The Grimm Chronicles, Vol.1 (23 page)

February 9, 1935

I’m going home tomorrow. Well, I’m going to my aunt’s and uncle’s home. The police now consider Richard a missing person, and I dare not tell them where his body is. His parents have sent me a letter that seems rather professional-sounding, as if they consider me a business partner and nothing more. In the letter, they request that I allow the police to investigate. I, meanwhile, should spend some time in the country where I may rest my delicate body and be free of Chicago’s noises and sights.

So Richard told them before he died. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. Many wives lose their babies in the first two months … so why would he write his parents so quickly? We’d only found out three weeks ago.

I hadn’t even told you yet, dear diary. I don’t know why I didn’t. I feel unwell. I cannot write any more this morning.

February 10, 1935

I am taking a carriage out of the city. Richard had a fair amount of money saved away—he was always afraid of putting it in a bank, expecting another bank run—and I cannot travel in an uncomfortable car.

Besides, the long ride will give me time to finish writing my story.

I’d been making my way through the tunnels for what seemed like hours. In some stretches, it was so dark that I had to keep my spear held out in front of me to ensure I did not bump into a wall. In other places, a few light bulbs were lit. The farther I went, the worse the smell became. Gone was the soft nose-wrinkling aroma of distilled liquor. Now I could only smell something much more
animal
.

And I could hear it, too. First came the grunts. Then the soft roar. There was something up ahead. And behind me: Vincent, calling out for me to slow down so he may catch up and bury the meat cleaver in
my
head.

“It’s only fair,” he called out.

I took my chances, pressing forward through another square of darkness. I followed the tunnels left, and up ahead I saw a light bulb illuminating a single wooden door.

My hand instinctively went to my stomach. Still, I felt no fear, not even an ounce. What manner of Corrupted was behind that door? It did not matter. It would die just as the dwarf would soon die, just as the terrible cat creature had died weeks ago, and just as the princess and her father had died in the woods.

I pushed gently on the door, surprised that it opened easily. The room was lit by a handful of bulbs hanging from the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. Old wooden shelves lined the walls, and on some of them sat dusty glass bottles that had no doubt once been used to store liquor.

On the other side of the room was a coffin. It was made of glass, and inside I could see a beautiful princess wearing a shimmering blue dress. Her hands were folded over her stomach, her eyes closed.

Suddenly there was a hair-raising roar, and something jumped out from the wall to my right. I stepped back, spear held out, waiting for the creature to charge.

But he didn’t.

He roared. He stomped his hooves on the dirt ground. He snorted, sending warm clouds of air through his black deer-like nostrils. But he couldn’t move. He took a step back and then I could see why: his arms—man-shaped and muscled—were bound at each wrist by heavy metal braces, chained to two heavy wooden beams holding up the wall.

He was half-man, half-stag, with thick pointy horns and a grotesque deer’s head and a barrel-shaped bare chest. The lower half of his body was covered in a brown fur. His legs bent in the way a deer’s hind legs bent. He stared at me, wild-eyed. I stared back, confused.

Surely the dwarfs had chained him here. But why?

“Ah!” came a voice behind me. I spun around, pointing my spear at Vincent. He smiled, tapping his meat cleaver on the door frame. “I could smell you. You smell like fresh-cooked bacon and my mouth waters at the thought of taking a little bite of flesh from your meaty arm.”

“Who is this?” I asked, nodding to the stag creature. His arms were pulling in vain at the chains.

Vincent laughed. “I thought you’d be more curious about the princess in the glass coffin. She’s a very special princess. Very dangerous.” He took a step forward. “She nearly destroyed the entire city of Chicago in 1871. The Great Chicago Fire.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the peacefully slumbering princess.

“Her touch,” Vincent explained, “is what makes her so deadly. The magician in the Grimms’ story … he cast a spell on her after the story was over. A cruel thing to do, I admit! But then again, what else is a magician expected to do? And so this particular princess slowly began to develop a fondness for fire. Just a touch … that was all it took after a while.”

“And so now she’s sealed away,” I said.

The dwarf nodded. “My angry little brother would love to watch Chicago burn once more … which is why our oldest brother keeps this terrible creature down here. Chained up, but more than happy to protect his dear, sweet sister.”

