Grimm Reapings

by R. Patrick Gates

  Though he led Dr. Gibbons to believe otherwise, Jackie had not been willing to go that far. He was glad to finally give up the fear that Little Steve was possessed by Eleanor Grimm, but no one could ever make him forget what he had seen and experienced at the hands of that witch. It had not been what Jen always mispronounced as an hallucination-Anna Lucy Nation! The memory of his initial misunderstanding of the word, and the image of an insane woman running around seeing things that weren't there that had accompanied it, bubbled up from the depths of memory to startle him with its clarity-it had been real. So real, he had believed Eleanor Grimm capable of anything.

  Chalice leaned over and kissed his cheek, dispelling the past and asking if he was okay. He nodded. The program was ending. People stood, stretched, avoided his eyes until Joker-girl finally did what the others wanted to:

  "You really pushed that old lady into an oven and killed her?" she asked.

  That broke the ice and he was deluged with an outpouring of questions. He spent the rest of the evening answering their questions and realizing that maybe the show would make him a minor celebrity on campus; and maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing.

  As the program ended, Jennifer Watson was too busy in the kitchen to watch. She didn't notice the hum of conversation become distinctly softer as her guests discussed what they thought of the show, unconsciously lowering their voices out of a sense of embarrassment for Jen. Mrs. Holcromb noticed and went to the living room threshold to listen as she dried a large serving dish with a towel. A few moments later she turned to Jen and asked:

  "Doesn't that TV show bother you? People talking about what happened to your poor family-doesn't it get you mad? I know it would me."

  Jen paused from wiping down the stove top and thought a moment "You know, it really doesn't. It's been happening for so long I guess I've just got used to it. People have been talking about us my whole life practically, so it seems normal. Of course, I think it helps that I really don't remember anything that happened-it's like people are talking about someone else-someone I know, but still someone else. It's harder for my brother and my mother. I think it bothers them. Jackie's weird, though. I used to get the feeling he liked the attention. But I know it has always bothered my mother.

  In front of her now dark television screen in Sunderland, Diane Nailer sat hunched over, hugging her knees to her chest. Hearing Barbra Waters and then her own son voice the one thing she had tried the hardest not to think of-what Eleanor Grimm had been up to and why she had wanted Diane's unborn baby boy-had been like a physical blow, leaving her shaken and on the verge of tears. As it often had in the immediate aftermath thirteen years ago, the immensity of the horror she had been through threatened to overwhelm her now.

  "May she burn in hell!" Diane whispered fervently to her knees and felt slight comfort. Soon the tears were flowing and her knees, as they had so often thirteen years before, were their sponge. She spent her tears quickly and furiously, angry with herself for letting that damned TV show get to her so. Thirteen years! She had put it behind her! So why was it creeping back now? It was more than just that damned TV show; it was as if... Eleanor Grimm was still in her head. She immediately shook that thought off.

  "I don't want to go there!" she mumbled, and embarked on a stirring mental speech urging herself to regain control of her life as she got up to run water for a bath.

  While Diane Nailer sat crying, her son, Little Steve, returned from his illicit excursion and climbed back through his bedroom window. He quietly changed into his pajamas and cleared his bed of the clothes and extra blankets he had used to stuff under the covers. He lay on his back, tears running from his eyes to his ears, tickling them. He'd been crying since his mad dash from Jimmy Walsh's house, the tears, hot and fast, whipped away by the wind created as he rode his bike faster than he ever had before.

  Jimmy Walsh's words, "That's why he acts like such a fag!" burned in Steve's ears. Echoing around them was the newfound knowledge of his family's past; the truth about his father and his own strange birth.

  My father was a murderer. And I'm supposedly rich because a crazy old lady, who was a serial killer and a witch, left me all her money because she believed she could take over my body before I was born. It would be funny if it wasn't his life. He shivered in the darkness and fought the sudden urge to run out to the living room and confront his mother and demand why she hadn't told him. But he hated confrontation, especially with his mother. Besides, when he thought about it, he could understand why she hadn't told him, especially about his dad.

