Grimm Reapings

by R. Patrick Gates

  Chalice hugged his arm. "Lighten up. Ya should be happy for her. It sounds like ya sister thinks the guy's okay."

  Jackie remained silent, and unconvinced; he couldn't shake the feeling that something about whatJen had said wasn't right, though he just couldn't put his finger on it He made a mental note to call his mom later, but when later came it slipped his mind and remained slippery.

  In the days following Jen's announcement and the decision to move, Diane and Steve made a smooth transition to living in Jen's house-much smoother than Diane expected. Part of it was the vastness of the old Grimm house. There were over thirty-five rooms in all if you counted the bathrooms and the tiny tower room at the top of the house. The upper floors were mazes of interconnecting rooms and crisscrossing narrow corridors connected by one main hallway, as if the architect had been trying to recreate a puzzle of some kind. Once she was living there, Diane could really see how perfectly suited the place was to being turned into a bed-and-breakfast. Many people could live in that house and never feel for a lack of privacy.

  The thing that made the move so easy, Diane felt, was the change in Steve. His enthusiasm and joy over moving and Jen's baby was infectious. She'd never seen him so happy. More than once lately she had found herself admiring her son and marveling at what a unique and interesting individual he was turning into. In many ways, Trevor reminded her of Steve and of Steve's father. She was over her fear that Steve wouldn't accept him, and she couldn't wait for the two of them to meet. She expected them to hit it off famously.

  If they could ever get together!

  Her cell phone rang shortly after Steve left to walk to Route 116 where the school bus picked him up now that they were living at Jen's. Diane read the number readout on the caller ID: 555-9342. She didn't recognize it. From years of habit she almost didn't answer it. At the last minute she did and was glad she had.

  It was Trevor.

  "Can I come by?" he asked in his honeyed voice, and she couldn't refuse.

  "Yes," she said breathlessly. It had been over a week since their initial afternoon of lovemaking, and she was instantly aroused just by the sound of his voice. She immediately left Jen's and drove to her house in Sunderland where she stood anxiously by the front window, watching for his car with lustful anticipation. The doorbell rang and she silently cursed. Who could that be? She had to get rid of whoever it was before Trevor got there. She knew once she laid eyes on him again she wouldn't be able to resist the animal desires he awakened in her.

  She flung the door open, ready to tell the expected salesman, mailman, or neighbor to get lost, as nicely as possible, but it was him. He lost no time. He stepped in, closed the door, and took her in his arms. Any thoughts she might have had wondering where his car was and how he'd gotten there so fast without one melted away with the fire of their shared passion.

  She felt like a character in one of the romance novels she loved to read as he swept her off her feet and carried her to her bedroom. They made love for the better part of the day. At one point the phone rang, but Diane let the answering machine get it, not hearing, or caring, if the caller left a message. Around noon they finally disengaged and Trevor told her he had to go. She clung to him, not wanting him to leave.

  "When will I see you again?" Diane asked. "How do I get a hold of you?"

  Trevor appeared unhappy, immediately making Diane want to do anything she could to make it better.

  "I'm looking for a new place to live," he explained. "The guy I share a house with now is getting married and he and his wife want to live there. Since I was just renting from him, I have to find some place else."

  Diane sat up, beaming. "Why don't you live here?"

  "With you and your son? I don't know. Wouldn't that be kind of weird for him?"

  "No, no, no. You could live here alone. My daughter, Jen, has a huge place over in Northwood, just seven miles from here. Actually, that's where we're living now. We just moved in with her. I was thinking of renting this place, but you could live here, rent-free, and we could be together any time we wanted." She threw herself on him, kissing him deeply. "What do you say?" she asked before kissing her way down his chest to his belly and below, to the object of her desire.

  He let her reach it before letting out a long sigh and replying, "If you insist."

  After he left, promising to see her again same time tomorrow, she realized she'd forgotten, again, to ask for his phone number, then remembered she had it on her cell phone's caller ID. On an impulse, she called the number, planning on leaving a message for him to find when he got home, but she got a recording instead informing her that the number was a pay phone that could not receive incoming calls.

