Little Grimm fell under his brothers’ influence before he could speak; by five this blue eyed lad outdid the older boys, driving poor mother to madness with wild tales. At first all were amused his animated antics . He had a way of telling tall tales,that made you almost believe they were the god’s honest truth as he insisted.

Such a wee child weaving grotesque fairy tales was was disturbing . Mother wondered if the boy was possessed, given the vocabulary and such morbid ideas. While all her sons were fond of telling strange stories with supernatural creatures, their evil witches and monsters were conquered, the princess was spared, everyone lived happily ever after. Little brothers were vivid and scary.

Adding details about swallowing flies and sliding head first into cow pies was just boys being boys. His stories gave the others nightmares.

Father encouraged the boys, telling them it was good as long as they did chores and studied. “They’re good boys, love,” he’d reassure his wife, who was one of six sisters in a strictly religious home with a sour father.

It was Grandpa Finley who began the official controversy about Baby Grimm, but defending him was made impossible boy himself made. It was as if he delighted in taking things further when warned to rein them in.

He was an oddity, taking lonely walks at dawn and before dusk without fail. He rateky spoke of what he did or where he went but it wasn’t uncommon for the family to sit down to supper and find themselves listening to the boys beguiling misadventures, which were lush with details and compelling beauty. At first first adorned with flowers and towering trees then suddenly violent, they couldn’t help but listen.

On his 5th Christmas, the boy hopped into his grandfathers lap, telling him and about what happened on his walk.

“You ever notice how the sky has a magical light before the sun sets? When I see it, I feel lovely, immortal. Afterwards, I know it’s time for supper; it is my favorite time of the day. Today, I met a little green man, sitting on a rock, eyes closed , a sweet smile in his face. I crept closer to study his nose. His funny cap hid his queer ears. “

His mother forced a smile but shot her son a stern look as she passed. Her father was already wearing a bitter expression.

“Then the green man opened his eyes, and seeing me gave him a start. I laughed till I hurt.

. “That’s impolite,” he scolded.

I told him little boys aren’t supposed to be polite. We’re made of snails, boogers, frogs and farts.”

You know what he told me? ‘That’s a curse. You’re a warlock!’

I didn’t know how to take that. What do you think papa? “ the child’s hand touched his grandfather’s face.

“I think you’re spoiled,” the old man pushed his grandson off, grumbling as he stormed into the other room.

“He ruined it” he cried ; his brothers beseeched him to tell the rest. This touched mother, who was ashamed she let her father worry her so. What is life if it has no whimsy? Listening,she worked on roasted vegetables, scones. Roasted Goose wafted through the house, Grandma diligently rolling dough for cookies. She was easier to contend with now that she was deaf. Even she was much happier now.

Baby Grimm had a golden voice, intuitively grasping lyric, he was hypnotic.His brothers eager for every word.

Father came in, his arms heavy with wood for the fire. He poked embers, warmed himself, and fell under his son’s spell,giggling as Baby Grimm wins a battle of wits with his green man.

In a cranky voice the child spoke the little green man’s part. “You ghastly boy, imagination will get you in trouble. No can love you.”

“Hey,” The eldest Grimm soon exclaimed, “That little green man sounds like grandpa.”

The other sons agreed, “it sure does.”

Father arched an eye brow.

“No,” the boy protested, “it’s the little green man I met on my walk this evening.”

“Son, it’s one thing to make up stories but iquite another to lie, worse yet to mock your elders.”

“I’m tnot ! See, he’s an elf, a fugitive as well. Santa Clause is not nice he says.the poor thing had callouses worse than father’s and he was so skinny you nearly see right through him. Theres chains around his wrists . Santa chains to a pipe iin a basement. They sleep on straw . There’s rats. Santa whips them. “

“That’s a lie,” his brothers protested.

Grandfather burst in angry as Mother rushed in for the kitchen.

“That’s not a nice thing to say about Santa.” .

“I didn’t say it. The elf did, but I believe him.”

“See?” The grandfather relished this,”You let these whippersnappers libe out fantasy like Santa Clause and they become disrespectful, dishonest and disturbed.”

“Santa is real,” the middle boy stubbornly insisted as the other pouted.

“Supper is almost ready,” said Mother diplomatically. “You boys wash up.”

Just as Grandfather was about to lecture Mother and Father, there was a timid knock upon the door.

Mother wiped her hands on her apron and went to see who it was, too grateful to complain.

A shriek brought her husband, father then her sons to the entrance. She was crimson faced and apologetic to the visitor. Her youngest son slipped past the others and grinned. “There you are,” he greeted a small green creature and pulled him towards the fire.

“I’m chilled to the bone.” The elf sniffed, “and hungry. My it smells delicious.”

“I told you,” the youngest Grimm said, sneaking a glance at his family. All, but Grandfather were wearing womderous expressions. This was not just a Merry Christmas, it was a story they’d share forever.