Grimm (15 page)

Rory felt his hand being enveloped and pumped up and down by a giant paw-like grasp.

“Man, it’s good to see you again, Rory! I know it sounds corny, but you are growing fast!”

So are you,
thought Rory who had arranged to meet the somewhat-larger-than-before, Mr Finkleman at the Art Gallery Café for old times sake.

“It sure is funny being back here again,” Finkleman said, looking round the sunny terrace. “What a chance meeting that was. I’ve often thought it was meant to be.”

Rory smiled a weak smile of agreement. As he looked out at the sculptures in the garden he pictured the girl skipping past and singing. Maybe she would turn up today just to complete the reunion.

“So what’s been happening, buddy? I couldn’t help noticing all of these “No Ifs No Buts” posters around the town. What’s going on? Something about a big demonstration next weekend?”

Rory was lost for words. So much had happened in the last three weeks that he couldn’t think where to start.

“Well to be honest, it’s all about the hotel you have an interest in,” said Rory.

“Yeah, I need to get up there and do what Aunt Aggie wanted me to,” said Finkleman. “You’ll need to point me in the right direction.”

Rory stuck out an arm and pointed to Scrab Hill and Hotel Grimm.

“Wow, that place?” said Finkleman looking at its dark forbidding shape. “Aunt Aggie always did live life on the edge!”

“Well, I can take you up there and introduce you,” said Rory. “I’ve sent a message ahead to explain that you’re coming. So you’ll hopefully get a decent welcome.” His fear was that Grog would be as rude to the nephew of the woman he had saved in the fire, as he
had been to Rory on his first visit there. He had sent a note to Grog, and a lengthy one to Grimson too, courtesy of Stobo and the cable car, to try and ensure that Finkleman wouldn’t turn tail and run as soon as the door creaked open.

“I can fill you in on what’s been happening on the way up. I need to pitch an idea to them and have a meeting there this afternoon.”

“Excellent,” said Finkleman. “No time like the present, and good to hear you are back in business again. Ideas from the Zizz Boy are sure to be worth making an appointment for.”

By the time they got to the ledge, Rory had covered as much of the background story as he could.

Finkleman didn’t say much. This was partly because he was puffing and bright red from the exertion of climbing the hill, “Man, I am out of shape,” he said, but also because he was taking in everything that Rory was saying. He would alternately nod, shake his head or whistle in wonder at the stories Rory was telling.

At the ledge they finally stopped for air. Rory felt like he had offloaded much of what had been swilling around in his head in recent times. The view was as good as ever and Finkleman was not disappointed. “Wow, Rory, I see what you’re thinking. This is some vantage point.” He moved over to the edge and breathed in deeply. “I gotta get out of the city for a while. Look at me,” he said patting his large stomach. “I’m carrying a few too many pounds. Do you know I could use a break. The last eighteen months have been super-busy.”

Finkleman turned back to Rory. “See buddy, this place is working for me already!” He looked beyond Rory to the pavilion. “Hey, check that out! Is that what you reckon could be the Halfway House? What a place!” He walked towards it. “Seven days to fix it up you say? Well we’ve fitted out some of the new Zizz café bars in that sort of time just to get them open, but this is quite a challenge.”

“The main problem is that there is no local builder who will touch this place,” said Rory.

“Shame,” said Finkleman, “It reminds me of stuff I used to do when I had the time. Building things. I renovated a few houses in
my younger days. I loved all that stuff. I’m too used to sitting down and pushing a pen these days.”

“We should probably go,” said Rory, getting depressed. The more he thought about it, the more his solution was sounding quite unfeasible, given the tight timescale.

“Sure thing. At least I have my breath back now,” said Finkleman. “Do you know, Rory, I’m touched by the story of your Grandad. That must have been so difficult for him living with secrets like that for so long. I’m sure he must feel like a new man having had the chance to talk to you this week.”