  She noticed the message light blinking on the living room phone and checked its caller ID and saw the number for Mt. Sugarloaf Middle School. Immediately ready to berate herself viciously for not checking it sooner if anything was wrong with Steve, she pressed Play:

  "This is Sugarloaf Middle School calling. Steven's continued absenteeism has exceeded limits required by the law. Please contact us and provide a doctor's note if this is due to an illness. If we don't hear from you we're going to have to report Steven as chronically truant to the Department of Youth Services. Thank you."

  She ran to Steve's room and flung open the door. The room was empty.

  Thank God!

  She ran back to the front of the house, looking out the window at the empty street.

  Where is he? Why isn't he going to school? How many days has he missed? The lady on the phone sounded like it was a lot.

  Had Steve been playing hooky? She had to smile to herself and shake her head. He was growing up.

  She stopped, suddenly frozen in her tracks by her reaction just now. A few weeks ago she would have been frantic with worry wondering where he was. Now she felt angry that he had missed so much school, but she also felt a kind of nonchalant resignation that this wasjust a sign of his not being a child anymore. She even felt a little pride that he was doing something so out of character for him, and such a boy thing. Of course, she'd have to punish him, but it wasn't that big a deal.

  Not that big a deal! She marveled at herself. Ain't love grand? she thought, smiling. She couldn't wait to tell Dr. Gibbons.

  The phone rang again. It was Jen calling, wondering where Diane had disappeared to and what she had been doing there all day. Flustered, Diane lied and told her daughter she had been packing, which wasn't a complete lie since Steve was supposed to meet her at the Sunderland house after school to help her finish packing things. They talked for nearly an hour about Trevor and howJen was feeling and plans to convert one of the rooms atJen's into a nursery, and by the end of the call Diane was exhausted. She lay on the couch and quickly succumbed to a nap. She didn't wake until Steve arrived from school. She watched him get a drink from the fridge and remembered there was something she had wanted to talk to him about, something he had done, but now she couldn't remember it.

  "Have a good day?" she asked.

  "Yeah," he said, took a long pull of Poland Spring, and checked the caller memory and message readout.

  "Any messages?" Diane asked. Seeing him at the answering machine had sparked the feeling that she was right on the edge of remembering what it was she'd wanted to tell Steve-maybe there was a message on there. She sat up. Yes! That was it! A message about ...

  "No new ones," Steve said and pressed the Erase button.

  "All messages erased!" the computerized voice said.

  The feeling faded.

  `Jen called, huh?" Steve asked, finishing his water and tossing the bottle into the trash barrel near the kitchen counter.

  That was it,! fen's call! But what was so special about Jen's call? What hadjen said? Be sure to tell Stevel want his help designing the nursery. That must be what she was thinking of telling Steve . . . mustn't it? For some reason she wasn't sure, but it was the only explanation that presented itself. She told Steve whatJen said and he seemed pleased. He couldn't wait to finis
h packing and went to his room to do so.

  In the thin hours of dawn Steve Nailer woke in his body. He sat up, and stared about at his surroundings in panic and terror. It took him several moments to remember where he was, or anything else for that matter.

  New Year's Eve!

  That was it!

  Something happened then.... Memory returned at the same moment as recognition of his surroundings.

  "I'm in the witch's house," he whispered. His words were immediately followed by the thought: And the witch is in me! Close on its heels came the strong smell of cotton candy followed by the buzzing portend of the witch's return. Terror drove Steve into the grateful oblivion of his deep subconsciousness once again....

  Debbie Watson turned back the covers on her large, four-poster bed and shut off the light on the table beside it. In the darkness, disturbed only by a single ray of moonlight from the window that she avoided, she got undressed. Leaving her clothes where they fell, she took everything off and got into bed shivering and naked. At first she pulled the covers up to her neck, but she soon became too warm and kicked them free with her feet until they lay hanging half off, half on the end of the bed. She lay with her legs open, peering into the darkness with hope.

