The Grimm Diaries Prequels Volume 15 - 18 Read online

  “Want your precious Goblin Fruit?” I took a bite, and moaned as I chewed on the juicy ingredients.

  “What’s the catch, Jack Madly,” the goblin’s leader growled at me, his big hairy and dirty feet acting like breaks against gliding in the mud surrounding the Swamp of Sorrow.

  “Oh, you have no idea,” I smirked, taking another bite.

  Before they could comprehend anything, Marmalade splashed big amounts of water at them with her tail from the swamp where she was hiding.

  Water to goblins was like holy water to some demonic creatures. They hated it. Really hated it. Somewhere in the goblin gene they believe it to be malevolent; that’s why they never washed, smelled like horse poop, and shivered in pain when it rained.

  Marmalade laughed and clapped her hands, watching the goblins kicking the mud and rinsing the water from their stuffed short bodies.

  You have to give it to her; sometimes she can be sweetly evil.

  We ate the fruit together that day, and then I decided to show her one of my many secrets. I ushered her to a secret grave in the forest where I had kept someone’s body carefully intact in a coffin.

  With curious eyes, she watched me dig it up and open it. There was a dead man inside.

  “Who’s that, Jack?” she said. “And why are you keeping a man in a coffin nearby? That’s not like you.”

  “What do you mean it’s not like me?” I frowned. “I’m a thief. I stole the coffin with the body in it. It was a very hard task actually, bringing it all the way from Europe.”

  “Europe?”

  “Stratford-upon-Avon, to be precise,” I nodded proudly.

  “Where is that?”

  “England.”

  “Still, you didn’t answer me. Who is the man in the coffin?”

  “Shakespeare.” I took off my hat and bowed my head, proud of my achievement. “William friggin’ Shakespeare—did you know that no one ever knew his middle name? He is pretty much a mysterious man, like me. Gretel thinks he’s a wizard.”

  “What?” Marmalade’s face knotted. “Shakespeare is not a wizard. He is a writer.”

  “Semantics,” I shook my shoulder.

  “What is Shakespeare’s body doing here? Why did you steal it?” Marmalade looked furious. I didn’t expect her to be like that.

  “I am going to wake him up,” I explained. “Gretel knows a good resurrection spell.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Why do you think I want to resurrect Shakespeare, Marmalade?” I put my hands in my waist. “So he could write a book about me, of course,” I said, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “An awesome book about me, to be precise.”

  “You’re out of your mind, Jack Madly,” Marmalade puffed.

  “And you love it.”

  “No, I don’t,” she said. “I think it’s an awful thing to do. I respect the man. It’s not right to wake him up, and it’s not right to make him write a book about you. This is so wrong.”

  “Why? You don’t think I’m more interesting than that stupid story of Hamlet? The guy was a freak, and don’t get me started about his mother.”

  “Jack,” Marmalade pointed a finger at me. “Romeo and Juliet is my most favorite story, so don’t even think of making fun of it.”

  “I hate Romeo and Juliet; all that nonsense about her poisoning herself to be with him. This girl was a nut.”

  “And you’re not?” Marmalade said.

  “Well,” I shrugged and scratched the back of my head. “I’m an awesome nut.”

  “Unbelievable,” she sighed.

  “Seriously, if Shakespeare won’t write about me, then who will?” I said. “I really regret telling you about one of my most precious secrets. Wake up, Shakes!” I was about to give him the resurrecting kiss.

  “Jack, please,” she said. “Don’t make me feel guilty now. It’s so sweet of you to show me this,” she pointed at Shakespeare’s corpse, and I assumed that “sweet” wasn’t the right word to use for the occasion—unless Shakes tasted like a Goblin Fruit. “Look, can’t we just delay this for a while? Gretel isn’t going anywhere,” she said, “Also, you haven’t done enough awesome things to be documented in a book. Shouldn’t you wait?”

  Marmalade’s last words didn’t make sense to me—she knew nothing about the things I had done and how crazy they were. But I had to admit it; she had that unexplainable affect on me.