Rory nodded. Looking down on the town, he could just make out Boglehole Road and the workshop at the bottom of the garden. A few streets away, the Art Gallery Café with its little outdoor area could also be seen. It struck Rory that he was with Finkleman, talking about the value of honesty and the pain of secrets in a place where everything looked different.

“There’s one other thing I ought to tell you, but this one is a bit difficult to explain,” said Rory continuing to look down on Aberfintry. Knowing that he was almost at a point of no return, he just couldn’t look Finkleman in the eye.

“Well, Rory,” said Finkleman, “you fire away and I’ll see if I can make sense of it.”

“Er … yes it’s one of those things,” continued Rory, his mouth beginning to dry up. “… or rather it’s a situation where what everyone thinks is the real story, isn’t actually the case and it’s quite hard explaining just what the truth actually is.”

“Okay, well you have a go and we’ll see where we get to,” said Finkleman, still cheery and encouraging.

Why oh why didn’t I just say this in the first place at the Art Gallery Café,
thought Rory to himself. “It’s just knowing quite where to start,” he said.

“Well I always find the beginning a useful enough place to get going from,” said Finkleman. Rory instinctively checked the distance to get back to the path in case Finkleman’s reaction meant that he needed to make a sharp getaway. There was a long pause.
Rory could no longer think of anything to say to stall the inevitable.

“Come on Rory. I’m all ears,” said Finkleman. “Whatever it is, just spit it out.”

“It’s about the Zizz slogan,” blurted out Rory.

“Ah … your miracle moment of genius,” said Finkleman grandly.

“Well, you see, that’s just it,” said Rory squirming inside and now feeling very hot under the collar. “That was one miracle that is actually very easy to explain.”

“You’re speaking in code here, Rory. Just let me know what you want to say. The truth can’t hurt,” said Finkleman with a grin and spreading his arms.

“The truth is … the Zizz slogan wasn’t mine.”

There was silence from Finkleman this time, raising Rory’s anxiety levels still further. Rory was finding it hard to look at the big American but sneaked a peak. His eyes had narrowed and his mouth seemed to have tightened. Rory could almost imagine his brain in overdrive, processing just what he was hearing. “This is what we would call in the trade ‘an interesting development,’ Rory,” drawled Finkleman. “I seem to remember, when I asked how you would describe Zizz all those months ago, that’s what you came out with.”

“I know, but I had just heard someone else say it.” Rory explained the real situation. It sounded cheap and nasty. Finkleman raised his eyebrows and then to Rory’s surprise seemed to carry on as normal.

“Yeah, but when I asked how you would describe Zizz, that’s what you said and that for me was the right answer.”

“Yeah, but I used someone else’s idea,” said Rory, aware that he had gone bright red on the outside and had a hollow feeling inside.

“Well, Rory, they sure haven’t been in touch with me to make a claim about it. The way I see it is … you gave me the right answer when I asked you a question, and that answer has brought our company phenomenal success. Okay your creative qualities perhaps aren’t as strong as I thought, and maybe that award was pushing it a bit, but hey, you gave us the idea we needed, and look where Zizz Cola is now. Sometimes in this job it’s just about timing.”

“So you don’t mind?” said Rory finally bringing himself to look
Finkleman fully in the eye.

“Mind? Mind that I manage the number one soft drinks company in the world? I’m not
really
sure what your problem is, Rory,” said Finkleman. “Listen, where do you think any idea comes from in the first place? Some combination of things people have seen before … some connection they make between things. Everyone gets their ideas from something or someone if you trace them back. Okay you could have told me about this before. We could even have tried to find whoever had said this line originally. But this isn’t an unusual situation. There is nothing new under the sun. The clever thing is to put ideas together with the situation that needs them. Now that’s what you did. Don’t you worry, buddy. You get to keep the plaque and all those free cans of Zizz.”

“I wasn’t really bothered about those,” said Rory mumbling and finding it hard to believe that what had been preying on his mind for so long had just been dismissed out of hand.

