“The laws of the Grimwytch. All transgressions against the midnight rule will be answered for. Crimes against the sacred books are punishable by their guardian. I am the guardian, boy, and you have trespassed against our world. Now I shall take your lights.”
The ghoul began to reach for Augustus’s eyes.
“Please, don’t kill me. Please! I don’t want to die!”
The ghoul stopped. “You want to live?”
“Yes! Yes!” Augustus cried.
The ghoul smiled. It was an empty expression. “Do you want to serve your punishment alive? In the Grimwytch?”
“I’ll go anywhere you want. Just don’t hurt me!”
“Then so be it,” the ghoul said as he reached out with one hand on the book, the other on Augustus Pinch.
I was resting at home in my study, gazing into the fire and hoping it would soothe my aching bones, when a knock at the window jarred me from my reverie. I knew at once, given the hour and the force of the knock, that the visitor brought bad news. I called for Sarah and opened the door to find one of my informants, a wizened old crone who perpetually reeked of gin, standing upon the doorstep.
“Come in.” I ushered her inside, closing the door against the dreary winter night. Sarah joined us in my study as the old crone held out a hand and waited, like a fortuneteller, for it to be crossed with silver. I found money for her at once, for I could see by her look that her news was urgent; urgency in my business usually meant a soul, or souls, in mortal danger.
“I was surprised to see you sitting all cozy by the fire,” she slurred, “when there’s a ghoul running amok through our streets.”
I was in no mood for games. “What does this ghoul look like? And where was it last seen?” I crossed the study, grabbing my map and glancing for nearby blots as the lady continued her tale.
“A tall thing with spindly arms, an old suit and hat, and red, glowing eyes. It was seen chasing a boy. Last I heard, it was out east, near Tidesworth.”
I traced my fingers across the city. Several dark spots revealed recent intrusions from the Grimwytch, but they were minor compared with the dark blots that had revealed the hive of Gallowdim I’d dispatched the previous day. That encounter had taken much from me, and I still smarted from their wounds.
But now I saw a new spot upon the map that was growing ever darker. I pulled my coat from the stand and grasped my walking cane. “Fetch my gun, Sarah. Indeed, fetch my rifle and handgun. And the sword. And arm yourself. We shall leave at once.”
Thankfully, the street situated before my house was a busy one, and in little time I found a carriage and driver.
As we sped towards Tidesworth, I lit my lantern and examined the map. The dark spot had remained where it was, flickering beside a church that had risen to some notoriety after its priest had found a taste for darker forces.
While the map frequently led me to denizens of the Grimwytch, and even though all of my encounters were deeply sinister by nature, there was something about the black spot that made me wince.
I pulled my coat tighter around me, calling for the driver to hurry. Beyond the window lay the river and a black mass of warehouses. This was not a district I would usually choose to frequent. As we trundled through a series of disheveled streets, the horses slowed. We passed a dilapidated church, and the carriage came to a halt. I climbed out, seizing my rifle.
Sarah joined me, holding the map and lantern as we made our way to a once-grand structure now strangled with ivy. From within a hole in the side of the place came the sound of someone crying.
A child’s voice.
As I entered the building, I caught the gleam of moonlight against a thin wire. Below, the floor was scattered with heavy iron traps. “Careful, Sarah,” I whispered as I pointed to them.
Another cry set me hurrying. I ducked below the wires and along a dimly lit hallway, flinching as I entered the room at the end.
“You!” I cried. “What on earth possessed you to come here?”
Grim Shivers—for who else could that emaciated, ghoulish figure be?—turned and fixed me with a malignant stare, the embers of his eyes blazing. “Why are you here, writer?”
“I’m here because you’re here,” I replied. “You showed on my map. You know you’re forbidden from visiting this realm without my consent.” I took The Book of Kindly Deaths from Sarah. “Which means I have every right to set your story within this tome.”
