The Grimm Conclusion (11 page)

If, on the other hand, you have not read either
A Tale Dark & Grimm
or
In a Glass Grimmly
, you are probably incredibly confused.

But don't worry! Neither Jorinda nor Joringel has read
A Tale Dark & Grimm
or
In a Glass Grimmly
, and they are
experiencing
what you are only reading about. So as confused as you might be, you've got nothing on them.

Jorinda and Joringel were under the cover of a wide, bushy hemlock. “Did you hear that?” Jorinda hissed.

Joringel was sitting straight as a ramrod. “I think someone is following us.”

“It doesn't sound like someone is following us,” Jorinda replied. “It sounds like someone is inside our heads.”

“It's almost like the voice of God.”

“But God keeps making stupid jokes.”

“It knows our names.”

“What's
In a Grass Glimmly?
” Jorinda asked.

“Or
Tall, Dark, and Grimm?
”

Jorinda shrugged. Then she peered out from behind the branches of hemlock. “Come on,” she said. “I think it's clear.” So the two children rose to their feet and pushed through the mist. It left trails of water on their cheeks and hung like raindrops from their eyelashes. They walked and walked and walked. And walked. And walked. Without being able to see more than three feet in front of them.

Images of decapitated children and fire-breathing monsters danced before them in the mist. Also of closed doors. Of chests of apples. Of sisters riding away on horseback. Of groaning, miserable kingdoms.

Jorinda and Joringel tried to shove the thoughts down, cover them with mattresses, stamp them out, choke them back.

Neither child was succeeding.

At last, the mist began to thin, and the children slowed. They found themselves at the edge of a neatly maintained field. It had sharp, clean edges and white lines running along the grass.

At one end of the neat field was a very strange building. It was tall and kind of fat. Like a tower. But it was made of bright red brick. And there were other buildings like it. Many others. All around it. Near the building, at the other end of the field, children were sitting on the neatly mowed grass. Before them stood a young man. He appeared to be telling a story.

Jorinda started for him. Joringel followed. As they approached, his words became clearer.

They froze.

They knew that voice.

It was the voice they had been hearing in their heads.

It was saying,

Once upon a time, fairy tales were awesome . . .

Carriages without any horses zoomed by on the road. Buildings made of brick and steel towered over the treetops. Jorinda's and Joringel's knees went weak. And the voice still echoed in their heads—perfectly in time with the tall, awkward guy talking to the seated children.

It was at this point that Jorinda and Joringel passed out.

O
kay. You are confused. Very confused. I get that.

But please, trust me. Just give me a few minutes, and everything will be cleared up.

Jorinda and Joringel stared up at me, dumbstruck. Behind me, children—not wearing the garb of some long-ago kingdom, but instead dressed in blue jeans and T-shirts—ran around a classroom, laughing and pushing and shouting at one another. I ignored them.

“Where—?” Joringel blinked. He had no words.

“What—?” Jorinda's mouth stopped even trying.

You fainted. I brought you inside. I know this is very weird. But right now, I have to deal with my students, and then we can talk this all through. Okay?

The children nodded as if they didn't know what I was talking about.

Will you promise not to pass out again? At least until dismissal?

The children nodded again. I could have been asking them if they wanted to eat a wheelbarrow full of cat food. They were just going to keep nodding. I looked over my shoulder.

SAMMY!

A small boy named Sammy was kneeling in the block corner. My classroom had an excellent block corner, full of beautiful wooden blocks of all shapes and sizes. Sammy, a second grader with long blond hair and shining blue eyes, had just lifted up one of the longest, heaviest blocks in the room, pulled it behind his head, and was aiming it directly at another child's face.

Sammy!
Do NOT do that!

At which point, Sammy brought the block around with all the force he could muster. The child he was aiming at, luckily, ducked. Sammy, displeased, lifted the block again.

NO!

I was just about to sprint over to save the poor child from Sammy and his enormous block when I saw another student of mine. His name was George. George was dancing. On a table.

George! George, get down!

But George was not about to get down. He had just begun his Michael Jackson impression, and he was moonwalking, very convincingly, across the tabletop.

That's not safe . . .
I muttered. Yeah. He didn't care.

I looked to see how Sammy's target was faring, when I noticed Jeff. Jeff was a round boy with round glasses. He was in the arts and crafts area. I found that puzzling. Jeff was usually getting into trouble. What kind of trouble could you get into in the arts and crafts area? His back was to me. Suddenly, he turned around. Jeff had been gluing cotton balls
to his face
.

