Grimm

by Mike Nicholson

  “Yes,” said Rory. “I’ve actually been using your archive in the library.”

  “Excellent,” said Derek Goodman. “Being a resource to the community is what we are all about. So what brings you here now?”

  “I thought that it might help to talk to you directly,” said Rory, feeling increasingly anxious about how to raise what he was here to talk about.

  “How flattering,” said Goodman, “What particular topic is it you’re interested in?”

  “Hotel Grimm,” said Rory.

  “Oh really?” said Goodman his face impassive and his voice flat. The only change in his manner was that although the editor looked straight at Rory, his pen began to write slowly across the page of the pad in front of him, almost as if his hand was disconnected from the rest of him.

  “Yes,” said Rory, concentrating on looking Goodman straight in the eye and holding his gaze. “The Chronicle has certainly given a lot of coverage to the place over the years.”

  “Well…” said Goodman. “It’s made its own coverage really.” His face seemed to go from cold to frozen. “Unfortunately, there are just so many disastrous things that continue to happen there. We’ve just been the ones to report it and make sure that everyone nearby knows exactly what’s happening on their doorstep.” His pen raised and hovered over the page like a hawk. “What is it you’re interested in exactly, may I ask?”

  “I suppose … well, in all the reading I’ve been doing … I find that … I’m just trying to separate fact from fiction,” said Rory.

  There was a long pause. Derek Goodman’s eyes seemed to be boring into him and Rory found that he couldn’t keep looking at the editor any longer. His eyes flickered away and when Goodman spoke it was with barely veiled anger. “Separate fact from fiction? I do not like what you are implying there. You should be careful with your choice of phrase. What makes you think there is fiction in the contents of The Chronicle?”

  “Well,” said Rory beginning to wish that Bonnie was sitting beside him to give him some backup. “I was wondering if there could have been another way of looking at what has happened at Hotel Grimm, that didn’t cast the hotel in quite the same negative light?” Even as he spoke Rory felt like he was digging a huge hole that he was on the verge of falling into.

  “Go on,” said Goodman.

  “There are things that you seem to have missed out. Like the fact that Gwendolen Grimm died a few years ago,” suggested Rory. “A real tragedy for the Grimm family, but not one that you seem to have reported in any way at all.”

  There was a pause. “Mmm,” said Goodman thoughtfully, the hint of a smile returning to his face. “What an interesting visit this is turning out to be. What is this meeting really about, I wonder? The world famous Zizz Boy comes to see me to talk about Hotel Grimm and to claim that things aren’t so bad up there after all. What is going on? Don’t tell me that you’re involved with the Grimms?”

  Rory was disconcerted to see that Goodman’s pen was now flying across the page even though the man continued to stare intently at Rory. It was too far away and too upside down for Rory to see what was being written but he was becoming very nervous about it.

  Goodman meanwhile was like a fox with a first decent sniff of a rabbit; his smile widening with every breath.

  “They’ve got to you haven’t they?” he said.

  “Got to me?” said Rory confused at Goodman’s remark.

  “Yes, yes, yes. That evil murdering crew. They’ve wheedled away at you with a sob story, lured you into believing that they’re something they’re not, and now here you are trying to separate fact from fiction.” Goodman’s fingers flicked the air to signify his use of Rory’s phrase.

  As Goodman’s confidence and smile grew by the second, Rory began to bristle with anger. “No one has got to me,” he snapped, flicking his fingers back in the same way. “I can make my own judgement about things.”

  “The global success has gone to your head.” Goodman’s pen stopped writing and he leaned over the desk towards Rory. The smile faded and he lowered his voice. “Let me tell you, young man, that place is dangerous and it will close. Oh yes … I will see to it personally.”

  Before Rory could stop himself, the stony face of the editor provoked him too much. He snapped back and everything spilled out. “You really don’t like the Grimms, do you? You have a grudge and you get a dig in at every opportunity. Is it because of what happened to Lottie Gilchrist and your mother? You’ve just never been able to forgive them?”