Grim Shivers held up another book. “You have no rights. This book, left in your care, was defiled by this miscreant.” He stood aside, revealing a boy cowering before him. I recognized the child’s curiously aged face at once. It was the boy who had stolen my book in the marketplace. He looked back at me with terror in his wide blue eyes.
“I’m sorry,” the boy said to me. “Sorry I stole from you. I never meant to.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Even more so now you’ve met the guardian.” I sighed. “I tried to warn you.”
“I didn’t hear you,” the boy said. Clearly no stranger to lies.
“Now, writer, take your book and leave.” Grim Shivers handed me my book, its cover slashed. “And I shall settle my business with the boy.”
“Let him go, Shivers. And get back to the Grimwytch at once. The guild will hear of this,” I told him.
Grim Shivers laughed. “I shall visit the guild.” He pointed at me with his long, bony finger. “And they will learn how you let the book fall into this child’s hands. And that your city festers with denizens of the Grimwytch. And how I found scrapers in your tunnels.”
I unfolded my map. “Can you see the marks, Shivers? How many are there? Fifty? A hundred? How does the guild expect me to cope with this? At my age? Why are there no more writers? I’ve appealed for assistance more times than I care to remember.”
Grim Shivers sneered. “Wasting time here. Go and do your job. Leave the boy with me.” He flapped his hand for me to leave and turned back to the sniveling boy.
I held up my rifle and jabbed it in the creature’s back. He spun around, his teeth bared. “You threaten me?” he growled.
“It’s no threat. Release the boy, and be on your way.”
Grim Shivers held up his hands, the six rings upon his fingers beginning to shine, each with a different glow. Their colors were amber, the white of bone, sapphire blue, emerald green, black onyx, and blood-red ruby. “You should know better than to threaten me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Call them off,” I demanded. “Now!”
But it was too late. The room darkened, and six figures appeared in a haze.
Sarah squeezed my hand. It was only the second time I’d known her to show fear. “It will be all right,” I promised. Although as I saw the faces of the Grims appearing around Shivers, I wasn’t so sure.
The first to emerge was a tall lady, her eyes huge, round, honey-colored orbs, her nose a pair of slits, her mouth a slash of red. As her eyes fell upon me, I looked away from her terrible gaze.
The second was younger, his hair ablaze, his eyes vivid blue. His face was so thin that his cheekbones looked as if they might tear through his paper-thin flesh. His smile had no trace of mirth.
The third, another man, had a face as raw as a side of beef. His eyes were as red as his face, with two tiny black pinpricks for pupils. He opened his mouth and hissed, revealing a serpent’s tongue.
I stepped back.
A fourth Grim appeared next to the red man. A lady, taller than the others, her face pallid white below the tresses of her long black hair. Her face might have been considered fetching if it wasn’t for the slashes and scars running down it. Something glinted at her hands; her nails were silver blades. She clicked them together, smiling mockingly.
The next Grim was the tallest, his legs thin and gangly, his head horribly elongated. His lantern-like eyes cast a piercing red light as he tottered forward, producing a small crossbow and aiming it at my head.
The final Grim to appear was another woman, of sorts. Her skull-like face turned to
me, her black eyes wide as she held up a serrated blade. “Chop chop,” she teased, striding towards me.
“Get away!” I turned to Grim Shivers. “I’ve already told you, I’m not threatening you.”
“So he says,” the man with the raw face said, “as he points his weapon at us.”
I lowered my rifle and fixed Grim Shivers with a withering look. “Perhaps the boy’s chilled by your show of strength, but I’m not. Get back to the Grimwytch at once.”
“We will return to the Grimwytch, writer. And take him with us,” Grim Shivers said, snatching the boy by the back of his neck. “And you will get back to your work. Your city needs cleaning. I caught sight of more than just scrapers.”
As difficult as it was, I met the eyes of each of the Grims, doing my best not to show fear, for to do otherwise would invite a massacre. They were hounds on the trail of a fox, keen to spill fresh blood.
