Grimm (5 page)

His journey had started with a surprise. Opening the front door he had nearly stood on a package sitting on the step. A short note was taped to the box.

Inside he found a pair of binoculars. Rory was very taken aback that Bonnie was prepared to communicate with him at all, let alone willing to trust him with such great-looking equipment. His unwillingness to talk to her in the playground had obviously not put her off. It felt good that someone was taking an interest and so it was with more of a spring in his step that he had set off.

Beads of sweat were beginning to surface on Rory’s forehead as, three quarters of an hour later, he reached the huge flat rock ledge that jutted out like a giant step on Scrab Hill, a short distance below the hotel.

Stopping for a rest he settled himself with his feet dangling over the edge and caught his breath as he surveyed the landscape below. He had never realized what a fantastic view there was from here. Rory could see how Aberfintry nestled in a landscape of green rolling hills with the sparkling ribbon of the River Fintry threading through it. From the town, it seemed that all you saw was the hill topped by the dark monstrosity of Hotel Grimm. Up on the hill itself and looking the other way, this was no longer a problem. Rory could see for miles and miles.

“Why don’t people come up here more often?” he thought to himself as he took in the sweeping view. Just then a sharp gust of
cold wind made him shiver and he shuddered as it hummed and moaned in the cable car wires above his head. He looked upwards to see the silhouette of Hotel Grimm and answered his own question.

Whilst the view from the ledge was spectacular, the rock formation had its own eyesore. A wrecked building stood at one end, within the half cave created by a massive overhang of rock. Curtain tatters hung in the shabby window frames, a clutter of furniture had been shovelled into a heap at one end, and there were stained and dried-out fish tanks piled around.

Turning away, Rory pulled out Bonnie’s binoculars and focused on the town below, scanning his way through the streets. It wasn’t long before he had picked out his own house and bedroom window. He wondered if he should have left some kind of a note explaining about his trip up Scrab Hill and everything that had led up to it.

As he looked a familiar car came into view, crawling painfully slowly with its Learner Driver sign on top. He imagined his father inside with a perspiring student struggling to master the basics of being behind the wheel. He turned his attention towards the edge of the town, resting eventually on the cable car station at the foot of Scrab Hill. There was movement as a hunched figure trudged round the outside of the building. Rory knew straightaway that it must be Stobo, the hermit-like mechanic who was solely responsible for the fact that the cable car was still in working condition. Even from this distance, Rory could see that he was wearing overalls and heavy boots, his squat figure topped off with a flat cap. Occasionally, Stobo appeared in town dressed like this, moving through the streets like some odd beetle that had briefly emerged into daylight before discovering that it wanted to retreat under a rock.

As Stobo disappeared back inside the cable car station, Rory returned the binoculars to his backpack and pulled out a snack, deciding to get a boost of energy before the final bit of the climb. He took a big bite out of a banana and flicked the ring-pull on a can of Zizz.

“Morning.”

Rory jumped at the sound of a voice nearby, a large lump of
banana lodging in his throat as he did so. Coughing and choking, he jerked around, knocking over his drink, but he couldn’t see where the greeting had come from.

“Not speaking then?”

Rory’s eyes flickered around the ledge but again he failed to identify the source.

“I can’t see you,” he said swallowing hard.

“Over here,” said the voice.

Rory turned to a pile of boulders close to the derelict building. A small whiskery man in a hairy coat and an equally hairy pointed hat was perched on a rock watching him with a thin smile. He was caressing a large rat and had two more sitting on either shoulder. As Rory watched, other rats poked their heads out from his pockets and from behind his back, as if to see who the man was talking to.

Rory had heard of dog owners looking like their dogs, but the man in front of him seemed to have acquired many of the characteristics of the rats. His long sharp nose twitched and sniffed the air in the same quick, jerky manner, and he had whiskers on his cheeks and tiny round pink ears. Rory half-expected him to stand up and reveal a ropey tail flapping below the hem of his unusual coat. With so many rats crawling over the little man, Rory tried hard not to feel squeamish, and his unease was soon spotted.

“What’s the matter?” said the man pointedly.

Rory looked away in silent embarrassed response.

“You seem to be staring at me — it’s rude,” the man snapped.

