by D. W. Goates
Elke was going to need a lot more than that from him as it still wasn’t adding up. “All right, so she is in the forest, where she goes periodically, but still I do not understand the ‘witchcraft’ part, nor the whole ‘sickness’ thing—”
Frau Rösner broke in, her dry voice positively cracking with crazy, “The Margrave is a witch! Of that, everyone knows. His familiar spirits live in the wood. They are providing Milla with sustenance.”
Clearly unsettled by this, Elke paused, looking around for some support. Not finding it, she was about to try again before Helma continued her strange rant, this time sobbing.
“She comes to us and she won’t eat, and she says such horrible things, devilish things. It’s like I don’t even know my own daughter . . .”
This evening had taken a most bizarre turn. While admittedly Elke did not know her friend well, she was sure she knew her well enough to know that they were talking about a completely different person here. She wanted to leave this place. And she found it all the more disconcerting that Berdine was not more affected by her mother’s horrible nonsense.
“I should go. You say she will come back? Do you know when?” Elke started to get up.
At this, Herr Rösner gestured. “Please stay and finish your meal. I made a wonderful dessert.”
Was he serious?! Who could talk about dessert at a time like this? Elke conveyed this to the man quite succinctly with her eyes alone.
Unburned by Elke’s glare, Georg moved to de-escalate the situation with a calming voice. “She will be back, maybe tomorrow, but in no more than a few days. She is never gone long. If you could talk to her when she returns, you might perhaps help her—help keep her from the forest.”
But Milla loves the forest, Elke thought to herself, as she eased back into her chair and began carving another bite of the now-cold beef.
Elke stayed for dessert despite her misgivings, but once she devoured the rich cake Georg had made, she did not linger.
Herr Rösner did his best to keep things cordial after their conversation had taken such a bad turn. And since Elke found the matter so exhausting, she took the opportunity to surrender the helm to him entirely: she resigned herself to whatever destination he saw fit if he could manage to keep his wife together in such an unhappy sea.
Content then to watch and listen for a change, when not answering questions about her school, Elke learned a few things about this strange family.
The first came as no surprise: Helma complained, a lot. She seemed almost pleased to have an audience for her misgivings, with Elke serving as an unwilling but available confidant. The exasperated guest found this instantly tiresome, and initially chalked it up to the old woman’s instability, but the odd nature of these protestations later made Elke wonder. Why did so many of the woman’s complaints center upon her being made by her husband to doubt herself?
Helma griped also of never getting to see her grandchildren, and it was here that Elke came to learn that Berdine was actually her stepdaughter. Helma’s first husband, named Bauer, had died when Milla was very young. And Rösner too was a widower. The children Helma spoke of were Milla’s who, with their father, were now separated from Waldheim by at least two days’ travel.
The last bit of information Elke gleaned before the conclusion of her visit concerned Berdine’s husband, Koenraad Hartmann. He was apparently a town councilman who served as de facto representative of the margravate in the face of the Count’s self-imposed exile. Because Herr Hartmann was often away on matters of government, Berdine and the children essentially lived with her father and stepmother.
Elke now had plenty of fodder for her next visit with Milla, and before leaving that night, she resolved to check in at the bakery daily until her friend’s return.
That night’s walk home was the coldest yet. Elke could see her breath as soon as she stepped out into the night. Above, the cloudless sky was filled with stars, too a crescent moon, but together they offered little to illuminate her lonely way.
Monday came, and with it the first of Elke’s avowed checks at the bakery. “Herr Rösner . . . has Milla yet to return?” The disappointment and concern were evident in her voice.
“Ahh, Fräulein Schreiber . . .” Herr Rösner had been granted permission to use her given name, but something about her manner since seemed to have revoked this. “Milla is still gone.”
“Almost three days,” she replied. “Has she ever been gone this long?”
“I think it was three once before, but I don’t remember it being ever any more than that.”
“Are you not concerned?”
“Like I said before, she does this all the time. My biggest concern is her behavior when she returns. At some point we have to think about her influence on the children.”
“So you’d just as soon she stay gone, then?” Elke was incredulous.
“I never said that. I’m worried about her. She needs help. That’s why I would like for you to talk to her. Help her. Help to keep her from the forest. Something out there, something unholy, clearly has her in its grasp.” The baker spoke candidly—his words, sinister.
“I will be back tomorrow.” And with this, Elke left, without her usual pastry.
The door chimed cheerily in stark contrast to the mood upon Elke’s arrival the following day. Milla was still absent from the place, and her stepfather’s unequal concern about the matter finally unnerved the tart teacher.
“I’m going to the constable. Something must be done,” Elke said adamantly.
“Suit yourself. I still think she will be back soon. And I don’t know what you expect the police to do.”
“I expect them to do more than just sit around like this! You said yourself—Milla could be in grave danger!”
It was mid-day, but rather than return to the school for the afternoon, Elke left the bakery and went straight to the town hall.