  There was a long long silence and Derek Goodman seemed unable to look directly at Rory as his eyes cast around looking for a place to land. Then they narrowed and he gave Rory a piercing look.

  “So you’re going to make this personal are you? Why should you care anyway, Zizz Boy? What is it you’re trying to do up there? Trying to make amends?”

  “What do you mean make amends?” Rory asked.

  “For the fact that your family is at the root of the problems.” Goodman spat the words out and sat back.

  “I really don’t know what you are talking about,” said Rory, genuinely perplexed and trying to think how his parents might have influenced events at Hotel Grimm.

  Goodman shook his head and gave Rory a contemptuous look. “Playing the innocent even though all of the deaths could probably be laid at your own family’s front door.”

  Rory shook his head. “You have completely lost me.”

  “The Curse of the Stonemason … it’s all to do with your Grandad.” Rory looked at Derek Goodman with bewilderment. At that moment, it dawned on Derek Goodman that he was giving information to Rory that the boy knew nothing of, and his amused smirk returned. “Well, well, well.” The words came out slowly and each one delivered with relish. “We really are in the business of telling people the news here, aren’t we? I can hardly believe that you don’t know. You’ve got skeletons in your closet, Rory McKenna and pretty big ones at that.”

  Rory was speechless. He had nothing left to reply with.

  “The Curse of the Stonemason,” repeated Goodman. “You need to ask your Grandad about his stone-carving career and why it was so short-lived.”

  Rory tumbled out of the seat without a word and walked out of The Chronicle’s office in a daze.

  curse n. an appeal for evil or misfortune to befall someone or something

  Dictionary definition

  20. The Curse of the Stonemason

  Bonnie was waiting outside for Rory as planned and found him in a state of confusion. When he could finally explain what had happened at The Chronicle office, he was keener than ever to have sharp words with his Grandad. Bonnie pleaded with him not to rush in. “There must be more background information we can find out before we land this on him. Let’s face it, if he’s not telling us everything then it might be more productive to do some research elsewhere first.” Since they were near to the library she was able to reason with Rory further that some of the facts were almost at their fingertips. Rory had to grudgingly admit that Bonnie was right, even though he was anxious to get to Boglehole Road.

  Mrs Trinder-Kerr looked distinctly unimpressed that two people now wanted to look at The Chronicle archive, and her face soured still further as Bonnie also requested a copy of Lachlan Stagg’s book on Hotel Grimm’s stone carvings and gargoyles. She gave Bonnie a look as if to say she had expected better of her. Checking The Chronicle index gave them a few references to the Curse of the Stonemason, but the related articles didn’t give the detail of the story that they were after. They soon realized that it was Lachlan Stagg’s book that had the information they wanted, and they both fell silent as Bonnie turned to the chapter entitled “The History of the Curse.”

  The Curse of the Stonemason dates back to the late 1940s when much of the decorative work was being undertaken on Hotel Grimm. At that time the workforce is estimated to have been forty men at any one time, and included stonemasons from around Scotland. This group was supplemented by local Aberfintry men, and als
o by boys who had just left school. They gained work experience and apprenticeships in a way that no other project in the area could have provided in the post-war years. The story of the Curse of the Stonemason revolves around one of these schoolboys. As with all of the young lads, Hugh Munro was given bits and pieces of work to do to start with, typically fetching and carrying for the more experienced men, but such were the demands of Sir Gregory Grimm’s plans for intricate designs throughout the hotel, that many of the boys moved onto stone-carving work, learning the skill on the job. Hugh Munro cut his stone-carving teeth on some of the gargoyles on the north tower and then on the figurehead over the front door. Those who worked alongside him reflect now that, right from the start, Munro was a prodigious talent, and the experienced men were soon happy to leave him to carve complicated pieces. Munro’s appetite for a challenge was also there and he was drafted in to some of the jobs that required the greatest head for heights.

