Judgement Day

“Who in his right mind would dare say such a thing?”, exclaimed Klös, leaning forward, under his breath.

“Well, people do act strange sometimes...strange to the point of funny. Perhaps if things hadn't been so dreadful this time?”, Schädelgräber seemed to concur, hesitantly.

The object of their derision stood up at that moment. Her name was Marta Grau. A portly matron who looked older than her forty-five years, she wore a black dress that was typical of housekeepers and ladies' maids in her day. She had gray eyes with fat, sleepy eyelids that blinked slowly as she listened to the council's words.

The council consisted of four people – four elderly, bespectacled gentlemen in drab, respectable garb, with sparse tufts of snow-white hair standing on their skulls. In fact, they appeared eerily alike from where she stood in the dimly-lit room, sitting evenly-spaced in one row across a long polished oak table, raised barely a foot above the rest of the floor.

The only light in the room came from a circular skylight on the twelve-foot ceiling directly above Ms. Grau's stand. A solitary fan with long, claw-like blades, black against the light, loomed a few inches off-center from a hook and flapped in the cold, still air like an ominous, winged creature, it's shadows flitting isochronously across Marta's composed face.

“Yes, Herren. I saw both the Kürbiskopf children. Hans was carrying Herr Schilling's head in both his hands. Little Aliz carried the sickle with blood all over it.”

The air suddenly felt colder as the entire room drew a sharp breath all at once.

Professor Lehrer's nose itched. His clammy hands swiftly withdrew from the flaccid pockets of his gray coat, which looked worn beyond it's years. The pouches looked like rabbit ears, despite their leather lining. In a deft bit of orchestration, the fingers of his left hand reached for his nose and delicately tugged at the offending follicle hanging off the inner wall of the right nostril, while the right hand cleverly shielded the grisly act, all within the span of a single, feigned cough.

Inconspicuous as it was, the cough broke the silence.

Herr Schaufel cleared his throat.

“Fraulein Grau, I truly hope you realize the gravity of your statement. Let's not forget even for a moment that these are little children we are talking about here...”.

“Barely out of kindergarten, I might add!”, Herr Pflugrind finished.

“ I have nothing more to say... or less, Herren.”, Marta said calmly.

A faint groan escaped Herr Schaufel's mouth.
The church bell rang outside.

Marta sat still in a gray wooden chair with padded leather armrests which she did not use. She stared at her lap now, her hands on her knees.

“Marta, we have known each other all our lives. All those dreadful masks and costumes of yours on Fastnacht and Walpurgisnacht, how can one forget?”, Frau Grün said, as a faint smile broke on her creased, ashen face.

Her eyes softened as she remembered,“ You nursed my first-born for two years. And even little Gretchen for a few months. I mean, you are family to us– it breaks my heart to see you caught up in these horrible goings-on”.

Marta looked up and blinked exactly twice.

“I have always rebuked people who said odd things about you. Especially when little Erich passed on, peace be to his innocent soul. But I always defended you like my own sister. It was all God's will and Marta is a good kind soul, I told them.”. Her eyes were moist.

“Helga, I am grateful to you for trusting me.”, it was Marta's turn to comfort.

“I wish I could trust your word this time. But the very thought of... their own mother and father...”, she suddenly covered her eyes with her tiny, frail hands.

Marta lowered her gaze again and pursed her lips.

At that moment, Herr Pflugrind stepped into the room. His eyes surveyed the two women's faces and, in an instant, surmised the content of their dialogue.

“Ah! I see that Fraulein Gray has been an object of much sympathy.” he announced even before he took the chair right next to Frau Grün's.

“But I'm afraid no amount of sympathy will be enough to absolve anyone this time around. Marta, if I may address you so informally, we all know that you are no stranger to being a subject of rumor and gossip. Perhaps all this sympathy is well-deserved, but the townsfolk simply demand facts and justice.”

As he spoke, he occasionally cast furtive sideways glances at the narrow chink separating the heavy red curtains covering the only window in the room, as if he saw someone or something looking in.

“The crime, if one may call it that – perhaps that is too mild a word to describe what has taken place, cannot be explained away as an accident or an act of vengeance. In fact, there is nothing at all remotely human about this act.”, Herr Pflugrind went on haltingly.


Marta caught Herr Pflugrind's attention wavering. She looked towards the window and noticed that the narrow visible section of the glass pane was misted over milky-white, except for an oval, palm-sized formation of thick dew-drops, arranged in neat rows, nearly a foot above the sill.

(to be continued... or not?)