“That’s fair.” I smack the bar twice with both palms. “Set me up first though, Gus. And another round for the mysterious strangers behind me.”
The ladies at the table stop talking immediately, and then after a pause one says, “Actually we were just leaving. Thank you though, that’s very generous.”
The sloshy clink of ice against the glasses lets me know they had at least another half hour in them, but the sudden interest from a strange drunkard has expedited their exit.
“Okay, no offense taken. I wouldn’t accept it either.”
The women smile and assure me their departure has nothing at all to do with me. They quickly settle the bill with Gus and then scatter like butterflies.
Gus watches the ladies leave and frowns again, deeper this time, dismayed. “You’re still gonna buy those drinks, eh?”
I smile. “Sure Fritzy. And you can even keep the booze.”
Gus gives a satisfied nod and says, “What’s your question, pal?”
I put two fingers together and wave Gus toward me coquettishly. He leans in, his face only inches from mine now.
“Do you know the story of Marlene?”
Gus holds my stare and then gives a weak smile. “Sure buddy, most everybody west of Mt. Koude knows that story. We even get people in here sometimes, tourists and rich folk from the New Country mostly, who are planning to head off to find the lost Village. Village of the Elders they call it. The place that woman from the New Country found several years ago. The mountains have become something of an attraction over the last few years.”
The mention of my mother chokes me a bit, but I keep my composure.
“That was an easy one pal, so I guess I’ll let you shoot question two.”
I narrow my look on Gus now and my jaw clenches unconsciously. “Do you know a man named Gromus?”
Gus’ face bleeds to white before I sound off the ‘s’ in the hideous name, and the bartender’s eyes glaze with the moisture of dread.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then. Do you know where I can find him, Fritzy? Do you know where he lives?” My words have punch now, authority.
Gus is visibly shaken by my questions, intimidated even, but he tries to stay steely. “You gotta go now buddy,” he whispers, “I’m busy here.” Gus’ voice is anxious, quick and stammered; the absurdity of his last phrase comes flat, without irony.
“Gromus. Just give me a direction and I’ll be out the door.”
Gus drops his head in defeat. “Look, if I knew where it...he was, I wouldn’t tell you. I would send you in the opposite direction. Not for his sake but for yours. But I don’t know where he is. He doesn’t live anywhere. I don’t even know what...”
Gus’ words fall away and closes his eyes, as if trying to explain the person I just mentioned is physically painful for him.
He continues. “He was in here once, only once, and that was three years past. Just over. I don’t know where he lives or where he came from. I don’t know anything about him aside from what I saw that night. And from the legends and rumors that float around in here sometimes.”
“That’s a long time ago to see a man once and still remember him.”
Gus looks down at the bar top and nods. “Yeah.”
“What happened, Gus? Why do you remember him?”
Gus swallows and stares hard in my eyes. He shakes his head slowly and says, “You don’t ever want to meet him.”
GUS GRABS A BOTTLE of scotch and lifts up the bar top door. He walks from behind the bar and over to the table where the ladies were sitting just a few minutes ago. I follow him.
He picks up one of the drinks and swallows what remains in his customer’s glass, and then flicks the ice from it sideways across the floor. “Sit down.”
I sit across from Gus, watching him recollect. He’s staring at the empty glass now, spinning it on the table slowly with his finger tip, caressing the rim. His thoughts are in the past, the night of Gromus. I don’t pressure him to talk, wanting him to organize the details to get his story accurate.
“Why did you ask about the story of Marlene?” Gus asks.
“I just figured anyone who knew the tale of Marlene might also know about Gromus.” It’s not a lie exactly, but it does lack a certain transparency.
Gus studies my face, sensing there’s more to the explanation; there is, but what more there is is mine. Gus need play no part in this story other than to give me the name of the next person who may know the next person after that.
“And I was right, Gus. I’d say you do know something, something that has you a bit thinned out.”