Grim Shivers stared at me as his arms encircled the boy. By the law of the Grimwytch, he had jurisdiction and knew it.
I may as well have tried to snatch the moon from the sky than appeal for pity in that creature. I glanced at the boy, whose tearful eyes were on mine as I said, “I’m sorry. I really am. I tried to warn you.”
“No!” the boy cried, trying to wrench himself free of Grim Shivers. “Make him let me go!”
“I have no choice. There’s nothing I can do, at least for now. But I will try to help you. I promise.”
I held out my book to Grim Shivers. “Before you take him, let me write him in. Let his story be told.”
Grim Shivers paused for a moment before turning to his fellow Grims. “Return to the Midnight City. I have no need of you.”
They nodded as one by one they began to shimmer, their forms becoming more and more indistinct until finally there was nothing left of them.
Grim Shivers stared at me for a moment. “I shall let the boy tell his story, writer. Because I know that is law. Were it not, I’d pluck the lights from him where he stands.” He pushed the boy towards me.
Augustus made to run, but I blocked his way. “He’ll hunt you down no matter where you try to hide,” I told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You must go with him. If you resist, he will kill you.”
“Can’t you stop him?” the boy asked with a sob.
“Not presently. Which is why you must obey him. He will place you in a prison within the Grimwytch, but I shall appeal, I promise you. There may be a chance to free you yet, but before I can do this, you must tell us your story. That way I’ll have a record of events to use in court.”
The boy wiped his tears with the back of his hand. “What’s it like? The place he’s taking me to?”
“It’s forever night. Or at least, it has been for as long as I’ve known it. And it’s the place where…where they come from.” I nodded towards the ghoul.
“Monsters?” the boy asked.
“We call them that. But they’re not all monsters. There are many great beings in the Grimwytch. And not all of them are like him,” I said, fixing Grim Shivers with a look of hatred. “I shall find someone to listen to me and do everything I can to free you. No matter how long it takes.”
The boy nodded, his eyes straying to my rifle. I set it out of his reach. “Anything you do to harm him will be met with force. Don’t. That’s what he wants. Now, boy, what is your name?”
“Augustus Pinch.”
I nodded for Sarah to produce my pen. “I need to hear your story, Augustus Pinch. Will you tell it?”
Augustus nodded. “I’ll tell you everything. For what it’s worth.”
14
Over the Threshold
Eliza sat up as she spotted the handwriting below the story. The words were written in fresh blue ink, and she recognized the writing at once.
It was her grandfather’s.
Tom’s.
* * *
Additional Addendum
Thomas Drabe 1943–November 4, 2012
The Guardian of Edwin Drabe’s Edition of The Book of Kindly Deaths, Volume 23, otherwise known as Grim Shivers, today falls into a deep sleep. Grim Shivers leaves the Grimwytch and crosses to our world, transported to a cave on a remote isle in Scotland, the coordinates of which are marked on my map
I, the writer Thomas Drabe, pass from my realm into the back room of the Malady Inn in Eastern Blackwood, unhindered.
* * *
Eliza reread the passage. “But it can’t… It’s just a story,” she whispered, climbing from her bed and gazing through the window. It was light. Another day, another gray sky. Eliza glanced at the tangle of garden below, wondering where Tom had really gone, and why he’d abandoned the house without so much as a letter or phone call. And then there were the elaborate stories set out in a book rigged to only turn one page at a time. Why? Perhaps the stories had infected him with their strangeness. As she looked at the book, she held it up and read the last paragraph again.
It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t have traveled into a book.
“Of course it’s not possible,” she whispered. And yet, deep inside, Eliza knew that not only was it possible, but it had happened. That her grandfather really had gone to a world of monsters, and somewhere within, he was trapped.
Eliza was about to head to the hidden study to find more evidence when someone slammed a door. As she thought of her parents, she realized that now was the time to tell them. They had to know the truth about Tom, as difficult as they would find it. She could show them the book and how it only turned one page at a time, and the hidden room with the stained glass window. They would find it impossible to believe, but she had to try to make them understand. And if they didn’t, what then? Perhaps there were other writers. If she could find them, they could help her. Tom couldn’t be the only one, surely?
