The Grimm Chronicles, Vol.1 (12 page)

We kept our distance, doing our best to not be spotted.

Briar thinks this is a foolish idea.

August 27, 1934

I write this at sunset, expecting another very long night. Briar is sitting with me underneath a large ash tree, no worse for wear, although his vest will need some stitching. I myself have been forced to discard one of my blouses and am waiting patiently for another one to dry as it hangs from a low-hanging branch. Rain has drenched the area.

Two days ago, the king found us. We’d been following him, but of course in my stupid moment of cockiness I discounted the king’s hunting skills … he’s been alive for over a hundred years, after all. We escaped, doubling back and covering our tracks. Hopefully, it will be enough to throw him off. Briar is not hopeful, and for good reason.

How long has this king hunted his princess and any other manner of earthly creatures? Given his decent aim, I would bet a long time.

After all, what’s a Corrupted to do once their story is over?

In the tale of
All-Kinds-Of-Fur
, the king tries to marry his daughter, but the princess flees and hides away in another castle, taking on kitchen duties. The princess is of course quite beautiful, and she hides her identity underneath different furs. But then one day the king of this new castle throws a big party and the princess sneaks a peek. The king falls madly in love with her and a happily-ever-after ending is of course in the cards.

It’s all quite wonderful, except after the Brothers Grimm brought the story to life and it reached its conclusion … what then?

Then the princess begins to change. All of the furs that she wore … they began to attach themselves to her. The animal hides became part of her body. She ran away from her king, not uncommon among the Grimms’ princesses. They flee once their tale ends and the princes and kings begin to treat them in the way royalty always treated their wives: like dirt.

Now, 100 years later, this princess is no longer a princess.

And she has been hunting us.

August 28, 1934

(Entry torn apart)

August 29, 1934

We heard the king’s cries late in the evening and I quickly drew a spear in the trunk of a tall oak, pulling it free and running foolishly toward the sound. Just as I had done the night before, when I first met the princess and nearly died. Only this time, I was ready for the monstrous creature to attack me. But she had other concerns.

She was in a clearing, doing battle with her father, who fired off three successive rounds with his gun to no effect. The creature was as large as a buffalo, standing upright, with a bear’s face and dark eyes that glowed in the moonlight. It was as if someone had squished both animals together and then thrown their hides over a woman’s body. Even the king seemed afraid of her.

I was not.

“Be careful!” Briar called out from behind a massive pine tree’s trunk. Ever the brave companion, that one.

I gripped my spear, watching the creature’s father attempt to wrestle the great beast to the ground. I had no idea whom to root for. The creature that had once been a princess wrapped her thick, bear-like claws around her father’s hands. Her father grimaced in the moonlight, then roared.

His daughter roared back. Her rope-like tail whipped side to side. I saw my opening. I charged forward, holding out my spear. The creature’s ear flicked once, then twice. She turned, pulling her father directly in my path. My spear ran him through and he burned away like a page of paper.

We stood, facing each other. If there was any remorse over her father’s death, the creature was unable or unwilling to show it.

She stood two feet taller than me, breathing heavily, her furry barrel chest rising and falling. She looked hungry.

And then a cloud passed over the moon. The creature backed away, disappearing into the pitch-black forest. I called out to Briar, and he shouted down to me from the top of a nearby tree.

“That won’t save you!” I called back. “She can probably climb trees!”

“Well, maybe I can drop something on her head before she gets to me!” he called down.

I clutched my spear, trying to search the darkness. I had this terrible feeling wash over me: what if this was what she’d wanted all along? She’d been able to avoid her father all these years, and it had been me she’d been hunting for days on end. And then I’d seen them in the clearing and I’d charged in just as I had the last time I’d seen her.

And I’d done what she had never been willing to do.

Now she was out there, hunting me on her terms. Playing on my fear. There was just one problem: I was not afraid. I had lost my fear long ago, when it seemed as if Death was at my door every single day. I had no door. I had no home. I spent every night sleeping between buildings in downtown Chicago, fending for myself. The Great Depression had taken it from me. Two years of scrounging for scraps of food, homeless, running from police officers and angry shopkeepers who didn’t want me searching their garbage … it had drained me of fear.

“I think we’ve been lured into a trap!” Briar called out.

