Grim, page 17
Percival didn’t care about the forest, though. He was too busy being in love.
The object of his affection, a girl named Maya Thornton, was a newcomer to the village and lived with her grandmother in a small hut at the edge of the woods. Her grandmother was a kooky old bat, reclusive and eccentric, and many in the village whispered that she was a witch.
Percival didn’t care about Maya’s grandmother, either.
Though he really should have.
The problem with Percival was that he was painfully shy, and not a little on the chubby side. This couldn’t really be helped, as he did work in his brothers’ bakery and pie shop, and was subject to a host of tempting sweets every day. Piggett Pies was famous throughout the village, and Percival’s two brothers, Pedro and Peter, were constantly telling him he needed to eat more. “Some meat on your bones would do you good!” Peter was fond of saying before shoving a meat pie under Percival’s nose. He’d then thump his own impressive bulk and grin through his triple chins. “The ladies like a bigger man.”
“If we don’t look after you, who will?” Pedro would often add, usually when Percival insisted that he really didn’t need a fourth slice of pie. “After Mama died and Papa ran off with that witch, we swore we’d take care of you.”
And so it went, with Percival getting bigger and bigger, which in turn made him shyer and shyer. When his brothers made him go up front and help the customers, he’d stammer terribly, which made some villagers believe he was a little slow. Most began to treat him like a not-so-bright toddler, with pitying looks and patronizing smiles, but some of the crueler village boys began picking on him.
“Piggy Piggy!” they’d call when Percival left the shop for the day. “Percival Piggy, on his way home!”
Percival would only smile benignly and trot home as fast as he could, but his tormentors would follow him to his little house with its thatched straw roof and shout insults through the door until he was curled up on his bed in tears.
One morning, they were waiting for him when he left his home for work, and trailed him all the way back to the shop, squealing and throwing mud balls that spattered against his apron.
Shaking with tears, Percival ducked inside the bakery, hoping to clean up before any of his brothers noticed. It was not to be. Peter took one look at him and turned a violent red.
“What happened?” he bellowed, bringing Pedro out from the back. Both brothers glowered at Percival like enraged twin bulls, though their anger was not directed at him. “Who did this to you?” Peter demanded, all his chins quivering with fury. “No one hurts my little brother like that. Tell me their names, right now!”
Percival sniffled. “I d-don’t know their names,” he stammered, futilely trying to rake mud from his straw-colored hair. “Just some v-village boys playing around. It’s n-n-nothing.”
“Nothing,” Pedro growled, narrowing his beady black eyes. He shared a glance with Peter, who nodded grimly. “We’ll see if it’s nothing.”
That evening, as they had done countless nights before, the boys followed Percival home. Percival, his arms overloaded with bread and pies Peter insisted he take home, ignored the jeers and cries of “Piggy Piggy Percival!” as best he could. In a fit of depression, he ate all the pies and most of the bread his brother sent home with him, and went to bed feeling slightly sick.
The next morning, however, the boys were gone. Percival didn’t see them all day, and when he left work, they weren’t waiting for him outside the shop per normal. Peter had given him a stack of small meat pies to take home, and Percival arrived at his house unharried. The pies that evening were even more savory than usual, and he went to sleep feeling full and quite content with life in general.
For the next few weeks, a search party was launched for the group of boys that disappeared from the village that night, but they were never found.
* * *
The first time Maya Thornton came into the pie shop, Percival was in the back, helping clean out the ovens. He heard the brass bell above the door jingle and, because it was early, thought it was old Mrs. Crabapple come in for her weekly loaf of bread. Peter had his head halfway in one of the cold ovens and Pedro was covered in flour all the way to his elbows, so Percival dusted soot from his hands and went up front to help the cranky widow.
A girl stood in the center of the room, her back to him, gazing around the store curiously. Percival caught a quick glance of long black hair tumbling down her back, and a deep green dress like the fancy ladies in town wore. She carried a basket in one hand, and was spinning in slow circles, taking everything in, when Percival emerged from the back room.
“Hello,” said Percival, wiping his hands on his apron as he came out, not quite noticing his customer yet. “W-welcome to Piggett Pies. How may I help you—”
The girl turned just as he raised his head, and the words froze in his throat.
Percival had seen pretty girls before, even lusted after them from afar. But he acknowledged that the ladies in town would not be interested in a poor, fat, stuttering baker boy, and he was far too shy to approach any of them.
This was different. The moment the girl turned around, flashing a pair of the biggest green eyes he’d ever seen, Percival was struck mute. She was perfect. Gorgeous. Lovely. The girl of his dreams, only he hadn’t known it until now. He could only stare, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. It was also the first time he wanted to say something, to at least introduce himself, but he couldn’t make a sound.
“Hello?” the girl said, smiling—smiling—at him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Brushing back a strand of ebony hair, she stepped forward. “I’m Maya Thornton. I just moved into my grandmother’s house a few days ago—she lives in a hut at the edge of the forest. It’s nice to meet you, Mr....?”
Percival still couldn’t speak. Words rose to mind—his name, good morning, I love you—but he couldn’t seem to force anything past his lips. The girl frowned, giving him a worried look. “Are you all right? You’ve gone rather pale. Are you sick?”