“Well Mr Marketing Genius … I’m not going to strip you of your title, especially given the idea that you have come up with here. Now if you pitch this proposal up at the hotel just now and turn this place around,” Finkleman gestured around the ledge, “that will
really
be marketing genius. You would have sorted out a decades-old image problem in one fell swoop, increased a company’s profits, not to mention the community benefits of the project. Buddy, you would be in line for some kind of award!”

Finkleman saw the pained expression on Rory’s face at the thought of it, and his roar of laughter echoed over the ledge and beyond.

“That is some piece of work,” said Finkleman. He stood beside Rory looking down on the fallen statue of the wolf.

“So you really think that all the bad stuff has just been coincidence then?” said Finkleman. “This so-called curse was just hot air?”

“Well, as time has gone on it just seems that everything has an explanation,” said Rory thinking it all through. The hotel no longer scared him. Granville Grimm was now someone he felt sorry for rather than afraid of. The mural was not painting itself. He had found out about good people like Grimson and Gwendolen Grimm.
Stobo was not the ogre that most believed, and it seemed that Grog was a surprise package. Far from being a death trap, the cable car brought a whole new view to Scrab Hill. Rory was even trying to see rats in a new light courtesy of Ramsay Sandilands. Meanwhile, much of how the town viewed the hotel seemed to have been influenced by Derek Goodman, and he had his own personal reasons for that. Bella Valentine’s story had played a part too, and as Rory remembered her, he realized that there was one unanswered question about the hotel.

“There is one thing that’s not been explained yet,” said Rory as they approached the enormous front door. “I might just check it out while we’re here.”

“Hi,” said Rory as the door was opened. The welcome and response was remarkably different from his first visit.

“Good afternoon,” croaked Grog holding the door open. “Mr McKenna for Mr Grimm?”

“That’s right but I’m very early, so I was going to pop up and see Grimson first,” said Rory. “I think I can find my own way, if that’s okay?”

“As you wish,” said Grog. “And you must be Ms Finkleman’s nephew.”

“I am indeed and I have strict instructions to shake you very firmly by the hand, Mr McGroggan. It is a pleasure and an honour to meet you.”

Grog looked flattered. “Well, any relative of Ms Finkleman is very welcome at the hotel. I remember her visit with great affection, even though it ended under difficult circumstances.” Grog stifled a cough. “Please do come in.”

Rory watched Finkleman trying to adjust his eyes to the gloom. The burly American looked across at Rory as if to say “I see what you mean.”

“Our chef has prepared some afternoon tea if you would care to come through here,” said Grog.

“Sure glad you briefed me about this, Rory,” whispered Finkleman as he followed Grog.

Rory took his leave and headed upstairs intent on ruling out the last big question mark over Hotel Grimm. Just why was Corridor Five off limits?

Having survived two trips to Hotel Grimm already, Rory no longer believed that sudden death awaited him there; not even in Corridor Five. If he could disprove Bella Valentine’s story that there was some kind of beast there, then people’s fears about the hotel might diminish and the idea of the Halfway House would stand more of a chance of at least being heard. Until that happened she would always say: “That place is evil and was nearly the death of me.”

As he headed upstairs, Rory felt more confident in the gloom of the hotel now, being a bit clearer on his sense of direction around the building. He also felt more confident as he still had Bonnie’s giant torch with him. It had been in his backpack since he had used it to identify Grimson, and now it helped to locate the corridor numbers. Within a couple of minutes he was standing at the sign for Corridor Five, the beam of the torch picking out the number high on the wall.

Rory’s confidence in his hunch that there was some explanation behind Corridor Five’s mystery began to shake a little at the sight of the sign. To avoid getting scared, he had been telling himself that the noise that had begun so suddenly when he was here with Grog would be about to start again. “Anytime now,” he said to himself, “it’s going to happen anytime now. Not a problem. Not a problem at all. Just a loud noise. All perfectly normal …”

In front of him was a short section of hallway, a right-hand corner and then Corridor Five would begin properly. It was as he moved towards the corner that his prediction proved to be correct.