“Always the sharp one,” I said sarcastically. I cursed myself again for being so brazen and reckless. We’d been so patient up until this point, waiting for her to strike when we had the high ground. We’d done so much planning and now here I was, prey for a monstrous creature that had once been a beautiful princess.

A snap of a twig brought me back quickly. I spun around, my eyes squinting in the hopes that I might see more. It did not help, and as another cloud passed over the moon, the clearing darkened.

A low growl. I turned again, forcing the breaths to come slowly. I felt no fear. I had nothing to lose. My parents were dead. Friends … I had just one, and he was hiding away in a tree. In just a few short days, I would be married to a man I didn’t love, who no doubt expected children. He was my very own Prince Charming, and our ending would be just as troublesome as the ones in fairy tales.

“It’s good to be afraid,” Briar had told me once. “What you must do is conquer that fear.”

“But I
have
no fear,” I insisted. He didn’t understand.

All I have now is hope. It was the giant talking rabbit who had given me that. Hope that perhaps even someone like me could make a small difference in this world. Hope that maybe once all the Corrupted are gone … maybe then a peaceful tranquility will blanket the earth.

Another soft sound came from behind. I turned, extending the butt of my spear and jamming it in the snout of the creature. She fell back, snarling, and jumped sideways as I swung my spear around in a circular motion. From somewhere at the edge of the clearing, an owl hooted.

I lost her for a moment as she slipped back toward the edge of the clearing. Rather than wait for her to return I stepped forward, following her into the darkness. She was nothing more than a tall shadow up ahead but I could see her plain enough. I thought I could reach her with my spear but when I stabbed, the shadow moved and the spearhead lodged itself in the bark of an oak.

The spear was stuck. And I was now in the woods, where it was darker. She appeared from behind one of the trees, growling. Through the canopy above, a sliver of moonlight slipped through and for just a breath I could see drool escaping from the creature’s long muzzle.

Still I felt no fear.

I grabbed at my spear, trying to wrench it free from the thick bark. The creature helped, snapping the spear in half and tossing it into the darkness. I backed against a rough tree, then dodged quickly as a handful of long claws swiped at my head. I was lost in the darkness now, hopelessly lost. I could see only shadows.

Then came a voice from the heavens. Or, at the very least, from the branches above …

“To your left!”

I turned left and backed away a step, my eyes frantically searching the darkness. The creature was there, her terrible massive eyes glowing in a sliver of moonlight. She charged recklessly at me and I spun around behind a thin tree, using it as a barrier. The creature quickly encircled the tree and I saw an opening, punching her square in the snout. She snapped her jaws and I punched her again and again, just as Briar had taught me. I aimed for whatever opening she gave me, backing away slowly and using the trees for cover.

Then she disappeared again. I spun around, searching the darkness. The black shadows of the trees were my enemy, and from above came the hooting of the owl once again. It sounded deafening. I tried to concentrate on the sounds on the forest floor … but that owl wouldn’t stop!

“Shut up, you fool!” Briar cried out above. I heard the shaking of a branch and the flapping of wings. The owl hooted angrily as he flew away.

Leaves floated to the ground. My hands tightened into fists. I waited.

“To your right!” Briar cried out.

I spun right just in time to see the creature coming down on me, her heavy paws swiping away my arms in one smooth motion. We lost our footing and fell to the ground in one heap. I felt the weight of the creature on me and air rushed out of my lungs so fast that I feared I may not be able to draw another breath. Heavy paws pinned my arms to the ground.

“So do it then,” I told her, staring into her dark eyes. “I won’t be the last.”

The creature opened her mouth. I thought about my aunt and uncle and quietly thanked them for taking me in.

Then, from above, came a wild crashing sound. “Look out below!” Briar called. I saw the shadow emerge from the branches above, landing right on top of the creature and toppling her to the ground.

“Holy cripes!” Briar exclaimed, kicking wildly at the creature’s snapping jaws. I had to act quick … a giant rabbit had little chance fighting a monstrous buffalo-bear. I reached into my pocket, grabbing the fountain pen. I uncapped it and jumped on the creature’s back, stabbing her again and again and again.

Slowly, she burned away.

I looked at Briar, proud to have him as a friend.

“A rabbit must make do with what skills he has,” he said with a shrug. “I happen to be good at climbing.”

