I put my hand on the panel and, feeling extremely stupid, I muttered “Do I find you here, you old sinner! I have long sought you!” I didn’t realize at the time, but it was quote from Little Red Riding Hood by Brothers’ Grimm.
Something actually changed. A door appeared in place of the large panel. It was carved intricately, every grain of the wood was finished impeccably. An ancient looking keyhole appeared on the right-hand side, along with a door handle. They looked as if they had been used relatively recently. I looked back at my friends. “This can’t be real. Does this mean that all I’ve been seeing is real?”
The two police detectives glanced at each other queerly, as if reaching a decision. Then Schlaukopf turned into the fox-thing again. I turned cautiously towards Muller, saying “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“Yes. You’re not going crazy, Marty,” answered Muller evenly “All that you’ve seen is real.”
“All of it. Even me,” said Schlaukopf. His fox-like façade flickered and he became the Artie Schlaukopf I had known for ten years again. “And you were beginning to subconsciously notice it. Those tattoos do mean something.”
“What?”
“That, I’m afraid, will have to wait,” muttered Muller mysteriously, gesturing to the newly appeared door. “We’ve got a lot to show you, and a lot to teach you about your family.”
4
Hunting
Then all three were delighted. The Huntsman drew off the wolf’s skin and went home with it.
(Little Red Riding Hood/Little Red Cap)
“So how do we get in? Do I wave a wand?” I suggested, trying to make light of the startling discovery that I wasn’t going mad.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Marlowe,” said Muller. “You use a key.” He produced his keys. Along with his apartment key, the key of his car and assorted key rings, was an old looking, clunky, key. He placed it in the keyhole and turned it delicately. The door silently and smoothly opened inwards. We walked into the doorway.
I clicked on the old light bulb. The room was nothing extraordinary. Indeed, it was rather empty. I had expected a bit more of my family’s big secret. The floor was covered in dust, at least a few centimeters thick, except for a little path of footsteps on footsteps, which ended in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. “Is this it?”
“Don’t you see it?” said Schlaukopf. He sounded exasperated, as if I had to see it.
“Where?”
“At the end of the path in the dust,” said Muller anxiously. I looked again. In place of what had seemed to be plain flooring, was an ornate stair.
“I can see it,” I said.
“Good,” said Muller, sounding relieved. “Now repeat after me. She took her kid out, and it told her that the wolf had come and eaten all the others.”
Feeling just as stupid as before I copied Muller, once again, not realizing that it was a quote from Brothers’ Grimm. This time it was The Wolf and the Seven Kids, a less well-known tale. My grandfather seemed to have a strange sense of humor. At the end of the stair another door appeared. A thrill of excitement filling me, I descended immediately, the stair creaking underneath my steps. In place of an ornate lock, there was a modern looking fingerprint scanner.
“What do I do next?”
“Put your finger in the scanner. We’ve entered your fingerprint already. Then place your hand on the door and push,” answered Schlaukopf. For a moment, I wondered where they had procured my fingerprints
I put my finger on the scanner. An electronic voice said, “Welcome to the Den, Novice Martin Phillips.”
A little push against the door opened it easily. I clicked on the light. Once again, the room was lit by a single light bulb, but this room was very different. It was about the same size, three meters by one. The walls were covered in weapons. There were old revolvers (a few Colt Single Action Army’s, a Colt Model 10) rifles (BARs, Winchesters) and shotguns (a Stevens and a Browning Superposed). Far more interesting were the older looking weapons. There were a few clubs with metal spikes, maces, knives, bows, arrows, crossbows of all sizes, quarrels, axes and a big longsword in a leather sheath. They hung in organized shelves, along with plenty of ammunition. What looked empty bookshelves took up the space that the weapons did not. A few dusty wolf pelts hung from the slanted roof.
“Anybody care to explain?” I said, bewildered.
Schlaukopf sighed deeply, but Muller was silent. Then they tried to speak over each other. After about thirty seconds Schlaukopf stopped, and Muller continued, “You know Children’s and Household Tales by Brothers’ Grimm?”
