Grimm and Grimmer Volume Two Read online

  'My hero, I never speak ill of a person, no matter how vile, but there are persistent rumors about her.'

  'Crimson blush, all the more reason to dispel them. Please, unpurse those pulchritudinous lips and say yes.'

  Blanche smiled. “Perhaps, Fürstie, but first a favor in return. You know that I’ve been taking cuisine classes. What you don’t know is that I’ve been taking them with Selena.'

  'But, puffy mouth, she’s a witch! We’d have expelled her years ago if we didn’t need an occasional curse cast.'

  'It will be much less awkward dining with four rather than three. Besides, she’s been most gracious, allowing me the run of her library of arcane cuisine and herbology. If you must insist on my wicked stepmother, why shouldn’t I get to invite the evil witch?'

  And since they never argued, they agreed. They prepared carefully phrased parchments to their paramours, inviting them to an informal dinner the following week. Selena and Lucinda arrived at the receiving room and were asked to briefly wait while Blanche and Fürst dressed down for the informal dinner.

  Selena, despising herself, had donned a heavily decorated dinner gown. However her face had encountered nothing more than soap, and her hair was severely bunned up. Lucinda, contrarily, wore an elegant but severe little black dress that served as an ebon vase for her maze-like hair-do and multi-layered make up. This top and bottom reversal of plenitude and paucity made them droll companion dolls.

  While waiting they huddled close together and whispered.

  'Selena, dearest, I never imagined we could arrange things so well.'

  'Shh, Lucinda my sweetest. Don’t praise our good fortune or you’ll curse it. We have to keep these two blundering ninnies preoccupied with us. We can only rule the kingdom through them.'

  'But I hate knowing that you’re with that simpering pop tart every week.'

  'As I do your couplings with blond and bland. But before bimbo and bimber know it we’ll have them well under foot.'

  The dinner conversation was deliberately dulcet. Blanche and Fürst had been schooled from early childhood in the art of innocuous small talk. They discreetly drove the conversation around potholes like Lucinda’s probable murders of Blanche’s mother and father and Selena’s attempt to fasten Fürst in a forest of nettles before he could reach the castle. To say nothing of tacky topics like Selena’s sexual orientation and Lucinda’s lecherous love life.

  Blanche served all four of them from the sideboard, clearing the dishes after each of the five courses and stacking them haphazardly for the staff to contend with in the morning. Lucinda and Selena were cautious, waiting until Fürst or Blanche had eaten part of the course before partaking.

  After the last dinner course, Blanche bounced up brightly. 'Dessert is home-made by me! I’m sure you’ll love it, I used a blueberry pie recipe of Selena’s.'

  Selena stared suspiciously as Blanche lifted four blueberry wedges from the same pie plate and served them. But the prince and princess ate with gusto, and finally Selena and Lucinda had no choice but to begin to eat. The heavily sugared pie drowned out almost all the taste of fruit.

  'There’s more please, you can have seconds,' Blanche bubbled.

  Selena’s tongue went numb and swollen. Then her jaw froze in half chew, and her neck and torso locked up. She rolled her eyes over to see that Lucinda was equally immobilized.

  'Pink nipples, I think it actually worked!'

  'Of course it did, my blond stallion.'

  The royal couple put their arms around each other, facing Selena and Lucinda. Blanche began.

  'I added a little something extra to the pie- apple juice. Your apples, Selena. Fürstie and I tippled the antidote just before dinner.'

  Selena tried to stand but could only thrash about in her mind.

  Blanche continued. 'How egotistical of you to think that your drab, tired fleshes would entice us to really stray. Our love is perfect. Your death won’t be. You’ll die slowly and painfully, but will expire well before morning.'

  Two sets of white, even teeth grinned at Lucinda and Selena. 'You shabby little schemers,' Fürst began, 'we haven’t survived as rulers just because we’re attractive and charming. We survive because we dispose of petty threats like you. Would you like help clearing the dishes, azure eyes?'

