Chapter Text
The Grinch had been an entity in Cindy-Lou’s life ever since she’d been a baby.
It worked like a story. Sort of like a tale you told children so they crossed the road right. Things kids whispered to one another in the schoolyard to try and give someone else a scare.
Some cities had scary monsters under bridges or haunted forests.
Whoville had the Grinch.
He wasn’t… awful . He kept to himself, mostly. He came into town once a month and he knocked into people and mumbled insults and broke a thing or two and always paid for it later (sometimes in pennies, which was a pain).
It was more what they didn’t see that became a mystery.
“I hear he captures lost dogs that families are looking for and keeps them as workers,” some kids said. “The dog that’s with him? That’s one of his slaves. I bet that dog sleeps under the stairs on bones. I bet he’s starving.”
“The walkway up towards his home is lined with skulls,” a teen had told her and her friends. “He sits on glass and nails like chairs and he never ever showers. That’s why he’s green!”
Once, Cindy-Lou had an older high schooler tell her, “if you walk up to the mountain and knock on his door, you’ll be cursed forever. I had a friend try it. And now they fail every test.”
Cindy-Lou didn’t believe them.
Really.
No. Really. She didn’t.
(She totally did)
But for the most part, he seemed harmless. Mean. Grumpy. But harmless. And so she stayed away and kept the stories of him tucked in her back pocket and whenever she saw him in a store she (and all of the other kids) stayed far out of his way.
She never thought she’d actually meet him.
Cindy-Lou was absolutely content to go about her life never thinking about how she may meet the boogeyman of Mount Crumpet
And then one day
.
.
.
she did.
November 30th
(25 days before)
.
.
.
She meets him on the last day of November when he wanders down the mountain for (what the grocer will tell everyone) is his emergency restocking before the holiday.
She’d been watching the door for her mother, backing up, when she’d bumped hard into something sort of soft and warm and squishy that made a hey noise and when she’d turned around to apologize-
(she paused)
(she didn’t breathe)
(her heart stopped)
“Watch it,” he’d snapped, picking up a bag he’d dropped when she’d bumped into him. She scuttled back, looking up (up, up, up) his too-tall form to his scowl. She thought of stories of cursed doors and long walks up bone clad hills. To his side there’s a dog. She remembered thinking that it was strange that the dog didn’t seem sad. Or abused or beaten. He sat patiently by the Grinch’s side, tail thumping, looking up and smiling, tongue lolling.
When the Grinch noticed her staring his eyes flashed and she ducked away. “Don’t your parents keep tabs on you? Or has your entire town lost their minds?”
“My moms over there,” she’d said weakly, pointing to where her mother was struggling with grocery bags. She was carrying one. It was all she could manage. Her mom had four.
The Grinch laughed under his breath at her mother tripping over a bit of ice out of the electric doors, catching herself quickly, before he turned round and walked back up towards the mountains, up Mt. Crumpet Road.
He hadn’t gone thirty feet when he’d stopped.
His dog looked up at him curiously.
There were carolers just down the road. A little group of them, singing about warm fires and family. His hands pulled to his chest and his throat shuddered and tightened. And then his shoulders rolled and he pulled in a breath and charged forward over the bridge and up the road.
(She remembered thinking that, for a guy that slept on bones and nails and glass and kept dogs as evil minions, he’d looked awfully…
… sad.)
“Honey?” Her mother called to her and she blinked and scrambled back, taking one more bag from Donna. “Thanks.”
“Course, mom.”
She smiled. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Grinches and mountains and lonely walks away.
While they’re walking her mother - through panting and huffing and shuffling through the stiff snow up the hill towards their house - talks about what they might do that weekend. “I have Saturday off,” she said. “There’s a museum in the town over with a new exhibit. Maybe a movie?”
Family days weren’t rare. They still had dinner together every night, and she was there every morning, and Fridays they always found time to watch a movie and her mom made an obnoxious amount of popcorn and her brothers fell asleep before the sun went down.
That was Cindy-Lou’s favorite night.
When her brothers fell asleep and she got her mom all to herself.
But the full days with her mother? Those were rare. Those were special. Those were wonderful. And there’d be more of them. If her mom wasn’t so busy holding up the world on calloused hands.
Cindy grinned, pulling the bags up, her arms straining. “That sounds good, mom!”
“I thought so, too.”
Cindy looked back down at her feet, kicking at some snow. Fluff puffed up and hit her leg.
She thought back on carolers and sad looking men. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen the Grinch. But it was the first time she’d been that close. Usually she’d done what the other kids had done and hid in another aisle or behind a tree.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?” Her mother stepped around a patch of ice, and she did the same.
