The Devil Behind Me

by Christopher Fulbright

  “Uncle Henrik has invited me every year since I was about fifteen. He’s an old man now.”

  “You should go.”

  “They never found Ilona.”Alex gave Kimberly a grim stare. “Not a trace.”

  “How does your father deal with that?”

  Alex sighed. “He doesn’t. We didn’t. We just didn’t talk about her. Mother died of breast cancer when I was almost five, and then Ilona. Father just put their photos in brass frames on the mantle and that was the end of it. I remember looking at their pictures and thinking how much like Mother my sister looked and how much it hurt to look at the both of them, just smiling there in those frames.”

  “Call your uncle.”

  “If I go, will you come with me?” Alex asked.

  “To Germany?”

  “I can’t do this alone.”

  “Seems to me you’ve been doing this alone for a long time now.”

  Alex shook his head. “Not by choice. I’m just not good with women.”

  Kimberly laughed and sighed loudly. “Okay. Okay. I’ll go with you. I’ll need at least three weeks’ notice to put in for vacation at work though. I know being a nanny seems like a sit-on-my-ass-all-day kind of job to most people, but it isn’t easy for people to find quality childcare and I can’t leave the McAllians in a bind.”

  “Understood.” Alex threw another log onto the fire. “I hope you’re right about all of this.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  3

  Füssen, Bavaria, Germany - The Following Spring

  The ride from Franz Josef Strauss Airport in Munich sounded worse than it ended up being, but it wasn’t a picnic by any measure. Kimberly, her knitting needles working at a steady click click, complained the entire flight, and Alex was a bundle of nerves and anxiety which hadn’t made things any better. Nevertheless, as soon as their taxi, a comfortable Mercedes with a nice, elderly man at the wheel who spoke terrible English, left Munich and followed the winding highway into the Bavarian Alps, their attitudes changed.

  The beauty of this place was something embedded forever in Alex’s memory, but the true majesty of it didn’t occur to him until just now, seeing the rising sweeps of evergreen covered mountains, deep valleys, winding rivers, and ancient European structures rising from the slopes around them like history come to life.

  Alex waved a hand toward the window. “And you wanted to miss all this to go to Vegas with Melissa!”

  “And my mom,” Kimberly said, laughing.

  “Well, I’m sure Kathy – and Melissa for that matter -- would approve of the decision you made. Just look at this majesty! You can’t see scenery like this in America – not even the Rockies compare.”

  As they came into Füssen, the highway followed the wide, deep green river Lech. Sharp, alpine roofs raised above the tall tree tops. They crossed a bridge over the river and Kimberly squealed with delight at the site of Hohes Schloss, a towering Gothic castle, and St. Mang’s Basilica, an ancient monastery with drum towers and castle-like parapets. The skies were just beginning to darken with the onset of evening’s twilight. They were surrounded by mountains, and yet even higher peaks stretched across the horizon as far as the eyes could see, swathed in purple layers of haze that faded into the darkening skies.

  The driver took them into the 700-year-old village. Despite its age, the town was impeccably kept-up, for it was a huge tourist destination in the warmer months. The paint on all the buildings seemed new, and since it was the dawn of spring, flower boxes were planted in every window of homes and shops. They took a steep road that veered to the right. The tires of the vehicle rumbled over the cobble street. Alex couldn’t help smiling at the site of Uncle Henrik’s old manse embedded in the west-facing slope above town.

  The Mercedes pulled up in front of the limestone mansion and stopped, idling, spewing black gusts of diesel smoke into the frosty air. Alex helped the driver unload their luggage and paid the man.

  “Danke,” he said as the driver got into the car.

  “Alex!” Uncle Henrik emerged from the entryway of the house. “Guten tag! Wie geht es ihnen?”

  “Uncle! Guten tag! Es geht,” Alex said, embracing his uncle. Then he switched to English. “I’m afraid I’ve exhausted most of my German right there.” He laughed.