  And the money? He really didn't care about it, but it explained a lot about how his mother was able to live and hire private tutors and give her kids anything and everything they asked for and never hold a job. Lying there, Steve realized the hurt and anger he thought he felt toward his mom was really directed at Jimmy Walsh for his comments, and at Randy Gaste for taking him to that jerk's house in the first place. For the most part, Steve was an easygoing, gentle person, but the one thing he couldn't stand was being teased about being effeminate. Jimmy Walsh was not the first person to have made fun of Steve for the way he was, but what made it so disturbing this time was the way he had connected it to Eleanor Grimm, suggesting that he didn't just act like a girl; he really was a girl.

  There was one other person Steve realized he felt a deep burning anger for-an anger he couldn't quite understand-and that was his brother Jackie. He guessed he was mad at Jackie for never telling him the truth either, but he was also sure his mother had sworn Jackie and Jennifer to secrecy. It was more than that, but he couldn't explain it.

  He tossed and turned a long time that night, thinking about all he'd learned. It was a lot to digest and it kept sleep away as effectively as caffeine. Finally, around 1:00, he slipped into a light, twitching sleep. As he drifted he was aware of his mother at the door checking on him. Going under, he thought she looked strangely taller than normal in the shadows.

  Pain ... horrible pain ... drowning.

  The memory ofpain.

  Blackness ...

  Voices.

  Screams.

  Music.

  Sinking.

  Images:

  A boy sleeping in a bed.

  A television screen.

  A familiar picture.

  Home !

  Whose home?

  Who am I?

  Where am I?

  Submerge ... drowning ... fighting, try to surface only to be sucked down again into the oblivion of the subconscious ...

  Little Steve Nailer rolled over and hugged his large stuffed Spongebob Squarepants doll to his chest, holding it close. In dreamland, the stuffed cartoon character became a large German shepherd, big enough to ride. In bed, Steve pushed the toy down until it was between his legs. In dreamtime, he had climbed upon the giant shepherd's back and was riding it across a vast plain of straw grass that stretched to the horizon in every direction.

  Twisting on the sheets, Steve rode Spongebob between his legs, grinding his groin into the soft, yielding, plush toy. In the Land of Nod Steve looked down to realize he was riding the giant dog naked. The fur rubbing against his privates was giving him the most incredible sensation he'd ever had. He'd never felt anything like this before. He looked down again and saw that his penis-what his mother always referred to as his "Mr. Johnson"-was erect, but he didn't have to pee. The rubbing of the fur against the naked flesh, the rhythmic movement of the powerful dog beneath him, between his legs, was making Mr. Johnson stand at attention. Steve's breathing accelerated to panting. He dug his heels into the great beast's sides, stabbing his erection harder and harder into the animal's furred back. The dream-canine leaped into the air at the same moment that Little Steve's first orgasm leaped from his erection.

  On the bed, Little Steve woke midorgasm, convulsing with ejaculations and consumed with raw, overwhelming pleasure.

  A bright piercing light severing the darkness, peeling it back, needling into the depths.

  Pushing up th
rough the immense weight of thought, bursting upon the surface and into ... consciousness!

  Where am I?

  Something is new, something is different.

  Whoaml?

  Something has happened!

  Coherent thought!For the first time in how long? Thoughts coming together. Thoughts lining up. It is exhausting.

  Once upon a time ... How does that go?

  Memory coagulates ... that, feeling ...

  Sex! Yes, it's sex! No, its more than sex. It is perversion, debauchery ...

  Bestiality!

  A kernel of understanding unfolds as memory rushes back.

  Fire ... pain! The horrible pain of burning to death ... and not burning to death.

  The tow-headed boy ... Jack-be-quick ... the crematorium ... Hansel and Gretel ... For the first time in what seems like forever, she knows where she is and how she got there.

  I'm alive!

