He Comes From Below

Grimm Cabot was perhaps the unluckiest vampire in Le Garde Obscure. News of his impending betrayal spread quickly through the intricate weave of tunnels they called home. His creed stood before him, all one hundred and twenty-two of them, melded into a sea of suspicious and disappointed faces. He cowered in the shadow of the firstborn vampire, his bony knees clanking together.

“Amaya, please, forgive me,” Grimm pleaded.

With a snarl of his lip, Amaya dropped a fold of burlap onto the soil ahead of him.

“You know what you must do,” Amaya said. “In this sack lies three things. A disguise, a bag of blood, and a memory. You have until the next full moon to do what is expected of you. If you fail, I Amaya Ozul, shall declare you, Grimm Cabot, banished from Le Garde Obscure!”

Grimm’s mother slobbered and sneezed into a rag behind him. He ached to turn and comfort her, but his father’s steely gaze kept Grimm facing forward. Slowly, under the careful watch of his creed, Grimm unfolded the burlap and revealed his disguise; a dull striped shirt and a worn pair of jeans that’d seen better days. Grimm’s nose flickered at the peppery stench of the clothing.

“Are these… human clothes?” he whispered, trying to hide his curiosity, but Amaya wasn’t easily fooled.

“Take a look at what you leave behind,” Amaya said.

Grimm did. He turned to face the crowd with a gaunt, withered frown. Grimm was skinnier than most despite his addiction to candied blood and stood at a rickety five-foot-six. His skin was frighteningly pale, even for a vampire, and the unshorn mess of his ebony hair framed his thin face. Grimm lacked confidence but who could blame him? The others in his creed seemed to be chiselled from muscle and stone. Grimm was most sensitive about his jagged teeth. He’d been a biter as a child. Tables, chairs, the points of his coffin. His obsession quickly soured and snapped the nibs of his fangs, leaving them with vicious, uneven points. In fact, Grimm made a miserable vampire. He had a lust for life and dreams to explore. Dreams that didn’t quite fit inside Amaya’s tunnels.

“It’s time to say goodbye,” Amaya said and waved Grimm’s parents forward.

His mother, Lorelai, engulfed him in her heavy clutch. Snot smeared across his jacket and her sharp claws left tiny holes where she grabbed him. Even the wisp of her black hair had started to turn grey.

“I promise, I’ll come back. I’ll do what Amaya asks of me,” Grimm whispered into her neck.

Lorelai couldn’t speak for her heart was entirely broken. She left him with a gentle kiss against his forehead and disappeared into the scalding whispers of the crowd. His father’s goodbye wasn’t quite so pained, but Grimm could see the grief behind his father’s spectacles.

“Do not fail us again,” he said, cold and sharp.

“Yes, father.”

Suddenly, Grimm was alone in a tunnel full of vampires. Amaya’s hand settled on his shoulder.

“It’s time.”

With the burlap sack in his grip, Grimm closed his eyes and awaited the stab of fangs across his nape. There was howling and struggle and then finally, silence.

Grimm awoke dizzy and terrified. A nagging discomfort loomed behind his eyes as he adjusted to the sights and feelings of the world around him. His striped shirt was drenched from the blanket of snow beneath him, and his trousers were torn from the snag of branches and bristle.

Above him, white-dusted pine trees stretched for the meld of a mauve sky. They were taller than Grimm could’ve imagined. The roots of these trees were the foundation of his home so many miles below, but even the giant knots of bark couldn’t have prepared him for how minuscule their shadow would make him feel. When his limbs no longer felt like lead, he pushed himself upright.

“I made it!” he called, hoping to hear the snicker of his creed below.

“Hello?”

The eerie quiet of the forest swallowed him whole. Grimm could hardly breathe. He was alone. Even the smell of the forest made him queasy. It was acidic, foul almost, and burnt the hair of his nostrils. Peculiar, Grimm thought, to have hair in the same place one smells from. His finger, one of now five, prodded in and around his newly formed septum until he found that, like most humans, Grimm now had two nostril holes.