  She was not disappointed.

  She barely heard her bedroom door open and close and would have missed it had she not been listening so hard. The final click of the latch sliding into place as it closed brought her to a state of heightened awareness and arousal.

  There was someone in the room. She became aware of him standing in the shadows by the door, looking at her. She could see his eyes shining in the darkness. She ran both hands over her breasts, plump still with baby fat, letting one hand slide down to rub between her legs. She could barely contain her excitement as he crossed the room and stood over her. She thrilled at his touch and quickly experienced a mild orgasm. He swooped over her, kissing, licking, biting, forcing, penetrating until she was a slave of ecstasy. By the time he was done, she was putty in his hands. When he sat on the edge of the bed, she immediately knew what to do without being told. She slid off the bed onto her knees in front of him and went to work. While Debbie brought him to a climax, Steve Nailer leaned over and whispered to her in the darkness.

  Her nods were more than just the bobbing motion of fellatio.

  Diane Nailer had been seeing Trevor every day since moving tojen's three weeks ago, and he had yet to meet any of her family. They'd made plans, but somehow those always fell through. Trevor's job kept him very busy, though what he did, exactly, that he had to be on call night and day, was unclear to Diane. She knew he had told her what he did and knew it had some connection to her and Steve, but beyond that, nothing. It didn't bother her much and she rarely thought about it as long as she got to be with him as much as possible and get her fix of the drug that he had become. All the questions she saved up for him when they were apart were always pushed out of mind the instant she laid eyes on him. Besides, all the mystery only added to the delectable pleasure of the situation.

  Nearly every day since moving into Jen's, Diane had gone back to her old house for a love liaison with Trevor. The sex was incredible and it only got better with every passing day. She was more content than she had ever been in her life. She hoped it would last forever, and even her pessimistic side could not dampen her exuberance.

  Jeremy Watson finished dressing and saw Steve go by his open door. "Hey! Steverino!" he called, but his brother-in-law didn't hear him. Jeremy wanted to ask Steve if he could help him in the barn when he got home from school. Jeremy zipped his pants and went into the hallway. He could hear his mother-in-law on the phone, which was in the hallway, just around the corner from Jeremy's room.

  He strode in that direction, heading for Steve's room at the end of the hall. He came into view of the side hall where the phone was, and looked over to wave to Diane as he passed, but was stunned to see it was not Diane on the phone, but her son, Steve. He had his back to Jeremy and he was speaking with his mother's voice!

  Jeremy ducked back out of sight a moment before Steve turned and would have seen him.

  "Yes, this is Mrs. Nailer, Steve's mom? As I was trying to tell the secretary, my son Steve has mononucleosis and will be out of school for some time. Oh ... yes ... a doctor's note. Of course. I'll make sure to send one to you. Thank you. Bye."

  Jeremy heard the click of the phone hanging up and held his breath, suddenly very wary of Steve knowing he was there, spying. Thankfully, Steve went the other way and Jeremy quickly stole back to his room to contemplate what he'd heard. He couldn't believe what a sneak Steve was-he never would have thought it of his brotherin-law. And what a mimic! He had sounded just like his mother. But it didn't make any sense. He could see the kid pulling a call-in-sick routine like that for one day of playing hooky, but he had said he'd be out indefinitely.

  Why would he do that? How could he hope to get away with it?

  Jeremy debated whether to tell Jen or Diane and decided against it. There was something weird going on with Steve-he'd been acting strange lately now that Jeremy thought of it. He decided to keep his secret for now, bide his time, and keep an eye on his brother-in-law.

  Something is wrong. Again.

  The bearded artist, knows something. She senses it, but cannot get the full picture. Something blocks her.

  It's not the only glitch of late.

  The boy-her host-is back. He has risen out of the comatose depths she had banished him to and now bobs about, justt below the surface, popping into her consciousness randomly, distractingly.