“Mom, do you know the Grinch?”
There’s a beat, where all they can hear is their breathing and the snow crunching and the muted pulse of winter. Her mother thinks, screwing up her mouth. She’s frowning.
“No one really does, honey.” Her voice sounds stiff.
“But… do you know him?”
“Yes, honey. Of course. I think-” she nearly dropped the bag, but caught it quick. “I think everyone does. He’s a legend by now. Every town has an eccentric, you know?”
“An… ex-en-tric?”
“He’s a grump who lives alone in a cave. He’s always lived alone. And he’s not really the easiest to put up with.”
“But how do you know?” Cindy's arms were straining and she held her hands tighter around the plastic bag. It was beginning to cut into her fingers. She stopped a moment to adust and stretch out her hands, and when she did she looked behind her. Like she might have caught a glimpse of him still walking up the hill.
The mountains were bare and silent.
Donna stepped in a puddle of slush and the sound drew Cindy back, and she caught up to her mom. ”Everyone sort of knows, I guess. Honey, are two bags two much for you? I can always-”
”M'fine, mom. So have you met him?”
“I’ve bumped into him. Once or twice.” She shrugged. "Everyone has. He lives in this town, too. Just farther away."
Cindy-Lou chewed on her lip. “Oh.” Then; “Do you think he… has anyone?”
“He doesn’t, sweetheart. No one like him ever does.”
It’s a final statement. And it stays with her the rest of the night. And just before bed, she peered through the window beside her. Her breath steamed little shapes into the panes while she pressed her face against the cool glass. There was a single light on she could barely see unless she squinted just so, somewhere far up the side of the uneven slope. He had a window, too, facing her. And it wouldn’t be long -while she watched and waited and breathed- before his light would flicker and go out.
Cindy-Lou rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling and thought long and hard.
A long, long while ago (not so long- just after Thanksgiving, really) Cindy-Lou had begun to concoct plans to help her mother by asking Santa.
Now she wondered if the Man in Red wouldn’t mind if she added another person.
But Santa couldn’t work with impossible cases. And the Grinch was turning out more and more to be an impossible case. “He’s got to be at least a little happy, first,” she said to the dark of her room. But how could someone make the Grinch happy?
She could send him a card?
Or cookies! Everyone loved cookies.
Or maybe a caroler or two. (She decided quickly against that one).
In the end she knew that this was a special case which meant that if Santa was going to help the Grinch, she’d need to give it all she had and before she'd fallen asleep, she‘d decided.
Cindy-Lou was going to embark on the most stupid and pointless adventure of all time.
She was going to invite the Grinch to dinner.
December 1st
(24 days before)
.
.
.
Her mother needs help.
She’s sad and desperate and alone, but so are other people, and when she tells her mother about her midnight revelation, Donna is skeptical, but on board.
“So… you want to do what?”
“Invite Mr. Grinch to dinner!”
“Christmas dinner?”
“No. Like dinner dinner!” Cindy-Lou helps her brothers, passing them a toy they’d thrown too far, and they stop mid-scream to laugh. Buster shoves his foot in Bean’s face and Bean nearly hits him before Donna steps in and stops the beginnings of what might have been an explosive tantrum. “I think it would be nice! If we asked him over!”
“He’s not really known for his inclusivity , sweetheart.” She’d never formally met the man. But there's definitely been an interaction or two. A shove in the supermarket during the summer rush. A muttered word under his breath.
But Cindy doesn’t budge, charging forward with her plan and hooking her mother in with such a brilliant and honest kindness that it takes Donna’s breath away. “But doesn’t that make more sense then? Why we should?”
“I don’t think he wants your help, honey. People like him… they’re not going to ask for help. Even when they need it.”
“Not help,” said Cindy. “ Dinner .”
Her mother thinks, brews, smiles. She reaches over and pinches her daughter's chin. “I think that sounds like a lovely idea, Cindy-Lou.”
Cindy-Lou grinned.
She and her mother scoured the internet and the library and finally find an old neighbor who still receives phone books. "Of course," their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Maudy, had ushered them in and offered them tea and a few stale cookies and brought out the well used thick book from a top shelf. Cindy-Lou ran her hands along it lovingly. "Most everyone is listed. They did it when they still required phone numbers in the census and he was definitely on the towns count. I remember. My cousin Ernie used to take the numbers way, way back. Had to climb up that hill to see the curmudgeon!"
Cindy-Lou flipped through the book while her mother sat on one of the old, squeaky chairs. "So you knew him?"