Gus continues his meditation of the tumbler, keeping his eyes fixed to the glass. “It was thirty-eight months ago,” he begins. He blinks once and stares at me. “And six days.”
I nod, acknowledging the relevance of the precision of his memory.
“It was late, after midnight, but it was still busy in here for that time of night. Busy for us, anyway. Place was maybe half-full but starting to whittle down. It was reaching that time of night when you began to notice people coming and leaving. Nothing unusual about the night though. No fights, no police calls, just a better-than-average night of business.”
Gus stops and rubs his forehead, grimacing, as if the excavation of the memory makes his head throb
“And then it changed, the night that is. A man comes in alone. But he doesn’t stroll in slowly like most people do, apprehensive and wary, assessing the place before they dive in full. No, this guy is quick through door. He wasn’t rushing really, but he came in just...too fast. Too fast for a man walking into a bar. And his steps were...crooked, like he had some kind of deformity in his legs, which made his pace even stranger.”
“Anyway, he comes in about five or six steps past the threshold and then he just stops and stands there. And he looks...oh god...bizarre.”
Gus’ eyes are wide and he’s shaking his head slightly. It’s a ‘you-had-to-see-it-for-yourself’ look.
He goes on. “He was wearing this heavy coat, dark and dusty, like he’d just come out of a chimney or something. But that by itself wasn’t what was strange.”
“What was it?”
“It was his face. His head. It was like some kind of ancient mummy. So thin. Gaunt and stretched out. Almost like it was just a skeleton with skin placed on top.”
I resist the urge to remind Gus that everyone’s head is a skeleton with skin on top.
“And every part of it was...bare. And I mean bare. Not a strand of hair on it anywhere. Nothing. It was almost like it had been burned off. But he wasn’t disfigured exactly, not the way someone in a fire would be.”
Another pause and a glance to the ceiling. Gus measuring in his mind whether what he’s just described is accurate.
“He was tall but not unusually so, but his body was...big. Thick is how I always think of him now. Which made him look more unusual with the emaciation of his head. And his posture was awful. Similar to the way he walked. Old and crooked. He looked like some kind of human dinosaur or dragon or something. Even his fingers were long and thin like a reptile. Nothing about him matched up. It was as if parts of different bodies were put together to make him whole.”
“Did anyone else notice him?”
Gus shakes his head and shrugs. “Not really. I don’t know. I wouldn’t have really remembered him now if that had been the whole of it. If he had just turned and left, I’d have probably never recalled any of this.”
He pauses and narrows his eyes.
“But then he smiled.”
I give Gus a nod, encouraging him to continue.
“The smile was something I can’t really explain, other than to say that my eyes watered instantly, and the urge I had to run was as powerful as I’ve ever felt.”
Gus locks eyes with me.
“I’m a military man, mister. Combat veteran. I don’t run from much.”
I nod again, this time in understanding.
“It was like the smile transf
ormed him into some kind of monster. It’s the only word I can use. ‘Inhuman’ works too, I guess. A woman at the bar shrieked. Another one dry heaved. I don’t think either of them were even looking at him before he smiled. The guy—Gromus it turns out—gave the woman who shrieked a glance and she began to cry instantly and then ran out through the back exit.”
“So he was ugly? Is that the gist? There’s lots of ugly, Fritzy. It has to be more than that.” I can hear the sincerity dripping from Gus’ voice, but I feign doubt, digging for more.
“It was more than that. I’m ugly. This guy was...horrific.”
“What happened next?”
“He walks to the bar, and by this point the customers who haven’t left are either asking for their tabs or have moved toward the back walls, over by the darts. But they’re all watching. And then, with his repulsive smile still flashing, the guy orders milk. Milk.”
This detail should be funny, but it sends a chill across my shoulders.
“His voice was high-pitched and gravelly, and there’s some accent there that to this day I’ve never been able to place. Anyway, he touches the milk with the tip of his tongue and then smells it, closing his eyes while he does it, and then he guzzles the whole thing down. And then it becomes bizarre.”
