The Grimm Diaries Prequels Volume 15 - 18 Read online

  It really felt good. A devil needs to flush away all the anger once in a while.

  The funny thing was that the queen and her friends clapped their hand enthusiastically. They called it the best show they'd ever seen. Gotta really ask why people love violence so much. As long as it isn't their head chopped off, or their chest taking the bullet, they are ok with it. You've got yourself the best play of the year, a blockbuster, and an academy award.

  The Puppet Master didn't have time to get back at me. I chopped his head off and broke his bones, as if her were a doll.

  That's when the queen's audience began wondering if something was slightly off in the show.

  Fleeing my bad experience as a marionette, I ran away from the queen's castle, after someone had finally suggested I was the...

  No, they still didn't get it that I was the devil, or a demon possessing a puppet. To them, I was the Demon Worm that bore holes in their children's teeth. And I ended up hunted by the queen's huntsmen, who were ironically the Dreamhunters, chasing me and not knowing I was the Devil.

  Can you believe this shit?

  Anyhow, someone knocked me on my wooden head, and I felt birds circling me before I fainted.

  Hours later, I thought I'd wake up in the queen's castle, but I woke up tied on a bed in a dark tower.

  The first someone I saw was that short hunch-man who'd knocked me down. Igor the Magnificent, he called himself. He had an uglier face than mine, and a silver tooth.

  "Master," he said, talking to someone. "It's alive!"

  Jacob Carl Grimm came checking me out--I didn't know him at the time, but the man was some kind of Dr. Frankenstein, having cut off my arms and legs, and using real people's limbs instead. I was like a mouse lab. Even worse, a chicken lamb.

  Now to get things straight, you know that Dr. Frankenstein was never the name of the monster, but the name of the lunatic doctor who formed the operation, right? Just thought I’d clear that matter, for I may be a devil, but I don't like history forged and misunderstood.

  So back to the suspense…me laying on my back, tied to the bed, and being experimented on.

  "You think this one will work?" Igor asked Jacob.

  "Does it talk?" Jacob asked, with a pipe in his mouth. He looked like a Freud: he thought he was.

  "I do talk you miserable human Minikins!" I shouted. "Now let me go. I need to find the Piper."

  "How is it that his face is wooden and he is able to talk, master?" Igor asked Jacob.

  "I have no idea." “Jacob the pretentious,” poked my wooden face, and I spat on him.

  "He is wild," Igor chuckled. "I know he is made of wood, but I swear I saw him run like a kangaroo."

  "I believe you, Igor," Jacob said. "I just wonder how the goat's leg fitted with his wooden body. He moves it flawlessly."

  I had goat’s legs now?

  I was going so mad, my wooden face was about to burn to ashes, "Why are you talking to each other as if I am not here?" I yelled, then decided to pull off my goat’s leg and arms, and free myself.

  Igor tried to catch me, but I hopped on one leg, like a one-legged kangaroo, and reached for my original leg and arm stowed aside. I jumped from the tower, fell many floors down, but nothing happened to me. I was just a piece of wood, and I had to escape the madness in Sorrow. Crazy puppeteers, women who ate children and spat the bones, and a wannabe Dr. Frankenstein.

  I spent the day after knitting, gluing, and nailing myself together, miraculously learning that my wood mended itself once connected.

  I ran to the shore and snuck through with the luggage into the first ship leaving Sorrow. A ship called the Jolly Roger.

  Hiding in barrels and bags for days was intolerable; let alone each stupid passenger picking me up, playing with me, and then leaving me somewhere else. I stood trapped in my carcass of this cursed puppet for hours, listening to the silliest jokes and having to experience the most “laughable” gestures a man can do to a puppet. I mean play with me all you like; clap my hand like an idiot, spread my feed you pervert, and wiggle my nose. But checking my groin to know if I am a male or female is preposterous.

  And if you're wondering about my nose, whether it got longer when I lied or not, let's save that for another diary--I spared all my nose stories from this one. There are much more important things in a puppet than a nose.