“It really worked,” he whispered, peeling his eyes wide.

Clouds of his breath pilfered his sight as stumbled forward. Clag sat thick between his toes from the frost-laced leaves.

“Don’t linger. Don’t shift. Don’t run,” Grimm said, feeling a strange, unwelcomed swell of anxiety in his stomach. There was too little space and yet more room than Grimm needed. He was accustomed to the tight swaddle of the tunnels and the awkward press of his coffin. He stared at the hill he’d tumbled down and swallowed the lump in his throat. Splintered tree trunks sliced through the ice like stakes. “Just get to the top, Grimm. For once in your life, just do it. You’re here. You’re alive.”

Grimm’s rotten luck was sourer than ever. The human world hated him. Each branch snapped beneath his weight and his bare feet, purpling from the cold, slid through the snow at every step. It took him almost an hour to clamber to the top and when he did, Grimm felt the peculiar trickle of something racing down his back. He wiped it from the damp band of his trousers and sniffed.

“Oh, I’m sweating! Ha!” he laughed and took another large inhale.

He was transfixed by the strange tangy scent when he heard it. The distinct crack of a branch. His stomach churned as he listened. The world was still. Too still. When the growl erupted behind him, Grimm sprang to his feet and sprinted without warning, direction, or sense. Trees blurred into smudges as branches smacked his face and body, shedding their snow onto him, but as the heavy pelt of paws chased him, he couldn’t think of anything other than run. Just as he thought he was gaining an advantage, a clunky weight crashed into him and anchored him to the forest floor.

“Argh! No! Help me!” he cried.

Then, beyond the gnashing of teeth, Grimm heard another set of footsteps. This time they were even, two of them, repetitive and controlled. Human, he thought.

“Alvin, you big oaf, get off!” A shadow appeared above him and immediately, Alvin jumped away but sat beside Grimm’s petrified body, dripping thick, cold globs of salvia down his neck. “Dumb dog.” Alvin whined as the human looped a finger under his collar and gently wrestled his away. “I am so sorry! He just gets excited. Y’alright?”

Grimm stared at the shape above him. The setting sun was crowned around his head, shielding the human’s face.

“I-I-,” Grimm stuttered.

“Ah, crap. Didn’t hit your head, did ya? Dammit, Alvin, you’re too much sometimes.” An awkward pause passed between them. “You look scared half to death, man. Don’t worry, he’s a big dog but he wouldn’t bite a biscuit.”

“Wouldn’t- bite a- biscuit,” Grimm mumbled, and promptly, his world sank to black.

The world returned in a violent burst. Alvin was licking his chin and the human was stooped beside him, inspecting a wound just below Grimm’s knee.

“You’re touching me,” he squeaked.

“Oh, sorry. I was tendin’ to this gash on your leg. Pretty deep. Wanted to make sure it wasn’t infected. Glad to have you back to the land of the livin’.”

Grimm’s eyes widened.

“Why would you say that?”

“Just a phrase, man. You never heard that?” the human chuckled.

“Not- really. Are you going to kill me?”

Grimm ogled the human. There was an odd warmth in his eyes that he didn’t recognize. The appearance of which stirred his stomach into a tangled web of knots. The human’s laugh was honey and silk and a gentle glow that thawed his rimy skin and set his face alight. Panicked, Grimm used all ten of his fingers and slapped his cheeks.

“Is my face on fire?” he blurted.

“Wh- huh? Your face? You’re just a little flushed. That’s all. I promise I’m not going to kill you.”

“That sound you made. I like it.” Grimm paused. “Make it again.”

The human studied Grimm for a moment.

“My laugh? You gotta say somethin’ funny.” When Grimm didn’t open his mouth again, he scratched his neck awkwardly. “Anyway, how long have you been out here, man? You, uh- didn’t have any shoes on. Your feet were ruined. I patched ‘em up good though.”

Grimm almost scoffed at the curious human. He didn’t need shoes. But then he studied the thick brown boots on the human’s feet.

“Right. Shoes.” he muttered. “Where can I acquire such things?”