  On the morning after Halloween and his first orgasm via his introduction to the wonders of nocturnal emissions, Steve woke early, feeling guilty. He quickly stripped his bed and threw the sheets in the wash before his mother could see them. With dismay he examined the mottled, semen-stained Spongebob. It was his favorite stuffed toy. He slept with it every night, had since he was five. Now it looked as if it had been sprayed with large drops of bleach. He tried washing it with soap in the bathroom, but it wouldn't come out-the fabric itself was discolored, bleached from yellow to off-white. He ended up hiding it in the back of his closet under a pile of clothes that no longer fit him.

  At breakfast he was quiet, so much so that his mother inquired a couple of times if he was feeling okay. He put on a happy face for her that became genuine when she reminded him that it was his birthday and told him he could have the day off from homeschool. Jen, Jeremy, and Debbie Watson were coming over after dinner for cake and presents Jackie couldn't make it because of an evening class. Meanwhile, she was taking him shopping-one of his favorite things to do-then out to lunch and the movies. Steve was glad; every Tuesday at 3:00, after Mr. Gaste got home from his regular job as an assistant professor of English at Amherst College, Steve went to his tutor's house for his English lesson. Today, at least, he wouldn't have to do that and face Randy Gaste.

  The phone rang as he was going into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He heard his mother answer it, ask a couple of times who it was, then lower her voice, say something, and hang up quickly. A few moments later the phone rang again and the scene was repeated. After hanging up this time his mom unplugged the phone. When he yelled from the bathroom, asking who it was on the phone, she answered, "Wrong number."

  Steve could tell she was lying. It occurred to him that the calls might have been from reporters, probably local, who had seen last night's broadcast. He wondered what he should say if he answered when a reporter called. Back in his bedroom, sitting on his bare mattress in his underwear, he wondered what he really thought of the whole mess. He truly didn't know, hadn't had time to think about it and examine his feelings. He did so now, unconsciously taking on the pose of Rodan's famous sculpture as he thought.

  Detached, he decided after a while, finding use for a vocabulary word he had recently learned from Mr. Gaste. I feel detached.

  He thought of Jimmy Walsh's teasing. If that was what he could expect from people as a result of the TV show, he knew he wouldn't stay detached for long. What do I care about what Timmy Walsh thinks? he told himself. He hardly knew the kid. But Randy Gaste- that was a different story. Steve wondered what Randy thought of him after seeing the show. He worried that maybe Randy wouldn't want to remain his friend. He hoped not. Randy was the only friend he'd ever had, and Steve had liked him from the moment he'd met him when Randy had dubbed him with the nickname "Kid" instead of "Little Steve"-a name he was starting to hate. That had been what he'd first liked about Randy's father, too; he had refused to call him "little" even after Steve's mom corrected him a couple of times. Now Steve felt conflicted; he wanted to see Randy again, but he was still angry at Randy for the incident at Jimmy's house, and he was afraid that now that Randy knew about his past, he'd be rejected by the only friend he'd ever known.

  Steve looked at his bare mattress and went into the hall to get sheets from the linen closet. The memory of the wet dream returned, powerful and unbidden, bringing with it a flush to his face and a strong stirring in his loins. He looked down at the bulging front of his underpants.

  "I went through puberty last night," he thought, feeling a mix of pride, embarrassment, and fear. Having been taught the facts of life by his mother, with the help of videos she'd bought online, he knew that what had happened to him was normal for teenage boys when they go through puberty.

  in a man now," he said aloud, liking the sound of it until he remembered what Jimmy Walsh had said. "I'm a man," Steve repeated emphatically, imagining himself shouting it into Jimmy Walsh's face.

  He smiled. He did feel different, and not just because of the nocturnal emission. Knowing the truth about his family's scary past had changed him, too. In fact, everythingwas different now.

  He had no idea how correct the next two months would prove him.

  II

  THANKSGIVING

  Wee Willy Winky runs through the town ... girls and boys come out to play!

  Jackie and Chalice spent the entire night together for the first time that Halloween. They stayed in Chalice's dorm room, her roommate, Dawn, being home for a death in her family. They made love slowly, each working the other over with hands, lips, and tongues before locking together as one. Neither was a virgin, but they were novices and there were many moments of awkwardness, of stumbling and fumbling, but, as men and women have been doing for millions of years, they found their way.

