by Helen Grant
‘I know who Bonschariant is. I’m fully aware of all the local superstitions,’ interrupted Father Engels.
‘It’s not a superstition. We’ve seen him.’
‘Seen him?’ Father Engels gave an incredulous laugh. ‘That’s impossible. You can’t have seen him.’
‘Why not? Father Krause thinks demons really exist. He said people could die trying to exorcize them.’
‘Father Krause?’ Father Engels’s lip curled in contempt. ‘Don’t listen to him. If he’s been filling your head with nonsense…’
‘He didn’t. I told you, we saw him. It.’
‘Look…’ Father Engels was beginning to sound weary. ‘I don’t know what you think you saw or what you think you know, but it wasn’t the Glass Demon. If I recall the story correctly, Bonschariant was supposed to appear behind the stained-glass windows of Allerheiligen. No one has seen those windows for over two hundred years. They were probably smashed to bits long ago. I think someone has been playing tricks on you, young lady.’ He paused. ‘Or else you are trying to play tricks on me. I hope that is not the case. Now, if you don’t mind…’
‘I know what I saw,’ I said stubbornly. Now that Father Engels was so clearly angry with me I found I was no longer intimidated. I found the courage to look into that beautiful face and to hold the gaze of those dark eyes. ‘I know it was him, because we saw him through the Allerheiligen windows.’
‘You can’t have.’
‘They’re in the woods, by the Kreuzburg. There’s a bit of land that belongs to the Reinartzes and there’s a little church there, hidden away in the middle of the forest. Michel’s father looks after it or something. And the glass is in the windows. Michel showed me. He took all the boards down and let the light in.’ I was galloping on now, desperate to tell my story before Father Engels had another opportunity to interrupt me, hoping I might persuade him. ‘There’s Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, and somebody bathing in a river and a horrible one of soldiers killing babies. We were in the church looking at them and that was when we saw him, through the glass. He was moving along behind the windows, just like in the story about the abbot who died –’
‘Enough!’
‘– and we had to lock the door and not look at him, because otherwise, if we had looked –’
‘Enough!’ Now Father Engels was almost shouting.
I stopped, shocked at the vehemence in his voice.
‘This is preposterous!’ He slammed down a fist on the desktop. His handsome features were contorted with fury. At that moment he looked like Lucifer, an angel gone to the bad. With an effort he lowered his voice. ‘This is an obvious fantasy.’
‘It’s not –’
‘Don’t interrupt. I don’t know why you have chosen to come and see me with such a ridiculous tale, but I have no intention of listening to any more of it. I’m very sorry about your brother and I wish him a speedy recovery, but I think you might find something more useful to do than trying to draw attention to yourself with these stories.’ He drew a deep breath and forced himself to lower his voice. ‘If you know anything genuine about the attack on your brother or any other… crime… talk to the police. But if you have any sense you won’t tell them a pack of lies about seeing a demon. Better still, talk to Frau Müller, the school counsellor.’ He stood up and pointed at the door. ‘I don’t want to see you in here again.’
I got to my feet, hoisting my bag on to my shoulder. One look at that thunderous expression told me that I would be wasting my time to argue any more. Without another word I slunk out of the room.
Further down the corridor, the school secretary was looking out of her door. Her glasses were, as usual, perched on the end of her nose, giving her ample opportunity to stare at me disapprovingly over them.
‘Well,’ she said as I passed, ‘did you find Father Engels?’
She knew perfectly well that I had.
‘No,’ I said. ‘He was out.’
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
It was that conversation with Father Engels that made me do it. When I walked away from his office and past the curious gaze of the school secretary, I was defiant. I was concentrating on keeping my dignity. Going into my classroom, where the lesson was well under way and everyone looked up to see who was coming in late, I felt embarrassed. For a while, as I struggled to catch up with the exercise the class was doing, I actually felt detached from what had just happened. But as the morning progressed I started to feel angry.
It was not just the things he had said to me, even though it stung me to recall them. Preposterous – an obvious fantasy – you might find something more useful to do than trying to draw attention to yourself. I curled my hands into fists under the desk, digging my nails into my palms, as I thought about that. But what was worse was the way he had looked at me – the coldness, the irritation, finally the contempt. I thought I could see myself through his eyes – a silly girl with a ludicrous crush on someone, trying to attract attention with a melodramatic tale of murder and intrigue.
It was all so unfair. Who was I supposed to ask for help? Tuesday was useless – faced with a real problem she would probably need six months’ therapy herself. My father would have liked to shovel everything on to her if he could. And Father Engels didn’t just not believe me, he despised me.
I thought about that impossibly handsome face scowling at me and for the first time I understood why a vandal might want to destroy a work of art. I felt like punching that perfect nose, scratching at those gorgeous eyes. I wanted to mar the beauty that hid such coldness and arrogance. How could I have loved him? I thought of the hours I had spent dreaming of being with him, of seeing the soft sympathy in those dark eyes as I poured out my heart to him. All of it an illusion. I felt like killing him, then I felt like killing myself. It didn’t seem possible to be this angry and not to explode or rupture something. The anger was like a toxin racing through my bloodstream, percolating through my whole body, poisoning it.
