Devil's in a Different Dress

by Chris Barraclough

  “No, I…” He trailed off and sighed, taking another long sip. “I was a shit to her before I left. Said some things I shouldn’t have. I don’t even know why I did it, it’s like I wanted her to move on. To not grieve if I ended up scattered around Germany.” I pretended not to notice the tear that escaped and slipped down his cheek, even though he let it linger there, nestled in the grains of stubble. “She’s all I’ve got, back home. There’s nothing else there for me. Might as well just spend the rest of my days stuck in this never-ending hell, drinking until my liver explodes.”

  “Last I heard, there’s going to be war trials in Berlin,” I said. “Sounds like we might be here a while.”

  “Let’s hope the booze doesn’t dry up, then.”

  For the rest of the journey we stuck to snippets of small talk and before long I spotted the first signs that we were approaching Rottstein. First, the farm across on the right side, just a silhouette by the pale moonlight. Then, a little further on, just before we reached the woods, the ruins of an old house that the Nazis had taken over to use as a guard post. Our tanks had all but blasted it in half when we rolled in two months ago, taking them by surprise. The one remaining window on the top floor was glowing, a candle burning just behind it on the sill. It had to be the girl, Katherine. She had nowhere else to go, so with the Nazis finally gone, she’d returned to her family home. Or rather, the shattered remains of her family home. I stared up at the window as we drove past, until the treetops obscured it and the darkness surrounded us again.

  I dropped Shaw off by the lake and said I would return the car, but I changed my mind after pulling away and turned the thing around instead. Driving back through the woods alone was admittedly a little creepy. A slight understatement perhaps, given the speed I tore down the road, hunched over in my seat, afraid to blink in case Loriett’s pale, terrified face suddenly appeared in my windscreen and screamed out for help. Fingers wrapped around her throat, pushing into her soft flesh and choking the life from her. Something was wrong, I could tell before I was even halfway through those cursed, miserable woods. My heart was pummelling my ribcage again and I swore I could hear the blood roaring through my ears, swirling deep inside my brain. But I’d taken my pill just half a bloody hour ago. All the fear and the loathing, it should all be comfortably numb by now. The further I went, the worse it became, until finally when the car burst out of the other side, I was panting and sweating like I was charging the other way, rifle in hand, prepared to kill or die to take the town as our own.

  I slammed on the brakes and the car’s back end screeched and swung to the side, spinning me around sickeningly fast. The force of it crushed me against the door. My shoulder jarred against the glass and I cried out in pain, still clutching the wheel, and when the car finally lurched to a standstill, I was facing the woods again. The headlights cut in through the trees and suddenly every glowing leaf was a face staring back, the face of every man I’d killed.

  “No,” I muttered, closing my eyes and fumbling for the keys. The engine cut off and when my eyelids flickered open again the faces were gone, lost to the darkness. “Stay there, you bastards, stay right in there!”

  I breathed deep and released a dozen times over, until my body fell limp and I felt the worse of it fading away. Slowly I shifted my hand to the door release, my fingers still trembling slightly. I started to push the door open, but I only managed around five inches before something heavy collapsed against the other side and forced it shut again, pushing me away. In terror I cried out again, raising my hands to protect myself in case the thing came bursting through the window, but then it let out an almighty bark and I collapsed with relief.

  “Sweet baby Jesus,” I breathed. Already Katherine was calling her mutt, ordering him back to the house. The shape dropped from the window and Katz silently and obediently padded away. I climbed out and slammed the door, the noise cutting sharply through the still and silent night, then I shuffled across to the house. My legs were itching, maybe tingling a little from the drive, but my spine had come off worse, most likely a symptom of my awful posture. I dug my knuckles into my lower back, massaging out the cramp until I was stood in front of Katherine. The girl and her mutt stared back at me, eyes shining.

  “It’s you,” she said, her voice soft. Beside her, Katz began to pant, his enormous tongue rolling out from between those razor teeth.