"Me? No. Saw him around of course. He always comes down for groceries and dog food." Mrs. Maudy cupped her hands around her tea mug and shuffled her slippered feet on the ground. "Never knew him to really talk to anyone. But if that's what you have planned..."
"It is!"
She was saluted with a tea mug for her bravery. "Godspeed," said the old woman before she took up the empty cookie plate to go refill.
It takes some time and a magnifying glass, but her mother is eventually the one that catches hold of what they were looking for. His name isn’t listed. But there’s an Unknown Number next to an address that had to be his, and she wrote it down on a scrap of paper and thanked Mrs. Maudy (who exclaimed that she was always glad to have guests ever since her husband had passed and to please come by again) and wandered home together while Cindy-Lou looked over her conquest with childish awe.
The Grinch's phone number.
She had the Grinch's phone number.
Her friends think she’s as close to a scary movie hero as anyone could get.
“So this is it,” says Groopert says, turning the slip of paper over in his hands. They’re sitting in the tree house together, backs to the walls. Her best friend holds his palms out flat like it might explode into flames and take them all down with it. The rest of her friends leaned over and didn't dare move any closer. “This is his number.”
This is bigger than Krueger's glove or Freddy’s mask, they say. Their own personal boogeyman had a landline.
“Yeah,” breathed Cindy-Lou. “Can you believe it?”
He shook his head. Next to him Axel makes a move to poke it but changes his mind and pulls back. “What are you gonna do with it?”
She twisted her fingers into her coat. “Um… call him?”
Everyone’s eyes snap up. “ What .” - “You’re crazy!” -” No. Way .” - “You’re kidding!”
She shrugged, wiggling back a little closer to the wall. “It might not be so bad.”
“Oh, it’ll be bad,” said Ozzy. “It’ll be real bad. Because if you call him then- then he can figure out where you live . And he’ll probably sneak into your house or something and curse it! Or take all your cookies or-”
“Guys!” She held up her hands. “Calm down! I already sort of… met him?”
There was another round of disbelief.
“No! It’s true! When he came down to the grocery store!”
“Oh come on ,” said Izzy, tugging on her scarf, “you know you’re never supposed to go shopping when he does! Every kid knows that!”
“Well, we did! And I bumped into him.” She didn't mean to sound as smug as she might have, but this was the Who-Child's version of playing with matches. She'd done the impossible. The improbable. The insane. She, Cindy-Lou, had actually touched the Grinch and was alive to brag about it.
Ozzy leaned forward. “Did his fur have little pieces of glass in it? Did he bring one of his dogs down with him?”
“No glass.” She ticked off her finger. “And… he brought a dog? But I think it’s his only dog? And the dog looked fine.”
“He probably trains it to look fine,” said Axel wisely. “He probably teaches them to look fine and then takes them back and shoves them in cages.”
Cindy-Lou shuddered. She could imagine the cages. He probably hung them from the ceiling and swung at them with hot pokers. Groopert was still holding the numbers, observing them. He looked up at her, worry drawn heavy against his face. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure.”
“But what happens if he curses you?”
“Then we’ll figure it out from there, I guess,” she said, “But I think I need to do this.”
“No offense, Cindy-Lou,” said Izzy. “I get wanting to help people. But why did you choose the worst person to help . That’s like practicing somersaults and then signing up for the Olympics! You know you’re not getting anything, right?”
“I know. But you guys should’ve seen him.” She thought back on all the rumors. The stories. And then the supermarket, where his eyes had turned sad and his hands had drawn up. He’d looked so scared. So alone. She tilted up her chin and fixed her eyes on her friends, trying to look brave. “I’m going to try, at least! And worst comes to worst, I can always ask Santa, right? Santa can fix anything I can’t! And I’ve been super good this season so maybe he’d be alright if I asked him for some help with other people!”
Her friends look at one another. The room is fogged with disbelief, and she knows too well that there isn’t much confidence on their side.
But at least they nod. Even if their eyes still read doubt and their smiles look fake, they nod.
She breathes out. “Thanks guys. Knew I could count on you.”
Groopert hands her the number. “Just don’t be too disappointed if it doesn’t work out.”
The when goes unspoken.
(But she can hear it.)
She’s absolutely terrified. Holding the phone in one hand and the number in the other.
“You don’t have to do this,” her mother says. She’s on the floor with Buster and Bean, handing them blocks.
“No,” says Cindy-Lou, puffing out her cheeks like a marathon runner. “No, I have to.”
“It’s just one phone call, honey." Donna hands Bean another block and Buster whines and reaches for it. She looks up at her daughter then and says the sentence that she'll remember for many Christmas' to come. "It’s not like one phone call is going to change everything .”