“Curious thing. I got some old boots that aren’t being used. They look about your size.”

Alvin huffed from his place beside the fire.

“Oh, hush. He doesn’t need them for now, boy,” the human said, ruffling Alvin’s fur. “Now, I’m not about to give a good pair of boots to a stranger. So, my name is Derek Mooney.”

Grimm flinched at the hand flung between them and curled his fingers around Derek’s thumb.

“Grimm Cabot.”

Derek shook the tangle of their hands.

“You should rest here until that leg heals properly, Grimm. These woods are pretty big. Lot of people and things out there that might seek to do you harm. We’re not alone out here,” Derek mumbled.

His voice was calm and steady but the words terrified Grimm. His leg wasn’t healing as quickly as it would underground. He wasn’t prepared.

“Things? What do you mean things?” Grimm asked, watching Derek potter back and forth, his eyes scanning through the treeline surrounding his cabin. He turned to face Grimm with a look so serious that it made his toes curl.

“Things you wouldn’t believe. I wouldn’t feel right knowing I’d left you there with a leg like that.”

Grimm was utterly confused. This human didn’t have blood-thirsty gills or scaled skin and bulging dark eyes. Nor did he have giant claws that were ready to impale him. This human was sweet. Kind in a way that Grimm didn’t know. Grimm liked this human.

“Listen, I gotta run to the store. I’ll take Alvin with me ‘cause he likes ridin’ in the front seat. I can leave you here or-”

“I’ll come!” Grimm said.

He didn’t know what a store was or why Derek insisted on going but he didn’t want to be alone. Not yet. The lights were unbearably vivid and there was a million smells filling Grimm’s nose. Brightly colored cans and bags and boxes of food lined every shelf. What Derek called annoying music blasted across the entire store and miserable-looking people pushed strange metal contraptions through the aisles. Several of which came close to severing Grimm’s foot.

“You look green,” Derek said, clutching two boxes of make-at-home macaroni.

“I do?” Grimm panicked and turned on his heel, flipping his hands and arms over to inspect his skin.

“You’re a real strange guy, Grimm, but I like it. You must’ve hit your head real hard ‘cause you look more lost than a blind dog in a meat house. It’s probably overwhelming in here with your head injury.”

“Yes. That’s it. The, um, head injury,” Grimm mumbled.

“Let’s checkout. Then you need a drink.”

“I had water at the house,” Grimm said, missing the warmth of the crackling fire. Human world was cold, even with his toes now concealed by fluffy socks and worn leather boots. The jeans Derek had given him were an inch too big around the waist and made his rear end look saggy and the flannel hanging over his arms was itchy and uncomplimentary on his newly formed skin.

“No, I mean a real drink.”

Grimm drowned in the neon light of the bar ahead. ‘The Avalanche’ blinked putrid shades of pink and green. Even the comforting sense of Derek beside him did little to ease the sweat on his palms.

“Goddamn, Grimm, I can hear your heart beatin’ over here.” Derek’s voice, though light, made the nerves worse.

“You can?”

“Not like, literally, but- you know what, nevermind.”

 A broad-shouldered man guarded the entrance, his bald head shining from the neon lights above. A round belly protruded beneath his shirt, enough for Grimm to see the hair knotted from his belly button. The stool the man was perched on creaked as he moved, crossing his arms as Grimm and Derek approached.

“Rod, good to see you,” Derek said.

Grimm almost broke his neck spinning to look at him. How could these two humans know each other? They were so completely unalike.

“Derek,” Rod mumbled and looked at Grimm with a pinched face.

“He looks as yella as mustard.”

“He’s alright, Rod. He’s fittin’ right in. Busy tonight?”

“Usual crowd. Any news on Frankie?”

The mood soured and the lights dimmed. Every ounce of warmth and care that Grimm felt connecting him to Derek turned to ice and electricity. Derek stiffened, his mouth flattening into a tight line. He cleared his throat to busy himself.

“None just yet, suspect somethin’ soon, though.”