“And landing,” I added with a smile.

August 30, 1934

I’ve returned to my aunt and uncle’s house. They expressed worry, which touched me. I told them I’d run away, but had a change of mind. It was something easy enough to believe, and Briar—a master trickster—always suggested keeping the lies simple enough to remember. Besides, there weren’t exactly all that many people who suspected such a sweet, innocent girl was in fact a monster-slaying hero.

Least of all Richard.

September 1, 1934

I’ve done it. I suspect some day I will look back on this entry and laugh at my foolishness, but for now I truly believe it is the right decision. The dwarfs have concluded their business at their new bank and have returned home to Chicago, which is where I must go.

But to live and survive in Chicago, I must marry Richard. There are few jobs for men, and fewer yet for women, and more people are saying things may get even worse. Some say things will never get better. I wish sometimes that I was a man, simply so that people would see me differently. They would expect me to take care of myself. They wouldn’t dote on me as if I was helpless. They would offer me jobs and the freedom to move about anywhere I choose without disturbing me.

I apologize. I’m rambling now, letting my anger drive my words. I will tolerate Richard as best I can because the Corrupted must be destroyed. And these dwarfs are the worst kind of Corrupted … they hide out in plain sight, mingling among human beings. I detest them for it. They are not like us. They do not belong.

Chapter 1

'What nonsense,' thought the princess, 'this silly frog is talking! He can never even get out of the spring to visit me, though he may be able to get my ball for me, and therefore I will tell him he shall have what he asks.' So she said to the frog, 'Well, if you will bring me my ball, I will do all you ask.' Then the frog put his head down, and dived deep under the water; and after a little while he came up again, with the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the edge of the spring.
[vii]

My name is Alice, and I’m a hero. A hero keeping a really, really weird diary. I learned the hard way that Prince Charming really doesn’t exist … or isn’t supposed to, at least. I learned that all of the characters from
Grimms’ Fairy Tales
are real and the longer they remain alive, the more Corrupted—
evil
—they become. Only the hero can stop them because she wields a magic pen, one capable of destroying the Corrupted once and for all.

Oh, and by the way? The Frog Prince is gross. Really, really gross.

It happened about three weeks after Edward’s death. It was a nice, warm summer evening. The setting sun bathed dozens of puffy clouds in beautiful red and oranges along the horizon. I was on my way home from the library, where I’d spent nearly two hours vacuuming between all of the bookshelves on the first and second floor. My back was sore.

I’d made a habit of cutting through the alleys to get home quicker. Really not a big deal in my neighborhood—the most recent crime had happened two weeks ago: some teenagers had toilet-papered a house. They got caught and were promptly grounded for two weeks … it was big gossip.

Briar the giant rabbit was with me, gleefully recounting old stories about past heroes. He seems to enjoy doing that. Usually I listened pretty intently, but tonight I couldn’t stop breathing in the perfect air. Somewhere, a handful of birds were finishing up a conversation before bedtime. The end of a beautiful Wisconsin summer day.

So I wasn’t exactly expecting a giant frog monster to be lying in wait behind the Williamsons’ garage.

“Rabbit!” I shouted, pushing him aside the moment I saw the shadow spring out from behind one of the tall green garbage cans next to the garage door. Briar went flying to safety … and I ended up right in the monster’s path.

I didn’t even get a good look at him before a pair of strong, slimy arms wrapped around my body, pushing me across the alley and toward the Carlyle family garage. I could feel his hot breath on my neck. I could hear saliva vibrating in the back of his throat and it was all I could do to keep from screaming in horror.

My leg planted itself firmly on the concrete. I dropped my weight and spun us around, letting the momentum carry us forward. Only now the slimy creature was leading the way; he slammed into the garage and his grip loosened enough for me to pull away.

Slip
away, actually. Because he was really slimy.

I jumped a few steps back so I could get a good look at him. The sun had almost completely set; the light on the Carlyle’s garage blinked on like some serendipitous spotlight.

“You’re disgusting!” I exclaimed. I couldn’t help it … he really
was
disgusting. He looked like a giant human-shaped frog. His arms and legs were thin and green. His head was big and round and he had enormous bowl-sized white eyeballs. His mouth opened, letting thick white drool ooze out.

