Grimm Tales

By John Kenyon, Patricia Abbott and Absolutely Kate

GRIMM TALES is a collection of stories by some of the top names in online crime fiction, all based on classic fairy tales. As novelist Ken Bruen writes in his introduction, "Ever imagined what would have come down the dark pike if The Brothers Grimm were more Brothers Coen and wrote mystery?" The collection is edited by John Kenyon, editor of Grift magazine, and contains 17 stories by Patricia Abbott, Absolutely*Kate, Jack Bates, Eric Beetner, Nigel Bird, Loren Eaton, Kaye George, Blu Gilliand, Seana Graham, Eirik Gumeny, R.L. Kelstrom, John Kenyon, BV Lawson, Evan Lewis, B. Nagel, Sean Patrick Reardon and Sandra Seamans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Untreed Reads
• Release date: Dec 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781611872217

Book preview

Grimm Tales: Crime Fiction Takes on Classic Fairy Tales

Edited by John Kenyon

Introduction, Copyright 2011 by Ken Bruen

Joseph and Jasmine, Copyright 2011 by Patricia Abbott

You Dirty Rats, Copyright 2011 by Absolutely*Kate

The Flying Trunk, Copyright 2011 by Jack Bates

Coal Black, Copyright 2011 by Eric Beetner

Sing a Song of Sixpence, Copyright 2011 by Nigel Bird

King Flounder: A Monologue, Copyright 2011 by Loren Eaton

Henry, Gina, and the Gingerbread House, Copyright 2011 by Kaye George

Han and Greta, Copyright 2011 by Blu Gilliand

Gato, Copyright 2011 by Seana Graham

Mary, Copyright 2011 by Eirik Gumeny

Candy House, Copyright 2011 by R.L. Kelstrom

The Master Cat, Copyright 2011 by John Kenyon

The Bacon Blues, Copyright 2011 by BV Lawson

Skyler Hobbs and the Magic Solution, Copyright 2011 by Evan Lewis

Interview with the Pram Driver, Copyright 2011 by B. Nagel

Divided We Stand, Copyright 2011 by Sean Patrick Reardon

Taking Back, Copyright 2011 by Sandra Seamans

Cover Copyright 2011 by Ginny Glass and Untreed Reads Publishing

The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

http://www.untreedreads.com

GRIMM TALES

Crime Fiction Takes on Classic Fairy Tales

Edited by John Kenyon

Contents

Editor’s Note

Ken Bruen—Introduction

Patricia Abbott—Joseph and Jasmine

Absolutely*Kate—You Dirty Rats

Jack Bates—The Flying Trunk

Eric Beetner—Coal Black

Nigel Bird—Sing a Song of Sixpence

Loren Eaton—King Flounder: A Monologue

Kaye George—Henry, Gina, and the Gingerbread House

Blu Gilliand—Han and Greta

Seana Graham—Gato

Eirik Gumeny—Mary

R.L. Kelstrom—Candy House

John Kenyon—The Master Cat

BV Lawson—The Bacon Blues

Evan Lewis—Skyler Hobbs and the Magic Solution

B. Nagel—Interview with the Pram Driver

Sean Patrick Reardon—Divided We Stand

Sandra Seamans—Taking Back

Author Biographies

Editor’s Note

This anthology is the result of considerable work by many talented writers who ran with an idea I got while reading to my son. When he grabbed his collection of illustrated (and sweetened) fairy tales for the umpteenth bedtime, I discovered a valuable skill: I could read these tales with one part of my brain and think about something completely different with another. While recounting the exploits of Puss in Boots, I began to wonder about how the story could be recast as crime fiction.

With that idea in mind, I started to dabble with an idea or two, but found I needed motivation to push me through the process. I decided a writing challenge was in order. I put out the call on my blog, Things I’d Rather Be Doing, asking my fellow crime writers to adapt a fairy tale as a crime fiction story. Sixteen fellow writers answered the call, and as I read compelling story after compelling story, I realized that it would be a shame for these stories to languish alone on blogs scattered across the Web. They deserved to be together and to be read.

That’s where the kind folks at Untreed Reads got involved. They agreed that these stories deserved a wider audience and we began to assemble this collection.

Thank you to all of the writers involved, particularly Patti Abbott, who offered advice during this process. Thanks to Jay and K.D. at Untreed Reads for their faith and assistance, and thanks to Ken Bruen for reading through the collection and offering an inspiring introduction.

Introduction

Ken Bruen

Nothing new under the mystery sun?

Wrong.

Thanks be to Jaysus.

Wonderful concept—put the crime story spin on fairy tales. This seems so wonderful an idea that you wonder why it never happened before. Ever imagined what would have come down the dark pike if The Brothers Grimm were more Brothers Coen and wrote mystery?

Wonder no more. The answers are here in this splendid varied anthology, and not a dud among them. I know how that sounds.

You have a collection of stories, it’s almost mandatory that a few are…um…not up to the mark.

John Kenyon not only came up with this inspired concept but to add sparkle to quality, he includes one of the finest stories his own self.

Some of the writers here were new to me, but by God, they’re on all future TBR lists. I read the book out of sequence, figuring this would truly be an acid test. It was and worked like…well, a fairy tale.

Magical.

Illuminating.

First up for me was Jack Bates’ The Flying Trunk. A gem.

To B. Nagel’s with the sly title of Interview with the Pram Driver.

The stories all display not only marvellous invention, turning the whole concept of fairy tales on its mysterious head, but breathing new vibrancy into a genre that has become, if not familiar, certainly stale.

