Grimm Reapings

by R. Patrick Gates

  "Touche," she said softly.

  "I'm sorry," Jackie said lamely.

  "No, you're right. I should talk. You must think I'm the biggest hypocrite."

  "No, I don't," Jackie said quickly.

  She waved his comment away and faced him, a look of determination replacing the chagrin. "I'll tell you why I changed my name if you tell me the full story of what happened and what you're hiding."

  "I'm not hiding anything," Jackie protested, but jovially. "Okay. But you go first, because there's no way your story can be as weird as mine."

  "Don't be too sure of that," Chalice said. She walked a few feet to the left where a low, moss-riddled stone bench offered a seat near the cemetery fence. Jackie joined her. She spoke without looking at him.

  "My mum's born name was Irma Temple, but she married my dad, an' his name was Bob Hoar. So ... `Irma Hoar'? Yeah, funny. She thought it was a hoot, too. She got off on sayin', `Irma Hoar so don't call me a slut!' She and my dad was fucked up, crazy-party animals, you know? They was caught in a sixties-druginduced-time warp. You seen the type. They drank and did drugs twenty-four-seven-it's a wonder me and my sister wasn't born retarded. When my sister was born, they thought it'd be funny to call her Stella. You know, `Stella Hoar.' My mom would go, `She's just like me! Stella Hoar!' When I was born two years later, I got stuck with `Ida.' For her friends' amusement she used to ask me, `Who are you?' and I'd have to go, `Ida Hoar.' Go ahead and laugh, it's okay. It's fucked up, though, right? To do that to your kid, right? Anyway, my dad took off when I was five. My mom croaked on my eighteenth birthday-a year and a half ago. The day after her funeral I went and got my name legally changed to Chalice Silver. Unfortunately, my asshole sister is carrying on the fucked-up tradition by naming her daughter Virginia-only she spells it V-i-rg-i-n y-a. If that ain't bad enough, she gave her a middle initialno name, just the initial U. So her name is Virginya U. Hoar. At least I've been able to get her to call the kid `tinny' but she's still gotta deal with it in school and everywhere else in life."

  Jackie thought for a moment of pointing out that Chalice had merely gone from having a bad sexual pun for a name to having a bad Gothic pun for one, but he decided against it. He also decided against laughing at her story, but it had been a struggle while she was telling it and too much for him now. He covered his silently laughing mouth with his hand.

  Chalice pinched his arm. "You think it's hilarious, don't you?"

  "No!" Jackie said, unable to keep laughter from spilling out with the word.

  "Well, you can go fuck yourself," she said, laughing, too. "But I'm not gonna go through the rest of my life havin' to answer `What's your name?' with `Ida Hoar'!"

  "You could shorten it and make it hipper, or at least more midwestern, if you changed it to `Ida Ho, Jackie quipped through a sly smile.

  Chalice exaggerated a reaction of outrage that couldn't hold up to the laughter bubbling out of her. "That was good," she said, nodding with appreciation. She licked her finger and made an imaginary mark in the air. "One for Hansel," she said and shot him a teasing look. "Okay. It's your turn. Now, what really happened to your mother and you?"

  Jackie shrugged and the merriment disappeared from his face. His shoulders automatically slumped and he looked around cautiously, as if someone sinister might be lurking, listening. "She was taken over. Her mind was taken over by Eleanor Grimm. My stepdad and Jen, too. And all the kids and adults she killed and used to her own sick ends-she took over all of them and controlled them and they helped her, like they were robots."

  "Your sister Jen helped her? I thought she saved you."

  Jackie blushed. Damn! He hadn't meant to say that. "She did help me, but that was at the end. Before that ... yeah, the witch had her, too."

  "Did Eleanor Grimm take you over, too?" Chalice said awkwardly, as if speaking a foreign phrase she was incapable of translating.

  "She tried with me, but she had trouble. I was immune somehow. She was able to get into my head, make me see things...." He shuddered. "But she never took me over."

  "I'm sorry, but I'm not getting this `taking over' stuff. What do you mean? How could she do this?"

  Jackie took a deep breath and looked into Chalice's eyes. Should he tell her the truth, or should he lie? It all came down to whether he trusted her enough to tell her the truth. He took a leap of love.

