The Hangman's Daughter

by Oliver Pötzsch

  The hangman shrugged. “Sophie probably took the rope down so that nobody would become suspicious. To climb back out she has to throw it over the beam from below. Not exactly easy, but I believe Sophie is capable of it.”

  Simon nodded.

  “That’s probably the way she came out when she looked for me in the woods to tell me about Clara,” he said and looked down. The hole was as black as the night surrounding them. He threw a few pebbles into the well and listened as they hit the bottom.

  “Are you nuts?” cursed the hangman. “Now they know down there for sure that we’re coming!”

  Simon started to stutter: “I…I only wanted to see how deep the well is. The deeper it is, the longer it takes the stone to hit the bottom. And by seeing how long that takes…”

  “You fool,” interrupted the hangman. “The well cannot be more than twenty-five feet deep, or Sophie could never have tossed up the rope in order to come out and visit you in the woods.”

  Once more Simon was impressed by the hangman’s simple and yet compelling logic. In the meantime Jakob Kuisl had fetched yet another rope from his sack and started tying it around the beam.

  “I’ll let myself down first,” he said. “If I see anything down there, I’ll wave the lantern and you follow me.”

  Simon nodded. The hangman checked the beam’s strength by pulling hard on the rope. The beam groaned but held. Kuisl tied the lantern to his belt, grabbed the rope with both hands, and let himself down.

  After a few yards, he was enveloped in darkness. Only a small point of light testified to the fact that a human being was dangling from the rope down there. The point of light descended farther and farther and suddenly stopped. Then the light swung back and forth. The hangman was waving with the lantern.

  Simon took a few deep breaths. Then he too attached his lantern to his belt, grabbed the rope, and climbed down. There was a wet and musty smell down there. Just in front of him, muddy soil trickled to the ground. Like the clay they had found under the children’s fingernails…

  After descending a few more yards he saw that the hangman had been right. About twelve feet below he could see the bottom. A few puddles of water shone in the light of the lantern; otherwise the shaft was dry. When Simon reached the bottom he realized why. On one side of the shaft was a semi-oval hole at knee’s height that reminded Simon of an arch at the entrance to a chapel. It looked as if it had been dug by human hands into the clay. Beyond, there was a low shaft. The hangman was standing next to the hole and grinning. With his lantern he pointed to the entrance. “A dwarf’s hole,” he whispered. “Who would have thought of that? I didn’t know that there even were any in this area.”

  “A what?” asked Simon.

  “A dwarf’s hole. Sometimes people also call it a mandrake cave. I’ve seen many of these in my time during the war. The peasants used to hide in them when soldiers came, and sometimes they didn’t come out for days.” The hangman pushed his torch into the dark tunnel.

  “These tunnels are made by humans,” he continued in a soft voice. “They are ages old, and nobody knows what they were used for. Some people think that they were built as hiding places. But my grandfather told me that the souls of the dead found their last resting place in them. Others say that the dwarves themselves dug them out.”

  Simon had a closer look at the semi-oval. It really looked like the entrance to some dwarf’s cave.

  Or like the door to hell…

  Simon cleared his throat. “The priest mentioned that witches and sorcerers were said to have met here in olden days. A heathen place for their unholy celebrations. Could that have anything to do with this…dwarf’s hole?”

  “Whatever the case,” said Jakob Kuisl, sinking to his knees, “we must go inside. So let’s go.”

  Simon closed his eyes briefly and sent a whispered prayer to the cloudy skies visible only twenty-five feet above them. Then he crawled behind the hangman into the narrow tunnel.

  Up at the well’s rim, the devil pointed his nose into the wind. He was smelling revenge and retaliation. He waited a few more moments before sliding down the rope into the depths.

  As soon as Simon had crawled through the entrance, he noted that this would not be an easy job. After only a few feet the tunnel narrowed. To make any headway, they almost had to crawl sideways and push themselves forward with their shoulders. Simon felt sharp rocks scraping across his face and body. Then the tunnel widened slightly. Bent over, Simon stumbled forward, yard by yard, holding the lantern in one hand, leaning with the other against the wet clay wall next to him. He tried not to think of how his pants and doublet must look by now. But anyway, in the dark it didn’t show.

