Mr. Grim

“The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Mr. Grim had returned. The local serial killer who’d been missing in obscurity for almost seven peaceful years was back in his wretched childhood home, among these very woods. The towns people coined him Mr. Grim because like the Grim Reaper, once he sees you, you’re dead. He’d brutally butcher, bludgeon, pound or strangle anyone he so laid his eyes on; improvising his instruments of death based upon mere convenience. They say his father was an abusive alcoholic who would make him undress and beat him bloody with a switch, then lock him out of the house, forcing him to sleep in the frigid cold fields, here, just yonder. His mother was a schizophrenic who never uttered a single word, not even to defend her son when his cries filled the cabin, the thoughtless lashes ripping through his skin, piercing through his heart.

“His first kill was an old man fishing downstream. Reports say Mr. Grim grabbed a spare fishing pole from the back of the man's truck, snuck up behind him, and wrapped the fishing line around his neck. The old man never saw it coming. Mr. Grim gripped and pulled the line as tightly as possible, his body electric, sturdy as he stood there choking the life out of the man. The fishing wire sliced clean through his Adam’s Apple. The old man tried to scream, but was practically drowning in his own blood. Mr. Grim proceeded to shove the pole down the man's severed, open throat. Then left him for dead with the rod protruding from his mouth. Poor old man had a big bass on the line too, never even got to reel it in.

“About a week later, a young couple was leaving a late show at the Downtown Movie Theaters. They thought it’d be romantic to catch the last flick and share the theater with strictly one another. As they left together in the dark, desolate parking lot, and halfway to their red, souped up sports car, Mr. Grim struck again. Walking right up to the confused young man, he snatched the car keys out of his hand, then jabbed him in the eye with the biggest key on the ring. The keys dangled from his eye socket. The guy recoiled in nerve-splitting agony, writhing, screaming like a new born baby, gently cupping the keys with both hands while falling helplessly to his knees. Mr. Grim subsequently yanked the key out of the young man's oozing eye, and replaced it with his thumb as he pressed viciously into his eyeballs until they popped out of his skull, and onto the ground. Then he twisted his head around with his bare hands, ultimately snapping his spinal column square down the middle, killing him instantly. The young woman, naturally, hauled ass from the crime scene. Shouting bloody murder across the empty parking lot, but Mr. Grim wasn’t far behind. When he caught up with the young lady he tripped her in mid stride. She went flying into the air! Landed and scraped her whole face against the asphalt, and to add insult to injury, Mr. Grim commenced stomping her head into the ground repeatedly, like he was trying to kill a cockroach. When the police got there, she was unrecognizable, the young man’s head was turned backwards.

“The local residents didn’t know that there was a full blown serial killer on the loose, yet. Maybe these murders were a series of unrelated, unfortunate events. However, soon another murder occurred. This time the victim was a Marine riding his bike on a remote trail after sundown. The man had almost completed his nightly exercise, and was fast approaching Main Street. Out of the darkness came Mr. Grim, who’d been waiting patiently for his next victim's arrival. He hurled a log in front of the bike, causing the Marine to crash abruptly onto the gravel. When he came back to his senses, there he saw a tall, striking figure towering over him. Frozen, no words were exchanged between the two men. When the Marine attempted to get up, Mr. Grim whacked him in the face with the very same log that caused the fall. The blunt wooden object took the man's nose right off of his face. While lying there unconscious, the guy bled out. A family found him dead on the trail the next day, his hands and feet bound together by his bike chain.