  The story of the Curse revolves around a piece that was destined to remain firmly on the ground. Sir Gregory Grimm was keen to have the family emblem of a snarling wolf brought to life in the form of a giant statue that he wanted to place just inside the main door of the hotel as a spectacular welcome for every guest. The early stages of the statue were being worked on by master stonemason, Fraser Dalyell, who took it on as a personal project. However, Dalyell fell ill and was off site for a month. As time pressures grew, and an opening date was scheduled for the hotel, the young apprentice, Hugh Munro, took over. He became so absorbed in the task that he is reputed to have worked on it day and night. In fact, the story goes that when Dalyell eventually returned, the statue was finished and the exhausted Munro was asleep beside it. The statue was so amazing, so life-like and such an example of remarkable stonemasonry that Dalyell flew into a rage of professional jealousy. He was so incensed that he stormed away from the hotel refusing to touch another stone. His final act was to hurl his tools at the wolf, breaking off the tongue and three of its front teeth and screaming that a curse would befall the Grimm family, the hotel and those connected with the statue. Dalyell was never seen again. Those who witnessed Dalyell’s fury said that ….

  “Time’s up,” said a sharp voice behind them. Mrs Trinder-Kerr stood with arms folded. “We’re closing. It’s Saturday. We close early.”

  “But …!” said Rory and Bonnie simultaneously, knowing that they had just unearthed a new treasure chest of information. Rory started to plead. “Can we take …?”

  “No,” snapped Mrs Trinder-Kerr. “Reference book. No, you cannot take it home.”

  Bonnie and Rory left the library together, deeply frustrated and reeling from what they had just read. As they talked over what Lachlan Stagg’s book had revealed, they agreed that they could not put off a trip to Grandad’s any longer.

  “This might be difficult stuff for him to talk about, Rory,” Bonnie warned him.

  “Well, he’ll just have to,” said Rory feeling little sympathy. “This could be a life or death matter for me if I don’t get my facts straight about the hotel.”

  “Sounds like it nearly was for him too,” said Bonnie. Her attempts to get him to take it easy, fell on deaf ears. Rory managed at least to make his usual entrance into Boglehole Road with the cry of “It’s me,” but the niceties were out of the way as soon as they got into the living room.

  “Who did you take to the ball?” asked Rory.

  “Eh?” said Grandad looking up from his armchair and casting a glance at Bonnie for help.

  “Come on, Grandad, you heard me,” said Rory.

  Hugh Munro looked uncomfortable. “Well first things first. Can you shift these cushions? My back is really beginning to play up.” Rory could see that Grandad was a bit ill at ease but it didn’t seem like the usual stiffness. He did as he was asked, but reckoning that Grandad had let the question slip by, he repeated it.

  “So who did you take to the ball then, Grandad?”

  “Ach, son, it was a long time ago. A man of my age can’t mind everything, you know.”

  “Come on Grandad. That’s not the sort of thing you would forget. Who was it? I can cope if it wasn’t Gran, you know. I suppose it might have been before the two of you got together.”

  Grandad cleared his throat and continued to squirm in his seat. He was looking less and less comfortable by the minute. As he watched the old man, Rory was struck by sharp pang of guilt. Here he was pushing his Grandad to open up and be honest, and feeling hurt that the old man might not have told him everything he could, while he himself was still holding on to his own big secret, with no plan to let anyone know.

  Rory realized that the colour had drained from the old man’s face and his breathing didn’t sound quite right. Now feeling more concerned than anything else, Rory asked, “Are you alright, Grandad?”

  “Aye, son … just give me a wee minute and I’ll be fine.” Grandad fiddled with his collar and took a deep breath.

  Grandad’s “wee minute” seemed to take a few, during which Rory and Bonnie exchanged wordless glances.

  “Right, son, there’s something I should tell you,” said Grandad. He was sitting more comfortably although he still looked tense and drawn. He looked off to the side as he spoke, seemingly unable to meet Rory or Bonnie’s gaze. “The truth of the matter is that I did take someone to the dance that night.” His voice faltered, “But well, I suppose I wish now that I hadn’t. I took a girl who I’d been seeing a wee bit of. It was maybe the third time we had done something together.” Grandad’s chin trembled and his voice began to falter. “It was Lottie Gilchrist.”

