Read Online Mary Mary Quite Contrary ( A Grimm Diaries Prequel #5 ) by Cameron Jace - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cameron Jace
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reflections?” I rubbed my
chin, saying it slowly, squinting my eyes, mastering the Evil Knievel face and
parodying the way humans thought I talked.
The children laughed; that squeaky
clownish laugh that usually scared humans, like the ones that the clowns
uttered behind your back in the dark while you were sleeping in your room. I
never knew why humans hated that sound so much. I loved it, the way I loved the
creak of a door at night and the faint drops of water from a faucet in a hunted
house. Cool stuff. It strengthened my horns and mad them shine. You knew I had
horns, didn’t you? I just don’t show off with them all the time. I am a pretty
humble dude. That’s actually my greatest trick.
“Look!” A boy said, inviting me to see
my reflection in the mirror. The boy’s name was Peter. He was considered a
young leader among the children. They loved him immensely. I didn’t. His
problem was that he wanted to stay a boy forever, which was so absurd. I needed
my boys and girls to grow up so they start helping me in my line of work when
they turned sixteen – I was a democratic dude. I let children play while they
were still children, and do wrong and evil deeds when
they grew up. See? I am not like humans on earth who send their children to
fight in war.
I am a good man. I just do bad things.
It’s a job.
Stepping toward the mirror, I clapped
my hands twice to change my grotesque features into that of the loveliest
blonde-haired young man. I didn’t want to scare the bedevil out of myself when I looked in the mirror. I look proudly awful.
“There is no need to turn yourself
into a good looking man,” Peter, who was awfully beautiful, said. I tried to
remember who his mother was but my endless memory failed me. All I remembered
was that his mother was Scottish. I loved that place on earth, loved wearing
the skirts, and drinking beer – and I loved to fool around with his mother,
whoever she was.
“This mirror doesn’t show the truth,”
Peter elaborated. “It makes everything look awful anyway. That’s the beauty of it.” I liked this boy’s dark sarcasm. The ugliness showed in the mirror
was its real beauty. Awesome. Too bad he was a stubborn fella.Years
later, I regretted banishing him out of Hell, back onto Earth for not wanting to grow up. I turned him into a fallen devil
– fallen angels were pretty outdated.
But what could I have done? What was
the use of a boy who didn’t want to grow up? His friends called him Peter Pan
because he wanted to act like a God in my kingdom of Hell. You know that Pan
means God, don’t ya?
So I listened to Peter and looked in
the mirror. Oh, boy. What I saw made my day – or night, or whatever. In the
red, hot Hell it was hard to tell which was which.
“Who invented this?” I asked, feeling
the joy painted on my lips – in my own devilish, malicious way, of course.
The Pippi Longstocking girl raised her
hand, holding the hem of her dress, and swinging her body like a shy
twelve-year-old sucking on a lollipop.
“Oh my. Oh My,” I patted her. She was
one of my most prodigious students in Scholomance, my Devil School, where I
taught little children the knicks and knacks of the job. I didn’t accept all children in my school though. Only the wicked in
their cradle; those who never stopped crying at night, those who liked chaos,
those who stole their friend’s toys, those
who spilled food on the table, and those who were capable of charming the
elders with their deceiving innocence. There weren’t many of these children
available in the world. Parents tend to raise their children to respect the law
and obey the gods. But the fewer the better. You wouldn’t want to have all the
population on earth become devils. What was the fun in that?
My most reliable devil-child finder
was Rumpelstiltskin, and oh boy, he had his own magnificent tricks for stealing
children and handing them over to me. He was a natural at spotting the evil
ones too.
Peter held the
chin, saying it slowly, squinting my eyes, mastering the Evil Knievel face and
parodying the way humans thought I talked.
The children laughed; that squeaky
clownish laugh that usually scared humans, like the ones that the clowns
uttered behind your back in the dark while you were sleeping in your room. I
never knew why humans hated that sound so much. I loved it, the way I loved the
creak of a door at night and the faint drops of water from a faucet in a hunted
house. Cool stuff. It strengthened my horns and mad them shine. You knew I had
horns, didn’t you? I just don’t show off with them all the time. I am a pretty
humble dude. That’s actually my greatest trick.
“Look!” A boy said, inviting me to see
my reflection in the mirror. The boy’s name was Peter. He was considered a
young leader among the children. They loved him immensely. I didn’t. His
problem was that he wanted to stay a boy forever, which was so absurd. I needed
my boys and girls to grow up so they start helping me in my line of work when
they turned sixteen – I was a democratic dude. I let children play while they
were still children, and do wrong and evil deeds when
they grew up. See? I am not like humans on earth who send their children to
fight in war.
I am a good man. I just do bad things.
It’s a job.
Stepping toward the mirror, I clapped
my hands twice to change my grotesque features into that of the loveliest
blonde-haired young man. I didn’t want to scare the bedevil out of myself when I looked in the mirror. I look proudly awful.
“There is no need to turn yourself
into a good looking man,” Peter, who was awfully beautiful, said. I tried to
remember who his mother was but my endless memory failed me. All I remembered
was that his mother was Scottish. I loved that place on earth, loved wearing
the skirts, and drinking beer – and I loved to fool around with his mother,
whoever she was.
“This mirror doesn’t show the truth,”
Peter elaborated. “It makes everything look awful anyway. That’s the beauty of it.” I liked this boy’s dark sarcasm. The ugliness showed in the mirror
was its real beauty. Awesome. Too bad he was a stubborn fella.Years
later, I regretted banishing him out of Hell, back onto Earth for not wanting to grow up. I turned him into a fallen devil
– fallen angels were pretty outdated.
But what could I have done? What was
the use of a boy who didn’t want to grow up? His friends called him Peter Pan
because he wanted to act like a God in my kingdom of Hell. You know that Pan
means God, don’t ya?
So I listened to Peter and looked in
the mirror. Oh, boy. What I saw made my day – or night, or whatever. In the
red, hot Hell it was hard to tell which was which.
“Who invented this?” I asked, feeling
the joy painted on my lips – in my own devilish, malicious way, of course.
The Pippi Longstocking girl raised her
hand, holding the hem of her dress, and swinging her body like a shy
twelve-year-old sucking on a lollipop.
“Oh my. Oh My,” I patted her. She was
one of my most prodigious students in Scholomance, my Devil School, where I
taught little children the knicks and knacks of the job. I didn’t accept all children in my school though. Only the wicked in
their cradle; those who never stopped crying at night, those who liked chaos,
those who stole their friend’s toys, those
who spilled food on the table, and those who were capable of charming the
elders with their deceiving innocence. There weren’t many of these children
available in the world. Parents tend to raise their children to respect the law
and obey the gods. But the fewer the better. You wouldn’t want to have all the
population on earth become devils. What was the fun in that?
My most reliable devil-child finder
was Rumpelstiltskin, and oh boy, he had his own magnificent tricks for stealing
children and handing them over to me. He was a natural at spotting the evil
ones too.
Peter held the
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