The Last Grimm_Red's Hood

by H. L. Wampler

  “Don’t bother with 911. I already called, but we have to go now,” Connor said coming down the street.

  “What the hell is going on?” I yelled.

  “It’s a long story, but seriously, we have to go, Abigail.”

  “Connor, Blanche’s throat was just torn out! We were attacked by a man-wolf thing. We’re waiting for the cops!”

  “We can’t. If they come, they’ll ask questions.”

  “So? That thing is still out there! What if it attacks someone else?” I asked.

  “If they’re wearing a red, hooded jacket then they’re in trouble. Otherwise, everyone else is fine,” Connor said grabbing my hand, and dragging me down the street.

  “Connor! We’re leaving the scene of an-an attack, or mauling.”

  “Abigail, quit being so stubborn. Let’s go. Now!”

  “Stubborn? There is nothing stubborn about waiting for the police to handle that,” I motioned toward the lifeless Blanche, “I’m not going anywhere till I talk to them and until you tell me what the fuck is going on!” I screamed.

  “Later.”

  “No, now! Who the hell are you? There is no way you’re only a computer guy,” I yanked my hand out of his.

  “We all have secrets, Abigail,” he said grabbing it again, pulling me even harder.

  “Secrets, Connor? Secrets? I don’t know what kind of secrets you’re used to, but to me a secret is I kissed your boyfriend. Whatever you have going on has surpassed secrets to possibly illegal activity and needing to see a psychiatrist. It’s entirely possible you may need some strong psychiatric drugs if this does not bother you.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. This shit is fucked up.”

  “Calm down, the sooner we leave, the sooner I tell you what is going on.”

  Reluctantly I gave in, and let him drag me down the street to a garage. We rounded the corner into the building as police cars flew past us. I buried my head in Connor’s back trying to silence the sobs that escaped from my throat. As much as I couldn’t stand Blanche, she didn’t deserve to die, especially not like that. My body shuddered as the sobs escaped. I stood there crying, trying to forget about the sight of her body. But her face, the eyes pleading for help and getting none, was burned into my memory.

  I stood in mystified horror as the police and coroner worked. Blanche’s body was tucked into a black body bag, and loaded up before I moved further into the parking structure.

  “I’m sorry,” Connor said after a while of walking.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “I didn’t think you and Blanche were close.”

  “Are you kidding? We weren’t. She was a jerk, but she didn’t deserve to die like that.”

  “Nobody does.”

  “What did you mean about the red hooded jacket?”

  “Red drives them crazy,” he said wiping the axe off on a cloth hanky.

  The bright, crimson blood stained the pure whiteness of the small snot rag. It didn't look like it had ever even been used.

  “Them? You mean there are more?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “What are they?”

  “Wolves.”

  “That was not just a wolf. It was a man who changed into a wolf. It was, I don’t know. A volf.”

  “A volf?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What is that?”

  “A person who obviously doesn’t change at will, but isn’t a werewolf. It’s the vampire of wolves.”

  “Um, right.”

  “You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

  “I’ll tell you more when you get home,” he said.

  “Why when I get home? Why won’t you tell me now?” I demanded.

  “Because, there is more you need to know.”

  “What? How can there possibly be any more? I don’t think I can deal with more than this.”

  “Get in,” was all he would say as he climbed into the driver’s side of his car.

  I stared at him as he started his car. He didn’t look at me. He just drove. I sat there, and seethed in anger and confusion. Perhaps some guilt was thrown in. How could we leave her lying there like that? She was left in the snow like a discarded piece of chewed gum.

  I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings. I didn’t notice the skyscrapers and city blocks give way to green yards and open fields. I didn’t even realize he had turned off the car until he opened his door. Looking around, I saw we were in front of my house.

  “How do you know where I live?”

  “There is a lot you don’t know, Abigail,” he replied getting out of the car.

  “What? I am so confused!”

  “Come inside, and you won’t be.”

  I slammed the car door shut, and stood there staring after him. He walked right up to and in the house as if it were second nature to him.

  Who the hell does this guy think he is?

  All thoughts romantic, nice, and wickedly naughty fled from my mind. I couldn’t believe the gall of this man. He did not know me. He did not know my mom. Yet he just walked into the house. He appears out of nowhere with an axe, leaves a dead person in the street, and thinks I’m going to just be okay with everything? I walked up the walkway, past my mother, saying nothing, and headed for my room. As I mounted the stairs I could hear Connor explaining things. I stopped at the top, and leaned against the wall eaves dropping on them. Mom never freaked out. I never heard her scream, and nobody came running after me. My mind was officially blown. I knew mom wasn’t really emotional, but to find out your daughter witnessed a deadly mauling only an hour ago, she should have said, or done something. I lifted my hands to bury my head in them, but noticed they were still covered in sticky, red blood. The metallic smell invaded my nostrils, and I almost ruined my great-grandma’s Persian rug. I went to my room, sunk to the floor, and finally looked down at the rest of myself. I looked like something out of a George A. Romero film. There was blood everywhere, not just on my hands. I didn’t even realize I had gotten that much on me, or that there was the much blood in the human body. Horror movies definitely didn’t let the victims bleed out enough.

