The Farmer and the Grimm

as recorded by Glyndia Goodwitch and Pyrrha Nikos

Off in the woods, far enough from any city not to be bothered by the noise, sat a farm. It was a large farm, housing three families. Each lived and worked alongside each other, and found each other's company good. By day they would chop trees and breed livestock, and by night they would drink liquor and pray. The head of the farm, a man named Bartleby, took pride in his resourcefulness and thriftiness. The always looked for profit, because he wanted to ensure his wife and three children ate good food and slept in warm beds. He would not hire people to deliver his goods, but make the hike through the woods himself, carrying with him trailers of logs and wheat and milk and ale.

But with him making every journey himself, something was bound to follow. A few times more than any man would like, the creatures of Grimm would see and track him back to the farms, menacing the property and the lives of all who lived there. Beowolves broke into the barn, and Centinals would burrow into the wine cellars. Fortunately there was a Huntsman on hand, a hired gun by the name of Gilt. He would load up his weapon, a rifle called Shake, with Dust and blow the monsters away. His methods were effective, but Bartleby found him costly, and that was why he never hired more protection, despite the attacks happening more.

"You're a fool to not hire more Huntsmen," Gilt would say after killing a Grimm. "One day they might be too much."

"I have faith in you," Bartleby would reply. "Besides, you're expensive enough."

These things would go on until one particular winter, where the snow fell so hard it made the roofs of the barns look they were about to collapse. The ice froze the ground and killed all the soil, as well as the seeds they had planted within. What animals could be saved were bundled for warmth, while others died from the cold. The chill made the tractor refuse to start, and the houses were buried in snow. The logs the families had chopped to sell at the market, they were forced to use in their fireplaces to keep from freezing themselves. The adults warmed themselves with booze from the bars and cellars, including the ale they had brewed with the intention to sell. Bartleby had prepared for the cold of the winter, but a freeze of that degree was beyond anything he could have predicted. When the snow stopped falling, every family went out to clear snow from the paths and assess the damage.

Very little was left to sell, and within a matter of weeks, Bartleby feared for the future of the farms. With crops struggling to grow, both in greenhouse and out, and the animals giving little product, money became tight. The people were miserable, often going to bed hungry or unable to light fires. Bartleby's thrifty nature was no longer enough, but his heart broke every time he heard his youngest's stomach growl as she try to get warm in her bed. When deliveries were made and Bartleby was paid, Grimm would follow him home and try and attack. Gilt, a man of honor, lowered his price and continued to protect the families, but attacks were becoming more frequent and his need for pay was still as great as Bartleby's.

Each day and week, the moods and thoughts of the families grew ever darker and more negative, with some fearing they would not live to see another season. This negativity and fear only brought more, as the Grimm were drawn to their feelings and began attacking almost every night. Gilt held them off, but only just barely. Finally the families, including Bartleby's own, could take no more of the nightly raids. They demanded of him to hire more help, offering what little they had to bribe him to take on more Huntsmen or Huntresses. With no other option, Bartleby relented, and began saving for a new hire.

One day, Bartleby loaded his cart with goods, more than they had produced in some time. He hoped the money made from this series of goods would be enough for a new level of protection. Fearing the Grimm would once again follow him home, he asked Gilt to accompany him. The Huntsman reluctantly agreed, and together they rode from the farm through the woods.

"You're making the right call, hirin' new help," Gilt said as they rode.

"I still do not believe more is needed," Bartleby huffed. "If they would stay calm and not worry so much, the Grimm would not come. If the Grimm do not come, we can focus more on healing the land. When the crops and the animals and the trees all come back, the money will come as well."

"The Grimm feed on negativity, drawn to it," Gilt explained, "but not caring and indifference can be just as deadly. Take the Apathy for example. Their mere presence alone make their prey loose all emotion at all."

Bartleby stopped in his tracks. He gave the Huntsman a questioning glance. "A Grimm?" he asked. "A Grimm can do that?"

"They travel in packs," Gilt said. "But just one can make a person they about to brutally kill feel as calm and uncaring as if they were asleep."

"Where are these Grimm?" Bartleby asked.

"They lurk around here, in the mountainsides and dark caves. Why?"

"Don't you see, man?" Bartleby asked, his scheming and thrifty mind hatching plans. "They are the answer to our financial issues. If just one, maybe two, were dwelling nearby, the others would calm and relax. Their emotions would draw no more Grimm, and there would be no more need for new hires. We could focus on our farms again."

"That's incredibly dangerous," Gilt replied. "I won't let you do it."

"Think of it," Bartleby explained. "A pair of them, sealed away, where they cannot hurt anyone, just long enough to make profit again. With the money we save, we can get you back to your old wages again. Once they're no longer needed, we destroy them with ease."

Gilt did not like it, but needed the money, and Bartleby's argument held water to him. "I'll find some while you deliver your goods. Do not be late." Bartleby agreed and Gilt broke away as Bartleby carried his wares to sell.

Night was approaching when Bartleby returned, with Gilt waiting for him by a tree.

"In the distance, you see?" Gilt said, pointing in the thickest part of the grove. Bartleby squinted his eyes to see the horrific forms of two tall, humanoid Grimm, with skull-like faces and disproportionate limbs slowly advancing towards them, eyes glowing red.

"I broke two off of the pack, they're following us now," Gilt explained. "Where should we lead them?"

