Grimm and Grimmer: Volume One Read online

  'Ok,' said Frank, 'we’ll stick to the tall tower then.' He made a note on the legal pad. 'Now there’s the question of whether or not you could actually climb her hair without pulling the young lady out through the window, or pulling her hair right out.' He lifted a pencil thoughtfully. 'I suppose I could fashion some sort of pulley system.'

  'Once you start incorporating machinery like that it stops being so much a fairy tale. A fantasy maybe, but not the sort that I had in mind,' muttered the witch. 'Besides, it’s not very romantic.'

  'But a bald maiden is? If she gets her hair all pulled out she’ll be a damsel in distress alright.'

  Mistress Gothel sighed. 'Fine, fine, a pulley system is fine.' She glanced down at the frog, which had climbed into the bowl of raisins and was croaking happily as it ate them.

  'Alright then,' said Frank, scribbling furiously at the page in front of him, 'the next question I need to ask is: what will the tower be used for?'

  The witch sat up a little straighter in her chair. 'Business,' she said proudly. 'One with a great track record I might add. I run a dating company.'

  'A dating company?'

  'Yes. We specialise in matching damsels with men of royal descent.' She smiled and took a long drink of pond water. 'We find that in urban areas it’s impossible for young women to meet eligible men, but put them somewhere inaccessible like a tower in the middle of a forest or a castle with a dragon and suddenly you’re tripping over princes.'

  'That’s genius,' Frank whistled, genuinely impressed. He lifted a pen and made a note. 'Buildings used for business purposes have different laws than domestic buildings; number of bathrooms, disability access, food areas, things like that.'

  Mistress Gothel sighed. 'To be frank, I don’t really care that much about all of that. All I want is a tall tower with a little window. I’m a little too busy to worry about all of the ins and outs. Can’t I just give you the specifications, sign the forms and leave you to sort out the fine detail?'

  Frank smiled. 'I’m sure that I can manage that.'

  After an hour of hashing out the details Frank and Mistress Gothel stood up and shook hands, once again crushing Frank’s fingers, but he wasn’t upset, it had been one of the easiest commissions that he’d ever had, he’d never been given quite such a free rein before.

  The witch lifted the frog from the bowl, tucking it under her arm. It croaked angrily, shooting out its tongue to grab a few last raisins. 'Thank you Frank. I’ll get the financial side organised and then we can get on with this fairy tale.'

  'I’m looking forward to it,' said Frank, already planning the tower in his head. 'One more thing, isn’t Rapunzel a type of lettuce?'

  She paused in the doorway. 'Yes,' she said, 'what’s your point? It makes as much sense as naming someone after their cloak or their sleeping pattern.'

  Or chimney soot for that matter, he added in his head as he shouted for Cindy to show their customer out.

  ***

  Once upon a time in a faraway land there was a tall tower in the middle of a forest. The tower had no stairs or doors, just one little window high up on the side of the building. In the tower lived a beautiful maiden with enchanted hair, which - after a false start when an Afro-Caribbean hair spell had been accidentally used - was long and flowing, fine as gold and as strong as rope.

  Every day a witch would walk to the tower and shout up, 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,' and Rapunzel - using a specially installed pulley system - would let down her long golden hair for the witch to climb up it.

  One day the witch came to the tower with a basket of food, and shouted up to the window. 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.' She waited and waited, but there was no answer. Angrily the witch shouted up again. 'Rapunzel, let down your stupid hair!' There was still no reply.

  After a few minutes, the witch lifted her broomstick - which she could have done all along, rather than worrying about the whole hair debacle - and floated up to the window. Inside Rapunzel was nowhere to be seen. The witch looked all around the tower, but Rapunzel wasn’t there. She’d escaped down the fire escape - which had been included in its construction to ensure that the tower complied with building safety codes.

  'Bollocks,' said the witch, slumping down into a chair. 'There goes my track record and my bonus.' Rapunzel’s parents would not be pleased. If their daughter was escaping alone through the forest she would almost certainly meet a wood-cutter or a bunch of dwarves; not the right crowd at all.

