Grimm Reapings

by R. Patrick Gates

  "Wait!" he called.

  She stopped and slowly turned to face him.

  Again, he- was rendered nearly moronic by her exquisiteness. "Wh ... who are you?" he managed to ask without drooling, despite a mouthful of saliva.

  "Why?" the redheaded beauty wanted to know, defiance gleaming in her eye.

  The answer occurred to Jeremy in a brilliant flash of inspiration-she was the perfect model for his statuette. "Be ... because you're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life, and I want you to model for a sculpture I'm doing. I'm an artist," he blurted out rapidly.

  She laughed at him, and the sound of her mirth caused the release of all the endorphins in his brain simultaneously. He had never felt so good.

  "Will you model for me?"Jeremy asked with the shyness and enthusiasm of a love-struck boy.

  Coyly, she nodded.

  Jeremy thought his heart would explode it was beating so hard. "Come on inside so I can sketch you, okay?"

  Again, she agreed, smiling sweetly and turning his knees to Jell-O.

  Jeremy couldn't believe it. He felt like a thirteen-yearold living the hottest wet dream imaginable. The girl before him was not only stunningly, outrageously beautiful, but when she removed her shawl, she revealed an incredible body hinted at beneath the loose Victorianera dress she wore. It occurred to Jeremy that her body looked to be an exact replica of the body on his unfinished statuette of Eleanor Grimm.

  There was only one way to find out for sure.

  "Would you ... mind, uh..." he began timidly and quickly exhausted what courage he had.

  She rescued him. "Taking my clothes off?" she finished for him.

  He nodded and she smiled her assent. He watched with rapt fascination, and a growing erection, as she disrobed and exposed the body of a goddess-the exact same body he had sculpted before ever meeting her.

  "You're incredible," Jeremy barely got out, dazed by her and breathless with a sudden, overwhelming desire to make love to her. He looked into her eyes and could tell that she knew exactly what he was thinking and wanting.

  She came toward him. With every step he grew more excited. Before he could react, she was next to him, her hands on his crotch, rubbing, undoing, releasing, stroking. She dropped to her knees and enveloped him in sweet oral ecstasy. Lost in carnal delight, Jeremy never heard the sound of giggling, followed by a soft moan behind him, just outside the studio's open sliding door. Nor did he turn to see his sister looking in, watching, her mouth open, panting, both hands in her jeans diddling herself.

  On her knees, her face buried in Jeremy's groin, the red-haired girl couldn't help but smile, despite such a mouthful.

  V

  APRIL FOOL'S

  A diller a dollar ... what are little boys made of ?

  For Jennifer Watson, the first four months of the new year were a whirlwind of activity and change at the Magic Forest Bed-and-Breakfast. Days became weeks in the blink of an eye and weeks turned into months so quickly she could barely catch her breath. If it hadn't for the swelling of her belly, she'd have been hard-pressed to tell if any time had passed at all. It was hard for her to keep the days of the week straight she was so busy. With the added help from her mother, Steve, and Jeremy's sister, Debbie, all the work that could be done by unskilled hands was nearly completed by April.

  Jeremy was almost finished with turning Edmund Grimm's former workshop into his new art studio. He should have been done weeks ago, but he was having problems and spent most of his time out there working on it. What the problems were, Jen wasn't exactly sure, and Jeremy was uncharacteristically vague about it when questioned. Something to do with the new skylight, she gathered. As soon as he was done out there, though, he was going to put his carpentry skills to work on the parts of the house that required it. The two large first-floor rooms, which had been viewing rooms for wakes and funerals, and coffin display rooms when not used for the latter, had wooden floors that were rotted through and crumbling walls of horsehair plaster. They were the only part of the house that did not have a basement underneath; there was only a four-foot crawl space. The house being so close to the river, over the past one hundred years the dampness had affected the two rooms more than any other part-both now required gutting, rebuilding, and then hiring an electrician to do rewiring. They planned to use both rooms as dining rooms open to the general public.