“This place was a circus, people grew hysterical, rumors swirled through town like a brash tornado. There was a real live psycho killer on the prowl– with no obvious motive for killing besides a doomed chance encounter. People stopped going out. Stores had to close early, some closed altogether. Nobody was safe. There were news alerts, and public bulletins warning the citizens not to go out alone, or after dark, or at all. Gun sales went through the roof, hell, some people hired personal security guards. Yet, folks kept dying. A woman and her teenage son were at that laundromat behind Restaurant Row, one evening. The crowd of patrons had thinned out as night fell; the last remaining person hurried anxiously from the dimly lit laundromat leaving them there, alone. They waited until the buzzer sounded on the dryer and quickly stuffed the clean clothes into a basket. The entry bell rang, sending icy cold shock waves up the mother’s veins straight to her palpitating heart. She peered at the door, careful not to be seen, but there was nobody there. Her son scanned the inside for any movement or sound, the place was still. Wide-eyed, they shared a glance and continued unloading the dryer, this time even faster. Once their basket was filled to the brim they hustled in tandem to the exit, the son holding open the door for his mother. Just as her foot passed over the threshold, a figure emerged from behind. She saw the expression on her son’s face turn ashen white as a shadow expanded on the reflection of the glass door in front of her. Mr. Grim grabbed the mother by her hair, sucking her back into the laundromat, folded her body up into a ball and stuffed her into a dryer. Her son ran up to the broad shouldered, domineering, chasm hollering at the top of his lungs, “Leave her alone! Let her go!” But Mr. Grim found pleasure in his cries. He slammed the dryer door and turned the heat on “high”. The boy's mother thudded round and round inside the dryer as he stared paralyzed in fear. His mind pleaded with his body to flee, but instead, he was suspended in terror, his legs feeling disconnected. Mr. Grim started after him, snapping the kid out of his daze and into action. He turned around and bolted from the laundromat, but before making it to the door he tripped over his laundry basket. The kid falls on his ass, and lays there sprawled out as if he’d surrendered already. His head was suddenly jerked back by the thick of his hair, his mouth forced open, and a translucent, navy-blue, liquid detergent was funneled down his throat. He choked and gagged, shaking and fighting vigorously to get free from the grips of a madman. Then a sock was wedged into his mouth, he could barely breathe. He’s thrown into the dryer beside his mom, the dryer door is closed and locked behind him. Mr. Grim turned the dial to “high”, and left mother and son to be discovered the next morning by the owner who, get this, also ended up dying… she hung herself. The stench, the sound of the bodies thumping over and over proved to be much too traumatic to bear.

“Mr. Grim even killed a cop, A COP! Nobody knows what happened, but the policeman was found dead on the hood of his squad car, sirens blaring with his nightstick crammed up his you-know-what and his badge lodged in the side of his head like a ninja star. The murders got so bad, this place became a ghost town. People wouldn’t dare open their curtains for fear Mr. Grim would somehow catch a peek of them at the dinner table saying grace, or on the sofa watching the first episode of a new series, and BOOM, killed. All it took was a glimpse and you were toast. However, one girl was seen by Mr. Grim and she miraculously got away. She’d told her parents that while she was leaving class she noticed a grossly large, dark presence trailing her across the campus courtyard. The girl couldn’t confirm whether it was him or not, and she certainly did not want to pry, so she began to shuffle quickly towards her car, and he began to chase after her. She dropped all of her books and her shuffle developed into a fully elongated sprint. Her days of track and field had served her well. Approaching her car, she fumbled with her keys. When they slipped out of her jittery hands, Mr. Grim was near enough that she could feel the bass from his beating chest. She picked up the keys, unlocked the door, quickly got inside, started it up, and burned rubber peeling out of the parking lot as fast as she could. Mr. Grim managed to rip her door handle off of the car. He was that close. The girl was so terrified she didn’t talk for the next twenty four hours. Once her parents found out, they contacted every news channel in town and reports of her escaping the infamous serial killer flooded the air waves. She was revered for her unbreakable bravery, rewarded, celebrated, but this was short lived. She might’ve evaded Mr. Grim, but she couldn't evade her fate. Six days after her run in with Mr. Grim, she died by bathtub electrocution. Psychiatrists recommended she take warm, soothing baths, light aromatherapy candles, perhaps play music. Assured her this would help alleviate current stressors, emphasizing the importance of maintaining her mental health after such an ordeal. So she obliged, particularly after a long day of whirlwind publicity surrounding her triumphant escape. As she soaked in her rose scented bubble bath, and basked under the radiance of her vanilla scented candles, her favorite song played on an FM radio positioned upon a shelf above. “Lights” by Journey ricocheted off of the cream colored bathroom tile walls. Reports suggested she’d gone under water and simultaneously extended her foot, making contact with the radio, sending it splashing into the bathtub. One hundred and twenty voltz zapped the promising young student to death. Hours later her parents had to kick in the door where they found her jerking violently through the surge of electricity. Her mysterious death transformed into a grave phenomena reinforcing the theory that Mr. Grim was truly the Grim Reaper himself.

“You’d think since people were rarely leaving their homes the deaths would cease, or dwindle; but they didn’t. He started going to residential areas, farms, backyards, front porches. A couple caught Mr. Grim drowning their seven year old daughter in their backyard jacuzzi, and all they could do was hide for fear of being next. A man was working on his car in his driveway and when he slid from underneath it, there Mr. Grim was standing over him with a drill. Mr. Grim drilled right through the man's chest several times before sliding him back under the car, and releasing the jack causing the car to slam down onto the man, crushing him to death. His wife heard his pleas from inside, but never came to see what the matter was. She told the Police, “What am I, some sort of super hero? Do I have a death wish? I wasn’t going out there.”