I stepped away from the coffin, bumping my head on one of the hanging light bulbs. Shadows danced on the wall as the bulb swung back and forth. The stag creature leapt forward again, pulling madly at the chains binding his wrists.

But this time he had not leapt for
me
.

“You can’t beat me, dear girl,” said Vincent. He chopped at the air with his cleaver, no doubt imagining me a few feet closer. “I’m too strong for you.” His fingers tightened into a fist. “These hands have shed much blood … and they’re about to get bloody once again.”

“I have no intention of beating you,” I told him. I stepped around him, backing up to the far end of the room. The stag creature was watching me, keeping close to the glass coffin.

“Careful,” Vincent said with a chuckle. “He really is one mean son of a gun. He’ll rip you to shreds if he can.”

“Will he?” I asked. “Or will he go after his tormentor first?”

The dwarf’s eyes widened. Before he could react, I swung the tip of my spear at the stag-creature’s chain, slicing it in two. With one free hand now, the stag grabbed the other chain and pulled at it with both of his human-shaped hands.

“No!” Vincent cried. “You fool! He’ll kill us both!”

I cocked my head. “I thought Corrupted couldn’t kill each other … unless it was in the Grimms’ story.”

“Perhaps I’m being a bit melodramatic,” the dwarf acknowledged, “but that doesn’t mean he can’t gore me
a few hundred times
with those antlers!”

One more mighty pull and the stag-creature was free, taking with him not just the chains but also one of the thick wooden support beams. The far end of the ceiling caved a bit, groaning loudly.

The stag-creature looked at me. Then at Vincent. It kept staring at Vincent, breathing in and snorting.

“Fine!” Vincent shouted. “I’ll kill both of you!”

As he ran forward, the stag-creature swung the chain that was still connected to the wooden beam, deftly knocking Vincent toward the other end of the room. The dwarf landed with a grunt, then stood up, wielding the cleaver in front of him. The next time the stag-creature swung the chain attached to his other hand, Vincent grabbed it and pulled with a stunning display of strength, nearly knocking the stag-creature to the ground. But instead of falling, the stag stepped forward, lowering his horns and charging.

For the next handful of tense breaths, the two of them were entwined in one heap, kicking up dry dirt. The stag-creature’s sharp antlers shattered one of the light bulbs; heavy shadows danced on the wall.

I realized this was my best chance. I stepped closer to them, spear outstretched. Vincent had begun swinging his meat cleaver wildly while the stag-creature snorted and stomped his hooves in frustration. He swung his chains again, nearly knocking me over. Vincent grabbed the chain and pulled the stag creature close, bellowing.

This was my moment. With one quick swing, I managed to cut both of them with the tip of my spear. Vincent the dwarf looked at the black cut on his shoulder, then dropped the meat cleaver.

“Oh, what a fitting end,” he muttered. He disappeared in a black puff.

The stag-creature did not. He was too strong. The burning blackness around the cut on his leg refused to grow. Who knew? Perhaps in time it might even heal itself. I would need to act quickly. I would need to stab him again.

The stag-creature was enraged now, swinging with both chains. He used the chain attached to the wooden beam to sweep me close. He used the other chain like a whip, trying to wrap it around my body. Twice he succeeded, and twice I slipped away (though each time feeling the sting of the metal chains on my arms).

I felt some strange urge to escape, compelling me back toward the door. I’d never felt this before, and when the stag-creature stepped closer once again and lowered his sharp antlers to charge, my legs propelled me backward.

“Get a hold of yourself,” I muttered, gritting my teeth and diving out of the way of the sharp antlers. The stag-creature turned, stared at me with his dark, narrow eyes, and charged again. I met him halfway and slid on the dirt ground, lifting the spear up into the stag-creature’s stomach.

Black ashes rained down like snowflakes.

Now it was just me and the princess, encased in her glass coffin. She was beautiful. Near perfection. Flawless pale skin with a hint of rose on the cheeks and curly blonde hair that sat atop her bare shoulders. I had a strange thought: had the magician from the story encased her in the coffin because he knew what she might become? Did the Brothers Grimm create characters with unwritten motivations? There was nothing in the original story about the magician’s desire to protect the world from the princess, to be sure … but was it possible that those terrible brothers had accidentally inserted their knowledge and desires
into
the characters of their stories?