Fortunately, Peter came out of the back room then, wiping off his hands. Seeing Percival standing rock-still, staring at the beautiful girl across the counter, he swiftly took charge of the situation.
“Percival, there you are! Pedro is moving some crates in the back—be a good lad and help him, will you?” He clapped Percival on the shoulder, hard, and Percival jumped. “Go on, boy. I’ll take care of our customer.”
Dazed, Percival tottered into the back room, knocking over a stack of pie tins as he did, his mind whirling with images of Maya Thornton.
For the rest of the afternoon, Percival couldn’t concentrate. He tripped over himself constantly. He added salt into the pies instead of sugar. He dropped a bag of flour on Pedro’s head from the top shelf, getting it everywhere and making his brother look like some kind of yeti emerging from the snow.
“Dammit, Percival!” Pedro bellowed, shaking flour from his beard. “First salt in the fruit pies and now this. Where’s your head today, boy?”
“Sorry,” Percival mumbled just as Peter poked his head through the door frame with a laugh.
“Go easy on our little brother, Pedro,” Peter called, grinning through his thick beard. “He can’t help it. The boy’s in love.”
Percival’s face reddened even further, but he couldn’t deny it. Peter guffawed and ducked back out, and Pedro sighed, brushing off his sleeves. Percival silently stepped down from the ladder to help clean up.
“Who is she?” Pedro asked, tossing Percival a broom to sweep the drifts of flour spreading across the floor. Percival took the broom, reluctant to talk about it but knowing his brothers would pester him all day until he shared.
“Maya Thornton,” he replied, blushing even at the thought of her. “She’s perfect, Pedro. She has eyes like emeralds and hair like black silk, and her smile...” He trailed off, unaware that he was gazing dreamily at the corner, until Pedro barked a laugh.
“Rat’s whiskers, listen to you! You sound like a soft-headed poet staring into the clouds.” Percival blushed and started briskly sweeping the floor as Pedro picked up the burst flour bag. “Thornton,” he muttered, balling it up in his powerful hands. “Why does that name sound familiar? Where does this girl live?”
“With her grandmother on the edge of the forest.”
“The witch!” Pedro straightened, which made Percival jump, sending his carefully swept flour pile curling over the floor again. “I knew that name was familiar! So, the evil old bat has a granddaughter, eh?” He frowned at Percival, eyebrows bristling. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you being sweet on a witch’s spawn.”
“She’s not a witch,” Percival protested. “You didn’t see her! She was beautiful, and gentle, and kind—”
“Witches can look like anything they want,” Pedro interrupted. “You’re young, you don’t know the danger. You don’t know what they’re capable of.” At Percival’s crestfallen look, his expression softened. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t see the girl,” he explained kindly. “Just be careful. If she hurts you, or if you see anything strange, come tell us right away. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
Pedro nodded and ruffled Percival’s hair, sending flour raining to the floor. “That’s a good lad. We’re only looking out for our youngest, you know. If we don’t look after you, who will?”
He left the room, leaving Percival to dream about Maya in peace.
Over the next few days, Maya came into the shop every morning, as lovely and graceful as ever. And every day, Percival would hide in the back, peering through the door and trying to gather the courage to go up and talk to her. The few times she spotted him through the frame, she would smile and wave, and Percival would blush like a tomato and duck out of sight, cursing himself for being such a coward.
After several days of this, Peter got impatient.
“This is ridiculous,” he growled after finding Percival in the back room again, huddled behind a wheat barrel. “I’ve watched you cringe and skulk like a rodent whenever that girl comes in long enough. Get out there and say something to her.”
Percival paled. “I can’t! What would I say? I c-can’t even talk straight when I m-meet a stranger.”
“You’ll think of something.” Peter grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him away from the wall. Percival yelped and protested, to little effect. “You can’t expect her to reciprocate your feelings if she doesn’t even know you’re there,” his brother continued ruthlessly. “Just start with your name and go from there.”
With a final heave, Peter shoved him out the door.
To come face-to-face with Maya.
“Er,” Percival squeaked as the girl blinked and stepped back, eyes wide. “Um,” he went on, glancing back at the door. Peter stood in the frame with his arms crossed, so escape was impossible unless he fled the store itself. But then he would be so embarrassed he could never face Maya again. This might be his only chance.
Gathering his courage, Percival turned back to the girl. “Uh, h-hello,” he stammered, dropping his gaze. “I...I... That is...”
Maya smiled. “Hello, Percival,” she replied, making him glance up in shock. She knew his name! “I asked about you the first day I came in,” the girl continued. “I hope I didn’t offend you in any way.”
“No!” Percival shook his head quickly. “No, you d-didn’t do anything. I...I j-just...um.” He closed his eyes, thinking calm thoughts, the way she smiled at him that very first day. “I’m s-sorry I ran out on you like that,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I’ve w-w-wanted to talk to you ever since but I haven’t had the chance.”
“Well.” Maya cocked her head at him. “Now you do.”