On arrival in the Rathaus, Elke encountered a young, baby-faced clerk with a high collar and impeccable hair. He didn’t look very busy despite the fact that his desk was stacked high with sheaves of paper.
“Where might I find the constable?” Elke inquired, a very serious look upon her face.
“The police have an office around the corner,” replied the fellow with a gesture.
The young teacher had just spun on her heel when she heard a different, deeper voice ask, “For what purpose do you need the constable, fräulein?”
Elke re-executed her maneuver to find an older, well-dressed man now standing behind the clerk. He must have come from an office down the hall behind the clerk’s desk and, by the look of him, was on his way out. He wore an open black overcoat and top hat.
“Herr Bürgermeister, it is Milla, the baker’s daughter. She has gone missing.”
Though Elke had never met nor seen him before, her social promotion in this instance was spot on. This important-looking denizen of the town hall was in fact the mayor himself.
“And who are you to her, fräulein . . .?”
“Schreiber. Elke Schreiber. I work at the school. Milla is my friend.”
“Have you spoken with Herr Rösner about this?” The man’s tone was as if Elke had somehow jumped the chain of command.
“Naturally! He said she has been missing for nearly four days. He seems to think she is in the woods.”
“That girl positively grew up in the woods,” responded the mayor, somewhat wistfully.
“I need the police to help me find her,” replied Elke.
“I need those same police at work here in the village, as do you.” He said this before adding, “Go, go and report this to the constable if you must, but they will spend no time in the Margrave’s evil wood. I forbid it.”
Elke looked positively wounded at this proclamation until the mayor offered her a sop.
“If Milla is in the forest, it is Waldheim’s huntsm
en that you need, not any policeman. I shall talk to them on your behalf. If you’ll excuse me . . .” The stout mayor made his way past her to the door.
Elke called after him. “Today . . . Herr Bürgermeister?”
He stopped just before the door. “Yes, fräulein, I will speak with them today.” He spoke without turning, his face to the door. “Unless the Margrave has her, we shall find Milla.”
Another day came and went with no word on Milla’s whereabouts. Elke refused to commiserate with or confide further in Herr Rösner on the matter. The baker seemed to wax and wane from deep concern to cavalier disinterest in a manner that made her most uncomfortable. And she did not feel she knew the family well enough to seek out Helma or Berdine individually.
That night the lonely teacher tossed and turned in her uncomfortable bed. The sleep she managed came with the most terrible of dreams, the last of which she had been convinced was real.
In it she had awoken past midnight, in the very same nightclothes, certain that Milla was in immediate danger. Of singular mind, and without so much as donning her robe or even closing the door to her house, Elke made her way, deliberately, almost trance-like, through the moon-lit village streets to the edge of the wood.
Once there, Elke surprised herself at how fearlessly she strode barefoot into the dark forest. She sensed that it was bitter cold, but for some reason this did not seem to matter, nor did her destination. And then she saw Milla, or what had to be Milla—her long blonde hair loose over a flowing white nightgown. She was some distance ahead, walking away.
Elke called to her, but she did not answer. Elke ran to her but could not catch her. Milla was running now, with Elke after her, calling out desperately for her friend to stop. Deeper and deeper into the wood they plunged as an alarming terror made itself more and more evident.
With no indication why, Elke was convinced that something was behind her, chasing her, chasing Milla! As fast as she could run, she could not catch Milla nor escape what pursued them. Elke then heard herself scream, falling as she stumbled on a tree root. Her pursuers were now revealed—a silver-gray wolf pack. Ignoring the teacher prostrate and distraught upon the ground, they bounded on after the baker’s daughter, still fleeing before them.
Elke had just gotten back to her feet when the pack—some five in total—reached Milla, knocking her to the ground. Frantic, Elke began quickly limping toward the scene before stopping mid-way, dead in her tracks.
These beasts were no mere hungry wolves; these hounds of hell were eating the woman alive—ripping her weak, bloody body apart with their great teeth, all while emitting the most unspeakable sounds. These hair-raising snarls, growls, and other utterances threatened to drive Elke to madness then and there, but she could not bring herself to run, nor even to look away.
It was when the largest of the pack turned its bloody maw around to her that Elke had awoken. With her breast heaving for air, she could still see the thing’s eyes fixed upon her though she was safe now back in her bedchamber.
Elke was not quite sure how much more of this she could take. The following day at school it became clear that she was completely consumed by the matter. Having difficulty maintaining focus upon the mundane tasks that Frau Geller would assign to her, Elke finally resolved that evening to seek out one of these huntsmen herself. She would even go into the forest alone if that was what it was going to take.
This would not be necessary, however, for late that morning a caller appeared at the school with news.
The great door to the square opened behind the students as Frau Geller regaled them with her knowledge of rudimentary arithmetic. It was not long before lunch, and everyone’s patience was wearing thin, including Fräulein Schreiber’s. With some difficulty she had just completed her simple task of marking reading passages from a book for later that afternoon, and was now finding it hard to concentrate on her worry over Milla. Geller’s grating voice and random outbursts made the classroom a wholly inconducive environment for planning.
