Grimm Page 4

  Another heart-warming story, thought Rory casting the paper aside. Grandad grunted but failed to stir any further. Deciding that today was not the day to find wise words at Boglehole Road, Rory tiptoed out, leaving a note to say he had dropped in, but without mentioning his increasingly imminent appointment.

  Trudging home and lost in his thoughts, Rory didn’t notice the bike pulling up beside him at first. “Boo,” said a voice gently beside him. Startled, Rory turned to find PC Mackay beside him. It hurt Rory’s neck to talk to Aberfintry’s police officer. At 6 feet 5 inches tall he towered above most things. Fortunately he often squatted down to chat, his long legs bending like a grasshopper’s to get low enough for a face to face conversation.

  “You look a bit pre-occupied,” said Malky.

  “Supppose so,” said Rory.

  “Been to see your Grandad?” asked the policeman, now pushing his bike and taking a measured stride to fit in with Rory’s slow walk.

  “Yeah, but he was snoozing so it was a wasted trip.”

  “Aye, he seems to be sleeping more these days,” said Malky.

  Rory said nothing prompting Malky to look at him. “You okay, Rory? You seem a bit low.”

  “I was wanting to ask my Grandad about something but I timed it wrong.”

  “Can I help?” asked Malky.

  Rory thought for a second and then threw caution to the wind. “If you knew someone who was planning to go up to Hotel Grimm would you be concerned?”

  Malky’s eyebrows raised momentarily. He nodded slowly and looked thoughtful. “Not if he had told someone he was going and when he expected to be back … and that he didn’t do anything daft when he was up there,” said Malky. “I know a lot of other people in this town would have a very different opinion, but that’s mine.”

  “But what about its reputation?” asked Rory.

  “You don’t get harmed by a reputation. You get harmed by dangerous people or by taking silly risks. There are none of the first up there, so tell your friend to avoid the second and they’ll be okay.”

  Rory nodded. “This um … friend, was talking of going up there on Saturday morning for about three hours, I think.”

  Malky gave a brief nod and then pointed left. “I have to go this way,” he said. “Good to see you again, Rory. Tell your friend to take care now,” he added looking back over his shoulder.

  With a day to go, Rory found his thoughts taken up more and more with what Saturday morning might bring, so much so that he couldn’t face doing some of the things that were part of normal everyday life for him. The other lads looked a bit bemused as he turned down a game of playground football and took himself off.

  “Come on, Rory …”

  “Yeah what’s up, Zizz Boy?”

  “Got some new prize-winning slogan on your mind?”

  Instead, Rory found a quiet corner to sit and read some of the scribbled notes he had made from his shift in the library, which did little other than depress him and provide further anxiety about the weekend’s appointment. To make matters worse he opened his lunchbox to find that Momo had mistaken it for one of her craft containers. It was packed it with playdough, straws and tubes of glitter.

  “I saw you in the library the other day.” Rory was interrupted from thoughts of his rumbling stomach. Bonnie O’Donnell was sitting in front of him having made her way over from her usual reading spot by the trees at the far side of the playground.

  “Yeah, I saw you too,” said Rory, trying not to make it obvious that he was clutching his notes together to keep them hidden from view.

  “Haven’t seen you in there before,” said Bonnie.

  “No … probably not,” replied Rory, trying not to get drawn into anything.

  “Reference books?” Bonnie asked with a half smile.

  “Yeah … yeah, that’s right,” said Rory.

  “I couldn’t help noticing which reference books you were after … and Mrs Trinder-Kerr confirmed it.”

  Rory said nothing.

  “Oh come on, Rory,” said Bonnie after a pause. “What were you doing checking out information on Hotel Grimm?”

  Rory shrugged.

  “People generally only take an interest in that place if they absolutely have to. I’m guessing you’re in that camp?”

  Rory wanted to blurt out everything, but was too frightened even to hear himself say what he was getting into. He looked away from Bonnie into the distance at the other boys kicking a ball about. Beyond them there was the playground fence, a line of houses and then the stark silhouette of Scrab Hill and Hotel Grimm.

  Rory said nothing.

  “Fair enough,” she continued, “but if you ask me, that big archive of press cuttings is amazing, and if … just if … you happened to be taking an interest in the hotel, let me know.”

  With that, Bonnie’s electric wheelchair buzzed into action. She spun round and headed away.

  8. Ramsay and the rats

  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.

  I’m guessing you might need these soon.

  Let me know how you get on.

  Bonnie

  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 od
d 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 a
t 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.