"Oh, sweetheart, he's probably no bigger than two hundred feet tall," Mrs. Grimm said.
Sabrina looked at her little sister in the moonlight and frowned. Daphne's eyes were as big as Frisbees. Sabrina was losing her little sister to the old lunatic. For a year and a half it had been just the two of them, and Sabrina had done everything she could to keep them together and safe. She had protected her sister from nasty Ms. Smirt, the horrible kids in the orphanage, and all those foster parents, and now she was unable to protect her from a crazy old woman.
Just then, Elvis let out a low growl.
"Someone's coming," Mrs. Grimm warned as headlights flashed behind them. "Everyone get down."
They all huddled under the windows as a car passed by and headed toward the cabin. When it was far enough away, they lifted their heads.
"I don't think he saw us," Daphne said.
The old woman lifted the goggles to her eyes.
"Well, Sabrina, we've got more evidence for your theory. That's Mayor Charming's car," Mrs. Grimm said. "I didn't expect to see him here."
Mr. Canis rolled his window down and sniffed the cool mountain air. Then, as if he had smelled something foul, his nose curled up. The odd thing was that Elvis, who was sitting outside of Mr. Canis's window, had the same expression. The two of them were smelling something they didn't like.
"Charming is knocking on the door," Mrs. Grimm reported.
Mr. Canis turned in his seat. "Child, open your door. The dog should get back into the car."
Daphne opened her door and called for Elvis, but the Great Dane stood motionless, sniffing the air as if he was dedicating all his attention to it.
"They're talking," the old woman continued, still looking through her goggles.
"Get into the car, dog," Mr. Canis called sternly. Elvis turned to face him but kept sniffing.
"Wait a minute, Charming is running to his car. Something has got him spooked," Mrs. Grimm remarked. "And you won't believe who's with him!"
It was the perfect opportunity. The old woman was watching the house and Mr. Canis was distracted by Elvis. Sabrina grabbed her sister's hand, opened her car door, and pulled Daphne out.
"What are you doing?" Daphne cried.
"We're getting out of here this minute!" Sabrina replied, but before they could even take a step Elvis blocked their escape with his huge body.
"Come on, you big flea hotel. Get out of the way!" Sabrina shouted, but the dog refused to budge.
"Don't call him a flea hotel!" Daphne scolded. "He's sensitive!"
Elvis let out a horrible whine. It was followed by an earth-shaking thump that sent the girls tumbling to the ground.
"What was that?" Sabrina asked, trying to stand up.
"Girls, get into the car," Mr. Canis urged. His face looked serious and dark.
"We're not going anywhere with you," Sabrina cried as she got to her feet.
"Lieblings, please. Something is coming," Mrs. Grimm begged.
"Something is coming? What does that mean? Enough with the stories, OK?" Sabrina yelled. "You're just trying to scare us and give my sister nightmares so that maybe we'll be too frightened to leave you." It was almost as if the mini-earthquake had knocked something loose inside of Sabrina, an anger and frustration at being abandoned, drifting from foster home to foster home, always hoping for someplace where they could be happy, but finding that whenever they got close, it was tainted with some sort of craziness.
"Sabrina, we can discuss this at another time. Please get into the car," Mrs. Grimm pleaded once more.
"I don't want to hear another word about fairies and goblins and giants or Jack and the Beanstalk or Humpty Dumpty!" Sabrina raged as Elvis let out a shrieking howl. "I know the difference between reality and a fairy tale!"
But she had hardly finished her rant when something fell out of the sky. It was monstrous and encircled the car and lifted it off the ground. Sabrina couldn't believe what she was seeing, but it was there, right in front of her.
It was a hand—a giant hand.
Her eyes traveled up the arm, higher and higher, until she found a giant head and then immediately wished she hadn't. Boils as big as birthday cakes pocked the giant's greasy skin. A broken nose zigzagged across his face, and one dead white eye seeped puss while the other one was lined with the crust of sleep. Hairs as thick as tree trunks jutted out of his nose and hung over a mouthful of broken, misplaced, yellow-and-green teeth. He wore the hides of dozens of gigantic animals, including the head of what looked like a giant bear for a helmet. The dead bear's sharp fangs dug into his bald head, threatening to pierce his brain. His boots were made from more hides, and tangled in the laces were several unfortunate saplings.
The giant lifted the car up to his repugnant face and looked inside like a child inspecting a toy. With his free hand he picked his nose.