"The water tunnels, below the farms," Bartleby said. "We can seal them down there."

The men headed back, the two Grimm in tow, but this time Bartleby wanted the Grimm to be following him back. By the time he reached the farms, his head was hanging low, and his eyes tired and wanting to sleep.

"Into the hatch," he managed to say, as he and Gilt headed down into the water tunnels below the farms. They were sturdy and strong but incredibly dark, and the Apathy followed in pursuit. Bartleby grew sluggish, but was helped along by Gilt. With the Huntsman's help, they evaded the Grimm and exited the tunnels into the cellar, where they locked up the door with a chain.

"The Grimm are secure, tell me if anything goes wrong," Gilt instructed, then left Bartleby alone for the night. When his wife inquired what he was doing down below, Bartleby told her he was sealing the waterways, never rousing her suspicions. Still, he felt guilty lying to his beloved, and decided to tell her the truth in due time. The final task was to lock the way the Grimm had followed them in. But after the day, Bartleby felt more tired than usual, as well as dismissive of the hatch. He told himself he would do it the next morning, and went to sleep soundly for once in a while.

Late in the night, with the moon covered in clouds, more Grimm were on the prowl. A pack of Apathy, following the trail of two members that had wandered off. Their travels took them to a hatch that lead to a dark, damp tunnel system. Upon hearing the screeches of their kind from within, the rest of the pack entered and stayed there.

The next morning, Bartleby kept his promise to himself and sealed the hatch, content and proud of himself for his ingenious idea. Though his tiredness remained, he saw immediate results. There was no arguing or complaining or worrying or fear. None even seemed to care that no additional Huntsmen were present. Bartleby sighed in relief as they began to tend to the soil.

As the week went by, Bartleby found himself more tired each passing day. Though the Grimm no longer appeared, he struggled to pull himself out of bed, and found the others were feeling the same. He began tilling the soil, only to see that his son and his neighbors were not out with him doing their chores. He thought to complain about their absence, but decided he did not care. Even after tilling the whole field himself, he felt indifferent to his hard work. That night he noted that his youngest would sit and pick at her food, then not even want to play with her favorite doll before curling back up in her bed.

With no Grimm to fight, Gilt had little to do, but decided he'd best ask for pay. He walked to the farmhouse, but found it odd no one was out chopping or tilling or tending. As he entered the home and entered the library, he found Bartleby and his family there. With the exception of Bartleby, they were sitting on the couch and floor before the fire, staring at the flames. The farmer himself was writing in a diary, but almost motionless in a chair.

"I've come for my payment," Gilt said to Bartleby. "I'm surprised y'all aren't out doing work."

Bartleby seemed to shudder at the word. "The working can wait, as can your payment."

Gilt was offended, but tried to stay civil. "You owe me what's due."

"Good gods, man, I'm tired," Bartleby said, "and frankly, I don't care."

Before Gilt could speak a word in argument, he realized what was going on. He knew the indifference was no fault of Bartleby on his own, and charged like a flash out of the house. He loaded his gun as he went to the hatch. Though it was sealed, he blew off the lock, desperate to kill what he had brought upon them. Gilt prepared his mind for the psychic assault his prey would no doubt try and use. Still, he was a seasoned Huntsman, and two Apathy were a small challenge at best.

His boots submerged in water, Gilt trekked through the tunnel, searching for Grimm in the dark. He came to a cross-path, and continued straight, until he heard a screech in the distance. It made his arms weak and his weapon feel heavy, but he pressed on nonetheless. As he grew closer, he saw a Grimm up ahead, walking around all alone. With a cock of his gun, he blasted its head, making it stagger and sway. As he cocked the next round, he heard growling nearby, and turned to face the sound. A look of horror spread across his face and his stomach fell when he saw the whole pack coming near.

He fired once then he ran, hoping he could find his way back to the hatch. A screech took him down, sapping his strength, but he pressed on anyhow. He made every turn he could think, but each time he did, he only went deeper into the maze. The pack flooded the tunnels, approaching from all sides, and screaming and screeching at him. Though with so many, even a Huntsman as skilled and as seasoned as him could not fight off their brainwashing attack. He sat in the water as the Grimm approached, uncaring what fate awaited for him. One of the Apathy came close, and with its long clawed hand, reached down towards Gilt's face. With a thrust, the arm was jammed down the man's throat, clawing at everything as it went down. The rest of the Apathy gathered around, and partook in the most horrible was of killing a person.

Up on the surface, Bartleby watched as his children went to their beds. He was as tired as they were, and lay with his wife, thinking about money and Grimm. Even after sleeping through the night, he felt no urge to arise from his bed or put food in his stomach. No one else rose either, and Bartleby decided he just did not care, and lay still in his bed. Without the farmers, the crops and animals died, starving and wilting away. The farmer with the cart was no longer seen making his usual deliveries. Apathy was no longer just the Grimm lurking beneath, but the true fate of all those on the farm.

It is said that, if one were to go off the trails, away from city and into the wild, they may find an old farm where the people there are apathetic to the fact that they are dead.

"That was quite the frightening story you were telling your teammates, Miss Nikos. Where did you hear it?"

"It was an urban legend of sorts around where I grew up. Something the local children would tell to try and scare each other."

"I see. Is it a true story?"

"I certainly hope not, Professor."