  His only point of orientation was the flickering hangman’s lantern in front of him. He could see how Jakob Kuisl was having difficulty squeezing his broad, muscular body through this needle’s eye. Earth kept trickling from the ceiling and fell into his collar. The roof was arched as in a miner’s tunnel. At regular intervals sooty niches the size of a hand appeared in the walls. They looked as if candles or oil lamps had stood in them in the past. The niches enabled Simon to estimate the tunnel’s length. Nevertheless he had lost all sense of time after only a few minutes.

  Above their heads lay tons of rock and earth. The physician briefly thought about what would happen if the wet clay were to suddenly collapse over him. Would he even feel anything at all? Would the rock mercifully break his neck or would he slowly suffocate? When he realized that his heart was starting to race, he tried to direct his thoughts toward something beautiful. He thought of Magdalena, of her black hair, her dark, laughing eyes, her full lips…he could clearly see her face in front of him, almost close enough to touch. Now her expression was changing; it looked as if she wanted to cry out to him. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly; her eyes shone with naked fear. When she turned around to look straight at him, the daydream burst like a soap bubble. The tunnel curved suddenly and opened into a chamber about six feet high.

  In front of him, the hangman straightened up and shone his lantern all around the chamber. Simon tried without much success to knock the dirt from his trousers, then he looked around as well.

  The chamber was almost square and about three paces wide and long. On the sides were small recesses and steps, almost like shelves. On the opposite side two more slightly sloping tunnels extended into the depths. They too had the oval shape Simon already had seen at the first entrance. A ladder was leaning in the chamber’s left corner, leading to a hole in the ceiling. Jakob Kuisl inspected the ladder with his lantern. In the pale light Simon could make out its greenish, moldy rungs. Two of them had split completely. Simon wondered whether the ladder could still support anybody at all.

  “It’s surely been standing down here for ages,” said Jakob Kuisl, tapping against the wood. “Perhaps one hundred, two hundred years? The devil knows where it leads. I believe all this is a goddamn labyrinth. We should call out for the children. If they’re smart they’ll answer us, and the hide-and-seek game will finally come to an end.”

  “And if…if someone else should hear us?” asked Simon nervously.

  “Bah, who would that be? We are so deep down in the ground that I’d almost be glad if our shouts could penetrate all the way to the outside.” The hangman grinned. “Maybe we’ll be buried and need help. It doesn’t look all that stable, especially that narrow tunnel at the entrance…”

  “Please, Kuisl, don’t joke about this.”

  Again Simon sensed the tons of dirt over their heads. In the meantime the hangman cast some light into the entrance on the opposite side. Then he called out into the darkness.

  “Children! It’s me, Jakob Kuisl! You have nothing to be afraid of! We now know who wants to harm you. With us you’re safe. So be so kind and come out of there!”

  His voice sounded strangely hollow and low, as if the clay all around them were sucking up his words like water. There was no answer. Kuisl tried it again.

  “Children! Can you
hear me? Everything will be all right! I promise you that I’ll get you out of here all in one piece. And if anyone harms as much as one hair on your heads, I’ll break every bone in his body.”

  There still came no reply. Only the soft trickle of a rivulet somewhere could be heard. Suddenly the hangman slapped his flat hand against the clay wall so that whole chunks came loose.

  “Goddamn it, get a move on, you cursed bunch of creeps! Or else I’ll spank your behinds so you won’t be able to move for three days!”

  “I don’t think that this tone will convince them to come out,” opined Simon. “Perhaps you should…”

  “Shush.” Jakob Kuisl laid his finger over his mouth and pointed toward the opposite entrance. A soft whimpering sound could be heard. It was very weak. Simon closed his eyes in order to make out the direction it was coming from. He couldn’t. He couldn’t tell with certainty whether it was coming from above or from the side. It was as if the voice was moving ghostlike through the earth.