  'Thank you Fürstie, that would be fine.'

  They left Selena and Lucinda to die at the dining room table and moved into their study.

  'What , my hero, should we do with the weasely Alberecht and Hecatia?'

  'Nothing, my pert pet.'

  'Really? Nothing?'

  'We’ll have them dispose of the bodies in the morning. They’ll fear us enough to stay house broken for awhile. And good help is, after all, so hard to find.'

  'My clever Fürstie. You’re so good at happy endings.'

  'It’s why you married me.'

  The End

  Ed Fortune

  Ed Fortune has been telling stories since he was very small and it has never occurred to him to stop. He writes the tabletop gaming column for Starburst Magazine, and has written for magazines as diverse as Time Out and The Fortean Times.

  He claims that proper fairy tales are less about warning children of the potential dangers of growing up and more about the sheer joy of getting good and scared over spooky ideas and weird monsters. He’s never been able to work out how the witch from Hansel and Gretel was able to source so many building grade ingredients without arousing any sort of suspicion from the authorities, and is starting to suspect that he over thinks this sort of thing.

  He lives in Greater Manchester in a cave surrounded by bears and is powered by tea and chocolate hobnobs.

  Paved with Gold

  by Ed Fortune

  I’m sick of being afraid. I never believed the terror would go away, and yet it does, eventually replaced by exhaustion and an overwhelming urge to survive. I have to write down the things that have happened to me over the last few days.

  My name is Richard Whittington, don’t call me Dick or I will punch you, I’ve heard all the jokes and none of them are funny. It felt good to write that. I’m starting to lose track of who I am again. I must not do that. If I do, the night will come and I know how that ends. When the thing you fear the most only exists in darkness, it means you’re afraid of everything, and that means you can never sleep. I am tired. So tired. I want to live so very much, I can’t afford to sleep. Only a few weeks ago I thought I would die of boredom, but this is not what I wanted.

  Despite it being less than a month since I left, I can barely remember boring old Pauntley Village. I miss my sleepy little town, in a dull, aching sort of way. The same old hills, the same old country road. Barely any phone-signal, hardly any internet, and most of the people my age had long since fled. I was the only teenager in the village; my view of the world outside only given to me by telly and magazines.

  I’d been trying to escape for a while. I’d talked about it to the other villagers, of course. 'The City,' I said 'is paved with gold. Not the precious metal, but precious opportunity. A chance to be someone.' My family warned me off, of course. 'Once you’ve been to The City' they said, 'it’s all over. You’ll forget who you are, and you’ll never be the same. People don’t come back from The City, not really.' I laughed at them then. I thought I knew what they meant, but I was a fool. Still, I probably would have never left if it wasn’t for The Cat.

  That’s what we called my friend Caitlyn. Not ‘Cat’, but 'The Cat', like The Edge or The Rock. She was pretentious, our Caitlyn. She announced her big plans to leave the village in the pub one day, and we all laughed. The following day she was gone.

  The others left, one by one. Mostly to other villages, some moved into the town. But I knew that Caitlyn had gone to The City. Nothing less than the best for her. I must admit I was a little bit in love with her. It wasn’t her smooth black hair, big green eyes or even her long and lovely legs, but her grace and poise. She suited the name, and she knew it.

  It
all started a few weeks ago. I think I may have said that already. I am already starting to forget things; I have to write them down. It started with the letter, from The Cat. It was short, and to the point. Come to The City, it said. I miss you and need a friend, it said. My heart leapt into my mouth I thought she had forgotten me. I left that night. I don’t think I left a note. I planned to, but somehow I forgot in the rush.

  The ferry was waiting for me. There was only ever one ferry to The City, and it only ever came at night. Pauntley Village was too small and insignificant to deserve a daytime slot on the route. The ferryman took my money, but didn’t talk. He just glared at me like I was some sort of fool. Maybe he knew.