“It’s just … em … I’m just not used to seeing rats … I mean, I’ve never  seen so many at one time,” said Rory.

“Oh, here we go. I thought, since you had at least made the effort to come up the hill, that you might think a little differently from that lot down in the town,” snipped the man.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, Mr …?” Rory left the question hanging in the hope that he could change the subject.

The man stood up and did a theatrical bow removing his hairy hat and revealing the wispy top of a balding head. “Ramsay Sandilands at your service,” he declared.

“I’m Rory…Rory McKenna. I live down there,” he said nodding at Aberfintry. The man inclined his head as if to note that this was not new information. “Do you live near here?” Rory added.

“I have a room at the hotel,” said the man. “I work there.”

“I suppose your friends are quite at home in a place like that?” asked Rory nodding towards the rats.

The atmosphere frosted over again as Ramsay pulled himself upright. “Oh and why would that be? What are you implying might I ask?”

“Well rats aren’t normally too fussy about where they live, are they?” said Rory aware that he might be stepping into hot water. Ramsay gathered his coat around himself and herded the rats closer to him in a protective bundle.

“Here we go, boys…same old attitudes all over again. Just as I suspected.” A dozen pink noses twitched up at him as he spoke. Ramsay sighed. “People get so hysterical. It’s pathetic. You’ve all got it wrong you know, Rory McKenna,” he said.

“Are you trying to say that rats get a bad press?” Rory asked incredulously.

“Bad press? Bad press?!” squeaked Ramsay in an ever higher voice. “Oh let me see what words would normally be used to describe rats? Filthy … scavenging … disease-carrying … vermin …”

“Um … are they not all true?” said Rory tentatively.

Ramsay puffed his thin frame out to give importance to his statement. “Rats are naturally clean animals, soiled only by man’s environment.”

Rory would often let things pass if they seemed too much trouble, but he felt quite strongly about this one. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said. “But rats don’t exactly have a great reputation in relation to the human population, do they?”

Ramsay looked away and mumbled something about the “little bubonic plague episode.”

“Little bubonic plague episode!” said Rory. “I’ve heard of “putting a positive spin on things” but that’s a bit rich. If I remember
my school project correctly, about twenty-five million people died because of it!”

Ramsay hopped off his rock in agitation.

“It wasn’t the rats that carried the disease it was fleas! They just happened to travel about on rats. The rats were innocent and have taken the blame for too long.”

As Ramsay came closer, Rory noticed that his hairy coat sported a campaign lapel badge. The logo of a silhouette of a rat sported the message, “We didn’t do it!” Ramsay’s face broke into a lopsided grin. “Maybe we need some marketing genius to help us improve our profile. Do you happen to know one?”

Rory frowned at Ramsay’s knowledge of his reputation as the little man continued. “Talking of disasters and death … I believe that you’re up here for a big meeting at Hotel Grimm?”

“How do you know what I’m up here for?” said Rory, perplexed that halfway up a hillside a small whiskery man with pockets full of rodents knew the contents of his diary.

Ramsay tapped his nose with a long pink finger. “I work there remember,” he said with a nod towards the mist-shrouded hilltop. “It’s time for some change and you are thought to be the man for the job. You’ve even brought evidence of the brilliant mind that’s going to help them,” he said pointing to Rory’s can of Zizz. “It’s a rare thing to see a visitor coming to the hotel these days.” Ramsay smiled revealing sharp pointed teeth. “The Grimm’s guest book does have an unfashionably high and rather off-putting body count.”

“So I’ve read,” said Rory. “So what is the story? What makes it such an evil place?”

“Evil?” said Ramsay in derision. He started laughing and as he did so the rats began squeaking uncontrollably. “I do apologise,” he said after taking some time to compose himself and his pets. “That was extremely rude of me. Disorganized it may be. Grubby in places it certainly is —although not in my part of the building. Evil it is most certainly not!”

“So what about the small matter of dead guests, poltergeists and beasts?” asked Rory.

“There has been a run of … misfortune,” said Ramsay seeming to choose the word carefully.

“Misfortune?” said Rory. “It certainly is a bit unlucky if you’re one of the ones who didn’t make it out alive. Isn’t there more to it than that?”