  The hangman seemed to have the same difficulty. Several times he looked up and then to the side. Then he shrugged.

  “We shall have to split up. I’m going to climb up that ladder and you continue down into one of the tunnels. Whoever finds them shouts.”

  “And if we don’t find them?” asked Simon, who almost felt ill at the thought of crawling once more through a narrow tunnel.

  “Count to five hundred as you search. If you haven’t found anything by then, turn back. Then we’ll meet again here and we’ll think of something else.”

  Simon nodded. Jakob Kuisl was already going up the ladder, which made ominous creaking noises under his weight. One more time he looked down at Simon.

  “Oh, and Fronwieser…”

  Simon looked up expectantly.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t get lost. Or else they’ll only find you on Judgment Day.”

  Grinning, the hangman disappeared through the hole in the ceiling. For a brief moment Simon could hear him in the chamber over him, then there was silence.

  The physician sighed. Then he walked over to the two holes. They were of identical size and equally dark. Which one should he enter? Should he just play eeny-meeny-miney-moe? On a pure whim he decided to pick the hole on the right side.

  When he cast a light into the opening he could see that the waist-high tunnel was indeed sloping down. The clay underfoot was moist and slushy, and tiny rivulets were running down into the depths on either side. Simon fell to his knees and tapped his way forward. He quickly noticed that the ground beneath him had the consistency of slimy water plants. He tried to support himself with his hands on the sides, but since he was carrying the lantern in his right hand, he kept sliding against the left wall. Finally he could no longer steady himself. He had to decide whether to let go of the lantern and hold on or simply let himself slide down. He decided in favor of sliding.

  Simon slithered down. The tunnel was getting steeper and steeper, and after a few yards he felt the ground beneath him disappear. He flew through the air, and before he could cry out, he had already landed. At the impact with the hard clay floor, the lantern flew from his hand and rolled into a corner. Briefly Simon was able to make out a rocky chamber similar to the previous one, then the lantern went out.

  Darkness swallowed him.

  The darkness was so deep that it seemed to him like a wall that he had been thrown against. After the first moment of terror he groped along on his hands and knees toward the place he suspected the lantern to be. His hand moved over stones and clumps of clay, dipped briefly into a cold puddle of water, then he felt the warm copper of the lantern.

  Relieved, he reached for the tinderbox in the pocket of his trousers so he could light the lantern once more.

  It was no longer there.

  He began to search his pockets—first the left, the right. Finally he burrowed into the inside pocket of his doublet. Nothing. The tinderbox must have fallen out, either as he fell into the chamber or even earlier as he crawled through the tunnels. Desperately he held on to the useless lantern while he knelt and blindly tapped around with the other hand, trying to find the lost box. Soon he reached the opposite wall. He turned around and felt his way back again. After repeating this procedure three times he gave up. He would never find the tinderbox down there.

  Simon tried to stay calm. Everything was still completely black all around him. He felt as if he had been buried alive; his breathing quickened. He leaned against the wet wall. Then he called for the hangman.

  “Kuisl! I slipped! My lantern is out. You must help me!”

  Silence.

  “Kuisl, damn it, this isn’t funny!”

  He could hear nothing other than his own rapid breathing and an occasional trickling sound. Was it possible that the clay down here would swallow every sound?

  Simon stood up and felt his way along the wall. After just a few feet his hand found emptiness. He had found the opening to the top! Feeling relieved, he felt around the spot. The approximately two-foot-wide hole started at chest level. This was where he had dropped down into the chamber. If he could manage to crawl up and back into the upper chamber he should actually meet up with the hangman. Though Simon had not counted to five hundred, his stay down here already seemed like an eternity. The hangman had certainly returned by now.

  Then why didn’t he give any sign of life?

  Simon concentrated on what lay before him. He took the lantern in his teeth, swung his body up, and was about to push himself through the tunnel when he noticed something.