“There’s been over twenty years of murders, but the towns been fortunate these last seven or so. My brother says he thought he saw Mr. Grim once, about five years ago, down in Everglade Park. Said, a huge, looming… thing, followed him through the park, gaining closer and closer on him. It was like he could feel this heavy, taunting energy upon him, weighing down his shoulders and his soul. He started jogging, then running, until he made it to Main Street where he wasn’t alone anymore. He was so scared, he trembled in his bedroom for six days, just waiting to die some unfathomable death, but it never happened. We don’t know what else could’ve been following him that day, or if Mr. Grim is still yet to strike. Towards the end of his spree, most of the killings took place in the woods, these very woods in fact. One night at a campfire, a kid was telling a spooky tale while his friends toasted marshmallows. When he was done, a couple of them had to use the restroom, so they walked off into the woods. Enough time had passed that the kid decided to go look for his friends. When he found them they were dead. It was a massacre. Their clothes were strewn all over the place, their bodies outstretched, contorted, nude and bloodied. Then the kid runs back over to the campsite and sees that the rest of his friends are dead too. One left burning in the fire, the other with an ax stuck in his side laid gargling in a pool of blood. The boy looked around and saw an imposing figure eerily emerging. Once the black void was close enough to reach out and touch, it surprisingly removed its cloak and said to the boy, “There is potential for you yet. The ax, the fire… very good.” Mr. Grim reached out and gently patted his younger brother on the shoulder. The prodigy eager to impress his mentor even if he had to sacrifice his friends to do it. Now there’s two serial killers among these woods. And so long as that candle burns in the window, their hellish tyranny shall never end… you just better hope they don’t see you.” Ethan holds the flashlight up to his mischievous grin, staring his friends intently in the eyes.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Daniel stammers in disbelief while retrieving his marshmallow from his stick. The top of it is a rich, light golden brown, the bottom charred jet black.

“So now there’s two of them?” He inquires as he smears the crispy, gooey marshmallow onto a milk chocolate bar, resting atop a honey graham cracker. The chocolate melts upon contact with the molten hot marshmallow fusing the two. Then he smushes another honey graham cracker onto the puffy substance, and pops the whole thing into his mouth.

Becca uncrosses her legs and leans forward, “Listen, I just want to know why you brought us to where a freakin’ murderer lives, this is insane.”

“Okay, alright, just chill out,” Ethan waves as he stands up to address their concerns. “It’s a total myth. I grew up around here and hey, I’m still alive. Nobody actually believes this crap– he’d be in jail by now don’t you think? My big brother told me these stories, and the neighbor told him, and his father told him. They’re just scary campfire fables. They’re not true.”

The incessantly speedy bounce of her boot signals the loss of her patience; biting the hangnail from her middle finger Melissa chimes in, “Yeah, well my mom used to tell me stories about Mr. Grim all the time and I’m pretty sure he’s real. This whole town was rocked because of him; and those murders you were just describing… they’re no myth. This isn’t the Candy Man we’re talking about, lives were lost, families were destroyed. People were afraid of their own shadow for years, kids couldn’t go outside to play. He’s real, you can’t deny that.”

“Melissa, really? Mr. Grim, some big man-demon that locks his eyes onto you and takes your life with his bare hands.” He stiffens his arms like Frankenstein. “Yet, much like the Grim Reaper, another fictional character, your death is inevitable if you see him, or he sees you, or he winks, but not if he blinks, because then he won’t see you… If I see him first do I wave or play coy– ” Ethan pokes facetiously.

“--Does he really live out here?” Becca insists.

“No, he doesn’t live out here because he is a villain in a make believe story,” Ethan teases.

“All I know is, I have to use the restroom and now I can’t,” Thomas shrugs through a mouthful, as the graham cracker dust falls from his lips, sprinkling the thighs of his dark denim jeans.

The group begins to hoot, laughing wildly at their troubled friend while campfire flames dance and sway, glowing against their hearty faces.

Buckled over, practically howling, holding his stomach as if he were eight months pregnant and proud, Daniel finally interrupts the cacophony of giggles, “What a scaredy cat. Dude, I’ll go with you, I gotta wiz too.”

“He’s real, be careful,” Melissa righteously calls out, inserting her index finger into the air.

Thomas and Daniel start towards a more discreet area to relieve themselves, a patch of nearby bushes. Suddenly, Daniel lets out a rumbling growl into Thomas’ ear, firmly grasping his shoulders from behind,

“GrrrrArrr!”

