Shame
Challenge: Shame Locations: Childhood home in Marburg, Germany and a boarding school in Germany Time: Spanning from roughly 1987 to 2014 Characters: Mentions of Greta and Willow, as well as his parents Viktor and Hilde Grimm TW for abuse and ableist language
The first time he saw the light, Hans was seven years old and hiding in the attic. He had dragged boxes across the dusty wooden floor until there was a corner of the attic that couldnāt be seen from the door. He had been there for hours, listening to his fatherās heavy footsteps beneath him. At some point he had fallen sleep, book in one hand and flashlight in the other. The batteries had long since died when he woke up, but a glow lit the entire room. A small orb of light drifted gently above him, just out of reach. He didnāt know how long it stayed there with him, his legs curled up against his chest and his back against the wall of boxes, but when he finally fell asleep the last thing that he saw was it disappearing out the window. When he woke up, he ran downstairs, too excited to remember to be quiet, to remember to be afraid. He shook his mother awake and began to babble about what he had seen, about what mustĀ have been a fairy like in the stories she read him. She smiled at him and tried to hush him, but not before his father awoke and grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him down the hallway so roughly that it bruised and hissing sharp, cruel words. The next time that Hans saw the light, he didnāt mention it to anyone.
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When Hans was twelve, Greta was accepted into university. He stood on the far side of the dining room as the letter was read and watched the pride in their fatherās eyes, the contempt when he glanced back at his son. He hunched down in his chair, becoming smaller, making more room for his father and sister, and he hated himself for it.Ā āMay I be excused?ā he asked, keeping his voice calm. His father hated it when he cried. Viktor looked at him dismissively and waved a hand, uninterested in his presence. He rushed upstairs, ignoring the flash of light outside his window. No time for that. He pulled the textbooks from Gretaās shelf, lugging them into his room and closing the door. He was up all that night reading and the next as well, working constantly until the concepts began to make sense.Ā
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He pretended to be sick when it was time to go swimming. He was small, quiet, frequently in the nurseās office, so no one questioned him. He wanted to swim. He had fond memories of swimming at the beach when he was younger, his mother next to him laughing, Greta digging in the sand. But he knew better than to let anyone see the scars under his clothes, knew better than to open the door to the stares and whispers. They would call his father, and it would only be worse when the semester was over and he had to go back to that dark empty house. Better to hide. He didnāt see the light that year, or the next.
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Heād finished his education, been published in numerous scientific journals, received awards and acclaims for his work. Hans Grimm was a well-known name now, just as much as Greta was. He wasnāt afraid of anything. But here at the doorstep of the house heād spent so many years sneaking through, peeking through every door before he opened it, he felt small again. The door opened, and there Viktor Grimm stood, older than heād been the last time Hans had visited, but still with the same stern gleam in his eye. Things seemed as if they were going to be alright for the first hour of the visit. They drank coffee and talked, and Hans had hope. Until Viktor stopped him in the middle of a sentence and looked at him with growing solemnity.
āI received a phone call the other day,ā he said after a long minute of silence.Ā āFrom a journalist, asking me what I had to say about your recent claims about...ā His face wrinkled in disgust, bringing back hundreds of memories.Ā āMagic. Fairies, vampires, the sort of nonsense that childrenās stories are about.ā
Hans looked down at his cup, swallowing.Ā āI have solid evidence, actual data. Iām not just making unfounded claims.ā He glanced up to meet his fatherās eyes.Ā āIf youād like to come in to see what Iām working on, Iād be happy to-ā His father leaned forward.
āI have no interest in playing along with your delusions.ā He laughed, hollow and harsh.Ā āI was beginning to think you might amount to something worthwhile after all, but apparently youāre as much of an idiot as you ever were.ā Hans looked away, staring out the bay window.Ā āIām sure some of it is your motherās fault. She coddled you, told you these ridiculous stories. But Greta doesnāt do this to me, doesnāt embarrass us with fairy tales.ā Hansā fingers tensed around the cup.Ā āI have given you everything. A home, an education, a reputation to build off of. And you have been nothing but an ungrateful disgrace.ā He stood.Ā āGet out of my home. Iāve already spoken with my lawyers. Donāt bother expecting any kind of inheritance. This family doesnāt need you, babbling like a madman on a street corner.āĀ
The anger welled up inside of Hansā chest and he stood. They were the same height now, but that realization didnāt serve to make him feel any less insignificant. The words raced through his mind: I am not a madman. I have proof, I have evidence, I understand more than Greta does, I am better than Greta is, so why donāt you love me.Ā Instead, he set the cup on the table and walked out of the house, chest tight with unspoken defenses. They didnāt speak again. The next time Hans received any sort of information about his father was when the news arrived that he had passed away, nearly ten years later.Ā