  'Umm... excuse me?' said a posh voice. The witch turned around to find a prince standing in the tower. 'Umm... I heard that there was a damsel in distress up here,' he said, trying to disentangle his cloak from his sword so that he could swish it dramatically.

  'You’re late,' the witch snapped. She sighed and lifted her frog off the table and thrust it into his hands. 'Here, meet Gretel. She’ll have to do. Pucker up.'

  And they all lived happily ever after, except for the Small Bad Wolf, who lost his court case.

  The End

  Hannah Lackoff

  Hannah has a BFA in English with a Creative Writing Concentration from Wheaton College in Massachusetts. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and has been published or upcoming in Spark, Pinball, Kaleidotrope, 34th Parallel, The Goose River Anthology, 10,000 Tons of Black Ink, 10,00 Tons of Black Ink “Best Of” Volume II, and Bourbon Penn, and has been performed at Wheaton College. She currently lives in Colorado.

  Hannah says 'I love fairy tale retellings. 'Beast' was inspired by Beauty and the Beast and includes some subtler pieces of other fairy tales, (in particular 'The Juniper Tree') as well as some of my favourite fairy tale tropes. I am particularly interested in the idea of evil in traditional fairy tales, and what it might be like if that evil doesn’t seem evil at all. Fairy tales usually have such clear divisions between good and evil, and I find Beauty and the Beast especially fascinating because it does not. Is the Beast good or evil? Did the witch who changed him to a beast do something good or something bad? And what about Beauty's father, who sends his daughter to (possibly) die in his place? In 'Beast' I sought to explore these issues, and maybe muddy the waters even more.

  Beast

  by Hannah Lackoff

  Her father got her the job, and while she wasn’t thrilled about it, she decided to take it for his sake. Abelard had had horrific luck with jobs; he was fired often and quit more often. He had a habit of leaving one job when a new one that remotely interested him appeared, regardless of whether or not he had already been hired. This one was easy enough; he had been employed as a live in nanny for three weeks over the summer. It paid absurdly well for what was basically a glorified baby-sitting job, which was the initial reason he had taken it. Abelard had liked the couple, and especially the advance payment they had given him, which he had already spent. Now, however, he was ready to quit. It had been one day, and the child’s parents hadn’t even left town yet. They had had a hard time finding a nanny and he had already signed the contract. Unless he was able to find someone to take his place, they told him, he was not allowed to quit.

  That was where Junie came in. She was the baby of the family; his only daughter left living at home. He had named her Geneva, which meant Juniper, and Lucille, which meant shining. His shining flower he used to call her. Geneva was shortened to Junie, from Juniper, when the other children had trouble saying their sister’s name.

  The house had felt empty without them, so Abelard had moved himself and his daughter to a smaller place outside of town. 'The cottage' he called it. Although she would never tell him, Junie missed the open hallways and empty rooms of their old house. She couldn’t stand to be home alone while Abelard worked, and the rooms in the old house had reminded her of the clatter and noise her brothers and sisters had made. There was so much life in that old house, with its high ceilings and long staircase. She could feel the drafts of air through all the windows in the winter. It was never warm enough, and she would have to pile the bed with quilts wh
en winter came. Winter in the cottage was dull and hot. A single fire could heat the entire house.

  So she took the job. The child is a terror, Abelard warned her, but she tried not to mind. Anyone could be better company than this lonely little cottage, she told herself. She regretted leaving Abelard home for three weeks by himself, but he assured her he could handle it. In truth, she knew he would have even more trouble with the empty cottage than she would. At least in the old house he could miss all of his children, but they had never lived here with him. Here it had only been Abelard and Junie, a cozy family of two; as cozy as the fire in the winter made all the rooms. A little too cozy. It was time to leave.

  She didn’t have a car, so Abelard brought her to the Pritchers’ house in his beat up station wagon; its silver paint chipping, wheel wells rusting, her two suitcases perched on the backseat behind them. When they got to the Pritchers’, she couldn’t stop staring. The house was enormous; bigger than the one she and Abelard had moved from. There was a three car garage, and a cupola perched on the top of the third story. When she and Abelard brought her bags up to the porch, she examined the immaculate paint job in wonderment. How was it possible to keep a house this big in such good condition? Even with seven children helping out, their old house had fallen into disrepair.

