Devil's in a Different Dress

by Chris Barraclough

  “Bloody hell,” I muttered, blowing out a breath. “I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

  “But you killed a man today,” she said and I frowned.

  “That’s different. I’ve shot plenty of men in my time, but no one who wasn’t ready to kill me first. It’s survival, that’s all. You don’t have a choice.”

  “So you wouldn’t kill someone even if they were in terrible pain, to end their misery?” Katherine was staring up at me curiously and I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck.

  “I don’t know if I could. The men I’ve killed, I did it without thinking. You’re on automatic, like it’s not even you pulling the trigger. If I had to consciously murder another living being…I just don’t know if I could do it.”

  Katherine led us around the lake, where the rest of the squad continued to drink and squabble, then up to the edge of the woods. It was pitch black behind the curtain of trees and unsettlingly silent. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there were all kinds of creatures staring out at me, willing me inside.

  “I normally walk through,” Katherine said, “but it’s too dark now.”

  “Will it take long to walk around?” I asked.

  “Not long. But I can find the way myself.”

  “No, come on, I’ll see you to the door. It’s far too late for a young lass to be walking ‘round alone, dog or no dog.” I couldn’t help but picture the old man, Schmidt, lying on his own bloody kitchen floor with his brains dashed across the room. Of course, it wasn’t all concern that made me agree to be her escort. Part of me, some kind of morbid curiosity, wanted to see whatever place this girl was calling home. And luckily she consented, because otherwise we probably wouldn’t have made our gruesome discovery for only God knows how long.

  So we set off again, skirting around the trees until we came to the main road, which cut right through the woods and led on out of town. There’d been almost no traffic running in and out of Rottstein since the occupation, even in the heat of day, so at this time the road was completely dead. My close call with Turner’s bumper was still far too fresh in my mind, however, so we walked right at the edge of the road, Katz trotting along just ahead of us. Katherine had settled into complete silence so I kept my trap shut and hummed old songs in my head, those jazzy numbers that mum played every evening as she cooked and cleaned.

  Our peace was disturbed when we were just half a mile or so along the road. Katz suddenly stopped ahead of us, his head rising to the stars and his ears twitching before he suddenly tore off to his left, charging into the trees. I watched him disappear into the darkness.

  “What’s up with him?” I asked and Katherine sighed.

  “He likes to chase small animals. Squirrels and rabbits and birds.” A mournful howling sound drifted from the woods and Katherine stopped, her pale features creasing in the glimmer of moonlight. “He never makes a noise like that,” she said. I stared at the silhouettes of the ancient oaks and listened to that awful baying. The mutt was only a hundred yards or so inside, his protests coming through loud and clear.

  “I’ll go take a look,” I said, my hand moving automatically to my service revolver, just checking that it was still locked in the holster. The thing would’ve been soaked when I leapt into the lake, so I had no idea if it would even fire any more, but then what possible dangers could be lurking in a cluster of trees on the edge of town? It’s not like Germany had any bloody bears knocking around.

  I stepped off the road and carefully pushed between two of the oaks, crushing weeds and snapping chunks of dead wood beneath my boots. I couldn’t see more than five foot in front of my face and my feet were just a blur down below, so almost immediately I stumbled over some roots and almost crashed to the ground. Swearing and huffing, I managed to grab a fistful of bark and just kept myself from going over.

  “Best day of my whole bloody life,” I grunted, easing forwards again. Katz was somewhere ahead, still howling non-stop. I followed the noise, my stomach churning violently. “What the hell’s wrong with you, eh? Look at you, wigging out over some dark forest and a whining dog. Get a bloody grip.” Sadly my pep talk did nothing to calm my nerves. Sweat was dripping down my forehead and I almost cried out when some tiny thing dashed across the ground beside me, chattering angrily. Even though I could barely see anything, I quickened my pace until I was practically right on top of Katz. There I paused and tried to catch my breath, one hand clutched to my chest. When I was ready, I slowly reached out and wriggled my fingers, hoping to Christ that the mental mutt wouldn’t chomp them off. “Katz, hey, what’s up there? You okay?” I was still panting when my fingertips finally brushed his fur and I felt him twist, then his face was just two feet in front of mine, his eyes gleaming as the dark orbs caught the tiny shreds of light. He kept on howling and I smelled the raw meat on his breath. I wondered if he’d caught some hapless bit of wildlife, but then why would the dumb dog be braying about it?