  "It's like I said on that TV show. She had powers beyond normal people. She was a witch, she had witch's powers-that's the best way I can explain it. I've had therapists try to convince me that it was all an illusion or hypnosis, but I always thought a hypnotist couldn't make you do something against your character or will, but she could. She could do more. She could make illusions real and make people do things they normally would never think of doing." He experienced a momentary sense of displacement as his words sank in, and he heard how crazy they sounded. In truth, if someone else had tried to tell him about the events surrounding Eleanor Grimm he would have thought the person was lying or loony. For a second the feeling was so strong that he doubted everything he knew and everything he remembered. This had happened many times in the last thirteen years, and he had found it useful to distance himself from the nightmarish memories and fear and anxiety they caused. But now he had opened the tomb of the past and all the ghosts were streaming out.

  A scene flashed in Jackie's head-the crown of Margaret Eames's shaved head falling to the floor and spinning like a dropped saucer-and he suddenly felt weak-kneed. He swayed on the bench and put a hand on the wrought-iron fence behind them to steady himself.

  Seeing his face drain of color, Chalice grabbed his arm. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

  I ... I think I need to walk around."

  Chalice got up and Jackie started to follow, but immediately slumped to the ground, his left shoulder leaning against the stone bench. Chalice hovered over him, unsure whether to stay or go get help.

  The horrid image of Margaret faded, pushed aside by an onslaught of other, equally horrifying memories: his naked mother tied to the table in the crematorium; the troll under the bridge; the boy with no arms or legs or genitals-the witch inside his head! The latter made him flinch. For a few seconds he was six again and the witch was in his head searching for his worst fear to use against him while he tried to push her out. He opened his eyes wide with terror, staring at Chalice as though she were the most frightening thing he had ever seen.

  `Jackie? What is it?What's wrong?" Chalice asked.

  Jackie blinked and the moment and expression of terror passed.

  "Shit. Blast from the past," he muttered, passing a hand over his eyes. Chalice took his other hand and kissed it.

  "Are you okay? Should I go get someone?"

  "I'll be fine," he answered and forced a smile for her. Slowly, with her help, he got to his feet. "I guess I wasn't as ready to come back here as I thought. I should have known we couldn't come here without dragging up the past."

  Chalice embraced him, resting her head on his shoulders. "I still don't get it, Jackie. I'm still confused. You mean Eleanor Grimm was really a supernatural witch?"

  Jackie let out a long sigh and nodded. "I know it sounds crazy-it is crazy-but it's true. She had a book of spells and rituals that she practiced. She sacrificed kids to some pagan god and ate their flesh. That alone, I think, would qualify her as a witch in the popular sense. But even more than that, Eleanor Grimm ... was not a normal person." He paused to let his words sink in and added, "Hell, I'm not even sure she was human."

  Chalice frowned, and he sensed he was losing her.

  "Eleanor Grimm had powers-psychic, magical, whatever, she had them. She could take over your mind and make you see and experience whatever she wanted. She could invade your mind and view all of your deepest, darkest secrets and fears as if they were on DVD. She could control you with the power of her mind and make you do her bidding. And once she got in your head, she didn't leave. She drove you nuts. I lied on TV when I said I didn't know if Eleanor Grimm c
ould actually transfer her soul into my little brother's infant body so that she could cheat death and continue to live. The truth would have been that, yes, I think she could have done it and would have if we hadn't stopped her. How's that for supernatural?"

  He stopped and watched his girlfriend's face as she digested what he'd told her.

  "Wow!" she said. "Believe it or not, I don't find that crazy. In fact, my sister has always been kinda psychic and her daughter, Ginny, is wicked psychic. In fact, she's scary sometimes with the stuff I seen her come out with."

  Jackie nodded. "Lots of people have some ability but not like the witch had. It's impossible to describe what it was like to be under her spell-seeing things and hearing, even feeling things, you knew couldn't be real, but there they were anyway, defying all logic and sanity."

  Chalice bit her lip, her eyes wide with amazement. "Wow! She musta been one crazy bitch."

  Jackie shrugged and nodded. "Oh, she was definitely crazy, but like I told you, she was also very powerful. She could do things normal people can't. If anyone had the power or the knowledge to cheat death, my money would be on her."