“Yes?” I said impatiently.
“Well, they’re based on things that really did happen. The Brothers’ Grimm were my ancestors, and I continue to chronicle the happenings in our world, the Versteckt world as we call it,” explained Muller calmly. Had anyone else tried to tell me any of this, I probably would have hit them, but Muller talked so rationally, it was hard not believe him. “They sanitized the tales for a human audience, made them less real. In the original versions, all talking animals were, in fact, a species of creatures that could hide in a human form.”
“Like Fox-man over here?” I said, gesturing to Schlaukopf.
“I’m a Fuchsmann, actually, Marty,” protested Schlaukopf indignantly.
“Alright, you’re a Fuchsmann, that much is obvious,” I corrected myself. I turned back to Muller. “So what are you?”
“I’m a Grimm. A chronicler of the Versteckt, or hidden, world,” answered Muller “Supposedly all Grimms are descendent of the Brothers’ Grimm, but that seems rather fanciful. Either way, that’s what we’re called now.”
“And what am I? The Big Bad Wolf?” I demanded. “Why did my grandfather need these weapons?”
Both of my friends looked at me queerly. Then Muller said, “No. Your ancestors hunted the Big Bad Wolf. You’re a Huntsman. It is your job to control the Verstecktvolk – that’s our name for the creatures, means secret people in German. If they break our laws, it’s up to you to bring them to justice.”
“Huntsmen? Like in Red Riding Hood?”
“Exactly.”
I thought for a second. “What about the Merkels? Don’t tell me Michael Merkel killed his wife, and not the dog?”
Schlaukpf sighed. It was his turn to explain now. “Yes. Your parents had trouble with their fathers. They’ve been in prison eleven years because of your parents. I was in the Robbery Unit back then. We set them up.”
“You did? If you have all these weapons, why bother?” I asked curiously “What did they do anyway? Apart from being Big Bad Wolves.”
“Don’t call them that. Singular it’s a Wolfmann, plural is Wolfvolk,” interrupted Schlaukopf, rather indignantly again. Then he said more calmly, “They tried to kill them. The official line is to kill Wolfvolk immediately, but that wasn’t working. They’d tried too many times already. So your parents got them put in jail for the rest of their lives. As for Wolvermann and Merkel, they raped women and ate human flesh.”
“That still doesn’t explain what was happening between the Merkels.” My ancestors might have hunted fairy tale monsters, but I was still more interested in modern-day crimes. “If Sylvie Merkel was a Wolfmann, surely she would have been able to protect herself.”
“She could have, had she been a true Wolfmann, but she wasn’t. There is a type of Wolfvolk called Reformed Wolfvolk. Adrian Wolvermann, along with running the drug clinic, runs a clinic for Reformed Wolfvolk,” explained Artie Schlaukopf. “Sylvie Merkel was attempting to become a Reformed Wolfmann with her daughter, but Michael Merkel didn’t like that. He needed to be free and wild, so he took his daughter. Sylvie Merkel sent you away from the cabin to protect you.”
“So, she didn’t know what I was?” I asked, feeling absurd.
“No.”
“Who recommended me?”
“I did. Her brother came to me asking if I knew a good Private Investigator. I suggested you,” said Captain Schlaukopf. “It
was an attempt to stir your mind, make you see things as they really are. Clearly, it worked.”
“Clearly,” I agreed. “If my parents and my grandfather were Huntsmen, what about Ashley? Is she one?”
“Yes and no,” answered Muller enigmatically. He smiled. “There is no such thing as a female Huntsman. Traditionally, the whole idea just didn’t fit. Nowadays, we call the daughters of Huntsmen that continue the family trade Rotkäppchen. It’s a bit of joke in certain circles, the original name of Little Red Riding Hood in German, Little Red Cap.”
“So why isn’t she here?”
“She thought you’d listen better if we explained it,” answered Muller, smiling again.
“She’s right, you know,” I agreed, thinking that I probably would have tried to bash her skull in if she had attempted to tell me.
“But we need her past this point,” said Schlaukopf, taking out his phone and texting something he had written earlier.