  An owl came fluttering down, interrupting my thinking. It landed on my palm with a scroll in its beak. I took the scroll, and let the owl fly back to wherever it came from.

  It was a letter. I read it while Marmalade watched me with her curious eyes—she couldn’t stand not knowing.

  I sighed after reading the letter, not telling her what was in it. It amused me to see her like that, dying to know.

  “You’re right about the coffin; let’s forget about it,” I said. “Actually, there’s somewhere else I have to be now.”

  “Where are you going?” she said. “What’s in the letter?”

  “I have to take care of something, and I don’t have to tell you about everything, Marmalade.”

  “But I thought we share all things together,” she pouted.

  “I thought so, too. But you keep disagreeing with me, and I don’t like that, so I’ll see you later.”

  “Wait,” she held me by the hand. “What if I don’t disagree?” she looked into my eyes. It was that look that was the most mesmerizing about her. Every time it happened, I felt like I had seen these eyes before I even met her. “I promise I will only listen. I want to know about you, Jack.”

  It’s a historical fact that I had never met anyone so interested in me before. Not this way, willing to be with me at any price. I had met a lot of girls, and although I was attractive to them, they had to leave me at some point; especially when they watched me wake up screaming in the middle of the night. Marmalade never left. She stayed, and I liked it.

  “Alright,” I nodded. “You can come with me. But you have to wear something on top first. You can’t walk around with your hair over your breasts like that. It’s just not right.”

  “But it’s my nature, Jack. I’m a mermaid.”

  “Yeah, and I’m thief,” I snapped. “It’s not like I walk around with a sack full of stolen stuff.”

  “Actually, you do,” she laughed. “But I understand you’re jealous, and you don’t want others to see me like that.”

  “I’m not jealous,” I said. “It’s just that you can’t walk semi-naked beside me everywhere. Come on, girl. Go get yourself a shawl from my beanstalk. I have many stolen ones up there. Mostly they belong to the Queen of Sorrow, so they’re fine stuff.”

  “Alright,” she laced her hands together and swung her body like a shy little girl. “So where are we going?”

  “I’m going to take you out. Let’s sit by the fire somewhere.”

  “Really? I thought you had something to take care of?”

  “I do. We’re going to meet someone. But we could sit by the fire up on that hill, waiting for that someone. I will tell you his story. It would make a good bedtime story.”

  “That sounds romantic,” she said. “Does that someone have a name?”

  “The Pumpkin Piper,” I nodded with a smile on my face.

  “I heard a lot about him,” she said, looking worried. “But some say he is evil. Some even say he is the devil himself.”

  “Really?” I frowned. The Pumpkin Piper was definitely mysterious to others, and the fact that she’d heard he was the devil amused me. Let’s face it, in many ways, he was.

  “I’ll let you be the judge of that, after I tell you about him,” I said, and walked her toward the hill. “But you have to promise me to keep it a secret.”

  Sitting by the hill next to the fire, I had Marmalade in my arms, and I started to tell her the story as the fire flickered and lit the night. We were going to wait here until dawn, watching the sunlight together, and then something important was goin
g to happen after.

  Here is the story I told Marmalade about the Pumpkin Piper, and it’s no ordinary story by any means…

  Once upon a time, there was this town where everyone feared the piper. They had been hearing stories from travelers about the dark man with skeleton fingers and a magic flute, who devoted his life to wiping out towns and cities, looking for the Lost Seven who'd escaped him when he took his revenge in the town of Hamlin many centuries before. He’d lulled their children out of town, and only seven of them dared to escape him.

  Although the members of the seven families had died by now, the piper went after their children's children, and whoever was related to them. He sometimes went after the people who shook hands with them, just in case.

  He searched the globe for them, walked on water for them, driven by the hatred and anger of revenge. It was rumored that one of the seven families’ descendants lived in this town, but no one knew who it was.