Gus stops and breathes deeply. I stay silent.
“He walks over to one of the girls who worked here at the time, a waitress, and he does it in that same way he came in, warped and twisted and too fast. And then he leans in close to her, right by her neck, and he starts to sniff her. First it was like he was doing a feeling out sniff, like a dog might do, but then he takes in this huge inhalation. He never grabs her or anything, but his body is close, and positioned so that he’s blocking her from moving. And then he bends down so that his nose is right in her crotch. He starts doing the small sniffs again and then the long deep one. It was surreal. Everyone was just standing there, frozen. And then he...this...Gromus...he darts away from her, crouched, and starts slinking over toward the crowd of people at the back. He was moving like a...crocodile or something. You know, the way they look when they’re about to start running.”
“I’ve never seen a crocodile run,” I say absently, irrelevantly, riveted by the story.
“Well that was the last straw, of course; this is my place, so I couldn’t just stand there and watch this all play out like it was happening on a stage. I was scared to my toes, but I ran out to the floor anyway, toward the crowd, which by now was frothing into a panic. I’m yelling at this crazed monster, my voice deep, cursing. And I come up behind him and grab the back of his coat, right at the base of his neck.”
Gus swallows hard and refills his glass immediately. He holds the bottle up to see if I’m ready for another but I wave him off.
“Feeling the yank of my hand on the back of his coat, the guy...well, I guess you could only call it a scream. And I know I keep using these animal references, but it sounded like, I don’t know, a horse dying? A cow maybe? Only much worse. I can’t accurately describe it, but I’ve never heard the sound before or since. Except in my dreams, of course.”
“Jesus,” I whisper.
Gus nods. “I’m not sure even He could have loved this guy.”
I smile at Gus’ joke. The more I hear his story the more I like the surly bartender. “Then what happened? After he starts screaming?”
“He spins away from me, twisting out of my grasp and doing a complete revolution until he’s back facing me. He pauses for a just a second and then continues screaming again, only this time right in my face. His breath was putrid, like the milk he’d just drank had rotted in his mouth. And his teeth were long and jagged, like daggers. I realized then that that was why his smile was so terrifying: his teeth were way too big for his mouth.”
I swallow and look away, instinctively covering my mouth. I’ve heard that description before.
“What do you know, kid?”
I shake off the question. “Nothing. Not really. Not about this guy anyway.”
I can see Gus preparing to pursue my response but he ultimately lets it stand.
“Is that it?” I compel. “What happened after that? Did he attack you or anything?”
Gus shakes his head. “No. He stopped screaming pretty abruptly and then just stood there staring at me for a few seconds, looking me up and down, studying me. And then he smiled again. Like everything he’d just done was a joke and he was now revealing it. I didn’t smile back and I didn’t give up any ground. Instead I just say to him, ‘Leave now and never come back to my bar. And if you do step foot in here again, I’ll be sure to introduce you to a very close friend of mine. He’s got about ten inches sawed off him and will put a nice round hole in your chest.’”
“Nice line, Fritzy.”
“Trust me, I didn’t feel as brave as the words that came out of me, and I don’t even know if he knew what I was talking about. Because after I said it, he kind of squinted at me, and his smile dipped a bit, like he knew it was some kind of a threat but not the exact nature of it.”
“So he left?”
“He started to. He walked past me, brushing me a bit, heading toward the door without looking back at me. And then when he reaches the door, just before he touches the knob as he’s reaching for it, he stops and stares back at me. At all of us.”
Gus points across the room.
“We were all crowded back against this wall over here, like we were taking shelter from a storm. Then the man says in that same scratchy, high-pitched, awful voice, ‘My name is Gromus, and if my source ever comes to you, ever enters this establishment, I will know of it. And I will be back to murder everyone in here at the time. If that be necessary.’”
I stare hard at Gus, who senses some recognition in my eyes, some relationship with the story he’s just told to me. I try to deflect. “That couldn’t have been good for business.”