  I wasn’t expecting The City to be so lightless, even though we arrived at dawn. I wasn’t expecting it to be so gloomy and overcast. I’d forgotten that in cities, you can’t see the stars. I don’t think I’ve seen the moon or the sun since I got here. It’s like the whole damned place has become stuck in twilight. It’s not The City I saw in the movies.

  I hadn’t seen my friend since she left, and The Cat was no longer the bright eyed trouble maker I remembered. She looked tired and haunted. Worry had been eating away at her for some time, and she looked liked she’d never had a good night’s sleep in forever. I didn’t realise at the time how true that was.

  I remember thinking that she wasn’t the girl I remembered. She wasn’t the Caitlyn from my dreams; this person was all too real, all too crazy. Part of me wished I’d never come here; The Cat of my fantasies was a vibrant, powerful person set to take the world by storm, not a sorry little waif who had lost her way. I didn’t say anything like that to her of course. The Cat seemed relieved to have someone to talk to, that she wasn’t alone any longer. It was almost enough for me, but there was something wrong.

  ***

  It took more wine than I could really afford to get it all out of her. A run of bad luck had robbed her of a job, self-respect and most of her friends in fairly short order. After that, she sank into despair, and it seems the world had forgotten about my friend. Everyone but me, and to be honest, I had almost forgotten about her until the letter came. The Cat had always been prone to flights of fantasy, and sometimes it was hard to tell if anything she said was really true. She told me she was terribly afraid that she would become forgotten. Because if no-one knows you exist, then there’s no-one to mourn you when you’re gone. And that means that The City can take you. I think I laughed then. I probably told her off for watching too many horror movies or reading funny books. But then I’ve never been one for listening to advice.

  That night, The Cat begged me to stay awake, and watch out for her while she slept. She seemed so helpless and even though she was so very sickly looking, part of me still fancied her; not the purest of motivations, if I’m honest, but love is a funny thing. I promised to wait all night. I fell asleep. Sorry Caitlyn. So very sorry. I should have listened.

  When I woke up, I found her gone. I’d only slept for maybe two or three hours, I think. I woke up in an empty house. Every trace of my friend had gone. I don’t mean 'packed up and left', I mean gone. Her clothes, her books, her stupid looking teddy bear, everything was gone. Stranger still, the house looked liked it hadn’t been cleaned for years. The Cat was a messy girl, but this wasn’t mess, it was neglect. At first I thought it was a trick, an elaborate joke maybe. But I knew it wasn’t. On a whim, I checked my address book, and the oddest thing? The Cat wasn’t in it. I remember her writing the address into that book on the first night I’d gotten here, in case I’d forgotten were I was staying. I remember her teasing me at how bad I was at reading maps and finding places. But the page was empty.

  I stayed in the house. Maybe that was foolish, but things are so expensive in The City. I had nowhere else, and I needed somewhere to stay until I could get a job. Staying in that house, I realised that there was something terribly, terribly wrong with the city. The Cat said that they’re from a place that despair comes from. I’m not sure what they are, but The Cat seemed certain. Poor lass, I don’t think she was quite right in the head, but she was right about everything. The shadows in this city eat people, it’s the only way I can describe it. You can see them, if you don’t look. Just at the edge of sleep, you can see the darkness crawl toward you. They come at night. They take the forgotten things. And no-one cares about me anymore. No one knows I’m here.

  Eventually, the urge to close your eyes overtakes the feeling of being scared. They won’t come if you can see them, but I can only keep my eyes open for so long. I think they have been eating while I sleep, taking away the things that make me who I am. I have forgotten so much. I am so very scared, but panic can only take a man so far, and I am so very tired. I do not know if I will wake up tomorrow. I don’t know if the night will come and take me. But I’m too tired to be scared.

  I’m going to stop writing now, and finally rest.

  Let them come.

