The Devil Behind Me

by Christopher Fulbright

  “Let me get my jacket,” Henrik said, standing. “You should get yours as well.”

  “I’ll tell Kimberly where we’re going. She’s so wiped out from the flight, I’m sure she won’t mind sleeping a bit longer,” Alex said.

  Gerd stood. “I’ll borrow your lavatory while I wait.”

  5

  Together, Alex, Gerd and Henrik crossed the yard of the old property, outside the house where Alex and his family lived at the time of the tragedy. They stood at the edge of the forest, surveying the terrain. Things were much the same. Another house was now built in what had been the Brandt’s ample yard, but aside from that, and more overgrowth from the forest, things were pretty much as Alex remembered. Alex stopped to take it all in and the older men were grateful for the pause.

  The back of the house looked the same except there were more toys scattered around and the old tire swing was gone. The area was older now and the class of renters matched the general state of tiredness of the house and surrounding residences. A woman stood on the street-side near the front fence of the old house, staring at them.

  “Who’s that?” Alex said, subtly gesturing toward the woman.

  Gerd not so subtly cupped his hands to his brow to shield the sun.

  “She was in the doorway of the bread shop when we passed it, and followed us down the street with a shopping basket,” Alex said. “Now she’s just standing there watching us.”

  “Looks like Perchta,” Gerd said.

  “Who’s she?”

  Henrik grunted. “Village idiot of sorts. Probably just curious about you. You obviously aren’t some stray tourist since you’re walking around with me and Gerd.”

  “Word travels fast. She probably heard Henrik expected his nephew and she wants to get a look.”

  “I’m not that exciting,” Alex said with a laugh.

  “Well, like your uncle said, she’s a bit touched. Not right in the head,” Gerd thumped the side of his skull.

  The woman ran away in a lurching fashion, disappearing behind some trees.

  “Guess she figured out we saw her,” Gerd said. “Anyway, she’s harmless. Don’t worry about her.”

  “Well, now I’m curious. What’s her story?”

  Gerd shrugged. “Months after the events of that night in the forest, some kids dared each other to go to the murder site.”

  “Oh god.” Alex scowled.

  “You know kids. The site was gone of course. Like I told you, everything had been seized as evidence; but, on the path where you and your friends stopped to enter the woods, the kids found a baby: Perchta. She was malformed. Ugly as hell. Her skull was misshapen. Hideous creature really -- I understood why a mother would leave her for dead in the forest.”

  “Wow,” Alex’s voice registered shock at the callousness of the old man.

  “So, we brought her back to town and the local priest took her in and raised her within the confines of the church walls.”

  “I remember that,” Henrik added. “Lots of grumbling in town. I had a woman who did my cooking back then who insisted the girl should have been left to die. Scared the old people. They said Füssen had had enough evil after the murders, that this baby was just another sign these woods were cursed, that the devil had marked our town.”

  “That’s ludicrous,” Alex said.

  “No more than the Krampus story, really,” Gerd said.

  Alex scowled and turned toward the forest, leaving the two older men behind as he made his way to the overgrown path snaking uphill into the forest. Out of courtesy, he remembered his manners and stopped, waiting for them to catch up.

  “My apologies if I’ve upset you,” Gerd offered.

  Alex waved him off. “No, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I know my story sounds utterly ridiculous. Even Kimberly mocks me sometimes. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t erase what happened and what I know I saw that night.” He continued walking up the path. It was barely discernible due to the creeping tendrils of ivy covering the ground. “Doesn’t anyone use this path anymore?”

  Panting, Henrik said, “No. The park that used to be up here isn’t used anymore. So, the path has been allowed to grow over.”

  “The park’s gone?”

  “Funding,” Gerd said.

  The alpine air was crisp and the trees towered above as they journeyed deeper into the woods. As they traversed the slope to the place where it had happened, Alex’s mind began to register the differences between then and now. When they reached the spot in the path where Alex and his friends turned into the forest that night, Alex stopped. “Well, that’s where we went into the woods.”