“There’s more? Where?”
“There’s a lot more, Marlowe. A lot more. More than we could easily The far right corner, a doorway. It’s a lot more modern than the rest,” said Muller. A modern looking door that would have fitted most lifts appeared in the far right corner of the room. There was what looked to be an eye scanner “Your parents started this in the 80s, but Ashley has only just finished it properly. They added the fingerprint scanner. Before that, it was the same as the first door, just with a different quote to say.”
“First a fingerprint scanner, now an eye scanner. What more security is there?” I said incredulously.
“None. This is the last step,” answered Muller. “But, without Ashley, we can’t get past. She trusts us, just not that much. She’ll have to enter your iris pattern into the scanner” He lowered his voice and leaned towards me. “You know me and Ashley, well her and Brian aren’t exactly getting on at the moment. We’ve kind of got together again.”
“And?”
“Well, I thought I’d tell you, just in case,” muttered back Muller.
“Just in case what?” I laughed. “I was alright with it the first time. Why would that change? Besides, I’d consider it better to know who my sister’s sleeping with than not.”
“Right,” muttered Muller uneasily. He had always been uneasy about that sort of thing, and it seemed, strange Versteckt world or not, that he hadn’t changed in that regard.
A few seconds later Ashley appeared, coming down the stairs. She embraced me happily. “Finally, you can see. You’ll be way better at this than I am.”
“When were you able to see?” I asked, wondering. So that’s why her interest in the attic had diminished! They had told her, initiated her
“I was thirteen when I first saw. That’s about when Huntsmen normally begin to see. But you didn’t. Our parents were worried. They thought there was something wrong with you,” said Ashley. “There aren’t many of us – there never were – but, in recent years, the Wolfvolk and the Reise – that’s Giants – have been hunting us down.”
“Aren’t you going to let us into the Bat Cave, Rotkäppchen?” I said impatiently. They were showing me bits and pieces, but I suspected that it would take a long time to understand it all. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve hidden down there.”
“Oh, just you wait, little bro,” said Ashley, smiling. She put her eye up to the eye scanner. A little touch screen pad appeared next to the door. After a few taps, my sister gestured for me to place my eye in front of the scanner. I did so.
An electronic voice said, “Welcome, novice Huntsman Martin Phillips”
The door slid open and the four of us piled into a sleek looking room. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was indeed a lift. “Where are we going?”
“Underneath the cellar, deep underground,” answered Ashley. The doors closed and the lift descended silently.
“Wouldn’t all this be detected by sonar or something?”
“Normally, yes. But there are certain spells on all of these rooms. You can’t knock the walls in from outside,” she explained. “They basically only exist when you’re in them.”
“Spells? What like magic? Can we do magic?” I demanded rapidly.
“Not really. Just illusion spells, enough to keep busybodies out. And it’s very complicated.” Ashley was trying to play it all down. “Don’t get too excited about it.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Rotkäppchen. None of the Fuchsvolk have a tiny bit of magic,” complained Schlaukopf. “You should be glad with what you have.”
“She just doesn’t want to get my hopes up,” I said, smiling despite it all “No worries there. Magic just scares me. It’s completely illogical, and I’m a detective.”
“You’re a Huntsman too, and we deal in the illogical,” said Ashley, as the lift stopped and the door slid open. I stepped into the room in wonder.
To the left was a bookshelf running about half the length of the room, full of old leather bound books. They seemed to grow newer the farther away they were. Midway along the bookshelf, a couch had been built into the bookshelf. The room was modern and furniture sparse, the surfaces white plastic. To the right, there were four bunk beds built into the wall, and a corridor leading away from the main room. In the near right corner, a little kitchenette had been laid out, complete with fridge and microwave. Straight ahead were a few plush leather chairs in front of computer monitors and TV screens.
“Christ, this is like a damn bomb shelter,” I exclaimed.
“That is kind of the point, Marlowe,” said Ashley, getting herself a coke out of the fridge. “I mean sometimes I use it as a safe house for Verstecktvolk who are on the run, or as an infirmary.”