Inside, The Avalanche was as terrifyingly human as Grimm dreaded. It was flashing lights and the loud chatter of countryfolk. Like the store, music pounded from the crackling speakers. Jugs of strange yellow liquid oozed froth onto the tabletops and the hazy smoke in the air tickled his throat. Through the plume, a petite lady appeared. She was shorted than Grimm by an inch or so and stared up at them through thick, poorly glued lashes.

“Well, hello stranger,” she purred, waving her fingers in a coy sort of way.

“Go easy on ‘im now, Harper, he’s not from around here,” Derek warned and tugged Grimm toward him. Derek almost choked with laughter as he looked at Grimm. He was stiff as a board, eyes peeled to their brim, staring at Harper like she was a ghost.

“Ease up, Grimm. She won’t bite. Not unless you ask her to.”

“Bite?” Grim found himself thinking of his own fangs and the taste of the blood gushing through her veins. His gaze trailed her neck and the way her jugular moved and stretched as she talked.

“We’ll take two Snake Rivers at the bar please,” Derek said and guided Grimm to a sticky stool beside a stickier bar.

White foam popped and hissed down the glass that Harper slammed beside him and Grimm extended his neck to sniff at the mysterious liquid.

“Don’t tell me you ain’t ever had a beer,” Derek said with a cough.

“We don’t really drink beer where I’m from.”

“What the hell y’all drink, then?”

Grimm looked at him with a straight expression.

“Bloody marys.”

As it turned out, Grimm loved beer. The golden liquid only tasted sweeter the more he drank. It didn’t matter that he burped or shuddered, all Derek had to do was tap his finger on the bar and two more beers slid across the wood. Derek’s smile was kinder and brighter and a little sloppy, but Grimm found himself relaxing into him. Until a stranger appeared beside them and slapped a hand down on Derek’s shoulder, enough to slosh his beer.

“Derek Mooney. What a damn surprise. Thought we wouldn’t see your face round ‘ere for a long time.”

The stranger had a coarse voice, strangled, and cold compared to Derek’s.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that, Ricky?” Derek grunted.

“I ain’t seen a damn dollar of what your brother owes me, Derek. I know you know where he’s hidin’ and I want you to pass on a message.” Ricky tightened his grip. “I want my six hundred dollars by the end of the month or you’re a dead man.”

Derek pulled Grimm away from the bar after that. Straight out into the harsh cold of a Wyoming night. He walked with the pace of a scorned man, almost too fast for Grimm to keep up. Derek muttered to himself, shaking his head all the way home. When the fire was crackling once more and Alvin had slobbered over Grimm’s clean jeans, Derek sat beside Grimm with a pale expression.

“What happened back there?” Grimm asked, nervous.

“That was Ricky Johnson. All American asshole. He thinks my brother owes him money.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Grimm whispered. “Where is he?”

Derek looked reserved in the soft glow of the flames. Grimm reached forward and placed a gentle hand on his knee and when it wasn’t immediately batted away, he puffed out his chest. “You can trust me, Derek. You saved me.”

“You’ll think I sound crazy.”

“Why would you think that?”

“People thought Frankie was crazy, when he started looking for them.”

Grimm swallowed the burp in his throat.

“For who?”

When Derek turned to face him, his eyes were wet, and his cheeks flushed. There was sorrow and confusion worming across his face and it made Grimm’s chest feel tight.

“Frankie was convinced that there’s this, I don’t know.” Derek laughed but the sound was empty. “This group of creatures or aliens or whatever the hell they are, living in these tunnels underground.”

Grimm’s stomach turned to cement. He couldn’t breathe. No. No. No. When Grimm spoke again, his voice was weak.

“Can I see what he looks like?”

Derek unfolded a frayed, creased photograph from his pocket. There he was. Smiling up at them innocently. This was the human that’d found Grimm exploring The Overhead from their underground perch. This was the human that Grimm had made a deal with. This was the memory in his burlap sack.  

Grimm looked at Derek with a nauseous look.

“Why’re you looking at me like that, Grimm?”

“You’re the one I’ve been sent to kill.”