  In mid-March they ran into major plumbing and electrical problems on the second floor that Jeremy could not handle. Jen didn't want to go to her mother for the money, but Steve overheard her talking to Jeremy about their financial problems and told Diane, who promptly came to their aid.

  "It's Steve's money, and he wants you to use it. I think he loves this place as much as you do," Diane said, showing her growing sense of confidence. "Why shouldn't that old bitch's money pay to change this place and wipe out all trace of her memory?"

  Reluctantly, Jen took the money, feeling more guilt than she normally would have since she and Jeremy had already decided not to wipe out all traces of the place's past. After a suggestion from Steve one day, she and Jeremy talked about it and decided that, in light of all the publicity the place had gotten because of what had happened there, Steve's idea to capitalize on that and keep parts of the house as they had been during the height of Eleanor Grimm's reign of terror was a good one. In particular, the crematorium complete with its cage for Eleanor's young victims and the satanic symbols on the floor, not to mention the dissection table she used for human sacrifices, would be kept Gfrimmly authentic as were Eleanor's bedroom on the second floor-now occupied by Steve-and the tower room, which overlooked the surrounding woods all the way to Route 116 to the north and to the Connecticut River to the south. Lately, in addition to selling his statuettes of Eleanor Grimm, Jeremy had even been trying to sell her on the idea of putting on reenactments using college kids as actors. Jen had to agree with Steve, though, and draw the line at that. Statuettes were okay, but reenactments of mass murder? She didn't think so.

  With the money from her mother, the work progressed very quickly. By April, they were finished with the inside, except for the two first floor rooms, and were ready to start work on landscaping the outside. Jeremy's sister contributed a wonderful idea for guests-a walking path around the Grimm estate, through the cemetery, the barn/studio, and through the woods, over the bridge, and down to the river.

  Once jen announced they were ready to tackle the outside, Mrs. Holcromb became like a woman possessed. Since the death of her husband, Harold, Mrs. Holcromb's sole passion in life had become gardening. She practically begged Jen to let her handle the buying and layout of shrubs, bushes, perennials, annuals, and assorted mulches, crushed rock, and decorative brick trim around the house and along the planned walking path. She even went so far as to offer to pay for it all herself, seeking out the best bargains, and Jen could reimburse her penny for penny no extra cost when all was said and done. With such an offer, Jen couldn't refuse.

  Jen was amazed at how helpful Steve was, how good at helping with whatever task was at hand. Whether it was helping with cleaning out the mold-ridden rooms rotting away on the first floor, or stripping one-hundredyear-old wood encrusted with multiple layers of shellac and paint, Steve had done a top-rate job. He had achieved or surpassed even Jen's high standards. He was so good, in fact, that she had allowed him to supervise Debbie, Diane, and even Jeremy at times, when they were working inside. Jen had been both surprised and impressed by the loving care to detail that her brother gave to even the most menial of jobs. None was too menial for Steve; he had tackled everything with relish. Though he had no vested interest in the bed-and-breakfast, beyond living there and wanting to see his sister do well, Jen noticed Steve treated the place as if he had sunk every cent he had into its success. He seemed to love the place as though it were his own most cherished possession. He had put an immense amount of effort into cleaning and restoring the crematorium in particular. It again looked as it had thirteen years ago.

 
"I can hear the singing dreams of children," he said now.

  "What?" Jennifer looked at him.

  They were in the kitchen. It was April first and the milder than normal winter had weeks ago given way to a warm spring. All the windows were open, and the back door, to ventilate the room while Steve worked, applying Zip-Strip to the heavy, oak kitchen door-the last piece of wood needing refinishing in the kitchenmaking its century-old layers of paint, varnish, shellac, and wax bubble and melt to the point where they could be easily scraped off with a putty knife. Jen was hand-lettering menus for the B&B at the table.

  "What?" Steve echoed, more as a statement than a question.

  "You said something."

  "No, I didn't," Steve replied quickly, shaking his head.

  Jen started to reply but stopped. She regarded Steve with a wry smile. "You're just like Jackie, you know that? You're both a couple of wiseasses. You love messin' with my head." She chuckled and stood from the table. "I'm going to see how Mrs. Holcromb's doing out front." She left through the hallway to the lobby, pinching Steve's cheek playfully as she went by him.