BANG CLATTER BANG CLATTER BANG CLATTER

“Told you, told you, told you,” he said to himself. Rory was all too aware that even though he had prepared himself for this, his heart was already starting to thump much faster than normal. The
thought that Bella Valentine might not have exaggerated and that a spitting, clanking, chomping beast intent on devouring him in one gulp might be round the corner, suddenly assaulted Rory’s nerves.

“There’s no such thing, there’s no such thing … there’s a simple explanation, there’s a simple explanation,” Rory told himself as firmly as he could, as he took another pace forward.

BANG CLATTER HISS BANG CLATTER HISS BANG CLATTER HISS

Rory shuddered. The power of positive thinking was struggling to compete with the increasing noise. He was very aware he didn’t want to provoke the beast any more and turned off the torch for fear that the light might make the creature even more ferocious.

BANG CLATTER HISS WHEEZE BANG CLATTER HISS WHEEZE BANG CLATTER

Rory was now standing at the corner. Going around it would take him fully into Corridor Five and face to face with the beast of Hotel Grimm.

BANG CLATTER HISS WHEEZE CRASH MOAN BANG CLATTER HISS WHEEZE CRASH MOAN BANG CLATTER

The noises were now pounding in his ears. Wincing and holding his breath he rounded the corner. The noise in the darkness was too much for him. Rory reached for the light switch on the wall and flicked it down but nothing happened. The click seemed to ignite something further in the beast and the volume increased.

BANG CLATTER HISS WHEEZE CRASH MOAN ROAR BANG CLATTER HISS WHEEZE CRASH MOAN ROAR BANG CLATTER

Alarm bells began to sound in his head. Bella Valentine was right! He had badly misjudged Corridor Five. He was about to become front page news in The Chronicle for all the wrong reasons. Finkleman would tell how he found only bits of the Zizz Boy left.

And then he saw it. Out of the deep darkness at the end of the corridor lurched an immense mis-shapen figure. Rory could make out little detail but there was no doubt Bella Valentine’s story was coming to life in front of his eyes and was frighteningly accurate. “Hold your nerve! Hold your nerve!” he told himself as the creature advanced.

BANG CLATTER HISS WHEEZE CRASH MOAN ROAR BANG CLATTER HISS WHEEZE CRASH MOAN ROAR BANG CLATTER

The cacophony grew louder and louder and closer and closer. He could virtually feel the beat of the noise on his skin. The beast was now roaring wildly, swaying from side to side and moving slowly towards him. Rory’s hands shook uncontrollably and he dropped the torch. Falling to his knees he scrabbled desperately to find it. He flinched as a misty spray settled on his brow. It could only be fine spittle from a roaring mouth above him and Rory panicked that it might burn his skin like acid. The noise was now deafening as it seemed that the mystery creature was standing right above him. Rory smelt acrid smoke from the monster’s lungs and he screamed as his hand struck teeth, only to realize that he had brushed the head of a tiger-skin rug on the corridor floor. In one move he grabbed the rug with both hands and threw it upwards with all his strength. The roaring momentarily became more muffled. Rory scrabbled for the torch, his hand finally connecting with it. He dived to the side of the corridor, flicked the switch and shone the bright light straight at the beast.

The creature was tottering around fighting to get the tiger skin off its head and in doing so it walked straight into a doorpost. “Ouch!” it said in a muffled, metallic but remarkably human-sounding way. Flailing its arms, the tiger-skin rug fell away and Rory was confused to see some sort of apparatus for a head. He held his torch arm as stiff and steady as he could, pointing the light as if he were pumping bullets from a gun. Whatever it was had thrown an arm in front of its face. For all the sound, smell and spray it looked like a normal arm on a normal person, albeit with a few things attached.