  "Really?" Chalice considered his words. "But she did die, right? I mean, you and Jennifer killed her, didn't you, before she was able to do that?"

  Jackie shrugged again and smiled. "I think so." He laughed and shook his head. "What am I saying? Yeah, we killed her, but for the longest time after I really wasn't sure. You know, I was to be the last sacrifice to complete the ritual, and I always had the feeling that she was already in the process of soul transfer when Jen and I pushed her into the crematorium. I think that's why we were able to do it we caught her in the middle of the transfer and she was vulnerable. For years after, I watched Little Steve like a hawk, looking for some sign of the witch inside him, but after a while-a long while-I realized she wasn't."

  `Jeezus! That's fuckin' weird!" Chalice said, looking around anew at the house and outer buildings.

  Jackie nodded. "My mom used to catch me testing him, trying to get him to eat raw meat and crazy shit like that. My mom didn't freak out, though. She understood because she remembered-she knew-what it was like to have the witch inside her head."

  "I can't imagine . . . " Chalice murmured, her voice trailing off into an indecipherable whisper.

  "No, you can't. No one can unless they lived through it and experienced Eleanor Grimm's power. Consider yourself lucky that you never did. Knowing her and what she could do changed my concept of reality ... forever. You know, adults, parents, tell kids all the time there are no such things as witches and monsters, but I know they are wrong. Those things are out there, they're just disguised as normal human beings. It's made me a lot more accepting of stuff that most people might think is bullshit. But I know if people like Eleanor Grimm can exist, then anything could be real. Vampires? Werewolves? Ghosts? Aliens? Zombies? You name it, I no longer doubt if they are real-I figure there's a better than fifty-fifty chance that they are. And if they are real, I'd rather face any of them than go up against the Grimm Witch again. Shit! The Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot, and Chupah Kapra rolled into one are just bedtime stories compared to her."

  They grew quiet. After a few moments, Chalice asked, "What are you thinking? You look worried. Would you rather not stay here tonight?"

  "No. It's not that. I wasjust wondering, if my brother Steve did see the TV show how could he not know about Eleanor Grimm's plans for him?"

  "He musta missed that part," Chalice said, shrugging.

  "Yeah, I guess," Jackie replied, unconvinced.

  The rain, which had let up, leaving the sky thick with dark clouds promising more, returned with quick drops here and there that accelerated into a downpour within seconds. Jackie and Chalice were forced to run pell-mell for the kitchen door at the back of the house.

  "Oh, Steve, I don't know," Diane was whining loudly as her eldest son and his girlfriend entered the kitchen, shaking raindrops from their hair and clothing as they did.

  `Jackie, talk to her!" Steve pleaded, grabbingJackie's arm. "Tell her it'll be fine."

  "What? "Jackie asked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

  "He wants to stay over and spend the weekend, but Mother Dear is opposed,"Jen explained.

  "What's the big deal, Diane?"Jackie asked, using his mother's first name as he always did when trying to cajole her into something. For some reason, she found it irresistible.

  `Jeremy and Jen said I can help with fixing things up!" Steve added, his excitement barely contained.

  Diane shot Jackie a cross look, punctuated with a smile of surrender, and shrugged.

  "All right!" Steve jumped with delight, clapping his hands as if he'd just won a trip to Disney World.

  Home.

  Familiarity.

  She can feel the Machine so close. So strong. It embraces her. It nourishes. She senses the work it has accomplished in the past thirteen years, apparent in the desire of her host's sister to have him stay at Grimm Memorials. The command given to the little girl thirteen years ago has blossomed and now is reaching fruition.

  Throughout the day she revels in the growing strength and sense of power she feels. Even awareness of someone praying at one point is not enough to affect her too badly.

  She floats ... and dreams of getting her hands on the boy who nearly destroyed her thirteen years ago-she senses him near; can almost smell him.

  But even awareness of her nemesis's presence cannot damper the exquisite joy she feels. She is home! She is alive! And she is strong, even if she is not what she used to be. Even if she cannot remember things she once knew by heart ... like her beloved Mother Goose and her namesake's fairy tales. The rhymes and tales are all jumbled together in her memory, mixed up, disconnected, and full of holes.