They talked for a goodly while. Occasionally, Percival would get nervous and stutter, but Maya never seemed to notice. Eventually, Pedro stuck his head into the room and yelled for Percival to get back to work, and Maya excused herself, saying her grandmother was waiting for her.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she promised, smiling in a way that made Percival’s legs weak. “Goodbye, Percival. I’m glad I finally got to meet you.”
“Goodbye,” Percival whispered, and stared out the door for several minutes until Pedro smacked the back of his skull and shoved a mop into his hands, ordering him to the back room.
She did come back tomorrow. And the day after that. Sometimes, she would just smile and say hello, claiming her grandmother was expecting her back quickly. Sometimes, however, they staked out a corner of the shop and talked for many long minutes, while Pedro and Peter helped customers and shook their heads in resignation. And with every passing day, Percival fell more and more in love with her. Though he could never get up the nerve to tell her, or even ask her on a date. Instead, he baked pies especially for her, and always had one waiting when she entered the shop. And she always smiled and said they were the best things she had ever eaten.
His brothers watched these developments with a combination of amusement and concern, with Peter telling him to throw the young lady over his shoulder and cart her into the broom closet already, and Pedro reminding him to be careful. Pretty girls, he explained, were cunning, devious creatures. They were notorious for playing coy, stringing you along until the day they broke your heart. His warnings fell on deaf ears, however, as Percival’s world began to revolve around the times Maya Thornton came into the shop.
And then, one gray, dismal morning, she didn’t come in.
At first, Percival thought she was just a few minutes late. Perhaps she’d stopped at the fruit stall on her way there. Perhaps she’d forgotten her umbrella and had returned home to get it, as the sky did look rather ominous out the window. But as minutes ticked into hours, and Percival’s gaze lingered more and more on the front door of the shop, it became obvious that Maya wasn’t coming.
He moped his way through the afternoon, shuffling from task to task like a sleepwalker, barely aware of his surroundings. He felt like the day outside—gray, dismal, sullen. Maya had become his ray of sunshine every morning, and without her, his world had gone dark.
Peter finally gave him a good whack to the back of the head, bringing him out of his sulk.
“For Fred’s sake!” he exploded as Percival winced and rubbed his abused skull. “You’re worse than useless today, pining after that lass. Here.” Shoving a basket of pies into his hands, he pointed him toward the door. “Go find your girl. Tell her what you’ve been dying to tell her ever since she came in. Don’t give me that look,” he continued as Percival stared at him in horror. “Time to man up, boy. If you don’t snatch her while you can, someone else will. Now go.”
He gave him a push toward the frame. Percival, clutching the basket of pies, stumbled out the door and into the cloudy afternoon.
He was torn between dragging his feet to the witch’s hut and hurrying there as fast as he could, which resulted in his tripping over himself a great deal. Overhead, sullen clouds blotted the sky, and thunder growled ominously in the distance. Percival didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings, however, too busy thinking of what he would say to Maya when he finally found her.
Maya, I...love you. I’ve been in love with you from the day you entered the shop. When I see you, I can’t think of anything except how beautiful you are, and how you were kind to a fat, shy shop boy even though you had no reason to be. I don’t expect you could ever really fall for someone like me, but if you returned even a fraction of my feelings, it would make me the happiest person in the world.
It sounded elegant in his head, but when he tried to say it aloud he stuttered and tripped over the words, and ended up feeling like a fool.
He was thinking of turning around, calling off this insane quest entirely, when he suddenly realized he had arrived at the edge of the forest. And directly in front of him stood a house.
Percival shivered. Like most of the villagers, he avoided the Haunted Wood whenever possible. Not that he believed all the rumors and suspicion swirling around the evil forest, but it was better to be safe than sorry. This was actually the first time he’d stood at its borders, the closest he had ever been to the thick, tangled woods, and it gave him chills. As did the run-down shack at the forest’s edge.
For a second, he almost went back, almost turned and hurried away from this place as fast as his stubby legs would take him. He was afraid of the witch, yes, but that wasn’t the only thing that kept him from approaching the door and rapping on its gnarled surface.
What if the witch is there? Will she turn me into a toad? Would Maya protect me? What if Maya isn’t home? Or, worst of all... What if she is, and when I tell her how I feel, she laughs in my face?
He struggled with himself a moment longer, then took a deep breath. He’d come this far. No point in turning back now.
Gripping the basket handle tightly in one hand, he edged up to the door and rapped softly on the surface.
A few minutes passed. The hut was silent. Percival was about to give up and go home, when the door swung inward with an ear-splitting creak, and he was suddenly face-to-face with the witch.
She was old, that much was certain. The lines and grooves along her withered skin looked carved out with a hatchet, and her crooked nose jutted a few inches away from her face, a prominent wart on the tip. But her hair was midnight-black like Maya’s, though pulled into a severe bun, and her eyes burned a brilliant green as she stared at Percival, the corners of her thin lips pulled into a frown.
“Eh?” she rasped, glaring at the boy in front of her. Her voice was like a rusty blade over glass. “Who are you? What do you want? Come to see the scary old witch, eh, boy? Maybe throw rocks at her windows or torment her cat?”