  Also, having been trapped in this moron puppet soul for some time made me stupid. It took some time to understand that this was a pirate ship. Well, I had questioned the crew's drinking behavior and weird songs, but maybe I had been occupied with trying to find the Piper. The crew sang songs like Dead Man Chest, where they described fifteen men dying for a chest on what they called a Treasure Island; a hunt that had been lead by the ever devious John Long Silver. Supposedly a dear friend of the man, had a hook for one hand and owned this ship. They just called him that, “the man with the hook,” and preferred not to mention him much. They said he was away on a trip, trying to save another friend of his called, “Captain Ishmael,” who had been obsessed with hunting a whale in the ocean.

  Who hunts a whale for shrimp's sake!

  I had also questioned the pirates’ sense of fashion, which really suited me, I have to say. I even swore I'd get myself one of their suits, once I freed myself from the puppet. And the single eye patch…don't get me started, fantabulous.

  One night, I woke up to the sound of a scary man with a gushy voice like he had crabs clapping in his throat. He had a huge beard, wore mascara on his eyes, and spoke Scottish English. His hand were wrapped in cheap clinking bracelets made of cheap clinking things, and sometimes cheap human bones--he said those were whale's bones, but you know that lies are the only constant truth in humanity, right?

  The most important thing about this man was that he was the man with the hook. He'd returned from his unsuccessful hunt for the whale with that Ishmael friend, and strangely he had a name for the whale.

  Get this. Moby Dick.

  Why you would call a whale “dick?” I don't want to even think bout it.

  Hook; let's call him that, for no one spoke of his True Name, had a hook instead of a hand. Besides waving it left and right, and masterfully shooting bullets the shape of smaller hooks from it, he liked to clean the gaps between his brass teeth with it as well.

  But Hook was badass, I have to say--a great compliment from a guy like me. He had been so angry for not catching that “dick” whale, and decided the only way to make him feel better was to send two of his pirates overboard, and let them drown in the endless ocean.

  How haven't I thought of that when I ruled Hell?

  Hook did it in a strange way. He lined all his fellow pirates on deck, and pointed at them with his hook in a random way, singing, “Eery, menu, mint, moe. Who's to live, and who's to go?”

  Don't ask me what it meant. Hook sang and drank his beer, laughing loudly, until his “go” landed on a pirate, and he kicked him out into the ocean.

  "No one ever survived that ocean," one of the pirated whispered to his friends. "The creatures in the ocean eat anything that's human. Good bye, Billy Bones," he waved at the pirate sinking in the ocean.

  "I feel much better now," Hook hailed, and threw his bottle towards where I was hiding. I had to duck to avoid it.

  The next morning, Hook woke up, folded out a magical map of all the ships in the seas, and oceans in front of him. It was seriously better than any GPS or navigating system I had ever seen. Again, Hook, played his little game and picked up another random ship, and decided to raid it, rob it, burn it, steal it, and sink it.

  This man was on the verge of becoming my idol.

  The pirates hailed, happy they had something to do for the day, and sailed to the ship.

  I must admit I envied Hook. I wished I was like him, bluntly killing people here and there, choosing them randomly with no moral--or immoral-compass. I mean, I had always corrupted and seduced people after studying them for a while and learning their weaknesses. How had I never thought
about this random behavior? If I wanted to be badass, I had to kill and corrupt people randomly. That was fun.

  Side note: I swore that when I left this body, I was going to write my diaries and become rich. I was going to call it: The Immoral Compass: tips and tricks from the Prince of Puppets. Ah, I mean the Prince of Darkness. It will teach how to mess up everything around you, and feel good about it.

  I secretly hailed and clapped my hands and legs as the pirates raided a helpless ship in the sea. It was full of women, children, and elders. Beautiful. The pirates where vicious. They didn't talk or ask, or show any kind of mercy. More importantly, they did it with beers in their hands and grins on their faces.

  I wanted to go to find the Piper right now and say to him, “I will sell you my soul, only if you make me a pirate!”

  No wonder all kids wanted to be pirates. I felt like a kid, and wanted to be one too. It was a moment of epiphany. How could I not feel like a kid in my puppet soul?