  “Do you still want to go?” Henrik asked, his voice betraying his hope that his nephew would be satisfied with the brisk hike they just finished.

  “You and Gerd can stay--” Alex stopped. “Hey, there’s that woman again, Per—per--”

  The two old men turned around and peered over the path in the direction they had just come. Perchta was standing on the forest path.

  Gerd waved his hand in the air. “Was ist los? Was darf’s sein?”

  “What’s the matter? She’s not all there,” Henrik said. “Just tell her to go home.”

  Once again, Perchta ran away before there was a need to say anything further.

  “Persistent, isn’t she?” Alex asked.

  “Just curious, I’m sure,” Gerd answered, but kept looking toward the spot Perchta formerly occupied. “Seems like I’ve scared her off now. Maybe she’ll go on home.”

  “Or maybe she’ll wait for us at Uncle’s.” Alex laughed.

  “Perhaps so,” Henrik said.

  “Why don’t the both of you stay here? I’ll only be a minute if there’s truly nothing left. I just want to see it for myself.”

  Henrik and Gerd nodded agreement. Gerd took out his pipe and the two watched as Alex tramped through the woods toward the old crime scene.

  Alex found exactly what Gerd described. Nothing was left in that old site save taller trees that looked only vaguely familiar. New bushes and vegetation covered the rocky mound that once had been crowned by bones and stone altar. The forest had reclaimed the area as if trying to obliterate the evil imprint and purify the land. Content that nothing but haunting memories were there, Alex returned to his uncle and Gerd waiting on the path.

  6

  Kimberly had been antsy to see some sights. When they returned, Alex was in a somber mood, so Uncle Henrik offered Kimberly a trip to the market with Gertrude.

  “Come with us, Alex?” Her eyes searched his face, hopefully, almost blissfully unaware of the possible impact visiting the scene of his past horrors might have had on him. “This place is so beautiful. I can’t stand to sit indoors any longer.”

  He took her hand. “I can appreciate that, sweetheart,” he said. “But I’m feeling ... not quite up to it right now. You go ahead. Have a good time. I promise we’ll see some sights before we leave.”

  She looked at him soberly.

  He mustered a smiled and kissed her forehead. “I promise.”

  They left. Kimberly did not turn to wave as she and Gertrude headed down the street.

  He hadn’t wanted to tell Kimberly he was going to his mother’s grave. He wasn’t sure why it mattered – he was sure it didn’t. He guessed he just didn’t want to seem overly grim. She was excited to visit Füssen, after all. A trip to Germany – especially to this historic city – was a trip of a lifetime. Füssen was perched on the edge of the Bavarian Alps, surrounded on all sides by mountain peaks which cradled deep green lakes. The 700-year old town and ancient castles composed a site to behold. He’d taken it for granted as a child. It was simply the place where he grew up. Now, especially after all his years in Dallas, he could appreciate the area’s true beauty. He did intended to spend some time enjoying it and trying to have fun with Kimberly. But first, he’d come here for a reason. She knew it, but she didn’t understand. This was necessary. The visit to his mother grave was part of closing this ter
rible and long chapter in his life and moving on.

  Alex crouched beside his mother’s headstone and ran his palm over the cold, polished granite. Deep etched letters read: Elsa Brandt. He tried to bring happy memories to the surface, but so many years had dulled the images and all that remained were the faces recalled from old grainy photographs. Next to his mother’s grave marker was a stone for Ilona. Uncle Henrik had arranged for it to be placed beside Elsa’s stone as a sort of closure for the family even though Ilona didn’t lie beneath the earth there or anywhere else for all they knew. It was a kind gesture, but Alex had no draw to it. It seemed like an empty statement, an empty promise. There is no closure to the unknown. Too many speculations.

  He removed the artificial edelweiss from the bronze vase mounted to the front of the stone, and inserted the roses he brought for her. “Sorry it’s been so long, mama,” he whispered, and stood.