  ***

  Mr. and Mrs. Pritchers were waiting for her at front door. They were both dressed in severe gray suits; Mrs. Pritchers with a straight fitting skirt, and Mr. Pritchers with a yellow tie.

  'Is this her, Abelard?' Mrs. Pritchers asked. She was a stick-like, fiercely worried looking woman with an enormous knot of graying hair perched on the back of her head.

  'My daughter,' Abelard announced, looking worried himself, 'Geneva.'

  'She’s a bit young, isn’t she?' Mrs. Pritchard smoothed her skirt over her thighs, glancing behind her at something Junie couldn’t see.

  'I’m nearly twenty,' Junie cut in before her father could speak. 'I’m very responsible. You don’t have to worry about me.'

  'She’s a bit small, isn’t she?' Mrs. Pritchers looked to Abelard.

  'She’s stronger than she looks,' he assured her.

  'Yes.' Junie chimed in, thinking of the light housekeeping part of the job description. She was used to hard work; lifting and moving furniture and cookware wouldn’t bother her.

  'But is she strong enough?' It was the first time Mr. Pritchers had spoken. He had a gravely voice and a large gray mustache that matched his suit and hid his upper lip, giving him an appearance not unlike a puppet with a hinged jaw.

  'She’ll be fine.' Abelard put his arm around his daughter. 'I know my Junie.'

  Mr. Pritchers nodded begrudgingly, and picked up one of her bags. Junie began to follow her father inside, when Mrs. Pritchers turned around.

  'Abelard.' she said, her high voice arrogant, 'I believe your work here is done. You have transferred the terms of your contract, and are free to go.'

  Abelard was suddenly looking less than confident.

  'Look-' he said, 'Maybe I was too hasty- maybe I shouldn’t have quit on you like that.'

  'Maybe,' Mrs. Pritchers placed herself between Abelard and the doorway, 'you should go now.' Her insect hands made shooing motions. Abelard’s eyes were fearful when he lunged past her and grabbed his daughter in a fleeting embrace.

  'Call me,' he whispered in her ear, 'I love you.' Then he was down the steps and into the silver station wagon and away.

  'Come along.' Mrs. Pritchers picked up the suitcase and led the way into the house. Nervous now, Junie followed behind, expecting dark corners and mysterious shadows. Instead, the rooms were bright and open, though not so distinctly empty as the ones her siblings had left behind. Mrs. Pritchers led her through numerous hallways and back entrances until Junie had completely lost her bearings. There seemed to be no sign of Mr. Pritchers. Eventually they came to an enormously lush room with bay windows and a canopy bed. Her other suitcase was on the chest at the foot of the bed; evidently Mr. Pritchers was around somewhere.

  'Here is your room.' Mrs. Pritchers set the bag down next to the other one. 'I believe you will find this setting adequate. You are not to sleep anywhere else in the house. If you should find you need something, there is a list of phone numbers by the phone on the table. You may use anything you find in the closets while you are here. Your meals will be provided for you by the cook, there is no need for you to make anything yourself. Feel free to explore the house, but I would implore you not to remove anything from any of the other rooms.' Junie started to relax a little more. She wasn’t sure why Abelard had quit this job, but she was finding herself glad that he did. Her first real job, her first real time away from home, and it didn’t seem like it could get much better than this.

  She noticed Mrs. Pritchers watching her, and felt obliged to say something.

  'No problem.' She wondered why she would want to sleep in any other room. The one they had provided her was lovely.

  'You’re a pretty little girl, Geneva.' Mrs. Pritchers grabbed her chin between her fingers and looked Junie in the face. Mrs. Pritchers had alarmingly black eyes which scoured Junie’s skin. 'He’ll like you. Edward,' she motioned with her free hand. 'Bring Geneva the keys, if you will.'

  Mr. Pritchers came forth and dangled an enormous chain in front of Junie’s face.

  'These are his keys.' he said. 'Come over here and I’ll show you how to use them.'

  Puzzled, Junie followed him to the wall of the room furthest from the door. Behind a tapestry of a fox hunt, there was a door with three locks.