  Each day and night, Hook woke up, picked a ship at random, and raided it. And I couldn't help but fall in love with him more.

  Impulsively, I decided to introduce myself. I told him that I talked, that I was the devil trapped in this body, and that I didn't need to find the Piper anymore, if he would let me work for him.

  "So you're the devil himself?" Hook gulped, and laughed at me with his fellow pirates.

  "I am," I pleaded. "You have to believe me. Look at my horns," I took off my hat.

  "I never thought much of the devil anyway," Hook said. "He could wipe my dirty arse clean of my shit, I mean sins, as far as I am concerned," he laughed again. "But I am amused with a Rabbit that can talk."

  "I'm not a Rabbit," I explained. "I am a puppet. All wood," I knocked on my head.

  "He isn't a Rabbit?" Hook frowned, consulting his crew.

  "We're not really sure, Hook," they said. "We've lived in the ocean since we were born. We've never been on land as we're not allowed to, so we never saw a Rabbit."

  "He sure has two ears like a rabbit," Hook said. "So what kind of work do you want to do for me, puppet? Want to clean the bathrooms? Entertain the pirates with a little dance, maybe?"

  "No," I begged. "I want to be a pirate. I am striving to hurt somebody, kill someone, and cause chaos. It's in my nature. It's what I like to do."

  "Are you capable of killing?" Hook asked.

  "I killed my Puppet Master with a chainsaw. If you give me a sword, I will show you I can kill. And I can steal."

  Hook rubbed his long beer-wet beard, thinking it over. He seemed reluctant.

  "Please?" I got on my knees and prayed. "My name is Pinocchio. Pinocchio the Pirate. I think it sounds gritty."

  "Stand up, Pinocchio," Hook said with a serious face. "Do you even know who I am?"

  "Of course, I know. You're the man with the hook, the scariest and most evil pirate in the sea." I stretched out my hands theatrically, remembering the days when I used to act in the puppet show.

  Hook took a moment, before he burst out laughing again. His pirates followed, pointing at my naïveté. They laughed so hard, they held their stomachs from the pain.

  "Did I say something wrong?" I put my hat back on.

  "You think I am evil?" Hook caught his breath and wondered.

  "But you must be," I blinked, confused. "Maybe you don't like to think of yourself like that, but you're the greatest evil I have ever seen."

  "Why would you say that?" Hook still laughed.

  "Look at you," I waved. "You pick people randomly from the map and raid their ships. I haven't seen a greater evil. I mean, I never did things as random when I was the devil."

  "He thinks I am evil," Hook waved his hook in the air and laughed again. "Well, to the untrained eye, I might seem so. But I am sorry, Pinocchio. I can't let you work for me." Hook grabbed me with his hook. "I honestly don't know how to deal with a devil when I meet one, because I am only concerned with the ocean. So I am going to throw you in it, like anyone else I have no use for."

  I tried to free myself from his grip, but it was impossible. I was just a little thing, and he had an arm as thick as my whole body, "But wait," I begged again. "I need to know who you are. At least tell me that before I die."

  "If you can't figure it out yourself, then you're as dumb as wood," Hook laughed. "Think of it. Who has the right to do evil things and aren't considered evil, even by the Gods? If you can solve that riddle, you will know who I am," he roared, and threw me like pebble out in the ocean.

  As I splashed into the water, awaiting my darkened fate, I couldn't stop thinking about Hook. I couldn't solve the puzzle. Who the heck was he? How was there someone who did evil under the eyes of the Gods, and they still liked him?

  I let myself sink deep toward the bottom, knowing there were no other ships for me out there. And even if I found another ship, it was probably destined to be raided by Hook in a couple of days.

  Sitting, cross legged, on the ocean's floor, fish swimming around me, I realized that Hook had the power to do whatever he wanted, with no consequence. Whoever he really was, I envied him greatly.

  I know, I am repeating myself, but I just can't help it. I had to know who he was.

