONE TURNS TO THAT SOUND.
THE LOG FLARES, THEN DIES.
THE CLOCK TICKS, WITH THE HANDS ON ITS BIG, ROUND FACE MEETING ON THE POINT OF MIDNIGHT.
EXT.
THE HEAD OF A WOLF IS SILLOUETTED AGAINST THE MOON. THE WOLF HOWLS.

INT.
THE OLD ONE BLESSES HERSELF AND PULLS THE QUILT OVER HER FACE.

THE BIBLE FALLS FROM THE BED.

EXT.
THE FROG SURFACES AND WINKS.

FADE TO RED AND UP TITLES TO THE RATTLE OF THE OLD ONE'S LABOURED BREATHING OVER.

INT’ TAVERN KITCHEN.
HILDE PUTS A PLATE OF BREAKFAST BEFORE HER DAD WHO IS READING THE RACING GUIDE. HE GRUNTS THANKS, CUTS A SAUSAGE WITH HIS FORK AND DIPS IT INTO A VERY RUNNY FRIED EGG. MAKING A FACE, HE PUSHES THE PLATE TO THE SIDE.
DAD.
Get us a beer, wouldyaluv?

HILDE.
It’s a bit early, even for you. It must have been two when you closed last night.

DAD.
Whadya mean, early? What’s the difference having a beer at two in the morning and one at eight? No one ever says, it’s a bit early, when you’re having a beer at two.

HILDE.
Yeah, well.
SHE GETS UP, GOES TO THE FRIDGE AND THUMPS A BEER BESIDE HIM.
DAD
SNICKS IT, SCULLS IT AND GIVES A GREAT BELCH.
That’s better.
HILDE LOOKS TO THE CEILING AND SIGHS.
DAD.
Know what your trouble is? You’re a moralist. Your mother was a moralist.
HILDE.
You leave my mother out of it.
DAD.
Don’t answer back. She’d ideas above her station, that one, same as you. Now get me another beer.
HILDE.
SLAMS ANOTHER BEER ON THE TABLE.
Yeah, well, living in a dump like this among a mob of hicks and no hopers who’ve no idea of anything beyond their gullets, or dicks…
DAD.
I’m warning you…
HE RISES FROM THE TABLE, RAISES HIS OPEN HAND.
HILDE
You dare strike me and…

DAD.
And what? I’m your father and while you’re under my roof you’ll…
THEY BOTH TURN TO A RAP ON THE WINDOW.
THE VERGER IS STANDING OUTSIDE. HE HAS A GRAVEDIGGER’S LONG SHOVEL ON HIS SHOULDER AND SMILES THAT ODIOUS SMILE AGAIN.
VERGER.
Are we having a domestic? I could hear you from the street.


DAD.
No, no. Just a loud discussion with a daughter deserving of a hand firmer than mine.

VERGER.
Oh, that’s all right then.
DAD.
Fancy a beer?
VERGER.
Thank you, no. It’s a bit early for me.
DAD.
Don’t you start.
VERGER.
No, I’ve a grave to dig.
DAD.
Whose?
VERGER.
Young Flynne.
DAD.
Yeah, the tractor. Was quick, though.
VERGER.
Not really. He only broke his leg, but while he was lying there a wild dog, or something, got to him.
DAD.
I didn’t hear that.
VERGER.
Very messy. And how are you, Hilde?
HILDE.
Good.
VERGER.
It’s good to be good.
HILDE.
Yes. SHE PUTS SOME THINGS INTO A BASKET.I’ve gotta be going. Take Nan her lunch.


VERGER.
How is she?
HILDE.
As well as can be expected, thanks.
VERGER.
Mind you take care up in them woods. Don’t want you ending up like young Flynne.
HILDE.
SLIPS LARGE KITCHEN KNIFE INTO HER BASKET.
I always do.
VERGER.
I’m sure you do, Hilde. Good girls always take care.
HILDE.
What do you mean?
VERGER.
Of their grannies.
EXT’ DAY.