  Steve dropped his Styrofoam applicator as soon as she was gone. He staggered as if suddenly suffering an invisible blow. He grimaced. "Fucking cunt-lapping, cock sucking, bitch-ass fucking son of a bitch fucking cunt, keep your fucking hands off me! " he muttered, spitting out profanities like a bad taste. "Careful, old girl," he muttered to himself, after a pause and a deep breath. "Almost lost it there. This isn't supposed to be this hard!"

  He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and finally smiled. "My God! I can hear her so clearly. She's so close I can almost taste her." He sniffed the air and ran his tongue over his lips as if relishing a savory aroma. He opened his eyes, but they remained far away, focused on the subject of his speech. "I can see her!" He laughed, but it was not the laughter of a teenage boy, it was the cackling of an old woman sheathed in the vocal cords of an adolescent.

  He suddenly went to the back door and stood, alertly listening to the house, sniffing the air like a tense animal, scanning the backyard. Satisfied no one was nearby, he went out the door. No one was out there-Mrs. Holcromb was working on the front of the house. From the sound of hammer and chisel, it was obvious Jeremy was in his studio.

  Steve lifted his head, cocked it to one side, and sniffed the air. "I can smell you, my dear little tasty one. I'm coming." With a last glance around, he suddenly sprinted through the backyard and into the woods.

  "Delilah? Delilah, honey ... do you want a snack?"

  The small child did not move from her perch on the wide windowsill in her room. She sat, cross-legged, staring out at the web of branches formed by the massive trees in her backyard, and beyond at the short field that separated her yard from the woods.

  The deep, dark woods.

  There was something moving between the trees at the edge of the field.

  "Delilah! Come on! I made you a PB n' J. And I've got Oreos!" -- - - - -- - - - - -- - - - -

  Distracted, the little girl turned slightly at the sound of her mother's voice and in that moment lost sight of the shadowy figure in the woods. Annoyed with her pestering parent's interruptions, she snapped back: "Hold your water, for Christ's sake!" She returned her focus to the woods, leaning forward, her face inches from the glass as she searched the stand of trees trimming the rear edge of the field.

  There! Something moved!

  Again! She could almost see it, and it was strangely familiar.

  In her eagerness to decipher what she was seeing, the girl was deaf to the heavy maternal tread ascending the stairs and coming down the hall to her room.

  What is that? she wondered, all attention focused on the intriguing shape. She almost had it, if it would just move forward a little into the light at the edge of the grass.

  "Delilah Irene Kane! What do you mean using that language and tone of voice with me?" Her mother stood in the bedroom doorway, hands on hips, expression cross.

  Though she heard her mother clearly, could see the reflection of her in the window, and detected the obvious anger in her mother's use of her full name-the only time her mother called her that was when she was angry-Delilah consciously ignored her; the figure in the woods so intrigued her. She thought she knew what it was now but couldn't believe her eyes-wouldn't believe her eyes until she was sure.

  But ... what if it was? Wouldn't that be wonderful?

  So caught up in fanciful expectation and anticipation, she never saw her mother reaching for her, giving her daughter a hug the last thing on her mind. Delilah only had eyes for the woods where, at last, she finally got a clear look at the figure between the trees. She squealed with delight, then with anger as her mother pulled her away from the window.

  "Don't you ignore me, young lady!" her mother commanded, spinning Delilah around to face her.

  "No!" the little girl shouted back, startling her mother with her abrupt defiance.

  "What?"

  "Barney! Barney-Barney-Barney!" Delilah shrieked rapid-fire, trying to machine-gun understanding into her mother's dense brain. "Barney the Purple Dinosaur! He's out there!"

  "Where?" The anger was gone from her mother's voice, replaced with confusion.

  "There in the woods!" Delilah explained. Mother loosened her grip on her daughter's wrist and Delilah pulled free, running to the window to leap on the sill and press her face to the glass so suddenly her mother reflexively lunged forward to grab her.

  "See him? There!"