  Why would vampires need more than one victim a week with all this blood?

  I started crying while ripping off the clothes. Maybe I need the psychiatric help for my inappropriate thoughts at such inappropriate times.

  Chapter Nine

  I stood in my cold bathroom nude. Nothing felt real, it was as though I was just going through a dream. At any moment my alarm clock would start blaring some obnoxious song to wake me up. So I stood and waited. The only sound I could hear from there was the hissing of the old radiators. I reached out for the bathtub knobs and turned the shower on. Steam quickly filled the room and I climbed into the old, claw-footed tub. The porcelain had warmed up and didn’t freeze my bum when I sat down; I wrapped my arms around my knees, and watched the blood as it ran down the bottom of the tub toward the dark drain. All that blood was coming off my body. Someone else’s blood. Someone who was dead. Someone who I watched die. I couldn’t take it. I pulled myself out of the tub, to the toilet, and vomited. As I flopped back into the tub I heard someone knocking on the door.

  “Abigail? When you get cleaned up, please come to the kitchen.”

  “Yeah,” I said absently, while scrubbing my hair.

  There wasn’t much concern in her voice, maybe more dread. This should have confused me. At the moment though nothing By that time my brain was nothing but a huge cloud of confusion. I decided to take my time. I was not rushing to get out of the sanctuary of my shower with the hot water. I really didn’t want to go downstairs anyway. I was more than happy to stay alone. As the water began to run cold, I reluctantly shut it off, and wrapped myself in a big, fuzzy towel. There was a chill in my room as I left the steamy bathroom. I ran to my space heater, and turned it on full blast. I pulled on a pair of my pajama pants and a long sleeved red t-shirt. What was usually a qu
ick jaunt down the stairs felt more like descending Mt. Everest, a daunting task that I had no pleasure in doing.

  My mother and Connor sat at the table with three steaming mugs and a small wooden box.

  “Have a seat, sweetie. We need to talk,” mom said very calmly, not even looking at me.

  “I don’t want to talk right now. I want to go to bed. That’s all I want to do,” I replied.

  “You really need to sit,” she replied in the sternest voice she could muster.

  Mom never did have a commanding voice, or attitude. She was emotionless most of the time. However, something about the look on her face, in her eyes, made me stop talking and sit down.

  I sighed heavily, and plopped into the chair across from her and Connor. She pushed the box towards me. It was small and oak. As I looked closer at it, I could see that there was a picture on the lid, it was a person holding a book.

  Odd.

  A small golden latch was the only thing that kept the lid closed. I flicked the little latch. and saw two keys resting comfortably on purple velvet. One was a brass skeleton key, the other a small golden one. I just looked up at them, then back at the keys.

  “Um, they’re keys.”

  “They aren’t just any keys, Abigail.”

  I blinked slowly while looking at her.

  “Stop doing that. I don’t need your attitude,” she said, “Your father left them for you.”

  “What father?” I snapped.

  “Right now is hardly the time to be acting so childish,” she replied sternly.

  “The man is nothing more than a sperm donor, mom.”

  “Abigail Grimm!”

  “He is! He left you because he got you pregnant! Don’t defend him.”

  “Yes, he left because I was pregnant, but it was to protect you. To protect us.”

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  “Abs, there is a lot that you don’t know, despite what you may think,” Connor said.

  “What is there to know? He knocked my mom up and left. End of story. And you have no right to say anything! Who the hell are you? Why are you even running around with an axe?”

  “No, not end of story. Go to the attic, move the clothing rack on the right wall. The skeleton key will open the door that’s there. In that room will be an old trunk, the gold key will open it. Your father left everything in there for you, and an explanation,” mom said.

  “And you’re telling me this now, why? Why wasn’t this brought up at some other time?” I yelled slamming my hands on the table, the tears stinging my eyes.

  The cooling chocolate sloshed, and spilled onto the clean wooden table.

  “Calm down, young lady!” she grabbed her mug to still the moving liquid, “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t supposed to. Not until the time was right.”

  “So, picking a night I watched some weird, crazy man turn into a wolf, and eat my co-worker is the right time?” I continued to yell.

  “I understand that you’re upset, honey…”

  “Upset? No mom, I’m beyond upset! I was upset when I washed Blanche’s blood off my hands, now I’m just pissed!”

  She stood and walked away, pausing briefly in the doorway, “When you’re ready, use the keys. It is important, Abigail.”

  Connor never moved. He stared at me. His amazing eyes were no longer twinkling. They looked sad and upset. His luscious lips pulled down at the corners, and his eye brows stitched together. I never took my eyes off of him as I slid into the chair. You can’t turn your back on someone you don’t trust.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” he said.

  “This was all a set up. Wasn’t it?”

  “No, Abs, it wasn’t.”

  “The coffee and lunches, you used those to butter me up, and pull this stunt!” I yelled.

  “Nobody is trying to butter you up. I promise this has been one colossal accident.”

  I crossed my arms and stared at the wall.

  “Please look at me,” he begged.

  “No, I do not want to see your lying face.”

  “Don’t be like that. I never lied to you.”