  Everyday they expected the piper to arrive. They played all possible scenarios of their escape in their head, making sure they were prepared to save their families and take the little things that mattered with them. The piper was inescapable—other than the Lost Seven, no one ever fooled him.

  They heard that when he arrived into a town and unleashed his rats, there was no going back. Once the rats spread the Black Death, it would be apocalypse in this town.

  If the piper was considered the Black Death, there had also been this rumor about a Red Death who was capable of confronting the piper. A girl of sixteen, who was Death herself, but strong enough to save the town. Sadly, this girl never showed up, and everyone thought she was a myth. The elders in this town were tough with their children because children were every town's weak spot. The piper knew his way to their hearts through his magic flute. He played a tune that lulled the kids out of their houses toward the rats. A tune that was unlike any other tune. It was said that however you tried to memorize it, you couldn’t. It was a tune only he could play.

  Sometimes, the piper didn’t just wipe out towns, but he stole their children when they were of interest to him. It was said that he took them to a faraway dark land, where they worked for him and became part of his dark army that resided somewhere in Transylvania.

  In this particular town, the elders themselves weren't quite the best parents. Rumor had it that they treated their children badly, prohibited them from reading or learning about the world outside. Children had to work at a young age to grow up faster and take responsibilities. The elders thought that this would grow them into adults before their time, adults who were stronger in resisting the piper's melodies.

  The children there wanted to escape this town because of their harsh parents. They wanted to enjoy their childhood. They wanted to play the days away, and never grow up. Secretly, some of them didn't mind the arrival of the piper, as long as he was going to take them away to land where they could play. Anywhere but here, they said.

  One day, their dreams came true.

  A magic flute played an enchanting song nearby. It was the early hours of the morning and the sun had shone unexpectedly strong. The melody was tempting, smooth, and it made the children dreamy. They hadn't been allowed to hear music in their town, so the very first and few notes were like the smell of the freshly baked sweet bread they loved—ever notices that smelling bread was half the hunger?

  The children’s hearts melted to the music the way their stomachs buzzed when hungry.

  Furious, the elders rushed out of their houses, looking for the piper. They didn't think of escaping yet, because they couldn't find the rats that were supposed to follow and spread the disease. The parents went out to the edges of the forest surrounding their town while the children stayed by their doorsteps, tiptoeing and looking forward to meeting the mysterious piper. While the elders were out there looking, the piper had found his sneaky way into town to meet them.

  The first thing they saw with the approaching music was a coach, the shape of a huge pumpkin; a fat one that rolled on the ground as if it was going to fall apart. What an old and ramshackle vehicle it was for such an evil and feared man, the children thought.

  Still, the melody was lovely, and the piper, presumably sitting inside, spread it while a proud ostrich pulled the coach instead of a mule.

  Yes, it was an ostrich with lovely purple feathers, which complimented the orange body of the coach. The ostrich was strong and big, and moved its head in a funny way while pulling the coach, as if pecking on an invisible something in front of it. Its head moved with its legs. Track. Tatarack. And the Track. Tatarack. Its legs were guided by the rhythm of the piper’s melody. The coach, the ostrich, and the piper’s flute were one big moving orchestra.

  Then the coach stopped.

  The ostrich buried its head in the ground as if it were resting, like a ship’s anchor in the bottom of the sea.

  The children, although curious, started sweating. They were going to meet the most feared man in the world. And even though some of them wanted to run away, the magic flute's melodies chained their feet to the ground. It was as if the music was the magnet that pulled them from their bellies toward the mysterious piper.

  A little later, the door of the coach squeaked open, but no one came out. Then the music stopped.

  The suspense was building. The children waited to see what the piper looked like.

  Was he cloaked in black like the ghosts they heard of in the stories? Was he hunched and disfigured with golden teeth and a bad smell? Was he the devil himself, with a fork and two horns?

  Slowly, a figure appeared out of the coach, and it wasn’t like anything they’d expected.

  It was that of a boy wearing a purple cloak that covered his legs and feet

  Was this really the piper?