  Though he had only two other experiences to compare it to, it was the best sex Jackie had ever had. He was swept away by the warm, patchouli-scented softness of her body, her inner flesh. For the first time in his life, he understood the difference between having sex and making love. Their relationship changed after that. Neither of them said anything; there was no need to put it into words-they were an item, a couple. Dare he say it? They were in love.

  At least he was, he realized the morning after the Barbra Waters show. Chalice came back to the room after rising early to take a shower while Jackie slept. The towel fell from her body-she wore no makeup, no facial jewelry-and her beauty took Jackie's breath away. Even as it happened he thought, What a cliched reaction, but he couldn't help it. His lungs just automatically expelled air at the sight of her and froze, refusing to suck breath back in. She was stunning. Her hair, jet-black and curly when wet, stood wildly around her head, framing her heart-shaped face. She had golden cat's eyes of such a hue they often appeared to be glowing. They were captivating and he felt justified, looking at their unadorned radiance, in his oftenthought opinion that her heavy, dark eye makeup did not do her eyes justice. Nor the rest of her face, for that matter. Her skin was perfect, ivory white, smooth, and flawless. She had no blemishes, moles, pimples, or scars.

  In that moment when she so unselfconsciously let that towel drop and he beheld her in all her natural glory, he knew he was madly in love with her. Then she leaped on him, pushed him onto the bed, and went down on him with immense lust and apparent enjoyment, thus sealing his fate. Over the course of the next month, they became inseparable, despite Jackie's becoming an overnight celebrity.

  Chalice's predictions turned out to be quite prophetic. People did recognize him from the show and would say hi. Some would even stop him to express how brave they thought he was, or how cool. Chalice loved to tease him and point out that most of these people were girls on campus and in town and some of them were absolutely gorgeous. Jackie was truly blind to the obvious flirting and transparent come-ons, but Chalice saw it and teased him. Jackie defensively denied it, but she always shushed him and told him it was okay. She reminded him that it was what she had expected.

  "Actually," she said a few weeks later, looking
around the college library where they were studying together, "seein' all those girls want ya gets me hot."

  She reached under the table and rubbed his crotch. He returned the gesture. She was wearing a black leather miniskirt. He slid his hand up her leg and over her thigh until his finger became entangled in moist hair, and he realized she was wearing no panties. She pulled him behind a tall bookcase and unsnapped his pants while he giggled and looked around, waiting to get caught. She freed his erection, pulled up her skirt, positioned her tailbone against the shelf of the bookcase behind her, and threw her arms and legs around him, pulling his body close and his hardness inside her in the same motion.

  They screwed frantically, standing up, giggling and moaning at the same time. They finished five seconds before a security guard came around the corner and eyed them suspiciously. They quickly gathered their books and left, still giggling and fondling each other, before the guard found the semen stains on the carpet where they'd been and had his suspicions confirmed.

  "Goddamn kids fuck like rabbits," the sixty-yearold guard muttered enviously.

  By Thanksgiving, Jackie and Chalice were spending every night together, either in his dorm room or hers. She preferred hers unless Jackie's roomy-a science nerd by the name of Paul Taul-was away. He gave Chalice the creeps, though Jackie assured her he was okay. Chalice's roommate, Dawn, had no qualms about being in the overhead bunk bed as they made love. At first, Jackie had felt awkward and self-conscious, but over time he got used to it. A couple of times he even caught Dawn peeking down at them as they did it, and he was perversely excited by her voyeurism. Once, after they were done, he'd gotten up to pee and Dawn was lying with her legs curled up, her back to him, her naked butt hanging over the edge of the top bed. Logy from sex, he'd accidentally brushed his face against her behind, at which she jumped and spun around, her large breasts flopping, and he saw that she had a thick, flesh-colored vibrator inserted halfway into her, her right hand holding the end of it. She had smiled and winked at Jackie, and he could have sworn she made the slightest inclination of her head toward him, a nod of invitation, a challenge for him to climb up and join her. When he'd hurried off to the bathroom instead, he had heard her laugh, followed by the hum of the vibrator as she flicked it to life.