“Alice!” he said. Or maybe it was just a slurping sound and my mind was playing tricks on me.

He smelled like a sewer. Like rotting grass mixed with old banana peels and dog dung. I smelled that way, too. My second-favorite sleeveless linen Pintuck top was soaked through with whatever stinky slime  had been coating his arms.

“Stay back!” I warned, but the creature stumbled forward, reaching out for me. I dodged out of the way and backed up, trying to put some distance between us. But before I could, the frog-creature turned and
hopped
.

Right on top of me.

We fell onto the hard concrete. His slimy webbed fingers held me to the ground. His giant mouth opened and more drool oozed out. Deep inside that giant mouth were teeth: little, sharp teeth.

“No!” I cried out. I kicked wildly and connected with one of his legs; he groaned in pain, losing his balance. I pushed with all my might and rolled him away from me. The sharp tips of his webbed fingers cut my skin as he tried in vain to grab me again.

But now I was up. My elbow hurt from when it had landed on the concrete and my arm was bleeding from the stupid creature’s claws, but I was still
up
.

“The magic pen!” Briar called out.

I turned, searching for his familiar rabbit-shaped form in the darkness. Only a few of the garages had floodlights so most of the alley was full of creeping shadows. My vision blurred. The entire alley seemed to be spinning. Get a hold of yourself, Alice! Use the pen!

I pulled it from the pocket of my jeans and ran to the other side of the alley. I drew a saber on the garage door and pulled it away. I spun, watching the frog-creature stumble to his feet, groaning a stomach-churning guttural groan.

My sweaty hand tightly gripped the handle of the sword. The weight felt good. The blade looked sharp. About 88 centimeters long, give or take. Unlike the foil, which was a fencing sword designed for stabbing, the saber’s entire blade was sharp. I could slice this nasty frog-guy in half if I really wanted.

“Alice! Look out!”

I glanced up and jumped out of the way right before the frog-creature could grab me. He kept going, slamming into the garage door with a thud and falling over. I stepped up and stabbed my saber at his head. He ducked out of the way and the saber’s tip connected with the concrete.

The blade bent, then snapped in half.

“Oh cripes!” Briar cried out from the shadows.

“Settle down, rabbit!” I shouted. OK. I still had half a sword. The end was sharp enough. Don’t panic, Alice. Death by frog is
not
happening under any circumstances.

The frog creature was standing again. His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. Even in the darkness, I could see his sharp white teeth. Each webbed finger twiddled, ready to bury itself in my soft slightly tanned flesh.

“Come on, then,” I told him.

He obliged, taking two steps toward me and then he was airborne, a good ten feet in the air. I clutched the hilt of my saber and drew in a long, deep breath. As he descended, I could see the terrible claws of his webbed fingers, all of them pointed directly at me. I ducked low, stepped left, and then stabbed the broken blade upward.

Poof! The frog-creature burst apart into a thousand little papery shreds that burned away as they floated to the ground.

“Wonderful!” Briar exclaimed, stepping out from behind the Williamsons’ garbage can. He clapped his little paws together.

“Yeah, right,” I murmured. “You know, this whole hero business would be a lot easier if I had some super powers. That really hurt when he landed on me!”

Briar shrugged. “Yes, well, we do what we can with what we have.”

“And where were you, might I ask?” I stabbed a finger at his soft belly. He always wore the same outfit: slacks and a vest.

“I was monitoring your progress,” he said, “from behind the garbage can. I did at one point offer some advice, too.”

“You’re a real help!” I said with wide eyes, layering on the sarcasm. “I can only imagine what might have happened if you hadn’t been here. And you’re welcome, by the way.”

“Welcome for what?”

I started walking. Back home. I needed a bath. Maybe a few stitches. My arm was still bleeding a little bit. “For pushing you out of the way of that stupid thing. What the heck was he, anyway?”

“He looked rather vaguely like the Frog Prince,” Briar said, hopping along beside me. “Although in the story, he turned back into a human being. I guess somewhere along the line, he started reverting back to the frog.”

“In a totally gross way.” I stopped at the end of the alley. “Look,” I said, pointing to the circular sewer cover sitting in the street. It had been pulled back, sitting on the road.