  Even though they had an impression he was a boy, they couldn’t see his face because he wore a pumpkin on his head, with cutout eyes and a zigzagged mouth, where his pan flute popped out like a five cigar fingers.

  Sometimes, the children couldn't tell if it was a mask or the boy’s real head. They stood with open mouths, unable to speak or scream.

  Was the piper playing games with them, or was this the way he lulled children, by looking friendly—even funny. They had expected a monster, not this.

  The pumpkin piper, for that was what they’d decided to call him, walked among the children with hands laced behind his back, like a leader walked among his troops. He seemed as though he were inspecting them. He didn’t utter a word, and their eyes were glued to his blue eyes staring back at them from behind the pumpkin head.

  One of the children drooled on the porch, another one peed himself, and on tooth-gapped girl ate her hair in her distraction.

  Then the piper stopped and enthusiastically rubbed his hands together. They thought he’d send out a curse at them, a lightning strike or a thunderbolt. Or maybe eat them like that evil witch who lived in that Candy House in the forest.

  But nah, that wasn’t the case.

  The pumpkin piper started playing his flute again. This time he danced as he played. He was merry, and the children forgot about his real identity—or who he was supposed to be.

  They started dancing along with him, embracing each other and holding hands. The pumpkin piper walked through town as he played, and the children clapped their nimble hands and followed him.

  Amazingly, he didn’t walk out of town.

  Instead, he walked into the church and played inside, his melodies echoing in the halls and colored windows.

  Then he stopped playing for a second.

  The children were worried again. Was he so evil he couldn’t stand the holiness of the church? But if so, why did come here in the first place?

  They watched the silent, speechless pumpkin piper paralyzed in his place for a second.

  The silence was disturbing, and they needed someone to release it by making some noise.

  Luckily, the pumpkin piper did.

  He burped.

  Because
the children couldn’t believe what they had just heard, the pumpkin piper burped again.

  That’s when they fell to the floor laughing.

  Later, the pumpkin piper walked out of the church, entered each house, and played a little more. The children still followed. It was as if his song was an enchantment that he wanted to spread everywhere—or maybe it was a disease; that would explain why he didn't need the rats anymore.

  But no rats came, and no disease spread. In fact, the children liked the pumpkin piper. He was as tall as their parents whom they feared, but he wasn't as intimidating. The way the pumpkin piper tilted his head and looked at them while he played was friendly and amusing. They wished they could see his real face—if he had one.

  The more he played, the happier he seemed, and walked faster.

  One of the children pulled the pumpkin piper’s cloak as hard as he could, unable to keep up with his speed. Unexpectedly, he had pulled too hard, and the cloak fell onto the floor.

  The pumpkin piper stopped.

  It was one of those moments when they had to hold their breath again.

  The pumpkin piper wore black leather pants underneath; something they had never seen before. He stopped playing his magic flute and turned back to them, especially to the boy who’d exposed him.

  Had the boy offended him by the immature act of pulling the cloak? He knew that his parents wouldn’t have liked it if he had pulled their cloaks. His parents would have punished him; maybe made him spend a night in a dark cellar, or have him clean the roof for three days. Or worse, sometimes kids were punished by having to run naked all around town, so they'd feel embarrassed and humiliated, and never repeat such a mistake again.

  What added creepiness to the moment was that the piper didn't talk. He either played music, or held his words. And this mask of his made him appear enigmatic. They couldn't tell how he felt or if, like their parents had told them, he got really mad when someone bothered him.

  Slowly, the pumpkin piper started rubbing his flute with his sleeve. He gave it a puff the way you do with your foggy pair of glasses, and began playing it again.

  As he walked, he clicked his feet together in the air. He wore two pointed yellow shoes with tiny bells on them. The funny pumpkin piper played and the children followed again, clicking their feet, clapping their hands, and singing. The pumpkin piper walked toward one of the empty houses, where the smell of food waved out of its windows. Like a hypnotized boy, he followed the smell and entered the kitchen. It smelled like Heaven, with all the lovely muffins and fresh baked bread.