  One of the few advantages of being a puppet was that I didn't breathe. I could stay in the ocean forever, and not die. The water wasn't really good for my skin, wood I mean, but I could survive for a while at least. I was afraid of whatever creatures lurked in the ocean, those the pirates had talked about. They'd said the ocean ate anything human.

  It was only a day later when I was introduced to Mr. Shark, eating away every fish around me. I paddled to the left and the right trying to escape him, but he still found me. He stopped in front of me, and looked at me for a while. Something he doesn't normally do. He was pondering whether I was edible or not. Surprisingly, he bit me.

  The moment was longer than I'd expected. The shark bit lightly on my arm, and spit away. He didn't like me, and I was flattered.

  I wasn't human and I had no flesh. To him, I was useless. He swam away from me, and I felt great.

  But not for long.

  A great swirl waved inside the water suddenly, and the world spun around me. I couldn't hold onto anything, and found myself pulled into a spiral water twister.

  What the holy shrimp was going on?

  The twister sucked me into a dark place with thousands of other sea creatures with bulging and appalled eyes like me.

  "What is going on?" an oversized shrimp talked to me underwater--gotta love this nonsense world.

  "How the heck should I know?" I bubbled out, spiraling upside down into darkness.

  I had managed to float on the surface of this strange flood in the ocean, paddling like an eight-legged frog. The first thing I saw was a wall of white zigzags, which clapped shut from above and below. Had I entered some kind of cave with teeth for a door?

  A while later, I saw too many things entering the cave with me; chairs, guns, tree branches, barrels, and infinite amounts of small fish. I had even come across a bed, seized the opportunity, and hopped on it.

  The water began slowing down as I entered a hollower place, with an enormously high arched ceiling. It looked as if it was made of bones. But whose bones where that big?

  "Over here!" voices summoned me.

  I looked and saw three old men in their nightgowns; brewing tea, and sitting around a table nailed on the back of a floating log on the water. They didn't look distressed by the situation.

  "What is this place?" I asked, having rowed closer in my bed.

  "God's punishment," one old man said.

  "We call it the cave of sin," another said.

  "One day, a long time ago, we escaped a cannibalistic tribe and hid in a cave, caring only for ourselves, and leaving our families behind," the third man explained, pouring the tea. "We slept and prayed that it would all be over when we woke up. When we woke up, we found ourselves in this cave instead."

  "It's punishment for not standing up for our fa
milies," the first one said. "I think we're in Hell."

  "Who knew the tea would be that good in Hell," another chuckled.

  "You're not in Hell, you morons!" I was about to scream, pull out my hair, and bounce on the bed.

  "And how do you know, piece of wood?" another one snickered. Wow, wood had become an insult here.

  "Because I am the devil," I said. "Piece of human stupidity," I admit, not the best of come backs, but I was furious.

  "And I am Santa Claus," one of them chuckled.

  "Seriously?" I frowned. "You don't question a puppet that talks, and can't believe that I am the devil?"

  "A puppet that talks is a sign from the Gods," the third man said. "A devil in a dire situation like this is a joke."

  I wasn't going to argue with people who'd lived inside a cave, making tea for what looked like years. But wait. This couldn't be a cave. It didn't make sense. I was inside something organic, something that was alive. I could sense it breathing and puffing, causing a slight bending in the walls.

  Sailing away from the three stooges, I glimpsed writings on the walls--bones, I mean. It looked like someone had been here for some time, enough to fill a certain space with endless writings, which he'd carved with some sharp stone. And it definitely wasn't the three stooges. They were too dumb to do anything like that.

  Closer, I saw that all the words were the same. The previous prisoner of this place, whomever he or she was, wrote only two words everywhere; two words explaining where I was exactly, and frustrating me even more: Moby Dick.

  I was inside the whale Hook was trying to catch, and it was huge like a small town of its own. My options of getting out were almost none.

  I slumped back in the bed, wondering what kind of fate this was, trapped in a puppet that was imprisoned in a whale. It was as if I had been inside a Russian matryoshka doll.

  In another diary, I may write about the days I spent inside the whale, trying to start a new life with my three lunatic neighbors. I spent so much time inside, I wondered why I hadn't grown a puppet's beard yet.