The Peculiar Disappearance of Grimly

Peculiar Grimly

Grimly was a peculiar boy. He wrote his words right to left, only spoke when not in motion and of most concern, ate his peanut butter sandwiches jelly side down. Therefore, if one was not curious when Grimly began screaming "Pull your drapes!" around three thirty on a peculiarly cold Saturday morning in the slow town of Ashwood, it would be justified.

It would do the reader no harm to imagine this young child as they see fit. As an investigator I could describe him in detail donning his grayish-blue always wrinkled blazer two sizes too big, his dark blue well-pressed jeans one size too small, and his ever surviving leather brown dress shoes, handed down by his father, that was, peculiarly, just the right size. No. I won't limit you to how this shaggy haired boy presented himself, but there is one thing I must tell you about Grimly regardless. Something so outstanding it could not be omitted. He had a pinpoint mole just under his right eye, not close enough to meet a newborn tear, but not far enough as to contact its maturing grasp once its trail was set.

Peculiar.

That word has haunted me. It is not so much the meaning, but the sound that bothers me. Peck-you-lure. It pains every time I say or write it. I can appreciate the 'peck'. The 'you' sound is obvious. But "liar", pronounced "lure"? It was almost as if the creator was bent on stating all peculiar people are liars, concealing the -liar- behind a smooth -lure- as if the word itself was attempting to deceive you. When Grimly broke silence that pecul-....peculiar Saturday morning (ouch), he was neither lying nor being...strange (that's better, although I still have concerns about the word strange).

To understand this case, I strongly suggest the following steps.

1. Close your drapes now.

2. Sit with your back to a wall at least one and a half bricks thick.

3. If you want a normal night, leave this article alone now.

I know not who you are or how this piece found you, but if it is you reading, and yes, I mean you...not you, the you who knows who you are, then I am glad it has found you and you know what to do with it. If, by some chance this is a different, more non-specific you reading, I strongly urge a good nights rest.

After many pointless interviews, slammed doors and half a slice of mediocre pie from the 'worlds best pie' local diner, my case was left in the clutches of whatever Grimly had stored in his room. His house stood mid street, shadowed by his neighbors and with little paint left to peel. The suburbs was not a nice place for an old, wooden home, bent slightly to the right on a windy day. It was mocked by the identical concrete houses that lined the streets of Ashwood, but it's strength lay in the fact that it was a home amongst these polished houses. By home, I mean to elaborate a sense of belonging, nurturing and love within its four walls. His mother, although always tired looking, was quick to please me on arrival, presenting mandatory pie before I proceeded with my investigation. The pie was mediocre. The mother, a cook at the local diner. The father, absent. It would be more peculiar if he wasn't absent for 10 years, but with no ring on the mothers finger I decided not to clarify.

When I finally arrived at Grimblys room, the wooden door croaked on nudging. Stepping in, a faint smell of peanuts lingered, unaided by the tightly shut windows and closed drapes on the far side. It was minimalistic. A small bed, medium closet and large desk that claimed half the room was all that could be noted at first. And then, a small book edging out from under his mattress poked. The cover was thick and heavy, almost leathery but friable. The light switch wouldn't work. I must have had flicked it 10 or so times before the supervising mother inched away embarrassingly. Natural light would have to do. The drapes swung open revealing extremely clean windows, clear as purified air, not a smudge on any of its four square planes...and yes, I did check. If only the mother remained here to regain some of that pride.