It was not so impossible to imagine. After all, the fountain pen I carried with me responded to my knowledge as well. It relied on my knowledge to create the things I drew … like my spears. Perhaps the Brothers Grimm had done the same thing when they wrote their stories.

I looked down at the princess. She was looking up at me with icy blue eyes. The glass coffin’s top was heavy, but I could move it. And as I did, the princess took a deep breath.

“I know why you’re here,” she said quietly. She had a soft voice, one that no doubt had not been used in many years. Her soft pink hand lifted up.

I set down the spear, reaching into my pocket for the fountain pen. I reached out for her hand.

“No!” she said in a concerned voice. “Do not touch me. You will burn.”

“Of course,” I said. I held out the pen. The princess looked up at me, her delicate blonde eyebrows raised.

“Why did they make me like this?” she asked.

“I do not know,” I said. I felt pity for the girl. There had to be some reason why her touch turned things to fire. There had to be some reason why the Brothers Grimm had written this story.

I gently pressed the nib of the fountain pen to the princess’s palm. She closed her eyes and a look of relief spread across her face as the burning blackness slowly consumed her.

I’m returning home now. I will write more once I’ve spent some time with my aunt and uncle. I will also investigate the dwarfs’ bank with Briar and see what I can find out about their operations.

February 11, 1935

(Entry burned)

February 25, 1935

I’ll keep my baby safe. I’ll hide her away …

March 15, 1935

No one must ever know where I hid her. Especially not the dwarfs. With my daughter safe, I may hunt them again. I will—

(Entry ripped apart)

Chapter 1: Briar

Then two of the eyes that Three-eyes had shut and fell asleep, but the third, as it had not been named in the song, did not sleep. It is true that Three-eyes shut it, but only in her cunning, to pretend it was asleep too, but it blinked, and could see everything very well.
[xii]

My name is Br’er Rabbit, and I’m a hero.

OK, OK, I’m not
the
hero. Alice is
the
hero. But I’m
a
hero, and that’s pretty darned good too, if I do say so myself. And I do say so myself, by the way. Alice wouldn’t admit I’m a hero by any degree, that’s for sure. And I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a trickster at heart, and it isn’t my job to perform any heroics,
per se
, but that doesn’t mean this cuddly rabbit can’t break the mold once in a while.

And while I’ve helped a fair number of heroes through the years, I can say without a doubt in my mind I’d be much happier sitting on the sidelines where it’s safe, offering sage advice and perhaps munching on a carrot or enjoying a cup of coffee. But sometimes, that just ain’t in the cards.

So where did Alice leave off? Ah, yes! Of course! We were in the forest behind her house. We’d been practicing and celebrating just a bit after our most recent victory in Chicago—remember the rats?
I
sure do!—and then, suddenly, Alice collapsed! Our once thriving and pugnacious hero had gone cold and clammy, pale and sweaty. And I was feeling just how she looked.

It was the cuts. Those darned cuts from the Frog Prince. Well, old Briar isn’t a fool. I know poison when I see it. Actually, I don’t know poison at all. Which is why I hopped around for a few tense moments, trying to figure out what to do.

What would you do if your friend was poisoned? Well … if you’re a human, you’d call the poison control hotline and maybe 9-1-1. If you’re a giant talking rabbit with no cellular phone, though …

Luckily, a black cat had wandered into the forest. I just happened to know this particular cat, too. His name was Boots, and he belonged to a strange family down the street from where Alice lived.

“Boots!” I exclaimed. “I need your help! We’ve got to get this young lady to her house! Can you lend me a paw?”

Boots yawned, lifted his leg, and proceeded to clean himself where the sun don’t shine.

“I say!” said I, hands on hips. “You’re no help at all!”

Boots shrugged and, no doubt seeing something shiny off in the distance, proceeded to be on his merry way.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking,
Briar, there’s no way you’re getting out of this one! You just aren’t smart enough!

That’s where you’re wrong, dear reader. Old Briar had more than enough brains to deal with this here predicament.