I don’t know how I got through the rest of the morning. When the final bell rang at the end of the school day I was out of my chair and halfway through the door before the others had even collected their books up. Michel was just coming out of his classroom. I strode up to him and grabbed him by the arm.
‘Let’s go.’
He looked at me in surprise but didn’t say anything. As we thundered down the staircase he was still trying to fit his right arm into his jacket while carrying his school bag. I didn’t slow down.
‘Where’s the car?’
‘Just round the corner. I got a really good space for once. What’s the hurry?’ he panted, trying to keep up with me as I stalked along.
‘Nothing. I just want to get going.’
When we got to the car I threw my school bag into the back seat.
‘Hurry up, can’t you?’
Michel gunned the engine and pulled out of the space. Some of my classmates were coming towards us and someone waved. I slumped down in my seat and glared out of the side window.
‘Bad morning?’ asked Michel.
‘No,’ I said shortly.
‘Well, what’s –’
‘Just drive.’ I flipped the sun shield down, caught my own angry gaze in the mirror and flipped it up again.
It seemed to take forever to get out of Nordkirchen and into Baumgarten. Finally we were through the smaller town and on to the little road which led into the forest. I waited until we were actually on the pitted track which led to the castle, with the trees towering over our heads, and then I said, ‘Stop. Right here.’
Michel slowed the car. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Just stop. Here.’
Obediently he braked.
‘Turn off the road.’
There was a little side track, just wide enough for the car but deeply rutted. Michel looked at it dubiously.
‘What for? We’ll get stuck in there.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘But –’
‘Mi
chel, drive in there!’ I was almost shouting by this time. I slapped the dashboard with the flat of my hand. ‘Just do it!’ I was drunk with rage; I didn’t care whether he thought I was mad or not.
Michel turned the car on to the track. It bounced a couple of times on the ruts, then his foot slipped off the clutch and it stalled. We both felt the car roll a little. Michel sighed and put the handbrake on, then reached for the keys.
A second later I was virtually on his lap. Considering what he had done in the church in the woods, I was quite surprised to find Michel resisting me. He fought his way backwards out of my embrace, sheer astonishment spreading over a face that was now smeared with Tuesday’s third-best lipgloss.
‘What are you –’
I didn’t give him time to finish the sentence. I pulled him towards me and kissed him again, locking my lips to his, raking my hands through his hair. This time Michel didn’t try to fight me off; in fact he began to join in with a passion, sliding his arms around me.
When we came up for air he was looking at me with a kind of wonder. He touched my face very gently, as though he had wanted to do so for a long time but never dared.
I should have been honest with myself then, but I wasn’t. Some kind of furious madness seemed to have possessed me. I pressed my mouth to Michel’s again, clinging to him like a vampire. Father Engels’s angry face flashed through my mind, but the thought of his contemptuous expression only seemed to spur me on. Illogically I kept thinking, I’ll show him. He’s not so special.
Rage dragged me down like an undertow, mixed with a kind of bitter joy. Michel found me attractive, oh yes, he did. Father Engels could go to hell. I dragged off my jacket, pulling the sleeves inside out in my haste. Already Michel’s hands were sliding tentatively under my T-shirt. His touch on my bare skin was like the breath of a furnace.
I don’t like to think how it would have ended if Michel hadn’t said what he did.
‘Lin…’ he said. ‘I – love you.’
‘What?’
It took a moment for his words to sink in. I stopped trying to kiss him and pulled away, clawing my hair back from my face. Suddenly I was aware of the cool air on my bare arms.
‘Oh, God,’ I said.
Instantly his expression crumbled into hurt. He put out a hand and tried to touch my face, but I was already trying to back away. I didn’t think I could stand to see that look on his face. What had I done? I could not think what to say or what to do to make it right again. The fury of a minute before had utterly passed and left me feeling cold and empty. I could think of nothing to do but to get away, to put as much space between us as possible. I fumbled for the door handle, avoiding his eyes.
‘Lin? What’s the matter?’
I yanked the door open and stumbled out of the car, clutching my jacket.
‘Lin?’
I thought if I heard that pleading tone in his voice again I would go completely insane. I had left my bag on the back seat of Michel’s car but I didn’t care if I never saw it again. I slammed the door and cut off the beseeching voice mid-sentence. Then I began to run. I didn’t think about where I was going; I simply ran into the forest. I left the track completely, crunching over piles of leaves and twigs, zigzagging around places where the brambles were too thick to negotiate, slipping a little where it was muddy but righting myself and carrying on, running until my heart was pounding and my chest felt as though it would burst.
I don’t know if Michel tried to come after me on foot; I never looked back. At any rate after a few minutes I heard the distant sound of the car’s engine starting far behind me. It coughed and died, then roared into life again; I suppose he had stalled it on the ruts. He had no hope of catching me now anyway, since it would be impossible for anyone to drive through this part of the forest. It was becoming more and more difficult to run through the thick undergrowth. Eventually I slowed to walking pace. There was a painful stitch in my side.