Thomas nearly jumps out of his bones screaming, “AHH!” in a sharp falsetto. At once, everyone breaks out into another laughing fit; the knee slapping, gut busting kind. Thomas stands there visibly bothered as he waits for their amusement to abate. He interrupts, “Thanks, I pissed myself.” His friends fall out into a riot over his announcement. Their sheer laughter creates an echo of stirs reverberating through the trees. The leaves nestle with their voices in attunement. Thomas looks around and soon succumbs to the highly contagious giggle fits. This continues for quite some time until they physically can not stand to utter another cackle.

Ethan eventually collects himself enough to begin shifting around the embers with a fire poker, a permanent smile plastered across his rosy red face.

Thomas coughs and clears his throat, then with all seriousness says, “So, should we stay here tonight or no?”

Ethan protests, “Yes, of course. He’s not real! My goodness people!”

“He’s real!” Melissa cries.

“Then why did you come out here tonight if he’s so real? Why on God’s green earth would you camp out in the backyard of a serial killer?” Ethan challenges Melissa, a duel she gladly accepts.

“It’s not like we’re going to die… people camp out here all of the time. That doesn’t negate the fact Mr. Grim is a psycho mass murderer who will kill whoever he lays his eyes on. We’ll know he’s back when the candle is lit in the cabin window, but it hasn’t been lit in almost seven years. I’d say the coast is clear, for now.” she rebuttals.

“You know, you’re convincing. You’re definitely convincing. It’s funny how we’ve heard the same fairy tales and have two totally different perspectives. Yours based in bat shit Wonderland with Santa Claus, and mine the more logical approach,” Ethan argues.

“God, if I were him, you’d be the first person I’d look at,” Melissa hisses.

“Wow, losing an argument so we resort to death threats, I see,” Ethan replies.

“No one’s losing an argument; but you’re hard headed and sometimes I would like to kill you. I happen to have two very strong theories as to why you deny the indubitable truth about Mr. Grim's existence. Either, you are the kid in the campfire story, his little brother. You’d have to present doubt, to try and throw us off the scent, right? Which you are absolutely doing. Or, you’re actually terrified of Mr. Grim, so you over compensate for your insurmountable fear by acting like a non-believer. Ethan, I am here to tell you I highly doubt he’d waste his energy killing a dork like you, but I bet it’d be the highlight of your life if he did,” Melissa states.

“Huh?” Ethan quizzes. “I am not Mr. Grim's little brother, that is… ridiculous. Or afraid of something I don’t believe in? I’ll have to Google and see if that’s a thing, I can’t keep up with these new trending sub cultures.”

“At least admit that you’d be honored to be killed by Mr. Grim,” Melissa prompts.

Thomas answers, “Tssss, yeah right. No thank you.”

“Honored?” Becca grimaces, “Sorry, I’d have a hard time feeling honored by that.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Ethan interjects. “Say there really was a serial killer, hunting us down like this were a safari and we were zebras. I suppose I would be just a tad bit honored if he killed me too… a tad.”

Melissa asks, “Why is that?”

Becca instigates, “I gotta hear this one.”

“To die a legend. Forever young. Mortal, because obviously I’ve died. Yet, immortal because I’d be remembered in this form for all of eternity. Just like that girl who died in the bathtub. She’ll remain a part of an everlasting legend… even if it is rubbish,” He pesters.

Daniel questions, “Okay, and what if the little brother kills you? Way less of an honor.”

“You never know, the kid’s probably an even bigger whack job. With the ax in the side technique, he might be cut out for murder. Maybe it’s in their DNA. Little Michael Jackson was the most talented out of all of his brother’s. Imagine expecting that kind of magic from Jackie,” Melissa replies.

“Bottom line is, neither one of them could kill me. I’m not tripping over a laundry basket, or allowing you to walk up and jab me with my own damn car keys, and Melissa, I’d actually like to retract my statement made prior. They would be honored to kill me! You understand? They could only be so lucky!” Ethan roars with cheer.

“Keep it up. Mr. Grim knows all.” Melissa smirks.

“I would be so scared if he were real,” Ethan presses.

“Okay, believe whatever it is–”

“--Guys, guess what? The Sandman is one hundred percent real, and I’m going to bed. G’night,” Daniel states flatly upon exiting the circle of friends.

Along with a startling gust of a yawn Ethan adds, “We should all turn in for the night. We’ve got a big morning ahead of us. Thomas, go change your underwear.”

Thomas responds, “Ha, ha, ha.”

They share one last chuckle and bid each other goodnight. The five friends retreat to their tents and sleeping bags with the fire still burning hot nearby. Ethan hunkers into his sleeping quarters and hollers out, “Goodnight!” to his buddies.

“Good Night!” They sing.

Satisfied, he begins zipping up his tent; and off in the distance he notices a faint light flickering slyly through the forest trees.