  “No problem, nephew. Years of working for the university necessitated my proficiency in English.” Uncle Henrik patted Alex on the back. “And who is the young Fräulein?”

  Before Kimberly could answer, Uncle Henrik asked her, “Wiegeht’s?”

  Kimberly looked to Alex questioningly.

  “I’m sorry, I did it again! How are you?” Uncle Henrik said. “How was your flight?”

  “Oh, you know, terrible. International flights are so long and the leg space is so – short. However, the drive up here to your home was magnificent. Even in the deepening twilight, the snow-crested mountains and expanse of crystal waters were simply beautiful. I have to say I’ve never seen anything like it and I’ve been everywhere from Marilla, New York to Dallas, Texas. Thank you so much for letting Alex and I visit.”

  “Ah, polite this one is, Alex, and poetic at heart. Don’t throw this one back into the sea.” Uncle Henrik laughed. “Come inside. It’s cold and there are hot drinks waiting.”

  They went inside Henrik’s large home, smiling and catching up over coffee. But not long after their luggage had been put away did the bone-weariness of their trip fully settle in. Alex and Kimberly excused themselves for the evening, to Henrik’s understanding insistence that they make themselves right at home. His housekeeper showed them upstairs to their room. They’d scarcely removed their clothing and sidled up next to each other beneath the cold blankets than they fell into a deep, jet-lagged slumber.

  4

  The next morning, Alex left Kimberly in a deep sleep, slipped on some clothes and crept downstairs, following the scent of strong Columbian coffee into the kitchen. He pushed open the door on a bright room with windows above a large basin sink. A light-hearted quip was on the end of Alex’s tongue when he noticed an elderly stranger sat with Uncle Henrik in the corner of the room, where another small window stood open, emitting a chilly breeze. Outside, in the fresh light of morning sun, he could see the rise of plush green mountains in the distance. The beauty of the place struck him and tugged at something deep inside. His roots were here, and coming back had triggered a stirring inside him, a sense that he’d come home, and that something more than his past was here waiting for him.

  Henrik pushed a cup of coffee across the table toward the old man in the black coat as Alex entered the room. Henrik waved Alex over to the table and reached for another cup.

  “Guten morgen, Alex,” Henrik said, setting the steaming cup onto the table.

  “Good morning, Uncle.”

  “I trust you and Kimberly slept well?”

  “We did. Thank you for asking.” Alex cast a glance in the direction of the older man who sat blowing on his coffee.

  “This is Gerd Fischer. He is retired polizeimeister,” Henrik nodded toward Gerd.

  “Guten morgen, polizeimeister,” Alex said.

  Gerd held up a hand. “Bitte, bitte, it is only Gerd.”

  “Ah, then, in that case, guten morgen, Gerd,” Alex smiled and replied.

  Uncle Henrik offered Alex some cream. “Gerd is an old friend, Alex. He knew your father too.” Henrik paused. “He also was the lead officer investigating the murders and the disappearance of your sister.”

  “Oh,” Alex said faintly, the word caught in his throat.

  “Gerd and I have been talking,” Henrik looked at Gerd, “about those events, and about why you’re back in Füssen.”

  “I see,” Alex said, looking at Henrik expectantly.

  “Gerd is willing to tell you anything he knows about the case.”

  “Which isn’t very much, I am afraid,” Gerd said in jolting English. “There just was not ever very muc
h. And, then, I am an old man and sometimes memory does not serve me well.”

  “Whatever you can remember is more than I probably know. Papa had a way of keeping information to himself, but I always got the impression that he didn’t have very much information to share.”

  “That would be correct. There was the crime scene, of course. Photographs of the scene, of the body of the girl, and of the unfortunate boys – your friends – but as far as your sister, all we found was her red dress.”

  “Ja. I remember it was on the ground, next to the altar.”

  “I have the dress now,” Henrik said.

  Alex looked at his uncle in surprise.

  “Years ago, the Polizei sent it to me in a plastic evidence bag. The case was considered closed and because there was never any evidence of Ilona being murdered. Some told me the Polizei considered her more of a runaway.”