  “Yes you did. You lied about wanting to see me, and faked being nice.”

  I refused to let him see me cry. I blinked back the tears, and swallowed the lump in my throat. I sat back stewing in my anger.

  Chapter Ten

  I sat at the table for I don’t even know how long. I sipped at the sweet concoction my mother made, and stared at the box.

  That wretched box.

  It would make sense to go upstairs, and open everything up. But that would mean doing something, anything, my father wanted me to. Plus what could be so important in our dusty attic that would need attention on a night I witnessed a brutal murder?

  Was that a murder though? Or is it nothing more than an unfortunate, deadly mauling? And why the hell wasn’t my mother concerned? My mind raced through the thoughts, and unfortunately I was curious to know what was in that secret room.

  “Damnit,” I muttered snatching the box off the table.

  “What?” Connor asked.

  “Nothing,” I got up and walked down the hallway.

  I slunk up to the attic with him following close behind. I never went up there because the place gave me the super creeps. It was like stepping into a time warp. Everything was so old. I’m not sure why that bothered me so much, but it did.

  The old clothing rack stood lonely against the right wall. I had never noticed that before. I pulled at it, expecting it to roll away, but it didn’t. So, I pushed. Again, it didn’t budge.

  “Oh come on! Give me a damned break!”

  I stood and stared at the clothes for a minute trying to decide what to do.

  “Do you need help?” Connor asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” I snapped

  Pushing the clothes to the side I searched for the mystery door. My hand slid across the rough, wooden wall until it smacked something hard and smooth. Wrapping my hand around it, I realized it was a door knob.

  There was a door there!

  Being anxious, I began to tear the clothes off the hangers. The rack was bolted to the wall; someone didn’t want the door found.

  I sat the box on the ground, and removed both keys. The brass key slid into the lock beneath the knob rather easily. As I turned it, a squeaky click echoed through the expansive, dusty attic. Shakily my hand reached out for the door knob again. This time when I turned, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

  I took a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold. The room was dark, dusty, and musty. What little bit of light that managed to pierce the darkness, landed on an old desk that, luckily, had a lamp on it. Tip toeing across the room I could smell something odd. It was an oily gas smell. I just groaned; it was the lamp. This meant I needed matches. I looked around, and found a pack sitting next to the lamp.

  “How convenient.”

  Dad made sure I was prepared for one thing in my life. Unfortunately it was only for lighting a damned lamp. I picked up the dusty old pack, and pushed it open. One match.

  “Awesome. Leave it to dear ol’ dad to leave only one match,” I muttered

  “Do you want me to do that?” Connor asked.

  “No, I’ll do it,” I snapped.

  Twisting the knob on the lamp, I reached for the one match. One chance was all I had.

  The soft orange glow lit up the old desk. It was covered in dust and cob webs; obviously nobody had touched anything around the place in a really long time. Resting beneath the filth was a yellowed folder. Inside an even yellower sheet of paper lay with fading words. I picked up the paper, and did the only logical thing; read it.

  My dearest Abigail,

  I don’t even know how to start this other than saying I’m sorry. I never wanted to leave you or your mother. I love you both so much. Please know that I did this only to protect you. There are some things that you don’t know about and that I didn’t want you to find out. Unfortunately, if you are re
ading this, I am probably dead and have left a heavy burden for you to pick up. You descend from a long line of guardians. We have a special gift that has been passed down from our ancestors, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. We can speak stories to life. Centuries ago fairy tales and mankind coexisted. Things were great until the great evil decided she wanted more than her fairy tales to rule over. She wanted the entire world. Jacob and Wilhelm created another world for them, a fairy tale world, and banished all things fantastical there. Somehow the great evil managed to escape. Now, it is up to us Grimm’s to guard the books and keep them in their own world. It is imperative that we keep the peace and keep the evil locked in the stories. Our world cannot know of that one.

  Years ago, the great evil escaped and she has slowly been killing us off. Now that I am dead, it is only a matter of time before she finds you. She cannot find you. I don’t know how she managed to escape since only a Grimm, one with the gift of Spoken Word, can release the stories. I failed at my task and the burden of returning this evil back to her world now rests with you.

  There is a trunk on the other side of the room, use the gold key to unlock it. Inside you will find original Grimm fairy tales that have been passed down from other protectors. When you run into problems, figure out what story it is and return them. The balance and safety of both worlds depends on you. I am sorry that this burden has been passed to you, but know, you can handle this. You are a part of a long line of warriors who have kept the worlds safe. Now, it is your turn.

  Your loving father,

  Jacob Grimm

  I couldn’t believe what I read. I grabbed onto the desk to keep from falling over because my head started spinning. I sat down, and thought about what I had read. It seemed like such a far-fetched idea. How could this be true? How could anything like that even exist?

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s a letter,” I mumbled.

  “From whom?” Connor asked.

  “My, um, father.”

  “Oh? What did he have to say?”

  I shoved the paper at him, and walked across the room to a large, dust covered trunk. I shoved the golden key into the lock and turned. The lid lifted rather easily. A bunch of old books rested inside. I picked up one and was confused at what I saw.