  From back on the road I heard Katherine calling out to me, but her words were drowned out by the endless noise. I grunted and dared to curl my arm around Katz’s neck, hoping to push him around and back towards his master. I managed to move him an inch before he squirmed free. His mighty head rammed me in the stomach and in surprise I staggered backwards, my heel catching against another root. My hands thrashed out but found nothing to grab and I slammed back against a tree, jarring my shoulder before tumbling onto my side. Katz tore off again through the woods, barking incessantly.

  “Bloody dog,” I whispered to myself, the left side of my face pressed into the dirt. I lay there for a little while, damp and aching and suddenly exhausted, until I heard Katherine calling to me again. Then I shifted my arm and got ready to push myself up again.

  My hand pressed down on something soft, most definitely not a root or anything else I’d imagine would be lying out here. It was fleshy, but too cold to belong to anything alive. My first thought was of Katz and my original theory, that he’d successfully chased and killed something. But the skin was bare, like a human’s. No fur or hair to speak of. I removed my hand and edged closer, dread pouring through my soul again. I had to move my face just a few inches away and squint hard before I could make out the vague silhouette, and when I saw what it was, I almost leapt away in shock.

  Even in the shroud of darkness, there was no mistaking the pale female face that stared lifelessly back at me, mouth stretched wide in terror.

  Four (Emily)

  Father was as stubborn as a bull again, refusing to let me help him get ready for bed, so I waited outside his bedroom door while he crashed around inside and cursed himself silly. Even after all of his falls, all of the broken bones and everything else, he demanded I keep my distance. As if having a woman do anything at all for him would somehow strip him of his dignity. The one time I’d stormed in and bellowed that I was going to help him whether he liked it or not, he’d hurled his walking stick at my head. Crafty old sod sure could find some strength when he needed it.

  “Fine,” he eventually called out, after destroying half of the room by the sounds of it. “You can come in!”

  “Here I come,” I said with a sigh, twisting the handle and stepping inside. As usual, the room was lit by a single candle, propped up in an old brass tin beside his bed. The flickering flame highlighted every last crag on my father’s face. He was sat on his bed with his pyjamas on, although I noticed that his cotton trousers were on backwards. I had to bite my lip and force myself to remain silent as I strode over and straightened his shirt, until he batted my hand away with a roll of his eyes.

  “Okay, that’s enough fussing,” he said, staring up at me. “I’m not a child.”

  “No,” I breathed, “you just act like one a lot.” That forced a smile from him and he shook his head.

  “Fear not, daughter. I’ll be in my grave before you know it, then you’ll finally have some peace.”

  “Oh, for god’s sakes, stop it with the morbid comments! You’ll live to a hundred and harass me ev
ery damn day until then!” I ordered him to lay back, then I pulled his blanket up to his chest and let him settle in. He stared at me the whole time, with that goofy amused expression he always threw on when I scolded him.

  “You know why I make you mad?” he asked and I peered back at him.

  “Yes, papa, you’ve told me a hundred times. Because I look like mama when I’m cross.” Father beamed at that, the crags on his face growing deeper.

  “You’ve got the same pout as her,” he chuckled. “I saw that pout every damn day.”

  “Uh huh. Come on, lay back and stop fidgeting before you give me an ulcer. Then I’ll do more than just pout.” Thankfully he did as he was told for once in his life and I made sure he was comfortable before fetching him a glass of water. When I returned to his bedroom, my jaw clenched. Through our paper-thin walls drifted the unmistakeable strains of the couple next door, engaged in rather passionate lovemaking. Either that or they were beating the living excrement out of each other. Dad was listening to the banging and yelling with a sour expression, his arms folded across the top of his blanket.

