Page 2 of The Elves and the Shoemaker (The GriMM Tales #4)

One

Johan

A

shoemaker, through no fault of his own, had become so poor that, at last, he had nothing left but enough leather for one pair of shoes.

The Great Famine had taken its toll on the entire kingdom of Falchovari, but while many had resorted to horrifying solutions like kidnapping and enslaving elves, Johan knew he would sooner die than thrive at the expense of others.

His parents may no longer be alive, but they had raised him to be a kind and good man.

They hadn’t been able to leave him with much beyond a shoe shop that was a struggle to keep afloat, but their legacy was Johan himself, and he wouldn’t let them down.

The sound of the door to his shop opening made his skin prickle. It was a never-ending cycle for Johan; he needed customers to keep the shop running and to maintain a roof over his head, and yet, the presence of strangers stole his voice from his throat.

The woman who entered was a short, thin woman with fine, straw-coloured hair and sharp features. Her cotton dress was frayed along the bottom, and he spotted several previously patched-up holes, exposing her frugality.

Johan swallowed the pool of saliva gathered in his mouth and tried to clear his throat. No words came, unfortunately, so he offered her a warm smile instead.

The lady inspected several pairs of shoes from the display near the window before bringing over a pair of leather boots that lent themselves to practicality over vanity.

“Do you have these in a size that will fit me?” she asked; her voice was raspy, much like Johan’s own when it made a rare appearance.

He held up a finger, indicating for her to wait a moment, and then fetched the board he used to measure feet. She followed him over to the small bench and sat down, removing her old disintegrating shoe. Johan quickly set to work measuring her foot and then left to check his shelves.

Fortunately, he had a similar pair of boots in the woman’s size, and she paid him her money with a grateful smile on her face despite the fact that he’d been unable to muster the words for even a mere thank you.

And it cut Johan up because he was incredibly grateful.

The coins from the sale would go a long way towards buying some supplies for making more shoes, plus some left over for a little food if the market had any. His stomach grumbled at the thought.

When she left the shop, Johan let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he muttered quietly now that he was entirely alone, like the words might carry down the cobbled street for her to hear.

She turned out to be his first and only customer that day, but it was better than nothing.

Later in the evening, Johan locked up the shop and entered his workshop at the back. Scraps of material that he cut off and cast aside during the shoe-making process littered his beech worktop, and he brushed them to the end in order to make room.

Taking a seat, Johan laid out the last remaining leather and carefully measured and cut it up to ensure minimal wastage of material. The sound of his sharp scissors slicing through the leather was a soothing balm.

Shoemaking was something Johan had always excelled at. His shoulders relaxed at the familiarity of the process, along with the relief of knowing he wouldn’t have to attempt interacting with strangers again until the next morning.

Once all the pieces were cut to size, he laid them out methodically onto the workbench, ready for the following day.

He would get up early in the morning and head to the market to spend the money from his sale on some more supplies.

The prospect of the busy market was simultaneously a little thrilling for Johan and gave him a stomachache.

After collecting his oil lamp from the side near the door, he left his workshop and headed up the stairs to the place he called home.

The door to his little flat creaked as he opened it.

His oil lamp cast a faint glow when he entered.

His flat wasn’t big, and at times, it was hard to recall how he’d lived here with both his parents.

A few years after they’d died from a severe case of Winter Fever, he’d finally moved to sleep on their much larger mattress over the smaller one he’d outgrown by full age.

Johan was both poor and not especially materialistic, which led to his home being quite sparse.

He liked it that way, though, because when the noise of the outside world got to be too much, his little home was his sanctuary.

There was nobody here to get frustrated with him when he lost his words at inopportune moments, nobody here to make unexpected noises that made him jump.

But there was also nobody here when he was cold and lonely.

Nobody to talk to about his day when he was able to. Nobody to share a meal with.

At the thought of food, Johan despondently made his way to the small kitchen in the corner of the room. He took a slice of bread that was going stale and the last chunk of cheese, eating the two mechanically, nothing more or less than as a necessity for staying alive.

Will I be alone forever? He thought. Johan had had one friend as a child, a boy called Christoph.

He’d been accepting of Johan’s quiet nature, speaking up for him when needed, but unfortunately, when the worst of the famine had hit, Christoph’s parents had no longer been able to afford to live in the town and had left to be labourers on some land too far away for even the possibility of Johan visiting.

Six winters had passed since Johan’s parents had died.

Six winters since he’d been hugged or even touched beyond a passing brush of fingers as money exchanged hands in his shop or at the market.

At times, the loneliness felt almost too much for Johan to bear, a heavy debilitating weight that he couldn’t climb out from underneath.

Sometimes at night, when he would take himself in hand, he wished it were someone else’s hand wrapped around him instead.

But mostly, he wished just for someone to hold during the cold nights.

Someone whose hair he could stroke, whom he could maybe even whisper things to in the darkness if he were able.

It felt like an unattainable dream, but was a comforting one regardless as he drifted off to sleep that night.