“Ah, Grews- where the hell have ya been?”
“Oh you know, same ‘ol, same ‘ol. A scrap o’ wood here, a bit o’ paint there, stack the hay in the barn and if I’m lucky I end up at the end of me day with enough for a pint. What ya been about?”
“Ah, well- funny you should mention but I’ve found meself a new profession.”
“Oh, have ye? Well, don’t keep us waiting ol’ Douf- what are ya doing?”
“I’ve been digging the graves down at the Ol’ Barley.”
“Grave digger? Well, why, man?”
“Because there’s no better place to fossick for riches, me dull friend!”
“Ya… ya steal from the bodies?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it stealin- they got no use for ‘em no more. Who needs a pocket watch in eternity? It’s ludicrous the things people send to be buried in the ground.”
“But aren’t ye afraid of yer eternity?”
“Nah, that’s all rubbish they tell ya to keep ya actin all good n’ proper. I never did take for such tales.”
“But… but what about the grim?”
“The grim? What are ya blatherin’ on about now?”
“The GRIM- don’t you know anything? The grim ain’t no tale- he’s real. I heard of this ol Barley man back when I was a wee one- he got himself the same scheme as you… and the Grim got ‘im.”
“What do ya mean ‘got ‘im’?”
“I mean he pulled him right down into the ground an ate ‘im alive. No one could hear him howlin’ and wailin’ under all that dirt. And when they found his bones they were licked dry. That’s what I mean the grim got ‘im.”
“How do ya know it was ‘the grim’? He coulda’ been eaten by a pack of wolves.”
“No, no- the bite marks, they were human-sized. No animal fur or paw prints or nothing, just a nice set ‘a clean bones.”
“Oh, you’re all full feathers an ticks- there ain’t no grim. I bet ya mammy just tell ya that to keep you from snoopin’ around in the Barley.”
“Nope, it’s true, I tell ya- ask around the mill, they’ll tell ya. Lost a lot of souls wanderin’ through the Barley lookin’ for riches, just like ya.”
“I ain’t got time for ya mad rambling, I got me a grave to dig.”
“Be careful- the Grim might be feelin’ a bit peckish bout now!”