“I'm Santa Claus!” he shouted.

A few children cheered. I put my head in my hands. Jeff began to sing “Jingle Bells.”

I walked to the rug at the center of the room. I sat down. I figured I would just watch the ensuing carnage. Sammy was chasing the poor kid around, waving the block over his head and screaming bloody murder. George had moved on to the groin grab in his Michael Jackson routine. Jeff was singing “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg . . .”

Suddenly, I noticed that a few children had come to sit beside me on the rug. Bless these children. In every classroom, there are always three or four nice kids, who will help the teacher out, no matter how hopeless and unprepared that teacher might be. These four kids tucked their little legs into criss-cross-applesauce and gazed up at me, waiting for some kind of instruction.

I decided that I would let Sammy murder his classmate. I would let George moonwalk backward off a table. I would let Jeff develop a skin condition from the not-at-all skin-safe purple paste he was using on his face. Forget everyone else. I decided that I would just tell these four nice kids a story. And so I did. I said,

Once upon a time . . .

And then, the most amazing thing happened. Sammy suddenly stopped swinging his block. He looked at me.

Up on the table, George froze. And looked.

And over in the arts and crafts, Jeff—

Well, Jeff kept gluing cotton balls to his face.

I went on.

. . . an old king lay on his deathbed. He was Hansel and Gretel's grandfather. But he didn't know that. Because Hansel and Gretel hadn't been born yet . . .

As I told the story, I stopped to make jokes and to warn the second graders when something frightening was about to happen. Which was pretty often. Slowly, Sammy dropped his block, and started moving closer and closer to the rug. George sat down on the edge of the table and then moved down to the floor. And Jeff—kept gluing things to his face.

I told the children about a man called Faithful Johannes, and about a young king and a golden princess, and their two little children, Hansel and Gretel. And then I told them about how, to save Johannes's life, the young king cut off Hansel's and Gretel's heads.

My students' mouths hung open. As did Jorinda's and Joringel's.

Then the school bell rang, and the kids all ran and got their coats and book bags and headed to the door. “Bye, Adam!” they cried. “See you tomorrow!” Sammy gave me a high five. I had no idea what I'd done to deserve a high five, except, perhaps, fail to intervene in his attempt at murder.

Once all the kids were gone, I took a deep breath, closed the classroom door, and turned to Jorinda and Joringel.

Well
, I said.
You probably have some questions.

“Yes,” Jorinda nodded. “Do you have anything to eat?”

So I guided them to the rug, handed them two threadbare pillows, and offered them apple juice and animal crackers. Because that is the only food in the world a teacher is ever granted access to. But the children ate them hungrily.

At last, with crumbs speckling his mouth and half a cup of apple juice spilled down the front of his shirt, Joringel said, “Your voice . . . we've been hearing it in our heads.”

Yeah, I'm sorry about that.

Jorinda shook herself like she had water in her ear. I apologized again.

“I have a question,” said Joringel.

“I have a lot of questions,” Jorinda added.

Okay. Go ahead.

“Well, what's that?” Joringel pointed at an old computer monitor that sat in the corner of the room.

Right. That would take me a really long time to explain.

“Oh.”

Next question.

Jorinda asked, “Where are we?”

Well, right now it
looks
like we're in a classroom in Brooklyn, New York.

Jorinda blinked at me. “I have no idea what that means.”

That's okay. Because, while it looks like we're in Brooklyn, we are actually in the Märchenwald.

Jorinda and Joringel both stared at me blankly.

You don't know what that means either, do you?

They shook their heads.

Well,
Märchen
means “story,” or “fairy tale.” And
Wald
means “forest.” This is the Forest of Story.

Both children stared at me like I was a talking banana.

I tried again.

The Märchenwald is where all the stories in the world are. Every story is told, and actually happens, here. When you fainted in that field, I was in the middle of telling a story from your world. And that story was happening elsewhere in this forest. Somewhere far away, other tales are being told and lived. All here. In the Märchenwald.

“What you're saying,” Jorinda informed me, “doesn't make any sense.”

Joringel said, “We saw a story you just told. The one about the two kids getting their heads cut off.”

Yes. Hansel and Gretel.

“Right, well, we saw it happen.”

Wow. That was probably upsetting.