If Rory was taken aback to hear the creature say “ouch” he was even more surprised when it said: “Listen you couldn’t switch that light off, could you? It’s really awfully bright.”

Stunned at the sound, Rory moved the beam to one side trying to work out how this roaring monster could have such a polite voice. The creature lowered its arm and Rory could now see that the apparatus he had seen was an old army gas mask topped by what
looked like a shower head dripping the last of its spray. A set of tubes linked it to a water container carried on the creature’s back. Eyes flickered behind the goggles. Anything remotely scary had vanished as the light revealed a rather ridiculous home-made costume. As the creature took a couple of paces to the side, the wheezing breathing noise began again. Tubes connected from a set of bellows between its legs ran up forcing air through the mouthpiece of the gas mask, creating the heavy rasping breathing sound. Cymbals were strapped to its elbows and body, so that simple movements created a clashing sound. A wisp of pungent smoke could now be seen coming from a canister strapped to a man’s left arm.

“I thought you were some kind of fire-breathing monster,” said Rory, sitting back against the wall, an air of relief in his voice.

“That’s what you were supposed to think,” said the man’s muffled voice. “That’s what people always think if they get this far. They don’t usually have as good a torch as that, or if they do, then they don’t stand around long enough to use it.”

“Did you make all of that?” asked Rory looking at the bizarre outfit.

“All my own work,” said the voice as the figure worked at loosening the gas mask straps and lifting the headpiece off. Rory looked closely at the man behind the beast. He had a patchily whiskered chin and crazy white hair sticking up in clumps between where the straps of his gas mask had been. For some reason the man had a paperclip attached to his chin and as Rory studied him further, he noticed that the top of his left ear was missing.

With a start, Rory realized that he was facing a dead man.

“I know who you are,” said Rory.

“What’s that, dear boy?” The man’s eyes flitted around momentarily as if weighing up his options to escape or make up a story.

“Lachlan Stagg,” said Rory.

The man looked startled as if it was some time since he had heard his name being spoken.

“You are Lachlan Stagg,” continued Rory in an unbelieving voice.
“Your ear is missing.
You
were missing. You’re supposed to be dead, but you’ve been here all along, haven’t you?
HAVEN’T YOU
?”

“Er … well, I suppose I have,” said the man scratching his head in a slightly embarrassed manner.“

What have you been doing here?” said Rory.

“Well, I … um … I … er … I live here,” replied Lachlan Stagg, looking away and struggling to meet Rory’s hard stare. “For the moment at least,” he added.

“What do you mean you live here?” said Rory. “How come? Why? People think you’re dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well I’ve been trying to get the elusive last four.”

“Last four what?” said Rory confused.

“Records, young man. World records,” said Stagg, shaking himself out of the straps that kept all of the apparatus on his arms and back.

“I don’t understand,” said Rory. “What has disappearing got to do with world records?”

“Well that is precisely it. When I was doing research around here for the gargoyles book I thought to myself ‘you could have some fun hiding in here.’ I checked the record for the person who had hidden for the longest time and until you came along I only had another 125 days to go to gain the record! You’ve rather trodden on my patch, dear boy!” said Stagg. “All that effort gone to waste. I was rather looking forward to reappearing and claiming the title. It’s really a bit of a poor show after all this time. Jolly inconvenient of you to turn up and be so persistent.”

“I thought you said you needed four records, not just one,” said Rory trying to process the fact that the town’s local celebrity who was missing presumed dead, had been at the root of the belief that the hotel housed a monstrous beast.

“I do. So in the time I’ve been hiding I’ve concentrated on gaining the other ones that I needed. I’ve taught myself Spanish … or should I say ‘Me he enseñado a mí mismo el castellano’ to add to my qualifications. After much work up and down this corridor I can stay on a unicycle for six hours and thirty-one minutes and I have grown this …” With great care, Stagg detached the paperclip from
his chin and inch by inch began to uncurl the most enormous chin hair that Rory had ever seen. By the time he had finished it curled down to his waist.