Eliza jumped out of the bed and pulled on her sweater, jeans, and trainers, determined now to tell her mother the truth. Even if she had to force her to listen. As Eliza passed the window overlooking the street, she froze. A figure walked towards the house. The man who called himself Mr. Eustace Fallow. The man who wasn’t a man, but a monster.
As Eliza watched him, she thought of Tom’s paragraph:
Grim Shivers leaves the Grimwytch and crosses to our world, transported to a cave on a remote isle in Scotland.
And now the realization made Eliza retch, her stomach rolling as if filled with curdled milk. “That’s why his suit was wet. And why he’d smelled of the sea.”
He looked up, his face battered and bruised, and Eliza recoiled. “What happened to him?” she whispered.
Grim Shivers, disguised as Eustace Fallow, vanished from her sight and, seconds later, a frantic knocking rang against the door below. “Don’t answer it!” Eliza yelled, hurtling along the hall, but as she reached the top of the stairs, she stopped.
Too late.
Ice-cold air swept through the house as Grim Shivers, limping and hunched, was led into the hall by her father. “Get him out!” Eliza cried.
“Hurt,” Grim Shivers moaned. “Accident. Need help.”
“He’s not real!” Eliza screamed. Her mother looked distressed as she appeared from the kitchen. “Mum, he’s not who he says he is!”
“What happened to you?” Eliza’s mum ran to Grim Shivers, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He winced, repeating, “Accident. Need help.” He glanced at Eliza and gave her a slight smile.
“I think he’s concussed,” Eliza’s father said as he shouted to Eliza, “Call an ambulance.”
“No!” she replied. “He’s not hurt and he’s not whoever he says he is. He’s a monster!”
“Eliza!” her mother shouted. “What’s wrong with you? Call an ambulance at once! Mark, get the poor man into the kitchen while I fetch the first aid kit.”
Eliza stomped down the remaining stairs, snatching up the phone. She’d call the emergency services, alright, but it wouldn’t be for an ambulance. It would be for a police car. She dialed, placing the phone to h
er ear.
The line was dead.
He’s cut the line. “Well, he can’t cut my cell phone off!” she shouted as loudly as she could, hoping he’d hear as she ran defiantly up the stairs. Her cell phone showed one flickering bar of reception. Eliza walked around her room, holding it up in the air.
Still, one bar.
She dialed emergency services and was met with a sea of crackles and static and distant snatches of conversation. Conversations in voices that she didn’t want to hear. Eliza opened the window, gazing frantically to the gardens below. They were deserted.
She ran from her room, determined to make her parents listen to her, to make them get the creature out of the house. But as she descended the stairs, she stopped.
The house below was silent, aside from the tick and tock of the large grandfather clock in the hall.
“Mum? Dad?”
Nothing.
15
Trapped
As Eliza passed the front door, she wanted more than anything to throw it open and flee. To keep running until this nightmare ended. But she couldn’t leave her parents. They had no idea what they were dealing with.
Eliza took a deep breath and walked towards the kitchen as something clattered in the front room, making her jump. She pushed the door ajar, flinching as Grim Shivers, in human guise, strode before the bookcases, scanning the books. Eliza left him to it and tiptoed to the kitchen.
“No!” Her parents were slumped over the kitchen table, their hands outstretched, their faces contorted with horror. “No!” She ran to them, flinching at the sight of their eyes staring back at her.
Lifeless.
“Mum…” Eliza shook her mother. She flopped in her chair like a doll. “Please!” Eliza begged, her eyes filling with tears. “Please, wake up!”
A crash came from the living room. The sound of books tumbling to the floor.
Eliza ran to the back door, yanking the handle. It was locked, the key missing from the keyhole.
The Book of Kindly Deaths Page 16