“It was.”

Well, don't worry. They come back to life.

“WHAT?”

“Um, how?”

I reached up to the shelf that sat beside my teacher's chair and pulled a slim blue book down from it. I held the book in my lap, looking at the cover. Jorinda and Joringel got to their knees and peered over my shoulder.

“
A Tale Dark and Grimm
,” Joringel read aloud. “You said that when you were talking in our heads.”

“What is it?” Jorinda asked.

This book has the whole story of Hansel and Gretel.

“Can we hear it?” Joringel asked. “Please?”

Well, maybe a little bit . . . I said. Just so you know that Hansel and Gretel will be okay. Where should I start?

“When they get their heads cut off!” Joringel shouted.

Jorinda looked sick. “How about just after that?”

So I cracked the spine of the book and began to read. After I finished the first chapter, the children wanted to hear the chapter after that. And, since I am unable to resist children who ask me for a story—I acquiesced. But when I finished the second chapter, the children wanted to hear the third. I said no, it had been a long day, and I was tired. But then they made those cute sad faces that kids make when they're really disappointed. Not the intentional, puppy-dog faces, which are annoying and have no effect on me whatsoever. Those let-down, looking-in-their-laps-and-sighing faces. So I read the third chapter.

By the end of that, we were hungry. And I was kind of enjoying myself. So I ordered pizza. As we waited for it, we read the fourth chapter. When it arrived, Jorinda and Joringel marveled at what was, to them, the greatest culinary invention in history.

After eating, we had plenty of energy, so we plowed through the fifth and sixth chapters. There are only nine chapters in the book, so once we were that close to the end, we decided just to finish it.

After I closed the book, Jorinda and Joringel sat in silence.

“Where was the pink monster?” Jorinda suddenly demanded. “Is that from one of your stories, too?”

Yes. That's from a different book I wrote. Called
In a Glass Grimmly
.

The children's eyes went wide. “Can we hear that?” Jorinda asked.

I'm not sure . . .

“Is it as bloody as the first one?” Joringel wanted to know.

Maybe worse . . .

“Perfect!” Joringel cried. “We've got enough pizza left to last us till morning!”

I have to teach tomorrow morning! I need some sleep.

The children looked down in their laps and sighed.

Fine.

I pulled a thicker yellow book down from the shelf above my teacher chair.

Ready?

The children pulled themselves up next to me and nodded. And I began.

We read chapter after chapter after chapter, as the Brooklyn streets outside the classroom window became darker and quieter and the sounds of traffic died away. Soon, all that could be heard from the deserted roads was the occasional wail of a siren, or the hissing groan of a garbage truck. My eyelids drooped—but every time I paused in my reading, the children poked me with their small, sharp fingers. I batted their hands away, scowled at them, and read on. At last, we came to that great pink monster, the Eidechse von Feuer, der Menschenfleischefressende. Also known as Eddie. I read:

“They were staring at a small mountain that sat beside the winding lava river. The mountain was made not of rock, nor of magma, but of pink, fleshy skin. The mountain had a ridge like a backbone, and little valleys formed by small arms and legs, and a slope of a wide, flat tail. There was no head. But its body rose and fell with breath. They could see thin black bones through the pink skin, and in the distended bag of a belly, black organs wound around one another, pulsing.”

“That's it! That's what we saw!” Joringel cried.

“It's gonna
kill
them,” murmured Jorinda.

“They . . . they won't die, right, Adam?” Joringel asked me.

Instead of answering, I kept reading. I read to them about the frog translating Eddie's roars, and Eddie asking questions like, “Am I smelly? Very smelly? Is smelly good, or is smelly bad?” And then I told about how he helped the children escape the goblins by emerging from his giant hole and raining fire down upon the goblin soldiers and cities. Jorinda and Joringel cheered.

“He was nice!” Jorinda exclaimed at the end of the chapter.

“I like Eddie,” Joringel agreed.

I smiled.
Everyone likes Eddie. He's the best.

“Is he really?”

Yes. He really is.

“I want to meet him again. I won't be so scared this time.”

Well, if you want to meet him, you have to learn how to say his name.

“Teach us!”

Sure. Ready?

They nodded.

Repeat after me: I-DECK-SUH VON FOY-ER DARE MEN-CHEN-FLYSH-FRESS-EN-DUH.

The children repeated after me.

Good. Now you'll be sure to meet him.