I picked Alice up and tossed her over my shoulder. Only a hero would do that, right? I had an idea, but it was going to require me sneaking her back into the house. I could only hope that her parents weren’t in the kitchen, getting a snack. Quite frankly, I’m not sure how they could stay away from the kitchen. It was full of delicious treats! Cheese in the fridge, ice cream bars in the freezer, cookies in the cabinet …

OK, OK, I’m getting distracted. Alice says I should keep my contributions to this story short, so I’ll try not to digress again. The point was that I needed the kitchen all to myself. But before I could do that, I had to make my way back through the woods with Alice on my shoulders. And boy oh boy, she was
not
looking good. Not sounding good, either. She was groaning something fierce and breaths came out in raspy gasps. She was heavy, too; by the time I made it to her backyard I was out of breath.

“No time for a break!” I told myself. I’ve got some pretty long legs and I made the best use out of them as I could, cutting through the yard
as quickly as possible so no nosy neighbors could spy the confusing scene
—I was invisible, after all … anyone watching
would
simply see Alice floating through the air! Of course, I could have simply made myself visible, but then they would have seen a rabbit carrying a young lady into a house and
that
would have opened up an entirely different can of worms.

Before I opened the back door, I checked the little window. Her parents weren’t anywhere to be seen so I snuck in through the door, gently closing it. I set Alice on the floor and she made a little groaning noise that broke my heart. She just
couldn’t
die here! Not like this! Not now!

“Easy now,” I whispered to her. “OK,” I said. “Here goes nothing.”

I grabbed both of the flower vases sitting on the kitchen countertop. In one were a dozen beautiful roses. In the other was a small bouquet of lilies and other such things. Two beautiful displays of affection from a husband to his wife. Unfortunately, they both needed to serve a much more important purpose now.

“Prepare to behave like parents,” I said, and with that I dropped both vases on the floor. Each of them broke in a symphony of cracks and crinkles. To top off the symphony of destruction, I jumped high into the air, landing on flat feet so that they made a loud thump that resonated through the floor, shaking the old windows in the living room.

“Honey?” her mother called out. “Are you OK?” She came walking in, then hurried to Alice’s side when she saw our fateful hero lying on the ground. “Carl, come quick!”

Her father came walking in. A look of surprise registered on his face.

“Honey,” said her mother, giving her shoulders a solid shake. Alice mumbled something. I stifled a concerned whine.

“Get the car started!” her dad exclaimed. Alice’s mother rushed past him, out the front door. Her father scooped her up in his arms, lifting her with a grunt. He carried her through the living room, kicking open the front door with his foot.

And then they were off, speeding out of the driveway before I even had the sense to think of following them.

I was alone, in the dark house, with only my worries and my thoughts. What if she died? Oh, I would have gone bonkers. Curse you, Briar! Of course that disgusting Frog Prince would have some trick up his sleeve! How could you have been so foolish as to not get her to a hospital right after the fight!

“It’s all my fault,” I said, pacing the living room floor. “Oh dear me, what kind of helper am I? The most promising hero in ages, and she’s going to die because of a poisonous frog.”

I never told Alice before, but being a hero never guaranteed a long life. Even the first hero, the servant of the Brothers Grimm, hadn’t lived all that long … and he’d barely even had the chance to pass along the magic pen to another before meeting his untimely death.

How do I know this, you may ask? Well. It just so happens that this is not the first hero’s diary that’s been written. The second hero to have lived was a savvy servant girl named Adele. Back in those days, it was highly unusual for servants to be able to read, and very few masters allowed it. The reasoning was a literate servant was much more likely to try and run away from her obligations. An unfortunate sign of the times, I suppose.

But rules never stopped Adele. She was a strong girl and she understood that something strange had happened to the world. The Grimms’ fairy tale characters appeared alllllll over the world, you see, and the stories themselves played out so quickly that very few people even noticed. And you must keep in mind that there was no Internet back then! Not even phones!
By the time a new mysterious king appeared in town claiming the townsfolk as his subjects, the townsfolk simply assumed he was the new fellow in charge.

And so it went. But Adele’s town, which was just a hop, skip and a jump away from the town the Brothers Grimm lived in … well, her town began to experience some strange events. She wrote about it in her diary, before she became a hero.
I can’t remember it word for word,
but let me see if I can get the gist of it …

Ahem!