“So Verstecktvolk in Seattle know it’s here?”
“Only Schlaukopf here. The rest just know it’s somewhere in the mansion. And before you ask, we and the Grimms are not Verstecktvolk. We’re Sehervolk, sight people in German,” said Ashley. “I suggest you learn a bit of German. Almost all Verstecktvolk and Sehervolk are of German descent. It matters a lot to us.”
“But, before we get too much into history, I’ve got something to show you.” Ashley giggled. She walked over to the right of me and opened two double doors. I turned around. Next to the lift, there was another room. We walked into it.
It was a veritable arsenal. Only instead of the ancient weapons of the first one, all of the weapons were modern. I looked at in wonder. There were M16s, H&K MP5s, AK-47s, Browning Automatic Rifles and a few heavy machine guns. Alongside them were handguns; Colt Pythons and Glocks of different lengths, Smith & Wesson revolvers, Browning Hi-powers and Browning 1911s. Ammunition for all of them was stacked up next to the guns. Next to the guns were Kevlar vests, combat knives, police batons, pepper spray and mace. There was what seemed to be a fire fighter’s suite and army combat gear.
“Holy shit! What sort of operation are you running down here? Where do you get all of it? It can’t be legal.”
“It isn’t, but being a Rotkäppchen or a Huntsman involves a lot of extrajudicial justice. Doesn’t look good if the same gun is used to kill a lot of people. The police would be able to track it,” explained Ashley. “So most Huntsmen have a store of illegal guns. This is mine. Well, I suppose it’s ours now. There’s plenty to go round.”
“You can say that again,” muttered Muller sardonically. He took a step back. “Maybe me and Captain Schlaukopf should go now, let you two have a bit of brother-sister alone time.”
“You should,” Ashley agreed. She gave Muller a little kiss on the cheek, and then they left.
5
The Reality
‘My darling, this is only a dream’
(The Robber Bridegroom)
“Do you have any questions, Marlowe?” said Ashley. “I will try to answer them as best I can.”
“What are the Verstecktvolk?” We were sitting down on the couch, coke cans in our hands. Ashley wouldn’t let me drink something more filling. I made do. Sugar drunk would have to do.
> Ashley laughed at me. “Well, that’s a loaded question. What are the Verstecktvolk? No one really knows. The tales we tell each other say that the Verstecktvolk have always existed, in one form or another. But their origin... That we do not know for certain.”
“They came with the Germanic tribes, from Scandinavia. Simply put, or as simply as is possible, they are creatures cloaked in a human body, hidden so the rest of the world will not know what they are. The Grimms, Muller’s people, assume that they took on the skin of humans as a defense mechanism. The Verstecktvolk evolved so this ability is now innate in them all, and they stay in human form nearly all the time, but never forget that they are not human. We are, basically, at least, but the brain of a Verstecktmann is different to that of a human.”
“Not noticeable by scans and modern medicine. By reactions, and their nature. There are two different types of Verstecktvolk; Ungefährlich and Gefährlich. Gefährlich Verstecktvolk are the dangerous ones. Wolfvolk (the Big Bad Wolf to you) and Reise (Giants). There are more, but most are honorable enough left alone and the rest are very rare. You don’t want to meet the rare ones often and if you do… As for the Ungefährlich Verstecktvolk – they’re practically harmless, or at least as harmless as the human race.”
“That’s not harmless.”
“Jesus, why do you always have to be such a pessimist, Marty? Couldn’t you just let the world be for once?”
“I would. If it just let me be, which it never does,” I said in a monotone. Then I smiled sarcastically, punching the air. “You get what you give, World! Take that!”
“Marty…” she said, all sisterly-bossiness. “I’m serious.”
“So was I,” I said, smiling.
She chuckled. “Fine. Have it your way.” Ashley stopped laughing. “Anyway, the Ungefahrlich Verstecktvolk are your run of the mill, like. Look you get the point. I’d be here all day if I told all of them. Point is, there’s a lot of them, and they do exist.”
Marty Phillips (Book 1): Life Slowly Faded Page 3