  “Why do they have to be so damn loud,” he muttered. “And almost every night this week! It’s a bitter blow for useless old lumps like me, with my loving days behind me.”

  “Don’t stress over it,” I said, placing the glass in easy reaching distance. “At least it never lasts long.” He grumbled something to himself and I kissed him on his forehead before blowing out the candle and leaving with an exhausted ‘good night, papa’.

  I trudged back downstairs and started clearing up, my muscles so stiff that I could have just seized up where I stood like a living statue. My thoughts were hooked on a hot sponge bath. It had been another rough day, lots of heavy lifting and dragging, so I decided to hell with it. I’d treat myself for the third evening in a row. I filled every huge pot we owned with water and stuck them all on the stove to boil, before dragging the metal tub from the cupboard into the middle of the kitchen. Then I hung up the pile of damp washing while I waited. Ten minutes later, I was pouring the hot water into our tub and inhaling the steam that gushed up into my face, relishing the warming, cleansing sensation as the vapours filled my chest.

  “Bliss,” I muttered, shrugging off my clothes and easing myself into the tub. The water barely came up to my midriff but I splashed it up over the rest of my body, rubbing the heat all over until my skin was a deep pink. Suddenly I felt human again, closing my eyes and resting my head back against the metal rim.

  I’d just begun to drift away when a sudden sound from just outside snapped me back into consciousness. I sat up and peered out through the kitchen window, but all I could see was darkness and the reflection of the tiny lamp sat up on the dining table. For a moment I was ready to dismiss it as a wild dog or some other animal stalking around in search of stray food, but then I heard what sounded like a man’s voice. He was speaking in a hushed but frantic tone. Even then, I thought that it might be one of our neighbours; our back garden is shared with the other houses in the row, just one big open space that anyone can use. But then I realised with horror that the man was speaking in English.

  Immediately I leapt from the tub and snatched up my towel, wrapping it tight around my body. A heartbeat later I was at the back door clutching a ten-inch carving knife, leaning out into the night. My gaze fell on two men dressed in uniform, skulking in the shadows at the other end of the garden. One of them looked to have snagged himself on the barbed wire that topped the fence. He’d ripped half of it down when he’d come over and it was still curled tight around his leg, slicing into his flesh through his trousers. The man was swearing and bleating while his partner told him to shut up and keep still, or words to that effect. I watched them for a moment, hesitating to get involved, but the thought of these soldiers invading our space had stoked a fire in my gut. I stepped out onto the cool stone and sucked in a breath.

  “What do you think you are doing,” I demanded in English. They immediately turned towards me and lapsed into silence, although the injured one continued to rock back and forth, clutching his bleeding leg. Eventually his partner rose and stepped towards me. When I saw the tiniest little smile on his face, like the whole thing was just one big joke, I felt like running over and pressing the carving knife up to his throat. See how funny he found it all then.

  “Don’t worry about this,” he said, tilting his head to one side. He was a brute, about six feet of muscle and clearly most of it was packed inside his skull. His black eyes sparkled as they caught the light from the window. “Just got a little lost, that’s all. I’ll get my mate here out and we’ll be on our way.”

  “He’s bleeding all over the place,” I spat back, jabbing the blade at the helpless idiot. Even in the faint light, I could see the blood spatters all over the grass. Muscle boy shrugged.

  “That’s why I need to cut him free. Here, give me that knife.” He strode towards me with his hand held out and I shook my head vigorously, feeling my cheeks flush.

  “Stay back! Get away from me!” But he kept on coming and I had a simple choice. Either lash out at him, try and cut him deep enough to make him think twice, or just hold my ground. Before I even had a chance to decide, he was on me. His bulk pressed against me and his enormous hand curled around my wrist, pulling my arm to the side. A second later he had the knife. I recoiled and lashed out with my other hand, slapping him hard across his face. He let go of me, staggering back and dragging a sleeve across his eyes. Then he glared at me and bared his teeth.

