From the archives of the Clark County Observer, August 30, 1988

Today for local history, we're going to examine one of the wierder things that I have heard about the local critters that occupy Qualm's Hollow. After a conversation with Jack Waltherson, who was a still a child when his parents dissappeared sixteen years ago, spoke to me of a creature called a Grimmelshank. This creature lived along certain parts of Spruce Street.

Jack never saw the creature itself, but every day when he would ride his bike past number 27, something would latch onto his pants leg and tear it off at the heel. Jack says that although this problem occured long before he recieved his bicycle, it wasn't until after he collided with Jonathan Brown's mailbox that the occurences became less frequent.

Many people don't believe Jack's story, that an invisible creature latched onto his pant leg and tore it each time he would ride past number 27, but as I listened to his story, it brought to mind a story very similar that I once witnessed.

It was the summer of 1967, I was only eleven years old and I had just seen a Denri Butterfly land on the mailbox of number 27. Being the child I was, I was fascinated by this creature and approached the mailbox to get a better look. The wing pattern on the butterfly was incredible to behold, and as I stared deep into the patterns, I felt as though I could understand the nature of the world. Unfortunately for me, the Butterfly was suddenly snatched up by a tiny little monkey like creature, about two inches tall with sharp fangs and claws. I fell backwards and hit my head on the street, which is why when I described the creature to the paramedics who found me, they assumed it was dementia. If this is the Grimmelshank that Jonathan Brown spoke of, I can see why he would say it was invisible. Or perhaps it is just a trick of the mind that I saw as I fell backwards.

One thing is for sure, to this day, whenever I see a monkey at the zoo, I clutch my hands on the rail tightly and make for the closest way to get away from the enclosure. Perhaps it was youthful paranoia that made me see this creature, but I make sure now that I always carry a Feri in my pocket when I pass number 27, and to this day, I haven't seen the creature again

Eriek Flogger is a columnist for the Clark County Observer.