Up ahead I could see the castle tower through the trees. I stopped dead. If I went back now, with a red face and my hair a tangled mess, there would be questions. Worse, supposing Michel had driven round and was waiting for me? With a groan I sank down on to the mossy trunk of a fallen tree and put my head in my hands. That same thought kept going round and round my brain: What have I done? Just when I thought things could not get any worse, I had done something unthinkably terrible, and I had done it to the one person who had been trying to help me. The mere thought of what had happened in the car was so awful that I shied away from thinking about it.
A groan forced its way out, scouring my throat. I leaned further forward, hugging my knees, trying to draw myself into a ball. At that moment I wished I never had to go back to the castle, ever. Ru, Polly, my father and Tuesday… I couldn’t protect all of them myself and I was worn out trying. Everything was wrong. A black cloud of self-loathing engulfed me. I had thought I was so clever, persuading Michel to show me the glass – investigating the scene of the attack on Ru – pumping Father Krause for information. But now the entire edifice had collapsed, as though it were a crumbling old tower whose last supporting beam had rotted through and brought the whole lot down into a heap of rubble. I didn’t fully understand what had come over me in the car, but I knew one thing for certain: I had well and truly pressed the self-destruct button.
I hugged myself, gazing unseeingly at the silent ranks of tree trunks. Even the autumn sunlight seemed less bright, as though I was seeing it from the bottom of a deep, dark well. It’s too much, I thought. It was as though we had been jinxed from the very first moment we had turned off the main road and driven into Niederburgheim. The moment I had stepped out of the car and walked through the fragrant grass to where Werner lay motionless underneath the apple tree, that was when it had all started going wrong. It was like some sort of curse.
That had been the day when I first saw Father Engels too. I remembered when he had opened the castle door and stepped out. That was the moment which had sown the seeds of today’s disaster. If he had been old, or fat and jolly, or phenomenally ugly, I would probably never have given him a second thought. Those good looks were fatal; they could draw you in before you knew what was happening.
He’s a devil, I thought bitterly, as I crouched there on the tree trunk, rocking myself in my misery, the memory of that handsome face distorted with anger tormenting me. A devil.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I didn’t expect Michel to pick me up on Wednesday morning. Nothing on earth could have induced me to give Tuesday and my father even a watered-down version of what had happened the day before, so I decided to get up early and make my own way to school. I thought that if I left half an hour earlier than usual and walked through the forest to the main road I might be able to pick up a public bus. The truth was, I didn’t care much either way; being late for school was the least of my worries.
As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror listlessly brushing my hair, the disastrous scene with Father Engels kept running through my head – his angry face, my stumbling words. I felt sick thinking about it. I had told him everything. I had named the Kreuzburg and the Reinartz family – I had even described some of the scenes in the windows. What would he do with the information? He had seemed to disbelieve every word I had said; he had been furious at what he saw as my attention-seeking fantasies. Or was he angry because, like everyone else in Baumgarten, he thought the outsiders should be prevented from stirring up matters to which everyone else was happy to turn a blind eye? One thing I did know: whenever anyone had come close to the Allerheiligen glass, it had led to disaster. If something else happened now, I would be to blame.
I drifted downstairs in a fog of misery, with no appetite for breakfast. I didn’t know whether I would ever see my school bag again – if I were Michel I would probably have thrown it into the deepest part of the castle moat – so I grabbed a handful of my father’s pens from the pine table and stuffed them into one of Tuesday’s bags. There was nothing I could do about the neg
lected coursework; I would have to make up some excuse or other.
When I let myself out the sun was up but there was an autumn chill in the air. I hesitated outside the green gate. Almost certainly there was a quicker way through the woods than the one we usually drove, but the idea of getting lost among the trees, even with the sun up, was not a pleasant one. I thought of the bulky forms I had seen moving about in the forest sometimes as we drove to school. They were probably deer, but all the same…
In the end I took the normal route, Tuesday’s bag thumping my shoulder blade as I hurried along, willing myself to be out on the main road before Michel could overtake me.
I almost made it; I could see the open stretch of meadow at the border of the forest when I heard the sound of a car engine behind me. I didn’t look round. I pulled the hood of my jacket over my head and kept walking. The car was coming up very fast, and right until the last moment I thought that he would just drive past me and keep on going. Then I heard a squeal of brakes and half-turned in spite of myself. It was Michel, all right; I would have known that battered red Volkswagen anywhere.
‘Lin!’
He was leaning out of the window, his dark hair falling over his eyes. I felt a fleeting impulse to walk on anyway, but then I relented. I could not imagine that he was going to say anything I would like to hear, but I was the one who was in the wrong, wasn’t I? I didn’t want to make it any worse. Unwillingly I retraced my steps until I was level with the car.
‘Why didn’t you wait?’ said Michel. He sounded breathless.
‘I don’t know.’
‘I went to the castle like normal and when you weren’t outside I waited. Then it was getting a bit late, so I went and knocked.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Is your mother always like that in the morning?’
I didn’t need to ask, Like what? I could imagine how Tuesday had reacted to having to get up and answer the door. I shrugged.
‘Get in the car. Come on. We’re going to be late already.’