  “That’s crazy!” Alex said, setting his coffee cup onto the table.

  Gerd shrugged. “Your uncle didn’t say that was a good thing, young Alex. Just the way it was.”

  “What about doing new tests on the dress? Using modern procedures?” Alex asked.

  “I’m sure they could do that if you wanted, at your expense,” Gerd said. “But, no fluids, blood, any of that remains. The old station burned to the ground years after you moved to the States. Not a lot was salvageable. Just this or that survived. That was before computers and everything was typed, not backed-up somewhere else like today.”

  “Ja. The dress smelled badly of smoke. It was mailed in a new evidence bag, not the original sealed bag – so not probably worth testing. It’s still in the study upstairs if you want it. I think it was just more of a formality, returning it to the family because it was Ilona’s possession,” Henrik said.

  “What of the sketches? I remember one officer saying they would be sent somewhere else to check against a national database of criminal sketches. If they were sent elsewhere the fire wouldn’t have affected them. What became of all that?”

  Gerd shook his head. “I do not remember. There was always arguing about the drawings. The artists, they couldn’t agree on anything. No one wanted to believe what you told them – even though you were very consistent with your story – something pretty remarkable for a child your age.”

  Alex frowned. “I remember.”

  “Your father, he would grow very angry with the men. He accused them of not believing you.”

  “They didn’t. None of them did. I remember they would laugh at me when they thought I wasn’t listening or looking,” Alex said.

  “Your story seemed too fantastic to believe.”

  “Why would I make up something so crazy? I wasn’t a stupid kid. I was a good, smart student. Why would I make up something that no one would believe?”

  “No one doubted your honesty, Alex. It was more, well, that we thought after seeing the terrible things you witnessed, that something inside your brain went--” Gerd snapped his fingers.

  “But, I didn’t exhibit any other signs of cracking up, did I?” Alex looked to his uncle.

  Uncle Henrik shook his head. “No, none. You were more together than your father in the weeks following Ilona’s disappearance. Sure, you had some sleepless nights, a few nightmares, everything one would expect following such a traumatic event, but you weren’t unbalanced in any way.”

  “And yet, no one believed me.”

  “We believed portions of your story.” Gerd reached for the pot of coffee.

  “Everything except who committed the atrocities?” Alex asked.

  “Ja. That Krampus raped and killed the girl, had intercourse with your sister, and slaughtered the boys -- no one believed.”

  “And what do you believe now?” Alex asked Gerd.

  “I don’t know any more now than I did then.”

  “None of us do, Alex,” Henrik added. “Ilona just disappeared into thin air. No body. No grave. No Ilona. And all of these years later, still nothing. Occasionally I hear about a woman’s remains being found somewhere in the country and always I wonder ‘could this be Ilona?’, but it never is. The knock never comes on the door. The ring never comes from the telephone. She vanished from the forest that Dezember night – naked – never to be seen again.”

  “Would they be able to know if it was or wasn’t Ilona now?” Alex said.

  “Oh, certainly. Years ago, I allowed the Polizei to take DNA from me with a mouth swab, to put on file, just in case Ilona’s remains were found. The officer was from an office Munich. He said the results would be stored in a computer – so, when the fire happened, at least my sample was safe. I was told my DNA isn’t as good as having a sample from your mother or you, but it was something.”

  “While you are here, you can have someone swab you and put the results in the file with your uncle’s, if you’d like,” Gerd offered.

  “I’ll do that. She has to be somewhere. Dead or alive.” Alex was quiet for a moment. “Unless he dragged her straight to Hell, flesh and all.”

  “Krampus?” Henrik asked.

  “All I know was something sinister was happening that night in the woods. With the other woman and with Ilona – it was the same demon, but different. Yes, he fucked the both of them, but there seemed to be a different purpose with each woman.”

  “Well, obviously, since we found the decapitated body of the one,” Gerd said.