  “What the fuck did you do that for?” he hissed and I pressed myself back against the wall, feeling the open doorway at my side. My heart was hammering inside my chest and my wrist throbbed from where he’d grabbed me.

  “What are you going to do,” I whispered back, raising my chin. “Stab me?” The soldier stared back through narrowed eyes, the blade still clutched in his fist. He was about to speak when his friend yelled out loud enough to wake up the whole street.

  “Oh, Jesus, hurry up, will ya! I’m pissing blood out my leg here!”

  “Alright Mick,” the muscle boy called back over his shoulder. Then he turned away and strode across the garden before kneeling beside his partner. He gripped a length of the barbed wire and took the blade to it and I frowned.

  “You can’t cut that wire with a knife,” I said, but he began to saw back and forth all the same and a moment later the wire snapped and sprang apart in his hands. He swore, stabbing the knife into the ground before slowly uncoiling the rest of it from around the injured man’s leg.

  By now, all of the noise and yelling had attracted attention from the other houses in the row. Friedrich and Hetti from next door were leaning out of their bedroom window, Hetti’s modesty concealed only by her blanket, and that was when I remembered I was wearing nothing but my towel. I slipped back inside the house and closed the door and returned to the kitchen, pulling the curtains closed. By the time I’d donned my dress and peered outside again, the soldiers had disappeared.

  “Emily,” my father called from upstairs. “Emily, was there someone outside?” I stared across the garden at the tangle of broken, rusted wire and the knife, still embedded in the soil.

  “It’s okay,” I shouted back. “They’re gone now.”

  Five (Adam)

  I made Katherine come back to the lake with me, half because I couldn’t leave her alone after what I’d seen, and half because having her and Katz close by helped to calm me just a little. All the same, I felt the empty spot in my jacket where my pill case usually probed my chest and once again cursed Turner’s name.

  Already the gathering was starting to break apart, some soldiers heading back to camp while others lingered by the water’s edge. I was a little relieved to note that the violin player had finally buggered off. Most of the fires had burned themselves out, now just embers and smoke, although the one that I’d warmed myself by was still going strong. By its orange glow I saw four men huddled around Turner’s car, one leaning again
st the smashed bumper.

  “Right,” I said to Katherine. “I’ll grab who I can and head on back. You stay here with the others, alright?”

  “No,” she said, matter-of-factly. I glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean, no. How will you find the body again without Katz?”

  “I…” Well, she had me there. I’d stumbled out of there in such a rush, cursing and raging and almost braying myself on about ten more roots, that I hadn’t bothered to leave any kind of marker. Katz was my only chance to find her again tonight without a full-on hunt and I figured he wouldn’t be too cooperative without Katherine at our side. “Okay, smartie pants, you can come. But when we find the body, I’m sending you back with someone.”

  I left Katherine and Katz with the soldiers by the car and rushed back into town. My first stop was the makeshift office I shared with Shaw and Lane. Right now it was little more than a room with three desks, three chairs and a cupboard full of junk, but we spent so little time in here that it didn’t really matter. Lane’s desk was the only one that had anything on it, a stubby red hibiscus in a pot. I stared at the plant and the empty desk for a moment, before crossing to the cupboard. As soon as I threw it open, I saw what I needed. I snatched up the torch sat on the top shelf, brushing the rubber grip against my almost-dry uniform to remove the coating of dust, then I tore back out of the room and headed for the cells next door.

  The Nazis had shipped their unfortunate captives out of town while they occupied the place, so the only prison to speak of was a disused brick building containing three barred and bare chambers. We’d only used them a couple of times since our own occupation, mostly for our own soldiers when they got a little too drunk and rowdy. When I jogged in through the unlocked door, the only occupant was Turner. The mad wretch was slumped in a corner of his tiny cell with only a thin carpet of hay to pad the stone floor. He was rocking back and forth, his head lodged between his knees.