  It is a distraction that shouldn't be there. It is a failure that worries her.

  That and the fact that the artist knows something.... It must be the return of her host that prevents her from seeing it clearly.

  Its time to tie the bearded artist up with a marionette string, just to be on the safe side. Meanwhile, she must figure out how to deal with her host's return.

  Jeremy Watson was working in his sculpting studio in the barn, sweeping up after installing a skylight in the newly expanded cathedral ceiling he'd added to the barn roof. The weather had been so warm for February and early March he had been able to get his workshop ready ahead of schedule. He whistled softly as he worked, occasionally glancing over at his worktable where a clay model sat, half finished. It was going to be a twelve-inch rendition of Eleanor Grimm, the Wicked Witch of Grimm Memorials, which he planned to cast in pewter, to be sold in the B&B gift shop for $24.95, and black plastic, to be sold for $8.95.

  Scattered around the partially molded pile of clay were various sketches he had made of the statuette. He had only one picture of Eleanor Grimm to go on-the same one his sister had used for her costume at New Year's-and he didn't use it again after looking at it once. He wasn't really after historical accuracy; he wanted something that would sell. He started with the traditional idea of a witch, taken straight from Halloween and The Wizard of Oz, but once he'd started working the clay, he found his hands didn't want to mold what he had drawn.

  It was strange, but sometimes it happened. Like a writer who finds his story taking unexpected, unplanned turns, as an artist, Jeremy experienced much the same thing. Often, his hands and fingers seemed to take on a purpose of their own and would execute their own, innate design. At times like that, Jeremy had learned to go with the flow and see what developed.

  This time what developed was very unexpected. Under his self-aware hands the clay had turned into the most voluptuous young woman he'd ever created, or seen for that matter. She certainly looked nothing like any witch he'd ever seen before, except for maybe that TV witch from the 60s-Elizabeth Montgomery. That is, if Elizabeth Montgomery had been hot enough to be a Playboy centerfold.

  Jeremy realized he had a hard-on for his statue and laughed at himself. It wasn't the first time. But the piece was unfinished. It still had no head. His rebellious hands apparently had no manifest governing the shape of her head and the appearance of her face. Work on the statue
tte had ground to a halt yesterday. How to finish it remained a mystery he had tried to solve by shifting gears and applying his talents elsewhere.

  Sometimes he thought he was a better carpenter than he was an artist. He finished sweeping and stood admiring the tight fit of the skylight, which now provided the proper natural light he needed for a sculpting studio. In the corner were two nine-by-five-foot blocks of stone-one, red granite; the other, very expensive black onyx. There were wonderful forms inside them waiting to be discovered and revealed, and he couldn't wait to get started.

  He leaned the broom against the wall and went over to the stones. He ran his hands over their surfaces and placed his cheek against the cool surface of the granite. He heard singing and thought for a moment it had come from within the stone. He lifted his face and heard the voice again, a woman, but not Jen or his sister, and certainly not Mrs. Holcromb. This voice was different than any he'd ever heard. It was beautiful beyond words.

  The singing was coming from outside. He went to the window and looked out but could see no one around. The graveyard, behind the barn, was empty, as was the rest of the yard as far as he could see from the rear of the workshop to the back of the house. He left the workshop and went outside. The singer stood at the edge of the woods, twenty yards to the left of the workshop door, picking pinecones off the low-hanging pine branches that rimmed the forest edge. She had long red hair cascading down her back nearly to her waist. She wore a dark purple shawl and a loose, flowing dress. To Jeremy she appeared to be dressed for another era, or like a character from a fairy tale, and he found it charming.

  "Hello?" he called.

  She turned abruptly, a frightened look on her face, and he got his first look at her. He was stunned immobile and speechless. She was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her beauty was so strong it made him feel weak. Her eyes, so large and green, pierced him, making him feel they were looking inside his very soul. She started to run away, and he panicked, suddenly sure that if he let her go it would be the worst mistake of his life.