  “Right. She was a blood sacrifice. He fucked her and then spilled her blood, but Ilona. Ilona he didn’t hurt or kill.”

  “There was the rape--” Henrik interjected.

  “I’m not convinced it was a rape, uncle. She lay there willingly. She never ran or tried to get away – and she could have. She wasn’t bound or chained or held down.”

  “You’re saying she gave herself up to this madman?” Gerd asked.

  “Yes. It was a rite of some kind. Organized. Whatever Ilona was involved in, she was involved in it willingly. I don’t know. Maybe it was some sort of marriage rite? Maybe Ilona became the creature’s mate, wife, consort; however you say she married a demon.”

  Uncle Henrik looked surprised. “That’s absurd.”

  “Is it? Gerd--” Alex’s voice grew excited. “You were a cop in the 60s, 70s, 80s – you had to have seen some crazy shit. Did you ever see any sort of satanic rituals, ritual killings, ritual mutilations? In all your years on the force?”

  Gerd spread his hands. “This is Füssen: maybe a dog goes missing, maybe someone finds something strange and the old ones say it is ‘the old ways’, but nothing like what happened with you and your friends and sister in the forest that night.”

  “What about anywhere else in Germany? Did the department investigate to see if there were similar incidents outside the local area?”

  “But of course. You also need to remember, we were two Germanys then – East and West. Things were – different.”

  “What about Anika Schmidt?” Alex asked.

  “What about her? She was the unfortunate girl who got her head ripped off.”

  “I remember she was a local girl. Older than Ilona.”

  Gerd nodded. “Ja. By about five years. Loner. Had gone to university for a short duration, not at the same time Ilona attended however, and then returned home. Some say she had a baby or maybe an abortion. Some sort of disgrace, but whatever it was it happened while she was away, not at home.”

  “There was no connection between that and what happened in the woods?” Alex asked.

  “No. She only had an older brother who moved here from other parts. Parents deceased. I don’t recall any other relatives. There were crime scene photos, of course, -- rather gruesome. She was sodomized and raped. Her genital area was shredded to pulp. And, you witnessed how she was killed.”

  Alex sighed. “Yes. It’s burned into my memory.”

  “A connection between your sister and the dead girl was never made. From what we could conclude, Anika Schmidt and Ilona Brandt never met before that night.”

  “I’m af
raid it will always remain a mystery, Alex. The people that knew the answers died or disappeared.” Henrik leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

  “Maybe not. What about all the robed people we saw – there had to be about twenty people there that night. They must have gone somewhere.”

  “No evidence,” Gerd said.

  “You yourself said you saw none of their faces, that the robes obscured everything,” Henrik reminded him.

  “But where did they all go?”

  “They had all night to vanish. If you remember, you didn’t tell your father until morning. Your father called us late morning, almost near noon. There was plenty of time for the participants to fade back into their lives with their dirty little secrets.” Gerd scowled.

  “That’s true. They were robed as if protecting their identities, like the Klan days in America,” Alex said.

  “Possibly,” Gerd replied. “Short of someone confessing something, those identities will probably never be known. Perhaps one of those people knows what happened to your sister, maybe all of them know, but we don’t know. And we’ll never know unless we find remains or diaries or have the confession of someone involved.”

  “Can you take me there? To the place in the woods?” Alex asked.

  Gerd looked at Henrik and shrugged. “I can. You won’t find much left, I’m afraid. The stone altar was taken in as evidence, as were all of the skeletal remains of the animals and humans found at the scene. Even the soil was carved away and some of the bark was taken from the grove of trees surrounding the site. The remnants of the fire were also taken. There’s nothing there and I’m quite certain nature has reclaimed the scarred earth for her own. Ivy grows thick in those parts. It may even be hard to determine where exactly the spot was.”

  “I’ll remember. Is the old house still there, Uncle?”

  Henrik nodded. “Ja. Another family rents it I’m sure.”

  “I don’t need to go inside or anything. I just want to use it as a starting point. Retrace our steps that night.”