Sandra Seamans made me want to read it aloud, it was that immediate.

BV Larson, of course, provides the skilled fascination you’d expect.

To Seana Graham…How I Came into My Inheritance. Literally lit me up in the way that only the best fiction can.

BUT…the absolute star, the shining light, was Patricia Abbott. Her stories have enchanted me for a long time, but this is her stardust one.

Ask any editor how they feel if one of the stories in their anthology is nominated for an award.

Get your tux out, John—Patti is Edgar bound.

Ken Bruen,

Berlin, March 2011.

Joseph and Jasmine

By Patricia Abbott

My story comes from the fairy taleHansel and Gretel, of course. But I wrote some of it earlier as unused background material on a novel set in Detroit. I wrote bios (although none appear in the finished ms) for each of the people that died over the course of the book. In this case, a young boy was the victim. I added a sister for the challenge to make it fit the Hansel and Gretel theme. It was nice to see him survive this time.

You two be okay while I run to the store?

Joseph’s mother stood in the doorway of her father’s house, an unlit Basic seesawing from her red lips. One hand was propped on the doorframe, the other scratched her head with her Zippo. Joseph thought the day was probably coming when her hair would catch on fire. But it hadn’t yet, ’cept for the one time she’d lit her fag on the front burner of the stove. Both kids came running when a funky smell filled their house. Singed fringe, she called it, flaking off the ashes and wrinkling her nose.

Janice wasn’t allowed to smoke in Poppy’s house. Or be here, come to that. Had her own place a mile or so away—nasty stuff had happened there in the past. Jasmine got the scabies disease for one thing and nearly scratched her scalp skinless. Another time, a man broke in while Joseph and Jasmine were home alone asleep. He took some stuff, maybe touched Jasmine where he oughtn’t. Janice claimed she’d never seen him before, but Joseph thought otherwise. Knew the smell of his Gendarme cologne for one thing. The court put Joseph and Jasmine in their grandfather’s care after that.

Man’s too old, Janice complained from her seat in court, half rising, but that old judge didn’t care to hear her. Told her to be still if she didn’t want to pay a fine. Janice’s mouth opened and shut like Nemo’s a few times, but she kept silent.

She was allowed to visit them, chaperoned by a social worker, twice a month after that. Sometimes, Janice didn’t show up. Being it was Detroit, other weeks it was the social worker who forgot or got laid off between visits.

On those days, Janice stood on her father’s porch, moaning and groaning, waiting for someone to turn up.

Nobody should put hisself between a mother and her babies, she shouted in through the screen door where Joseph and Jasmine waited side by side on the sofa.

Their grandfather rubbed his chin and rocked a little harder. He could be quiet for longer than his daughter could squawk. Wait her out, he explained. Learned that a long time ago.

Poppy was at the hospital today, seeing his doctor. You kids stay inside, he’d instructed them. Don’t open the door to that daughter of mine.

Janice had a sixth sense ’cording to her father. Knew when to turn up.

A fine one to talk, Janice said. I should get what’s handed out to him on his city pension. We all paying for it, you know. That’s why the trash still sitting in front of my house two days late. ’Cause the old ones takin’ all the money.

Joseph watched today as his mother lighted her cigarette and blew a plume of smoke toward the street. Lung trouble or not, the man could smell smoke two miles away. And he could smell stale smoke from his daughter’s cheap no-name sticks hours later.

Sorry she drug you kids into this, Poppy once said. Be better if….

By age ten, Joseph knew what came next. Be better if they’d never been born. He thought that some days himself.

Sure, Joseph said to his mother now, not knowing why she’d even told him ’bout her plans to go to the store. Why was she even talkin’ about leavin’ them alone? It was not her house, and she’d left him and Jasmine alone at home back when they lived with her.

A girl gotta have herself some fun while she still got her looks. You the man, she told him at age six when Jasmine was brand new. Take care of your sister, hear?

House rules were different at their grandfather’s, though. No Janice, no smoking.

East-side rules, Poppy said when they moved in.

And he’d never left them alone for more than an hour before today. But Poppy was havin’ trouble breathin’. Too much smoke had snaked down his throat from all those years putting out fires.

Over at his mother’s house, Joseph heard gunshots every night, cars with pumped-up tires and music, nasty words and fumes cut the air. They learned not to play near windows, go outside, not to turn on too many lights.

You lightin’ youself up like on stage, Janice said. House rules near Gratiot Avenue were harsh.

Going to Mr. C’s and then Target’s, his mother told him now. Poppy be out of milk so I’m goin’ out to get him some. She harrumphed and puffed up like getting a carton of milk was somethin’ special. Tapped her toe like some private music playin’ in her head.

Carton’s in the fridge, Joseph started to say.

But she knew that. Just an excuse for somethin’ coming down the pike. Soon now.

And you all need some other stuff, too. Old man don’t think I notice. Only a mama knows certain things. I be over to Eastland Mall. Maybe get Baby Girl some clothes. Like a new dress, Baby Girl, she said, sticking her head farther into the room. Like that, honey?

When Janice called Jasmine Baby Girl, things weren’t looking up.

Jasmine, four, never lifted her head, occupied with deciding what charm to choose. She picked each one up and put it down again, looking thoughtful. She’d even added some game pieces of her own to the pile. There was a token from Greektown Casino, and a thing called a jack from a game Poppy said girls used to play outside. Joseph’d never seen any kids play outside on sidewalks in his time and thought Poppy misremembered it. Jasmine also used a baby tooth that fell out her mouth too soon