  His mother’s grave was located three grave markers to the right of a stone path which ran through the center of the cemetery. To the left of the path, about three more rows ahead of where he stood, were a wrought iron bench and a massive fir tree. Cheap plastic woodland creatures were posed around the bench to simulate some kind of serene forest scene, and that was all good and fine. Leaning from behind the full branches of the fir, however, and doing a very poor job of being inconspicuous, was the village idiot, as Uncle Henrik had referred to her: Perchta.

  She stood, her lower half hidden by the tree branches, one hand grasping the tree to bend down the bough, watching him.

  “—the hell?” he said aloud. “Hey! Was wünschen Sie?” Alex called to her. “What do you want?”

  The tree boughs snapped up with a violent rustle and the girl ran away, up the stone path.

  “Well, that was effective,” he grumbled. What in the hell did that woman want? Why keep following him? She made him uneasy and the way she ran when noticed was like a child caught doing something wrong.

  Alex shoved his hands into his pockets and left the cemetery. A cold wind blew his scarf in fluttering loops, and dry leaves spiraled around his ankles. The walk back to Henrik’s home was picturesque. A few shopkeepers leaned from their shops to nod or wave at one of their long gone, now returned sons. Everyone knew he was Henrik’s nephew. Everyone knew the story, the scandal. Oddly, he found a sense of comfort that everyone knew, and there was no need to explain anything to anyone. His story was a part of the town’s legend, lore and haunted past; and he was the sole survivor of the tragedy.

  He pushed open the heavy wood door of Henrik’s house. Gertrude, the housekeeper, took his coat and scarf, and shuffled him into the parlor for a cup of hot coffee. Henrik was seated before the fire reading the newspaper.

  “Did you go see your mother?”

  “Her grave, yes,” Alex was uncomfortable with Henrik’s constant references to his mother’s grave being where his “mother” was. “She” was not there at all. The only place “she” continued to exist was a soft, singing voice that sounded far away and garbled somewhere in the depths of his mind.

  “Did you see Ilona’s stone?”

  “I did. Thank you for erecting that in her memory, Uncle Henrik. I know father would appreciate it. It was nice to see it in person as opposed to in the photos.” Alex took his coffee and walked across the big room to the leather wingback chair across from his uncle. The fire was deliciously warm and he was grateful for it.

  “Did you take her flowers?”

  Alex was lost in thought. “Er, uhm, oh, you mean Mother? Yes, I bought some roses in town.”

  “She liked roses.”

  “I remember. I remember Father saying pink were her favorite.”

  “Your father should have come to see me.”

  “He didn’t want to talk about it.”

  Henrik laughed. “Of course not. That’s what your father is known for.”

  Alex couldn’t get Perchta from his mind. “I saw her again -- that woman, Perchta.”

  “She’s always hanging about town.”

  “No, she was in the cemetery, behind a tree, watching me.”

  “Well, that’s peculiar,” Henrik said, clinking his cup on his saucer with a shaking hand.

  “Damned annoying is what she is,” Alex said, and blew on his coffee. “What do you think she wants?”

  “Hard to say with that one.”

  “Strange woman--”

  “Woman? What about a woman?” Kimberly walked into the room wrapped in a bulky wool sweater that must be Henrik’s as it had a very masculine look to it.

  “Oh, hello honey,” Alex said, and Henrik stood, ever the gentleman. “You weren’t long at the market.”

  Kimberly kissed them both on the cheek and sat on the large ottoman before Alex’s chair.

  “We just had a few things to pick up for dinner. It was nice to get out, but a little cold for my blood.” She sat in a big chair across from the men. “Now, about this woman--”

  “This woman’s name is Perchta. Local mental case. She’s been following me around since I first started going into town. Out in the forest, on the path, now at the cemetery while I was visiting my mom and sister’s graves.”

  Kimberly frowned. “What does she look like?”

  Henrik laughed loudly and leaned forward to pat Kimberly’s arm. “If it’s jealousy that spurs your questions, you have nothing to be afraid of.” He chuckled. “She’s a hideous beast. Found abandoned in the woods as an infant. The townspeople wanted to leave her for dead but she was raised by the local priests.”

  “Oh,” Kimberly said.

  “Anyway, she seems rather curious about me,” Alex added.