  “It’s me,” I said, noticing that she had something clutched in her right hand. From here, it kind of looked like a gun. “Just came by to check you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” she murmured, swinging the thing back and forth. Definitely a gun, no mistaking it now. “What happened to your face?”

  “Oh, right.” I tenderly touched my fingertips to my cheek and felt that it was a little swollen. “Just a little disagreement, that’s all. Does it look bad?”

  “It looks like you’ve got a lemon in your mouth,” she said. I couldn’t help but smile, even though it hurt. I thought that children were supposed to be less honest when they hit their teens. Shows how much I knew on the matter.

  “Where did you get that?” I asked and she brought the little pistol up and rested it in her left palm. The thing was a Mauser HSc, I could make out that much in the dim light thanks to the sloping body from the trigger to the muzzle.

  “Found it,” she replied.

  “Mind if I check it out?” I held out my hand and she peered up at me. Katz’s tongue shot back into his mouth and he watched me close, his ears pressed back. Eventually Katherine reached out and handed me the gun and that seemed to please the dog, who got on with chewing his own leg instead. “I’ll need some light. Alright if we go inside?”

  Katherine led me into the remains of the house and I felt my guts squeeze tight at the state of the place. The porch was still reasonably intact, leading to a staircase which dropped into the ground as well as rising up to the first floor, but two of the rooms here on ground level were little more than rubble. I was almost certain that I’d collapse straight through the stairs as I followed the girl up, but somehow I made it to the top. There I stood for a moment, staring through a doorway that led to a massive crater. What was once presumably a bedroom was now just a few floorboards poking out into space and a clear view of the neighbouring farm.

  “That used to be my parents’ room,” Katherine said with a sad little frown. “Come on, my room’s this way.” I started to follow her down the hallway and Katz scampered past, rejoining Katherine’s side before shooting me a cautious look. Watch yourself, chap, this is my domain. I kept my distance and let him go first before stepping inside the final room. This one had survived the shelling, with just a cracked ceiling and some loose plaster to show for the onslaught. That single candle on the window sill was the sole source of light, its flickering orange flame reflecting back off the glass. Katherine slumped down on her bed, a tangle of old blankets and pillows, then she pulled her legs up to her chest and watched me.

  “What do you think?” she asked. I nodded back.

  “I’m surprised it’s still standing, but it’s cozy enough.”

  “I mean the gun,” she said. I’d almost forgot that the thing was pressed to my palm. I slowly crossed to the candle and held the Mauser near the flame, then I popped the top of the barrel using the trigger guard notch and inspected the innards. Katherine pushed up to the edge of the bed and watched intently.

  “The slide’s a little worn,” I said, showing her the edging. “Spring’s seen better days too. Guessing this gun saw a lot of use. Might be okay, but it might jam. Hard to say unless we test it out. You fired it before?”

  “Never,” she said, shaking her head. “Are there bullets inside?”

  “Aye, full round.” I slotted it all back together again then pointed to a switch on the side. “This here’s the safety. Only flick that back if you’re sure you have to fire, you don’t want it going off by accident and taking one of Katz’s ears off. Then just pull the trigger.” Suddenly I wondered if I s
hould really be teaching her this, but I figured she’d get around to trying it soon anyway. Better that I explain it all so she knows what to do, rather than her playing around until it blasted a hole in her or one of her friends. She took the gun back with thanks and turned it over in her hands.

  “My dad used to have a gun, bigger than this one,” she said, placing the Mauser on the windowsill. “If they’d come for him and mother while I was there, I would have gone to his room and taken the gun and used it on the soldiers.” Katherine sniffed and stared at the candle, her eyes glowing orange.

  “They’d have killed you,” I said. She sniffed again.

  “Maybe. Maybe I would have killed them.” I was surprised to feel a smile stretch my lips.

  “You’re a brave wee lass. I don’t know how you manage to hold it together.”

  “Hold it together?” she said, brow furrowed. “Hold what together?”