  Fee-fi-fo-fum ... or I'll blow your house down!

  No!

  It is so frustrating it hurts; she tries not to think of it. She concentrates on the task ahead. After what seems an eternity of waiting for the right moment, the time when her host is most vulnerable-asleep-she gathers her strength. With a tremendous effort of will, she claws her way into the boy's sleeping consciousness and takes control.

  Eyes ... open!

  Darkness-failure! No!Wait!Notcomplete darkness. A dim light.

  There! A doorway.

  Get up!

  Steve Nailer sat up in bed and sluggishly swung his legs out from under the covers. Slapping his feet on the hardwood floor, he sat there for a few moments, eyes half open, before rising slowly. Naked, he walked to the end of the bed, each step hesitant, as if unsure of his footing. A floorboard creaked beneath his weight and he paused. He stood unmoving for so long someone watching might have thought he had gone back to sleep standing up.

  But no one was watching, and he had never awakened.

  At the door he paused again, his head moving back and forth. The soft sound of snoring drifted in the hallway. He followed the sound a short distance to another door. He grasped the doorknob, turned it slowly, and pushed it, letting the heavy wood door swing open of its own weight. Light shone through a window in the room, falling on a bed where it illuminated a blue and yellow patchwork quilt. The quilt moved as the bodies under it shifted position. The snoring stopped, followed by a long soft sigh.

  As his drowsy eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out two people in the bed Jackie and his girlfriend. As if being suddenly doused with ice-cold water, Steve shrieked with a sharp intake of breath and woke.

  No!

  She loses contact, loses control. She is slipping, sliding, falling back to the depths of subconscious thought.

  Him! I saw him! The boy! The one who'd nearly ruined everything. He is older now and changed a bit, but I can still tell-it is him.

  I knew I smelled him near!

  The shock of seeing the boy who almost destroyed her is too much. She loses control and sinks but grasps hold of the fact that she did have control, even if it was only for a short time, even if it was only while her hos
t slept. She is weak now-the price she pays for so much effort-weaker than ever. But at the same time, she is stronger, too, stronger in the knowledge that home is where she needs to be, where her powers can grow again. And joyful, after seeingJack-be-lean again, that revenge is at last within reach.

  Where am I?

  Steve stood in the doorway befuddled by his abrupt awakening. A jolt of panic shot through him born of his confusion.

  Where am I? he wondered again. He staggered suddenly, losing his balance as he was seized by a powerful feeling of vertigo, as if he were standing on the edge of a deep chasm on a windy day.

  Someone moaned softly in the darkness of the room. Steve looked around at the hallway, the open door, and darkened bedroom, and remembered where he wasJen's new house, the place where all the bad stuff had happened, where his father died, where the witch had lived. He immediately knew exactly where in the house he was-the third floor, standing in the doorway of Edmund's bedroom.

  There was only one problem: he had no idea who Edmund might be. How do I know that name and that this used to be his bedroom? he wondered. The panicky feeling swelled. What was he doing there in the middle of the night? Was he sleepwalking? Had he blacked out again?"

  What's wrong with me?

  He suddenly realized he was naked and had the universally creepy feeling that eyes were on him in the darkness, and they weren't the eyes of Jackie and his girlfriend. Frightened, he ran back to his bedroom and huddled under the covers until he fell into a cautious sleep. His last thought before sleep (though he wouldn't remember it upon waking) was a realization: I'm in Eleanor's room.

  He woke early the next morning thinking, I'm home at last, even though he was aware that he was not in his room in his house in Sunderland. He was also immediately aware of someone else in the room. He rolled over quickly and was startled to see Jeremy's sister, Debbie, sitting in the narrow, plush armchair by the door.

  "Sorry! " she said quickly, softly, and stood. "Jen wanted me to wake you for breakfast, but you looked so peaceful I couldn't do it." She smiled shyly and blushed, lingering at the door after she opened it. "Oh, and Jen says to hurry up. We got a lot of work to do today." She giggled, shrugged, wagged her head nervously, blushed, and abruptly left, pulling the door closed with a bang too hard behind her. She immediately opened it again, stuck her head in, said, "Sorry," giggled some more, and closed the door once more.