Dear Diary,

The strangest thing happened to me on the way to the market in town. I was making my way on the path through the small forest between my master’s house and the town. It was early morning and sunny. I had two baskets with me, as I was expected to purchase cheese and salted meats as well as any fruits that might be for sale at a reasonable price.

I was lost in my thoughts. I’d recently snuck away one of the master’s newest books, a collection of fairy-tales by the Brothers Grimm, and read nearly all of it during the course of the evening. I was tired and did not keep track of my steps.

Out of no-where, a dog jumped out from behind two pine trees!

“Are you lost?” I asked him in a sweet voice. He looked like a husky, with a heavy coat of dark gray fur and beautiful muzzle.

“Indeed!” said he. I nearly fainted. When I did not respond, he asked me, “Are you all right, dear girl?”

“Dogs do not talk!” said I.

But the dog was quite adamant that he did talk, and asked for directions to the nearest town. Although what he might want from town … I cannot say.

You see? Little things like that were popping up all over the world! Most of the people’s reactions are lost to time, and Adele’s diary is no different. It was lost decades ago in a horrible fire started by a particularly malicious Corrupted.

But that’s beside the point. The point was that by the time the Grimms’ servant appeared on the doorstop of Adele’s master’s house, she was already well-versed in the collection of fairy-tales. The master allowed the Grimms’ servant to stay the night, seeing the festering wound on the young man’s leg. A wound caused by a horrible creature that stalked the forest. A conniving Corrupted with three eyes on her head and a mouth full of sharp teeth.

When the master went to sleep, the Grimms’ servant told Adele what she must do. He passed along the magic fountain pen and told her about the three-eyed woman in the forest. He told her about the magic book of fairy tales that the Brothers Grimm had created, then destroyed. And he told her a secret, one I haven’t yet shared with Alice …

Not all of the fairy tales were in that magic book.

Which ones? That, my friend, I cannot tell you. I have no idea. Once their nefarious deed was completed, the Brothers Grimm wrote more stories to be published and read by children all over Germany. Those stories were quite harmless, and the characters lived only in the imaginations of the readers.

Where all fictional characters should remain, I suppose.

Regardless, Adele was ready for the new challenge bestowed upon her. I suspect she said something smart-alecky, just like Alice always does … that attitude has always been a common trait.

But so is respect. The next morning, Adele buried the Grimms’ servant and set out into the forest to find the vile three-eyed Corrupted.

A more terrifying “first encounter” I cannot imagine! I think you could guess at what I might do in this situation. Yes, you’re right: I would run in the opposite direction.

But Adele, she went right on into that spooky forest. The canopy overhead was thick, choking out the sunlight. The forest floor was littered with little green shrubs and rotting tree branches. Not a single bird sang. Not a single animal appeared. There was nothing …

Just silence.

She crept slowly through the woods. Twigs cracked under her thin leather shoes. She was holding a broom—yes, a broom. It was the only thing she’d known enough about to draw. I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re thinking,
this girl is doomed!

Deeper inside the forest, the canopy grew thicker. The wind kissed the leaves, creating little beams of sunlight that danced along the forest floor. Something was there with Adele, lurking behind the trees. She could
feel
it.

“Come face me!” she called out. Fear crept up her throat and she swallowed it down, steeling her nerves and gripping the broom so tight that her knuckles were white.

The creature emerged from behind one of the thick pine trees. She was eight feet tall if she was a foot. Her three eyes blinked in quick succession. She had a long hook-shaped nose and thick saucer-shaped ears and stringy black hair that hung over her face. Her wide mouth opened, revealing two terrifying rows of fangs. She wore nothing but greasy dark brown rags that covered her womanly features. The skin of her long, slender arms was a dark gray. She wiggled her sharp nails.

This is where your dear rabbit friend would have surely fainted.

But not Adele. Adele simply took a step forward and waited. What was going through her head? We can only speculate. I, for one, believe she was thinking about her family. Long gone, they’d been taken by influenza—the flu!—during a particularly widespread pandemic. Her parents had been part of an unlucky number that had not recovered. But if her diary has any truth to it, they’d been good parents. They never would have wanted to see their only daughter end up a servant. They would have rather seen her in school, and perhaps apprenticing with a baker. Her parents had never considered the idea of Adele living a simple servant’s life.

Ahem! I apologize. Back to the confrontation.