  “Yourself. I don’t mean literally, it’s just an expression. I mean, I don’t know how you cope, after everything that’s happened.” She tilted her head to one side and sucked on her cheek.

  “Well, how do you hold it together?” she asked. I touched a hand to my jacket without even thinking about it, feeling the bottle resting in there.

  “I need some help,” I said, dropping my gaze. “Sometimes…often, I feel like I’ve got the weight of everyone I killed pressing down on me. Like they’re wrapped around my neck or something.” I shook my head and snorted. “God, I sound daft.” But Katherine, bless her, she nodded along.

  “Herr Schmidt used to say the same thing to me. He killed a lot of people in the last war, before I was born. About twenty, he told me. Those are just the ones he remembered too. He said he felt them every day, following him around, everywhere he went. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there.” She suddenly broke into a smile and leaned in a little. “I wonder if they watched him when he went to the toilet.”

  “Can you imagine,” I said. “That would be a pretty miserable afterlife, following people to the toilet.”

  “I don’t know how they’d all fit in there anyway.” She giggled and rolled her eyes, then she stared at me with this intense concentration that made my stomach squeeze tight. “They probably don’t mean to make you sad, the ghosts. I think they’re just there because they don’t want to be forgotten. There’s nothing worse than being forgotten.”

  “Nothing at all?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Then it’s like you were never really here.”

  “This is all a little deep from someone so young,” I told her. She leaned back and stared down at Katz, who peered back at her with one eye as he lay curled up.

  “I’ve got lots of time to think about things,” she said, in a sad little voice. Then she raised a hand to her mouth and stifled a yawn.

  “I better get back to the barracks,” I said, realising how late it must be. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “You can stay here if you like,” the girl said and I smiled again.

  “Not sure Katz would like that.”

  “He’s okay, he knows I like you.” I stared at the mutt, who had curled up at the foot of her bed. He was still awake, his big, black eyes still fixed on me.

  “Well, alright, if you’re sure.”

  Katherine gave me a pillow and a blanket and I set myself up at the other side of the room, making sure that Katz was happy before I bedded down. The last thing I needed right now was having my throat torn out by a jealous dog. The candle was snuffed out and the room fell dark, leaving me alone with just my thoughts. Usually this was my most dreaded part of the day, but tonight was different. Even though my face still throbbed and ached, I felt my eyelids squeeze shut on their own accord and then I drifted away, into the familiar lingering dreams of bloodshed. Only this time, it wasn’t me doing the killing. It was a shadow, rising out of an endless mist to drag terrified souls into the waiting abyss.

  Eighteen (Katherine)

  When I woke the next morning, he was already gone. Katz was gone too, but that was normal; Katz always scampers off just after the sun rises. That’s the best time to chase squirrels because they’re still a little dozy. I picked up the blanket and pillow from the floor and threw them back on my bed, then I slipped on my foraging dress (it had a big pocket sewn into the front) and set off to the woods to find some breakfast.

  There was no sign of Katz dashing amongst the trees, so I grabbed as many berries as I could fit in my pocket and ate them while I walked the road into town. I was just coming up to the lake when I noticed someone lurking at the edge of the woods. It was the red jumper that gave him away; I caught flashes of it as he stepped between the trees. I already knew who it was and I was reluctant to go over at first, but for some reason I ended up trudging across anyway, already practicing my best sullen expression. I guess I wanted to see if he was sorry at all for the way he’d carried on.

  “Hi,” I said when I was close enough and Pieter turned and stared at me with huge eyes. He had a thin branch clutched in one hand and his little pocket knife in the other.

  “Shit,” he muttered, “why did you creep up on me like that?”

  “I didn’t. You just weren’t paying any attention, that’s all.”

  “I’m looking to make some new arrows,” he said, stripping the branch with the knife and dropping it into a sack by his feet. He slipped the knife back into his pocket and then picked up the sack and smiled at me. “You want to help me practice some more today?”

  “Not likely,” I replied, folding my arms. Instead of apologising, Pieter just rolled his eyes.