From her position at a desk at the head of the class Elke could easily see the unexpected visitor. By contrast, the students could not, and they dared not turn around, even when it was evident to them that Herr Rückert had engaged someone in hushed conversation behind them.
A rather rustic fellow, he had come alone and been ushered promptly into Rückert’s small office. The door to the office was then closed, preventing further disturbance to the class. Frau Geller herself had barely skipped a beat. The woman’s teaching style had much in common with a boulder rolling down a mountain—always most difficult to stop near the end.
He wore Bundhosen, this man in Rückert’s office, and high leather boots. Together with his heavy jacket and feathered cap it wasn’t the sort of attire one wore around town. Elke had just begun to wonder whether his call had something to do with Milla when Rückert poked his head out of the office and gestured to her to join them.
Unobtrusively Elke stood and walked along the wall to the back of class. Geller, noticing this, but also the principal’s gesture, continued on with her lecture.
On Elke’s arrival, Rückert closed the door and introduced their visitor, Herr Fuchs, who stood with a slight bow while removing his cap.
Grimly he began, “Fräulein, I understand from Herr Bürgermeister that you are a friend of Milla Bauer.”
“Yes.” Elke, desperate for news, dared not speak further. It was clear from the man’s face that he had nothing good to say.
“She had blonde hair . . . long blonde hair . . .” he said reflectively. “I remember her from the shop . . . I am sorry, fräulein.” He broke off, the brawny fellow clearly rattled.
Elke could only stand there. She felt the blood draining from her body.
Rückert interjected saying that Herr Fuchs believed he had found Milla’s body that morning in a cabin in the forest.
Herr Fuchs, a deer hunter by trade in spite of his name, managed to recover somewhat, and continued in a somber voice. “I was older and did not know her very well, but I remember that she and others loved to play in those woods . . . This was years ago. When the Bürgermeister told me that she was missing there, in the forest, I knew I had to check that place.”
“What happened? What happened to her . . .?” Elke pressed for him to continue.
“I don’t know. But I am sure that it is her. It has to be her. As soon as I saw it, I rode straight back to town. I never believed what they said about the Margrave, but this has to be his doing!”
“What did you see?” Elke neither knew nor cared that her voice now rang clear in the classroom without.
“I saw her dead. Her body was curled up like a ball in the corner of the room.” There was real fright in his voice in the recollection of it. “It looked as if she’d been dead for days . . .”
“So you just left her there?” Elke sounded as if she was accusing him of something, but she didn’t know herself what she was saying.
“I had to leave! I’ve never seen anything like that. This is something for the police . . . or the priest . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Well, have you told them?” Elke compelled him from his recollections.
“Yes, I must take them back there this afternoon, though it is the last thing I want to do.”
“Then I am going with you.” In this Elke managed to sound resolute, but her affect belied her unsteady determination to see her friend’s dead body.
“You should let the police handle this, fräulein,” Rückert piped.
Elke ignored him, turning to the huntsman.
“When do we leave?”
It was half past one o’clock before the small party was ready to make its departure. There had been some delay, first as Elke had argued with the constable over her right of accompaniment, and then later when it was discovered that she would require a sidesaddle.
In the hope that they wou
ld make it back to the village by nightfall, it was necessary that they travel on horseback. The narrow, sometimes treacherous, path to the cabin precluded the use of a wagon or carriage.
In all there were seven of them: Elke, the constable and his deputy, two of the mayor’s men, Waldheim’s undertaker, and their guide, the huntsman. This group took eight horses. The extra, tethered to the undertaker’s saddle, plodded along, taking up the rear.
This train spoke not a word in the three hours that it took them to reach the cabin. At first Elke had found riding this horse awkward, it being only the second time she had done so in her life; however, it became easier when she finally resigned to let the thing govern itself. With little idea what she was doing, she had initially tried to steer it with the reins, but soon found the thinking creature perfectly capable of following the horse in front of it without outside interference.
The forest was dark, cool, and beautiful; a combination of fir, spruce, and deciduous beech trees provided a thick canopy that blotted out much of the afternoon sun. Their path was strewn with roots and great rocks that had been in another age nudged from the mountaintops by a great glacier. Elke was grateful for the ride on this difficult path and more than once found herself marveling at how deftly their mounts chose their footing on such an evanescent trail.
It was almost five o’clock when the party came to a stop in a small clearing. There before them was a weathered, one-room log cabin. Despite its age and humble size, there was a certain extravagance to the structure, for in addition to a fine stacked-stone chimney, it had real glass windows, albeit small ones.
At some distance the group dismounted, and it was Herr Fuchs who finally spoke.
“She’s in there. I saw her in there, through that window.”
He was gesturing to the square window that flanked the closed door.
The constable and his man approached, while the rest of the party waited. Despite their curiosity, Herr Fuchs’ reticence seemed to restrain them. It was clear from how he kept back that the huntsman wanted nothing to do with the place.