“Well …,” said Ramsay, pondering before speaking again. “Some would say that the misfortune is a direct result of the Curse of the Stonemason.”

“Curse … what curse?” asked Rory.

Ramsay’s eyes narrowed. “You seem a little bit unprepared for your meeting if the Curse of the Stonemason is news to you. You’ll see some signs of it if you go a little further on. You can’t miss the wolf waiting to greet you as you approach the front door.”

Rory opened his mouth to speak but was cut off before he could ask for further explanation.

“Much as I would love to sit here and tell stories, it really is time I departed.” Ramsay pulled a watch from the depths of his coat. A dozen noses twitched up at him in anticipation. “Boys, we must be off”, he said pulling his coat together. “You must excuse me,” said Ramsay addressing Rory. “I have something to take out of the oven.”

Rory was trying to imagine what this straggly man in a hairy coat with a rat hanging from every limb might be about to remove from an oven. Then it occurred to him where he had read the name Ramsay Sandilands in the last few days.

“You’re the pancake man! You did the world record with Lachlan Stagg. I remember now.”

Ramsay gave a slow nod, clearly pleased at being recognised. “That is I,” he said. “And now I am the chef at Hotel Grimm.”

“So what’s in the oven?” asked Rory trying to hide his discomfort at the rat owner’s revelation.

Ramsay pulled himself up proudly. “Today we have Broccoli and Cheese soup followed by Shepherd’s Pie, with Summer Fruits Pavlova to finish. I would humbly suggest that it is likely to be some of the finest food you have eaten in a long time.”

Rory couldn’t help wondering whether Shepherd’s Pie made at
Hotel Grimm would actually have bits of shepherds in it.

“Well I hope to have the pleasure some time,” he said as politely as he could.

Ramsay made a theatrical closing bow.

“I do wish you all the very best with your meeting,” he said. “A genius is what is required. Let us hope you are the one.”

Watching Ramsay skip his way through the rocks and disappear Rory forgot for a moment why he was perched on the side of Scrab Hill, and then with a start and a glance at his watch he realized that he had just twenty minutes to get up to the hotel for his appointment. Packing up and throwing on his backpack, Rory set off at a fast pace, fearful of the consequences if he were to turn up late. Thanks to Ramsay Sandilands, he was now feeling even more apprehensive with the prospect of an imminent encounter with a wolf and a curse.

Just above the ledge he passed the upper cable car station. The eerie whistling of the wind in the empty building made him pick up speed. Onwards, upwards and as quickly as the rough stony surface would allow, Rory finally puffed his way around a large boulder and stopped in his tracks. He was only about thirty metres from the hotel, the last bit of the path being formed by huge, jagged slabs of slate zig-zagging up to the front door. In front of him, lying on its side at edge of the path, was an enormous snarling wolf carved in stone in the act of leaping on some unseen prey. The fearsome creature’s head reminded Rory of the emblem on the letter that had commanded him to attend the meeting in the first place.

It seemed an odd place for the statue to be, almost as though it had been discarded there. Rory stepped closer. It occurred to him that among the deaths he had read about, one involved an elderly guest being scared to death by a wolf statue. Whatever the story was, the statue was magnificent. Despite being carved in stone, the fur appeared to have a soft texture, while the ferocious head was too life-like for comfort, even though the lolling tongue and some of the teeth had broken off. Rory was clear now about the wolf mentioned by Ramsay Sandilands, but he was none the wiser about the Curse
of the Stonemason.

The creak of rusty chains distracted him for a moment, and Rory looked up to see a battered wooden sign, on which he could just make out the wording: “Hotel Grimm. Aberfintry’s Finest.”

Rory swallowed hard as he began to walk up the steps that led to a vast wooden door. By the time he reached the black stone walls it was set into, he seemed to have stepped into deep shadow and a shiver passed through him. Above him, frozen in stone, was a fearsome leering gargoyle that looked down and mocked him as he stood on the top step. The enormous iron door knocker, was another wolf’s head and Rory toyed with the idea of running straight back down the hill, diving through his front door and hiding under his duvet. Then he remembered the one fear that was greater than being here. Not being here. What would happen to him if he didn’t turn up?