  The tunnel was sloping down at a slight angle.

  But how could this be? After all he had fallen down into this chamber. Therefore the tunnel must be rising! Or was it a different tunnel?

  Horrified, Simon realized that he had gotten lost. He was just about to let himself slide back into the chamber to look for the right tunnel when he heard a noise.

  Whimpering.

  It was coming from the tunnel in front of him, the one going down, and it was very close.

  The children! The children were down there!

  “Sophie, Clara! Can you hear me? It’s me, Simon!” he shouted down.

  The crying stopped. Instead he could hear Sophie’s voice.

  “Is it really you, Simon?”

  An immense feeling of relief came over him. At least he had found the children! Perhaps the hangman was already with them? Of course! He had not found anything in the upper chamber, so he had climbed down again and taken the second tunnel. And now he would be standing down there with the children, playing tricks on him.

  “Is Kuisl down there with you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Really? Children, you must tell me. This is no longer a game!”

  “By the Holy Virgin Mary, no!” Sophie’s voice came from below. “Oh God, I am so scared! I heard steps, but I can’t get away because of Clara…”

  Her voice changed into weeping.

  “Sophie, you need not be afraid,” Simon tried to calm her. “The steps you heard were certainly ours. We are coming to get you out of there. What’s the matter with Clara?”

  “She…she’s sick. She has a fever and can’t walk.”

  Great, thought Simon. My lantern is out, I got lost, the hangman has disappeared, and now I also have to carry a child out of here! For a brief moment he felt as if he could weep just like Sophie, but then he pulled himself together.

  “We…we’re going to make out all right, Sophie. For sure. I’m coming down now.”

  He took the lantern in his teeth and slid down the tunnel. This time he was prepared for the fall. He only fell a couple of feet and landed almost softly in a puddle of ice-cold muddy water.

  “Simon?” Sophie’s voice came from the left. He thought he could see her outline in the dark: a spot that looked a little darker and seemed to move slowly back and forth. Simon waved. Then it occurred to him how nonsensical that was in the dark.

  “I’m here, Sophie. Where is Clara?” he
whispered.

  “She’s lying next to me. Who are those men?”

  “Which men?” While Simon spoke, he crawled toward the outline. He felt a stone step and on it moss and straw.

  “Well, I mean the men I heard above. Are they still there?”

  Simon tapped his way up the step. It was as long and as wide as a bed. He felt the body of a child stretched out on it. Cold skin, small toes. Rags covering her legs.

  “No,” he answered. “They…they’re gone. It’s safe. You can come out.”

  Now Sophie’s outline was very close, right next to him. He reached for it. He felt a dress. A hand reached for him and held him tightly.

  “Oh, God, Simon! I am so scared!”

  Simon hugged the little body and stroked it.

  “All will be well. Now all we have to do is…”

  He could hear a scraping sound behind him. Something was slowly pushing through the opening into the chamber.

  “Simon!” Sophie cried out. “Something is there! I can see it. Oh, God, I can see it!”

  Simon turned around. At a spot not far from them, the blackness was darker than the rest. And this darkness was coming closer.

  “Do you have any light down here?” screamed Simon. “A candle? Anything?”

  “I have tinder and flint. It must be here somewhere…for heaven’s sakes, Simon! What…what is it?”

  “Sophie, where is the tinder? Answer me!”

  Sophie started to scream. Simon slapped her face.

  “Where is the tinder?” he cried once more into the blackness.

  The slap helped. Sophie quieted down instantly. She felt around briefly, then handed him a fibrous piece of sponge and a cool piece of flint. Simon pulled the stiletto from his belt and struck the stone in wild blows against the cold steel. Sparks flew, the tinder started to glow, and a tiny flame flared up in his hand. But just as he was about to light the lantern with the glowing fibers, he felt a draft from behind. The shadow fell over them.

  Before the lantern went out a second time, Simon saw a hand swoop down in the fading light. Then darkness overcame him.