  “You’re not still mad, are you? Stop being such a girl.”

  “I’m not being a girl,” I shot back. I had to resist really hard to keep from picking up a lump of moss and hurling it at his face. He just smiled again and tossed the sack over his shoulder.

  “If you come help me make arrows,” he said, “I’ll let you have some of the stew my father made. It’s rabbit stew. I caught the rabbit myself, shot it right through the back leg. Had to finish it off with my knife. He was trying to drag himself away with his front paws, it was hilarious.” I frowned, not really seeing how that could be funny. I’d been forced to do the same with a few small animals that Katz actually managed to catch. He usually bit them once and then left them alone, half alive still but completely ruined. The kindest thing to do was stamp on their heads. I didn’t really feel like making more arrows for Pieter to maim creatures with, but my belly was rumbling with nothing inside but the two handfuls of berries that I’d eaten. The thought of rabbit stew was just too good to turn down.

  The walk to his house was quick enough. Pieter and his father lived in one of the biggest houses in the whole town, just at the other side of the lake. We cut along the bank between the woods and the water and reached it in ten minutes, and he quickly ushered me inside. I’d barely even stepped through the door when he slapped an old craft knife into my hand and together we set to work in his kitchen, whittling the branches until they were perfectly smooth. When that was done, Pieter notched the ends and fitted the feathers, before sliding the spiked tips onto the opposite side. A little glue to hold them together and we were done. In all we made a dozen of the arrows, enough to fill the sling that Pieter had made to go over his shoulder. He slipped it on and stood in front of the mirror in the hallway, holding up the bow and admiring himself.

  “Looks good, right? I bet if I had this out in the street, even the English would shit themselves.”

  “Mmm,” I said, imagining Pieter with his stupid bow and arrow and Captain Adam King with his gun, facing off in the road. I was fairly sure I knew who would actually shit themselves then. And Pieter almost did shit himself when we heard the sound of a key ratting around in the front door lock a moment later. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a hunched silhouette through the glass in the door. His father was home from the library for lunch.

  “Shit,” Pieter hissed, ripping the sling off and pushing
it into my arms, along with the bow. I almost dropped the craft knife in surprise, but I managed to slip it away before the whole lot tumbled out of my grasp and I earned myself another whack, to be paid in full when Pieter had the chance. “Quick, take them away,” he grunted, “upstairs!” He shoved me towards the staircase and I almost fell, tripping over my own feet. I managed to correct myself and bounded up the stairs two at a time, seething and screaming insults inside my head. I had no idea why he was so scared of his father seeing the bow and arrow. After all, just how did he think that Pieter caught that rabbit? With his bare hands? Part of me wanted to just stop what I was doing and go back downstairs and show the thing to his father. But then I’d made a promise, with twenty hits as punishment if I went back on my word. So I kept on going, treading lightly when I hit the top. Already Pieter was greeting his father in the hallway below, acting as if I wasn’t here. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to bring anyone into the house, another reason for all of the secrecy.

  I’d never been up here before – actually, this was only my second time inside Pieter’s house – so I crept to the first doorway and peered inside. This was Pieter’s bedroom, or so I assumed. There was only a small bed tucked away in the corner and his old football, with the ragged skin, was sat beside the wardrobe. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me.

  For a while I sat there on his bed, with the bow and arrow safely stashed away in a corner. There was no sign of Pieter and I knew for sure that him and his father were finishing off that rabbit stew that they’d promised me. My belly was rumbling worse than ever at the thought and I had to finish the last of my berries, but that did nothing to stop the hunger. So, to keep my mind from it, I started to look around Pieter’s room. The place was bigger than my own bedroom and he’d filled almost every flat surface with dozens of little wooden carvings he’d done, mostly tiny men clutching guns or other weapons. I peered at a few of them arranged on top of his dresser, stuck in ridiculous poses with their faces turned up and their knives and rifles poking at the ceiling. He had done a good job, but I couldn’t see the point. They were too fragile to play with and I got bored of just looking at them after a few seconds.