Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

“Help!” Barbara cried. “Help, Father! I’m here!” But there was no answer.

Flames crackled all around her, moving up the hanging tapestries to the wooden ceiling, where they licked at the beams. It got hotter by the second; the only reason Barbara’s clothing hadn’t burst into flame was that she was still wearing the rain-soaked monk’s robe. At the moment, the robe was like a protective shield. Just the same, Barbara knew it was only a matter of minutes until she would die an agonizing death down here in the fire.

If I don’t suffocate first like old Hauser.

Once again she struggled to loosen the knot in the strap with her shackled hands, but it was tied too tightly. She looked around in panic until she noticed the glowing poker lying on the floor not far from her. Could she sever the strap with it?

She stretched her leg out and was just able to reach the glowing poker with her toe. There was a soft hissing sound as the fire ate its way through her shoes. She groaned, clenched her teeth, and tried to ignore the pain. She pulled the poker close enough to reach with her shackled hands. Carefully she picked it up at the far end, which was not as hot, but still the heat was enough that she almost passed out. The poker seemed to practically stick to her skin, but she persisted, pressing the poker against the leather strap she could see only faintly in the billows of smoke, and at the same time tugging at the strap, which gave off a stinging odor.

Finally, when the pain had become almost unbearable, the strap gave way and Barbara fell backward.

She had no time to lose. Gasping, and with her hands and feet still shackled, she crawled through the clouds of smoke toward the place where she assumed the door was. She knew this was her only chance. If her sense of direction failed her, she wouldn’t have a second opportunity to look for the exit on the other side of the room.

Please, please, dear Lord, don’t let me be wrong.

With her shackled hands she felt her way along the stone wall, recoiled from the burning tapestries, and finally felt the hot wood.

The door. She’d actually found it.

With agonizing slowness, on the verge of passing out, she rose to her feet, groped for the door handle, and found it. Barbara was so happy she barely noticed the burn from the poker. She pressed the handle and threw herself against the door, and with a loud crash it flew open. The dark corridor on the other side was also full of smoke, but nowhere near as dense as in the room she’d just left. Nevertheless, it was enough to rob her of her sight and breath.

Father. . Father, she wanted to cry, but her throat was so dry that only a soft wheeze came out. Nearly blind, she moved ahead a few steps into the darkness, banged into the opposite wall, and found another door slightly ajar that she pushed open. She entered.

Where. . where am I?

She turned around, looking for another way out, but there was none. The room was tiny, a storage closet full of old odds and ends. A ray of moonlight fell through a narrow open window far above her, allowing just enough air into the room that she did not suffocate.

Smoke swirled into the room from the corridor, and the crackling flames seemed to be drawing nearer.

Tears ran down her face, where they quickly dried in the soot and ashes.

Her father had not found her.

One floor above, Magdalena, Georg, and Bartholomäus were still groping through the dark rooms as the wind whistled through the cracks in the windows and the rotted roof of the old hunting lodge.

Shadows lurked in the corners, large forms that looked like petrified monsters but which on closer examination were nothing but pieces of furniture covered with dust and cobwebs. They had just walked past a moth-eaten stuffed bear that seemed to glower at Magdalena with an evil eye. Once again they heard muffled cries coming clearly from the cellar beneath them, but they couldn’t locate the stairway going down. The entire house stank of mildew, ancient mold, mouse droppings, and-

Magdalena stopped short.

“Do you smell that, too?” she asked her two companions in a low voice. “It’s smoke. There’s a fire somewhere in here.”

“Damn, you’re right,” Bartholomäus growled. He lifted up his nose and sniffed the air. “Where do you think it’s coming from?”

Magdalena squinted and looked around. How could she find anything in this damned darkness? She couldn’t see a fire anywhere, but the smoke was getting stronger and stronger. Looking down toward the floor, she suddenly thought she saw a gray, undulating cloud, and now she noticed other little clouds of smoke rising toward the ceiling, where they became more visible in the moonlight coming through the cracks in the windows.

“Good God, the whole floor is smoking,” Georg cried out in horror. “There must be a fire down in the cellar.”

In just a few moments, the smoke became so thick that Magdalena started coughing. Earlier, she had at least been able to see dark outlines, but now she could hardly see a thing.

“Let’s get out of here!” Bartholomäus shouted. “Perhaps the smoke isn’t quite so heavy yet in the back of the house.”

Her uncle raced down another corridor, and Magdalena followed close behind. She had no idea where Georg was. Smoke was everywhere now, stinging their eyes and making breathing increasingly difficult.

She heard a metallic click followed by a sudden, anguished cry, this time very nearby. Georg! Bending down, she saw him indistinctly just a few steps away. He was writhing around and seemed to be in great pain.

“What happened?” she asked anxiously.

“Something grabbed me by the leg,” Georg said through gritted teeth. “I think it was another of those damned traps. It. . hurts. . so much.”

Magdalena crawled over to her brother, passing her hand down his leg until she felt something metallic and sharp that had clamped down on his right ankle. The fresh blood stuck to her fingers. While she was examining Georg, Bartholomäus crawled over to them. He coughed, rubbed his eyes, and bent down to have a better look.

“By all the saints! That’s a wolf trap,” he gasped. “This madman actually put out wolf traps here.” With his powerful fingers he pulled apart the two jagged jaws that had clamped down on Georg’s ankle. Georg let out a short cry, then just moaned softly. “We’ve got to get Georg out of here as quick as possible and care for the wound,” Bartholomäus said, throwing the trap into a corner with disgust.

“But what about Father and Barbara-” Magdalena started to say.

“Forget both of them,” her uncle interrupted. “If we want to save Georg, we’ve got to get him out of here right away. Everything will be going up in flames here in a minute. The floors are dry and crumbling, and there’s a cellar under the entire house. When it starts to burn down there, the wind will come roaring through the halls like in a chimney.” He held Magdalena’s hand. “You must be strong now. If Barbara and your father are somewhere down below, there’s nothing more we can do for them. But we can help Georg.”

“Then you take care of Georg,” she said as another fit of coughing shook her entire frame. “I’m going to keep looking for them-”

“Girl, come to your senses. There’s nothing more you can do here-your stubborn father made a mess of it all. Now we’ve got to salvage what we still can.” Georg moaned as Bartholomäus began pulling him away. “Now hurry up and help me. With my stiff leg and all the smoke, I can’t get this heavy guy out fast enough by myself. The windows are nailed shut-we’ll have to go all the way back to the front.”

Magdalena bit her lips and clenched her fists. She’d never in her life felt so helpless. Did she really have to decide between Georg and Barbara? The twins, so different from one another, were like her own children. How often she’d given them a goodnight kiss or sung them a song. She’d watched them grow up. And now she had to decide their fate in this lonely house in the forest. Was this really the end?