  Though her daughter pointed, the mother could see nothing but field and trees and the wind rustling through both. She gave out a short, exasperated laugh. "Hon, I think you're seeing things. There's nothing there. "

  Delilah shot her mother an angry look for being so blind, but when she turned back to the window, Barney was no longer there. Her anger swelled, and she became immediately convinced it was her mother's fault. She pulled her hand back and shrank away.

  "What's the matter, honey?" her mother asked, concerned.

  "I hate you! You ruin everything!" the girl screamed, unleashing a torrent of rage upon her unsuspecting mother. She leaped from the windowsill and ran into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

  "What did I do?" her mother was left mumbling to the air.

  It's delicious, its delightful, it's Delilah!

  She sings as she maneuvers her awkward male adolescent body through the bushes, vines, and thick undergrowth of the woods between Grimm Memorials and Dorsey Lane.

  "I'm coming, little Delilah."

  She stops behind a tree at the edge of the field behind the house at the end ofDorsey Lane. She pulls back a branch and peers up at the house. She cackles softly at the image the little girl so longs to see in real life, and sings in a poor imitation of her intended victim's favorite cartoon character:

  "You love me, I eat you, drink your blood, rip you in two ..."

  I'll show you, Delilah thought, coming out of the bathroom and returning to the window. She glanced over at the dresser top next to the window where she had a disposable camera she'd found in the kitchen junk drawer with two untaken pictures still on it, and got an idea. She'd show her mom. She'd get proof.

  "Delilah! "

  She cringed at the sound of her mother's voice. For being only seven, Delilah was a willful child.

  "Delilah, what are you doing? Are you over your tantrum? Why don't you go out and play?"

  None of your business, Delilah wanted to answer but didn't. From the sound of her mother's voice Delilah guessed she was at the bottom of the stairs again, poised to charge up and interfere.

  `Just reading," she said instead.

  "Really?"

  There was doubt in her voice. Delilah sensed what was coming next and scanned the room frantically.

  "What book are you reading?" her mother asked.

  There. Delilah saw it, lying under the radiator on the other side of the room, the book she had taken from the school library a week ago but had never
cracked. She read the title silently, lips moving, head tilted to the book's angle before repeating it aloud.

  "I Was a Second Grade Dork!" Then added: "By Beverly Crinkleton. It's a Newberry Award winner."

  Her mother bit. "Oh, good! You can tell me about it at dinner. I'm making pork chops."

  "Yum," Delilah replied, trying to- keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She hated meat and had repeatedly tried to convey that fact to her mother, but she refused to hear and accept it. Mealtime had become a battleground of late.

  Delilah sighed and returned her gaze to the woods. Her breath immediately caught in her throat and her eyes widened.

  There he is!

  Standing at the edge of the field, in plain view, was the title character from her favorite TV show: Barney the Purple Dinosaur.

  He's looking right at me!

  Barney, with his wide, white smile eternally sewn upon his polyester face, beckoned to her. She grabbed the camera from the bureau and ran from the room.

  "I'm going out back to play!" she called to her mother, who was watching soap operas. She knew her mother wouldn't stop her; she was always complaining that Delilah didn't play outside enough.

  She was right. On the couch, Lora made a surprised face and gave herself a victory nod. It was about time her daughter got out of that room and started enjoying being a kid, outdoors, playing and having fun. She thought to get up and go watch her daughter, whom she figured was playing on the swings, and offer to push her, but a really good part came on the show she was watching, and she quickly let her daughter and bonding with her slip from her mind.

  She would regret it for the rest of her life.

  Delilah ran into the backyard, afraid Barney would be gone again by the time she got there, but he hadn't left. He had only stepped back a little so that now he was partly shrouded by the pine branches. She didn't notice how the afternoon sun reflected a hint of rainbow off his skin when he waved to her, the way light will reflect on fish scales or meat gone bad. Excited, knowing she would be vindicated at last, Delilah ran through the field. Halfway through the tall grass, she had to lower her eyes to keep from tripping, and lost sight of her goal. By the time she emerged from the hay grass, he was nowhere in sight.