Thorfinn Grimm's Holiday — Part 1

Merry Christmas, Mr Grimm.

Hello again! I hope you’re all having a good time over these last few days of the year. With 2025 right around the corner, what better way to celebrate than with an old-fashioned family murder? This is the first part of a Thorfinn Grimm Holiday Special that I’ll be publishing over the next few weeks.

Enjoy, and Happy Holidays!

Prologue: Joy to the World

It was the early hours of Christmas Day. A cool December breeze swept over a sleeping world. It was the very picture of peace on Earth and goodwill toward men. Then someone went and set fire to Darby House.

Nobody was sure when it began, but at some point in the night, a voice cried “Fire!”, setting off a veritable stampede. Aunt Cora and Uncle Frank were the first to make it out of the stately (if smouldering) mansion. Cora immediately set about calling the fire department while her husband gaped helplessly at the flames tearing through his childhood home. Next was their son, Frank Jr., who ran out half-dressed and accompanied by the young maid, Abigail. Elizabeth, his wife, followed soon after and almost turned into a raging inferno herself seeing the state her husband was in.

Elizabeth was still screaming at Frank Jr. when Pippin and I exited the building. Pippin’s mother, Alice Morstan, and the housekeeper, Mrs Bunting, followed close behind us.

“Is everybody here?” Pip coughed, taking a quick head count. “Where’s Father Moore?”

Unfortunately, no one else had thought to look for the blind priest.

Father Moore did not perish in the fire. He made it out of the house a few minutes later, relatively unharmed. However, no sooner had he stumbled out of the front door, than the first floor exploded, and we realised the fire did have one casualty.

Mr Walter Darby, Pippin’s grandfather, was dead. My name is Thorfinn Grimm. Shortly after this incident, I discovered that Mr Darby’s death was the result of a series of curious incidents, which I then unravelled using only my powers of observation and my understanding of the human psyche. Also, some weird stuff happened.

An Introduction — By Pippin Morstan

There’s something Mrs Bunting always said when I was growing up: “Everybody gets what’s comin’ to ‘em”.

It’s one of those things everyone hears at some point in their life, but I never appreciated just how true it was back then.

“What about Grandpa Walter?” I would retort whenever she brought up the old adage.

“What about him?” she’d reply with a dark look, and that was usually that.

Mr Walter Darby was my mother’s father. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he was a thoroughly disagreeable man with all the warmth and kindness of an ice pick.

Everyone knew Grandpa Walter was a rich man, but it was never very clear exactly how rich he was. Over the 93 years of his life, my grandfather’s fingers had found their way into many pies, from real estate to weapons technology. He often said it was the war that made his fortune, but it was blood that kept it growing. He never specified whose blood though.

Anyway, this isn’t about him. Well, it is about him but it’s really about my roommate.

I met Thorfinn Grimm on a Facebook group for prospective flatmates. The flat was lovely and within my budget. Thorfinn seemed like a decent guy — a bit odd, but generally normal. Little did I know I would soon be brought into regular contact with homicidal maniacs, many of whom were his relatives. After his mother nearly got me arrested for attempted jewel theft, I decided it was time to have a conversation.

To be honest, I wasn’t really angry. I generally try to take things easy. Go with the flow, that’s me. Besides, as I got to know him, I realised that Thorfinn Grimm was the strangest, most fascinating person I’d ever met.

Finn doesn’t just believe in karma as an abstract concept like other people; he accepts it as an immediate and malevolent force in his actual life. He always has complete and utter faith that if things can go wrong, they will go wrong. I’m not a psychologist but I’d say it’s self-doubt bordering on self-confidence. He calls it a curse.

I like to think I’ve led a fairly interesting life. But being around Finn is the most fun and exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. Of course I wasn’t mad, but I had some conditions.

Number 1: I made him publish his papers.

“Who would want to read about me?” he whined when I presented the idea to him.

“You do realise you’re an actual detective,” I said. “People love detectives.”

“A man set a bull on me today. It was a fighting bull, a really angry one. So forgive me if I don’t feel too loved right now.”

It went back and forth like that for a while, but I eventually prevailed. Thorfinn Grimm: Year One was published just last November, and — though he won’t admit it — it’s brought a lot more cases (and homicidal maniacs) to our flat. Remember kids, patience gets results.

Number 2: Since I’d already met his family, it was only fair he met mine.

“Absolutely not,” Finn said flatly. “I have so many cases right now, and it’s all your fault. I told you we shouldn’t have published those papers. They were supposed to be my private notes.”

“Then why were you always writing for an audience?” I pointed out. “Besides, you’re the one who’s always complaining about not having enough work.”

After a few more days of careful negotiation, Finn begrudgingly agreed to spend Christmas with me at the family estate. I later learned it was the first holiday he’d taken in ten years. That’s where it all began.

But that’s enough out of me. I’ll let him tell the story.

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Chapter 1

(Photo by Sean McSeveney/Edited on Canva)

I don’t take holidays. It’s just not something I normally do. But here’s a little secret: I rather like Christmas. So when Pippin invited me to spend the holiday with his family, I was secretly quite excited. I should have known better.

We arrived at Darby House on Christmas Eve. The “House” was a sprawling mansion surrounded by carefully tended grounds as far as the eye could see. My first question to Pip on our arrival was, “Are you rich?”

To which he replied, “No, but my grandfather is. I’ll get the bags.”

That was the first time I heard Pippin mention his grandfather, and it was immediately clear to me that there was no love lost between them. And with good reason.

Walter Darby was a shark. That is the simplest way to put it. Granted, my only interaction with the man was one dinner, so perhaps I’m not the right person to describe his character. In his final year of life, Mr Darby had become increasingly concerned with his death and afterlife. He regularly received last rites from the local priest, Father Matthew Moore, in preparation for his inevitable demise. I think I can say without a doubt that Father Moore knew more about Walter Darby than anyone else.

I bet you’re picturing a wizened old monk, but he was no older than thirty. He was orphaned in an accident when he was quite young, an incident that also cost him his vision. Despite his tragic past, Father Moore was a cheerful man, a truly genial priest who clearly cared about his parishioners. Yet, when I asked him what he thought of Walter Darby, Father Moore was less than enthusiastic.

“I try to think the best of people,” he explained. “But when you meet a man like Walter Darby, you understand why there’s a hell. I hate to say this, but I do think that man is beyond salvation.”

So, there you go: an expert opinion. It’s no wonder he got murdered but the question is by whom?

On Christmas Day, as Darby House burned bright in the night, I looked around at the people beside me, at my friend and his family, and I suspected, even then, that the game was afoot. I also suspected that one of these people, maybe more than one, had something to hide.

It could be any of them, I thought. For all I know, it could be all of them.

Then I chuckled softly and whispered to myself, “Merry Christmas, Mr Grimm.”

To Be Continued…