“Well, I guess we know where he came from, then. Wait, what are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning up after him,” I said, pulling the heavy cover back over the opening. The metal edge stung my fingers. “Oof, this is heavy! The hero can’t even have a
little
super strength, eh? Can’t be too easy, can it?”

“I didn’t make the rules,” Briar said.

“So who did?” I asked.

His whiskers twitched. “That’s a good question, actually.”

I stepped back onto the sidewalk and we started walking again. We were only one block away from home. The neighborhood was quiet, not atypical for a weeknight even during the summer. “So how did this guy find me?”

“
That
,” Briar said, “is an even better question. And I don’t know. It’s entirely possible he was drawn to you.”

“
Drawn
to me?” I asked. “Why?”

“Because you’re a charming young lady, obviously.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke, rabbit? Because I’m not really in the mood.”

Briar chuckled. “It’s in my nature. I do apologize, though. And to answer your question more honestly … in the past, I’ve noticed that the hero oftentimes emerges near the center of lots of Corrupted activity. And vice versa.”

“You mean the Corrupted are showing up in the wonderful city of Milwaukee because of me?”

“That, or they really like cheese.”

I chuckled. “A Wisconsin joke.
That’s
a good one.”

“One for two isn’t bad.”

“So we have a good old-fashioned mystery on our hands, then?” I asked.

“It would appear so. I’ll do some searching. I’ve been keeping an eye on Edward’s mansion to see what happens to it. It’s been three weeks and no one has come by. Not a police officer, not an acquaintance …
no one
.”

My heart sped up a bit. Edward. Prince Charming. The guy of my dreams. The guy of my
nightmares
. I still thought about him—not the evil soul-sucking version of him, but the sweet version I’d been together with for nearly the entire school year. It hadn’t been easy to get over. Sometimes, at night, I slammed my fist into the pillow and cursed myself for believing he was so perfect.

“Who normally cleans up these messes?” I asked. My house was coming up on the right. The living room light was on, which meant someone was home and watching TV. “I mean, Edward was filthy rich … if other Corrupted are out in the open like him …”

“I shall continue my investigation.” Briar stopped at the driveway leading to my house. “Have you had any dreams yet?”

“You mean nightmares?” I shrugged. “Bits and pieces. Nothing that makes any sense. Oh, there was a rat in one. I was following him through this narrow tunnel and there was a ladder at the end. Does that help?”

“Not unless you know the rat’s name.”

“Maybe this smelly Frog Prince was the last Corrupted,” I said cheerily. “Maybe they’re all gone now!”

The rabbit’s whiskers twitched. And just like that, he disappeared.

“Yeah,” I muttered to myself, “I don’t believe it either.”

I went inside, momentarily distracted by thoughts of what might come next, and walked into the living room completely forgetting about the cuts on my arm.

Dad was out of his chair in an instant. “Kitchen,” he ordered. We went into the kitchen and I sat at the stool next to our kitchen countertop while he rummaged through the cabinets by the fridge. He set hydrogen peroxide, a bag of puffy cotton balls, a white bandage and some bandage tape on the counter.

“What the heck happened?” he asked. “You’re volunteering at a library, for crying out loud. Blood shouldn’t be part of the equation.”

“Oh. I took a shortcut home. It was dark and I brushed up against a tree. Or some branches. Or something.”

He frowned, wrinkling his bushy eyebrows. One of the hairs was growing incredibly long. Most men Dad’s age started losing their hair, but Dad was the opposite. Especially when it came to his eyebrows, which seemed to be growing now with a mind of their own.

“Get ready,” he said, dabbing one of the puffy cotton balls with peroxide. “Your owie is about to get owier.”

“Dad, please! I can handle it. I—ow! Owwwww!”

He sighed, dabbing at the three cuts. The peroxide bubbled on the surface. “Don’t want an infection, dear. Do you like the library so far?”

“It has its moments.”

He unwrapped the square bandage and pressed it to my arm. “Hold this,” he ordered, grabbing the bandage tape and unspooling enough to wrap around my arm. “Look at these muscles,” he marveled, wrapping the tape around and around. “You look like you could bench-press a car.”

“Maybe I
could
,” I said.

He tied off the tape. “Good as new. What are you up to? Do you want to watch a movie or something? Mom will be home from the store pretty soon.”