  The End

  Nancy Brashear

  Nancy Brashear began her fascination with fairytales in the second grade when she began reading her first Hans Christian Andersen’s Fairy Tale book (yellow cover, she thinks!). She says she could track her maturity by which story she read first (something about dogs who had eyes as big as windmills) and which one she had to postpone until she was old enough to handle it (the “Snow Queen” was too scary to read until she was in the fourth grade!).

  She grew up to share her love of fairytales with readers of all ages, and she currently teaches courses on literature written for children and adolescents to future teachers at Azusa Pacific University in Southern California. As a “grown up” now (mostly!), she agrees with psychologist Bruno Bettelheim who believed that fairytales could help readers explore and face their greatest fears.

  A few thoughts on the fairytale that inspired her

  The fairytale that inspired her story does just that—it addresses everyone’s fear of abandonment, whatever the circumstances. Read “Ready or Not!” to figure out which fairytale set the stage for this hide-and-seek story of a young woman who finds herself wondering just who is hiding from whom!

  Ready or Not!

  by Nancy Brashear

  Gretchen made out the path, almost invisible, among the birches, the ground littered with leaves and scraps of bark and thought she heard a high-pitched giggle beyond—and saw a flash of blue pants. How had he gotten away so quickly? She had hardly given him his snack of apple slices and string cheese when he whispered in his husky voice, totally unsuited to such a young child, 'You’re it!' and launched himself like a marathon runner toward the woods that circled the clearing behind the chalet.

  'Come back,' she had shouted, but he had already vanished. She ran after him, sandals slapping against the uneven ground. Why hadn’t she changed into her tennis shoes when she arrived? Her shoe caught on an exposed root, and she lurched forward, almost tripping, before she was able to wrench her foot away from it. 'Damn!' she cursed under her breath. Wasn’t this supposed to be an easy hundred bucks? Ali, a girl she had met in her Public Communications course at the local junior college, had promised her that all she had to do was keep the child busy for a couple of hours while she met her blind date from eHappiness, but this gig with the kid hadn’t gotten off to a good start at all.

  'Stop! Come back!' she shouted again, loudly, and then quickened her pace in the direction Hans had headed. The path began to widen with shards of sunlight piercing the dusky shadows. She almost felt like she could touch the light. Funny, she thought, first it was light, then dark, and now it is light again as the sun momentarily shot rays through openings in the canopy of branches overhead. It made her feel a little dizzy, and she remembered reading about how fluorescent lights could sometimes trigger epilepsy. Maybe this type of light here could do the same thing. Really, she shouldn’t spend time on the Internet reading about health issues because she usually ended up thinking that she had all of the symptoms. The flashing lights spun around above her, and her head was pounding
. Maybe she was getting one of those migraines, which were sometimes preceded by a sensitivity in her vision and hearing. And sometimes by an almost undetectable sulphorous odor. Had she brought the medicine with her in the car? She rubbed her temples to release some of the building pressure and then looked around. She could hear the snapping of pine needles under her feet and the loud, obnoxious scampering of a squirrel overhead. She squinted against the hurtful sunlight. What was happening to her?

  All around her, oak trees stood at attention, their branches barren, ready to push budding leaves out like silken scarves from a magician’s sleeve. She startled at a sharp sound as two black birds flew directly toward her face, veering away only at the last minute. She stumbled backwards, catching her balance with her hand on the ground. I’m losing my mind, she thought. That’s what a night of partying and no sleep, coupled with this scavenger hunt in the woods was doing to her. They were birds, only birds, and they made lots of different sounds, didn’t they? But flapping wings that sounded like gunshot … she wasn’t sure about this! Shaking her head, she brushed the pine needles and dirt from her hands. Maybe that was the problem, alcohol poisoning. She would look that up on her computer when she got home, and then she might even give up drinking altogether. She looked back at her wrist and realized that she had lost her bracelet during her race through the woods. Her father had given it to her when she was ten years old, and she wore it almost every day. Her favourite charm on it was the compass, which he said would always bring her home to him, and now it was gone! That figured; that just figured! Without it, she suddenly felt helpless.