  'This is where he lives.' Mr. Pritchers said. 'You have to unlock them from top to bottom. The door will lock again behind you, so don’t go in without bringing the key ring in with you. Here, give it a go.' He handed Junie the keys, and she set about learning which one went to which lock. When the lowest one clicked open, Mr. Pritchers put an arm out, stopping her from turning the handle.

  'Not yet,' he said, 'let her do it.' He pushed Junie back so Mrs. Pritchers could come forward. She opened the door and stepped inside the room beyond it. Mr. Pritchers took his arm away and Junie stepped forward after her.

  The room beyond the tapestry was shaped more like a hallway than an actual room. Ceiling lights made the off-white walls glow yellow. At the top of the wall at the far end was a little rectangular window through which the sky was almost visible. It looked like a prison.

  Instead of a real bed, there was a futon cushion spread out on the floor. On top of it, sitting nestled in a tangle of sheets and blankets, was a boy. He had tousled black hair bordering on shaggy, which curled around all over his head, falling to hide his face and neck. He was wiry and thin; taller than her and strong looking.

  'Geneva, this is Eden.' Mrs. Pritchers made the introductions. 'Eden, Geneva is going to be your new caretaker. Isn’t that lovely?' Her voice was false and higher than it had been. Eden Pritchers raised his head, and Junie saw the same black eyes that she had seen in his mother, but wild and feral.

  She took a step backward, but Mr. Pritchers was there and he grabbed her and pushed her forward again, forward and towards the beast with the animal eyes and bush child hair, towards three weeks of horrible company when she could have been alone with her father or alone with her thoughts in a cozy cottage with a nice fireplace and a little room all to her own, her blessed own, with nothing living in the walls besides maybe a few harmless insects, and now she saw why it was her father hadn’t wanted to keep such a well paying baby sitting job - because it wasn’t a baby at all it was a full grown horrible thing.

  The thing looked her in the eyes and held out its hand. Automatically she took it and stuttered out a 'nice to meet you.' The creature - Eden - didn’t speak, but squeezed her hand and let go. She found she wanted to wipe off her palm on her jeans, but held back the urge.

  'Eden is not to go out of the room, except for dinner.' Mrs. Pritchers was stroking her son’s hair as she would a cat. 'Every night at precisely nine you are to open the three loc
ks and take Eden’s hand and lead him down to the dining hall where Elisa will have dinner waiting for you. All of his other meals Elisa will prepare and you will unlock the door for her to go in and bring his food to him. He is served breakfast at ten and lunch at two. After your dinner is finished, you will lead him back here and set him in his room again.'

  Scenes of endless monotony mixed with sheer terror passed in front of Junie’s eyes.

  Only scenes of Junie Geneva Lucille passed in front of the eyes of the beast.

  ***

  The Pritchers left Junie alone with Eden after sharing lunch with the girl and showing her the way from the bedroom to the dining hall. Elisa the cook was a large quiet woman with big hair who made them excellent sandwiches and then left them alone. Soon it was only Junie left, who unpacked her two suitcases and spent the afternoon wandering the house, trying to enjoy the feeling of spaciousness she had missed so much, but all she could think about was what would happen at nine o’clock when she had to let Eden out of his cage.

  When at last the hour came, she had worried herself into a graveyard of mental exhaustion and was almost glad to fumble with the keys again.

  When she opened the door, he was standing in front of his bed, shirt half tucked in and barefoot.

  'Hello,' she said. 'Hello, Eden. I’m Junie, remember me? I’m staying with you 'til your parents come home again.' She stopped speaking, but he didn’t say anything, Maybe he couldn’t speak. She continued talking, just trying to fill the silence. 'We’re going to go to dinner now, okay Eden? I’m going to take your hand, and we’re going to go to the dining hall and Elisa is going to bring us our dinners.' She held out her hand to the beast, and he took it willingly, almost eagerly. His hand was warm and dry, and felt utterly human. Still he didn’t say anything, so she made mindless chatter all the way down to the dining room. When they stepped through the door, Eden let go of her hand and ran to one of the chairs and climbed into it. Unsure what to do, she took the seat opposite him. Elisa brought their dinners, and Junie nervously began to eat.