Gus looks around the empty bar and then back to me. “I’m going to ask you again friend: what do you know?”
I refill my glass one last time. I’ve consumed a lot of alcohol by now, but my tolerance and the magnitude of Gus’ story has me feeling as sober as a minister. “I don’t know anything about Gromus, but...Gretel Morgan is my sister, Gus. Anika Morgan was my mother.”
“The shit you say.” The words come out of Gus in a breathy gasp.
“Gromus is after my sister. At least, she believes that to be true. So I’m here to find out who he is and where he might be. And to stop him if that becomes necessary.”
“But why did you come here? How could you have known that he was ever here?”
“Stories go both ways, Gus. The story of Marlene made its way to you, and it seems the tale of Gromus has wings as well. I arrived in this land just this morning, and as I began to ask about Gromus, your establishment came up in conversation more than once.”
“Marlene. You asked if I knew the story of Marlene. Why? What does Gromus have to do with Marlene? And why is he after your sister?”
I look at Gus, my eyes half open and my expression flat. “I don’t know exactly, but Marlene and Gromus seem to have some things in common. Besides just being horrible people, I mean. And being ugly.”
Gus snickers. “What else?”
I’m lost in thought now, thinking about Gus’ story. In particular, about Gromus’ quest for his ‘Source.’ I feel a wave of nausea come over me and I stand to leave. “Maybe everything, Gus. Everything that matters.”
I LAY SEVERAL BILLS on the table—both for the drinks I owe and for Gus’ time—and start for the door. Gus is half asleep at the table, exhausted from the retelling of his Night of Gromus. I stop at the threshold. “You going to be okay, Fritzy?”
“My name is Gus,” he replies without looking up.
I smile. “Gus? Are you okay?”
“Why does your sister think Gromus is after her?”
“I’m not sure exactly. She mentioned him in a letter, but she didn’t go into much detail. But after hearing your sto
ry, I’d say she’s almost certainly right.”
“Where will you go now...uh...?” Gus stammers, searching for my name; the diehard fans of the stories of Gretel and Marlene would remember it, but not the casual ones.
“Hansel, Fritzy. My name is Hansel. And these mountains you speak of, the ones the tourists are always looking for?”
Gus nods. “The Koudeheuvals. They’re all around us.”
“I’m going to start there. I’m going to find Gretel.”
Chapter 2
I knock on the back window of the pickup truck and raise my voice. “How much longer?”
The driver just shrugs and points to the road ahead. The landscape is barren, and we haven’t passed another car for at least fifty miles. I’m cold, praying for the sun to rise, but I’m no astronomer and don’t have a clock to tell me when the shivers will end. The driver was kind enough to pick me up, but not so kind as to send his dog to the bed so that I may ride in the passenger’s seat.
I pull a small bottle of scotch from the inside of my jacket pocket and take a swig, then another. I realize my drinking is a problem, but not one I’m quite ready to deal with today. Or tomorrow. Soon though. Maybe.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, and just before I drift, I see an image of my mother’s hand sinking below the surface of a lake.
I AWAKEN TO A BLANKET of darkness and the smell of autumn. The truck is still moving, and I knock again on the back window. “When do we get to Stedwick Village?”
The man raises his thumb tall and points it back over his shoulder. “Stedwick.”
“We passed it?”
“Stedwick,” he says again, heaving his thumb in the same direction.
“Stop!” I scream and bang on the window. “Dammit, stop!” The dog lifts his head from the seat and stares at me for a moment, and then lowers it back down on the torn leather.
The driver pulls to the shoulder and I hop from the bed, still groggy from sleep and liquor, and I walk to the driver’s window hoping to find out where I am or at least to give him a sour look and a couple of impolite words. But before I reach the window he pulls away; the truck’s taillights dim and impotent as they fade into the blackness ahead.
The Gretel Series: Books 1-3 (Gretel #1-3) Page 60