“I’ve had a lot of peace and quiet to work on them all. No one really dares to come up here since I developed my er … shall we say diversionary tactics.”

“No wonder,” said Rory. “They think they’re going to be attacked. Bella Valentine has been dining out on this story for two years. Wait until it’s revealed that it was some bellows, a gas mask and a shower head! How have you managed to survive for so long?”

“Well pretty much everything I need is here … bathroom at the end of the corridor, a stairway that takes you up to the north-east turret so I can get fresh air. And I have some access to other parts of the building,” said Stagg. “I’ll show you.” Walking over to a small door at the far corner of the corridor, Stagg disappeared inside. “Come and have a look,” he shouted. Rory faltered. A few minutes ago he had been facing the beast of Corridor Five and now he was entering a dark unknown space with the man behind it all and nobody knew he was here. He also realized that if Lachlan Stagg did away with him, then he could still claim that he had remained hidden and wait another hundred or so days before reappearing. Rory decided that there was something about Lachlan Stagg that seemed as though he could cope with being found and that he would find another record to break.

“Here goes,” said Rory heading through the door and down a tiny tight spiral staircase. Immediately it seemed familiar from his tour with Grog. “This way,” came Stagg’s voice from below. There was already a hint of light in the distance and Rory emerged into a familiar space as he stepped through a door in the wall lined with books. They were in the library.

“You’re the poltergeist!”

“I beg your pardon?” said Stagg.

“Bella Valentine reckoned that there was a poltergeist in here because the books kept moving, but it was you.”

“I’ve read most of the contents of this room. Yes I suspect I haven’t
always put things back in the right place,” he said with a vague wave of his hand.

“What have you done for food?” asked Rory. “You don’t look like you’ve been starving yourself.”

“Ah … well … that is one area I was going to have to negotiate with the world record authorities …”

“Why?” asked Rory. “Aren’t you supposed to eat if you are trying to get the ‘hiding for the longest time’ record?”

“No … you see … I have had a little help,” said Stagg looking slightly embarrassed.

“Some help?” said Rory. “You mean someone else knows that Lachlan Stagg is still alive?”

Rory had a fleeting thought that his Grandad had kept yet another secret from him, but dismissed it. Not even the old man could pull that one off. Then he realized. Food. Joint world records for pancake making.

“Ramsay Sandilands,” he said.

“He has kept me rather too well fed, I think,” said Stagg patting his tummy. “I’ve tried to work it off on the unicycle but I’ve never been able to go very far unfortunately.”

“Ramsay did sound quite sure that there would be an end to the hotel’s troubles,” said Rory remembering their conversation in the kitchen.

“This has been the other reason for me staying here, you see,” said Stagg. “Ramsay thought that this episode might put the hotel on the map. He said to me that the hotel needed a big story. A positive story. People might want to come to the place where a world record was set. They might even want to see, or stay in Corridor Five where someone remained hidden for so long. I was happy to help. I think this place is fascinating. Always have done since I wrote the book about it. In the long term I thought this might help Granville Grimm out, even though he is in the dark about it all at the moment.”

Having recently tried to crack the impossible problem of finding a way to sell the idea of staying in the hotel, Rory could see some logic in their madcap scheme, but he also knew that a solution was
now needed quicker than Ramsay Sandilands’ plan could provide.

“You may not know, but things have moved on a bit down in the town,” said Rory. “I’m afraid it’s going to take a bit more than a world record to get people up here. You ought to see this.” He rummaged in his backpack and handed over his copy of
The Chronicle
with its “
HOTEL MUST CLOSE NOW
” headline to Lachlan Stagg. Reaching into the breast pocket of his tweed jacket, Stagg pulled out a pair of half-moon glasses to read. As he did so his eyes misted over and his brow furrowed. He cleared his throat in an awkward manner. “Oh dear. This is
not
good.”