  It was Rory’s turn to feel the colour drain from his face. He felt his mouth go dry and his brain begin to whirl. His Grandad was still looking away from him, and looked like he had aged ten years in the last two minutes. Rory could barely raise a whisper. “It was you with her up on the roof that night?”

  “Aye, it was. The worst night of my life.”

  “It must have been awful, Mr Munro,” said Bonnie. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Ach, it’s in the past now. It’s just not the easiest thing to speak about, even after all this time.”

  Rory had gone very quiet. Inside he was boiling with questions and unable to help himself, they all spilled out.

  “So what else is there, Grandad? What about the Curse of the Stonemason? We’ve just found out about that one too. What’s all this about you being an expert stonemason? The Curse came out because of your work didn’t it? Did Lottie die because of your wolf statue and Fraser Dalyell’s curse?” he said, far more sharply than perhaps he meant to.

  “Rory!” hissed Bonnie.

  “What?” he snapped back.

  She gave him a look as if to say “Back off!!”

  “Well things keep coming up that you’ve deliberately not told us, Grandad. How can we expect to get the answers we need, if you keep secrets from us? I mean is there anything else you’re hiding?”

  The accusation was out before Rory even realized what he was saying, but he was finding it so frustrating that someone, who was supposed to be helping him was keeping so much to himself. Grandad didn’t say anything. He just sat there looking very very tired, and nodding slowly as if processing what Rory had just said.

  As the silence continued, Rory began to feel bad. He had never spoken to his Grandad like that before and it didn’t feel like a good place to be. He felt he had to speak first.

  “Listen, Grandad, I’m sorry. That was a bit out of order. I’m just really worried about all of this stuff and I thought … I thought I knew everything there was to know about you.”

  “No, you’re right, son, you’re quite right,” said Grandad. “It’s not fair on you. There is something else and it’s high time I told you about it. Time to stop hiding away.”

  Rory looked at his Grandad. Given the recent revelations, he couldn’t begin to think what was going to come out next.

  “You know my workshop, Rory? Well, there’s something that you should maybe have a l
ook at. The door at the back. The one I always said was my own wee place. Well take a look in there. It might help to explain the way things have been over the years.”

  Momentarily confused, Rory then remembered the door at the far side of the workshop which had been out of bounds all of the time he had spent there. Grandad struggled to his feet ignoring the protests from Rory and Bonnie, and with great effort shuffled to the back door of the house, his slippers squeaking on the kitchen linoleum. He reached for two keys on a hook, peering at them to make sure they were the right ones. “This was always going to happen some day,” he said handing them to Rory and opening the door to the garden. “I just didn’t know if I’d be alive to see it. Take these and go and have a look.”

  Stepping out of the back door and down the steps, Rory walked along the long path to the bottom of the garden as if on a journey back in time. It soon became clear that with his Grandad now living life indoors, the garden that he knew so well from the past had been lost. The once neat flowerbeds were bare and the grass leading down the slope towards the workshop was long and unkempt.

  A pile of leaves had gathered against the base of the workshop door and ivy had begun to grow around the hinges. Rory crunched the first key into the rusting padlock. It took a few twists and a squeak of protest before it turned and the lock grudgingly opened. The wood had warped over the years and Rory had to tug hard to get the door to budge. As it creaked open, cobwebs tore and spiders scrabbled away as the first rays of light filtered in to the workshop. Inside, unused tools were covered in a thick layer of dust, cardboard boxes had collapsed, and the holes in the old armchair that Rory used to sit on suggested that a family of mice had moved in to it. Rory’s nose wrinkled as long forgotten smells came back to him.

  Taking the second key and brushing past more cobwebs, Rory headed for the back of the workshop and the door that he had never been through before. It was another tough job to get the lock working but with a heave on the handle and his shoulder to the frame, he shoved it open. Rory fumbled for a light switch. It clunked down and a strip light flickered, once, twice, three times and then on. Rory stood motionless, faced by a roomful of animals staring at him.