The tree lighting is right around the corner (a few weeks away, and he felt every second as it pounded and thrashed by) and the Grinch has already begun sinking lower and lower into a darkness that the lights from the town below couldn't reach. Max, sitting at his feet constantly, watches him drown.
Drowning is a yearly tradition, and the dog has begun to expect it. Leaning against Grinch’s legs, pawing at his knee. Reminding him to go to bed with nips to his fingers. Reminders to eat and drink, running around his legs.
Sometimes just sitting by is enough.
Memories plague him. An aloneness that tugs him under.
Max whined, leaning against Grinch’s knee. They’re in front of the fire. Its warm, but when the Grinch reaches out and pets his head, Max felt his hands shaking. He knows it can’t be from cold.
The Grinch, his voice distant and far off and low, murmurs, “… it’s better this way.”
Max whined again, already knowing how the rest of the night would go. And the next day. Where there’d be memories and seconds passing in silence where he fell, fell, fell to places Max couldn’t reach him.
Max wondered vaguely if maybe he could find a way to crawl into Grinch’s bed that night. Nightmares were awful and gripping things, and his owners were silent suffering ones.
But it’s at that moment, that terrifying, awful, quiet moment, where the cave is silent and the emotions are pulling Grinch too far below-
RING
RING
RING
- that the phone rings.
Grinch shoots up. “ What ?”
He goes silent, listening. Wondering if he was mistaken. Last time the phone had rung it had been a wrong number two years ago. He'd gotten a phone for prank calling citizens and takeout, and all he'd gotten was a bunch of spam in return. He wasn’t even sure why he kept the thing around anymore. It gathered dust and took up space on the kitchen counter.
RING
RING
RING
But no. It was there. And it was real. And it was singing joyfully from the kitchen. Max followed along when Grinch got up, cautiously heading down the stairs, through the halls. The ringing swelled and bounced, and when they reach the phone he nearly didn't answer it.
“Could be a wrong number,” said Grinch, scowling. “And at this hour!”
Max barked, watching him.
He finally made a decision, lunging forward with what he hoped to be a surge of bravery (but was really more like a nervous bout of jolts and twitches), and grabbed the phone before its final rings, pressed the speaker button and snapped “what ” into the receiver.
For a moment there’s nothing.
And then: “You answered!”
There was a little girl is on the other line.
The Grinch blinked.
The little girl didn't wait for him to say anything and took the hollow silence as an invitation. “I can’t believe you answered! Mom said you wouldn’t answer. But I found your number in the yellow pages. You’re super hard to find by the way but I bet you do that on purpose, don’t you?”
“... um?”
There’s a noise in the background, like a scuffling. A shuffling of movement and another person coming closer to the child to chastise, “Honey, don’t overwhelm the poor man!” The other voice sounded older and gentler, and the little girl bowed under it.
“Right. Sorry! Sorry, Mr. Grinch!”
The sound of his name snapped him out of his shock, and he glared down at the phone still resting between his shaking fingers. “Look,” he snapped, “I don’t know who this is. But if this is some sort of prank-”
“It’s not! I swear! It’s not! I bumped into you yesterday, at the supermarket! Remember? You dropped your bag? Remember me?”
Max watched the Grinch’s eyes light with a spark of anger. “I remember you! If you’re calling to apologize-”
“I’m not!” A pause. “Or… maybe I should? And I’m really sorry about that, Mr. Grinch. But honestly, that’s not why I called! I actually called because I was talking to my mom and I wanted to invite you over to my house and she thought it was a great idea and so now I’m calling you and what do you think?”
Grinch choked, inhaling too fast and coughing hard. He slapped his chest a few times while Max ran a frantic little circle around his feet, pawing at his ankles. This child just- did this child just- "I’m sorry, he finally managed to rasp. “It sounded… sound like you just invited me over .”
“I did!” she chirped. “For dinner! Tomorrow night!”
It’s brief. But Max catches it.
He’s watched long enough. Mapped the changes of Grinch’s face for so long that the geography of it was as old a friend as the person it was attached to. And so when the flicker of terror burst forward, Max caught it just before it fizzled away. “You know who I am, right?” The Grinch growled, reaching forward to grasp the edge of the countertop. His fingers pressed hard enough that the knuckles beneath green fur whitened. “This is- this is some sort of joke -”
“No! What, no ! It’s not! I’m just-”
“Look. If you wanna play pranks with your friends, why not play them on one of… one of the stupid Christmas shops or something.”
“But-”
He snarled “leave me alone,” right before he slammed the phone back into the dock.
And that was that.
.
.
.
(Until it wasn’t.)