  “You’re American. You’re a man – she likes men – and you, whether you wish it so or not, are part of the local lore around here. You know that.”

  “I just find her unsettling.”

  Kimberly scowled. “How so?”

  “I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Well, you have to be more helpful than that, sweetheart,” Kimberly laughed and looked to Henrik for back-up.

  “She’s an odd one, that’s for sure. I imagine after a couple of days, she’ll decide you’re boring and will quit following you. She lives up on the mountain above here in a little hovel. Comes down into town to sell her wooden handcrafts to the tourists. Her preoccupation with you must be cutting into her sales opportunities.” Henrik waved a hand nonchalantly.

  A loud knock sounded and the clunk of Gertrude’s heavy shoes echoed through the foyer. Henrik looked toward the door. “That will be the Postmann.”

  The big door creaked shut and Gertrude clopped her way into the parlor, mail in hand. “Some letters for you, Herr Brandt.”

  She handed Henrik a slim stack and turned, presenting one envelope to Alex.

  “What’s this?” Alex turned the business-size envelope over. Only his name was scrawled in black ink across the envelope front. No address. No return address.

  “For you,” Gertrude said, looking at him as if he was stupid, and then left the room.

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, boy, open it.”

  Alex tore the envelope open. Inside, the same handwriting was depressed firmly into plain white paper. It read: Gehen Sie nach Hause. Gehen Sie nach Hause sonst Sie gehen nicht hier lebendig.

  “What the hell does it say?” Alex passed the single sheet of paper to his uncle.

  Henrik perched his reading glasses on his nose and tilted the letter in the direction of the fire’s glow. He cleared his throat. “This is strange.”

  “What does it say?” Kimberly asked.

  “It says: Go home. Go home, or you will not leave here alive,” Henrik handed the paper back to Alex. “Someone’s idea of a sick joke, I imagine.”

  “Joke?” Kimberly asked incredulously.

  “Why? Why would someone want to send me this?” Alex’s voice quavered.

  “Probably a stupid shit kid. Someone that knows about the murders. Thinks it’s amusing. Sick bastard.”
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  Alex shook his head. “I bet this is from that woman!”

  Henrik laughed. “Perchta? She’s a god damned idiot, not a killer. As far as I know she’s never harmed a fly.”

  “There’s a first time for everything. I’m taking this to the police station.” Alex leapt from the chair and found his coat and scarf that Gertrude had hung on the coat tree. He stuffed one arm into one sleeve. “I’m going to tell them about this woman following me and now she sends me threatening letters.”

  “Alex, you don’t know that. The two might be completely unrelated,” Kimberly reasoned.

  “I think the Polizei are going to want more evidence than just one letter and a loitering woman,” Henrik added.

  “We’ll see,” Alex said. “Are either of you coming with me?”

  Henrik and Kimberly looked at each other as if Alex had suddenly become deranged.

  “Too cold out today. I think you should wait before going to the police,” Kimberly said.

  Henrik nodded in agreement. But offered: “Have them call me if they need me to verify the incident from the forest on the path.”

  “I will. I’ll be back shortly.” He left the house and walked through town to the police station.

  The streets of Füssen that led down the slope from his uncle’s mansion were narrow as they led deeper into the heart of the town. Tall buildings of old Bavarian architecture rose straight up on either side of him, making a canyon of the quaint village blocks. A few folks were out sweeping their steps. Two bicyclists rode by on the walkway. Café’s and shops lined the cobbled street as he headed toward the heavier populated downtown area. He spotted the Polizei sign and quickly mounted the stairs.

  Opening the metal and glass door, he was bombarded with smoke. A fat officer sat behind the front desk, cigarette dangling from his lip, phone propped between his shoulder and ear. He waved Alex to a nearby wood chair that looked like a relic from the last world war.

  Alex looked around the desk area. A wood plaque informed him that the fat, smoking man’s name was Herr Kommissar Unger. The officer slammed down the ancient black phone with a fury, not so much because he was actually angry, but moreso because he seemed like a brute of a man. Alex jumped at the noise.