Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

What shall I do? Oh, God, help me. What shall I do?

Bartholomäus had pulled the groaning Georg to his feet, but it was clear her brother couldn’t walk by himself.

“Hurry up!” Bartholomäus yelled, tugging at her dress. “This whole place is about to collapse.”

“I. . I can’t,” she mumbled as the wooden floor beneath her grew hotter and hotter. The first tongues of fire were already licking through the cracks.

“You must.” Bartholomäus gave her a shove. “Do you want to burn to death? Is that what you want? Do you want Georg to die along with you just because you can’t decide?”

“Georg won’t die,” she replied in a flat voice. “I’ll help you take him out, but then I’m coming back to look for Father and Barbara. I’ll never-”

At that moment a form emerged out of the smoke from one of the doorways. The man coughed, but he stood up straight. He waved the smoke aside with his hands and staggered toward them. For a moment, Magdalena thought it was a ghost.

But then the ghost started to speak, and she knew who it was.

“Out! Get out, all three of you,” Jeremias said. “I know where Barbara is, and I’ll get her out, just as surely as I’m the former executioner of Bamberg.” He shuffled quickly past them. “And now, please get out-this is my job.”

Somewhere far below, several timbers could be heard collapsing.

THE BAMBERG FOREST, NIGHT, NOVEMBER 2, 1668 AD

Outside, in front of the house, Simon nervously clutched the pistol in his hand. The wind had gotten stronger; the tops of the trees creaked and groaned, and the howling of the wind made it almost impossible to hear what was happening inside the house.

It had been quite a while since Magdalena, Georg, and Bartholomäus had entered. Simon had thought it best to stay behind the thornbush and wait to see what happened. From there he could keep an eye on everything, and if necessary he could. .

He hesitated.

Indeed, what could he do?

It was his job to stop the abductor if he should leave the building, but no one had told Simon how to do that. Suspiciously, he eyed the loaded weapon in his hand. He probably wouldn’t have any luck with the old firearm unless Salter was standing directly in front of him, and even then it was questionable whether it would fire at all.

Simon sighed and wiped a few raindrops from his face. Until just a while ago, at least he had Jeremias at his side, but during the long wait, the old man had grown increasingly silent. He had just stared at the dilapidated hunting house, shaking his head occasionally and mumbling softly to himself. It looked like he was thinking it all over. Once or twice, during brief lulls in the wind, Simon thought he heard muffled cries coming from the house. What was going on in there, anyway? Should he go and have a look? He never should have let Magdalena enter the house. But once his wife had put her mind to something, it was very hard to get her to change.

Impossible, actually.

Just as he’d decided to sneak closer to the house, smoke had suddenly started pouring out some of the windows, and then flames appeared on the ground beneath them.

At that moment, Jeremias stood up and ran toward the house, where he disappeared through one of the windows.

Leaving Simon alone.

The iron pistol in his hand felt cold, and in a strange way reassuring, but nevertheless his fear increased, as well as a gnawing uncertainty that tormented and paralyzed him. Almost his entire family was over there in that strange building, which was burning down before his eyes. He couldn’t just stand idly by. He had to help. But how? Should he perhaps rush into the burning house, hoping to find Magdalena and the others? But what if-

Suddenly, very close to him, there was a menacing growl, deep, almost like an approaching whirlwind.

The werewolf, Simon thought.

But then he scolded himself for being such a fool. Good Lord, there was no such thing as a werewolf, there was only a madman taking his cruel revenge-and he was over there in the house and not here in the thornbush.

What was it, then?

Again he heard growling, and a rustling sound as if something large was creeping through the thicket.

Right toward him.

That was more than he could take. With the pistol in his hand he ran toward the building, where smoke was now pouring out on all sides. He turned around a few times but couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

But he did see something right in front of him.

Two figures, a man and a woman, came crawling out of a cellar door. At first he thought they were Jakob and Barbara, but as they came closer, that hope vanished. The man was far thinner and shorter than the hangman, and the woman at his side was considerably older than his sister-in-law. He didn’t know either of them, but he guessed that the man was Markus Salter. He was holding a knife to the throat of the woman and pushing her in front of him.

With a determined look, he pointed his weapon at the abductor. Finally he knew what he had to do. He was trembling slightly and hoped Salter wouldn’t notice it.

“Stay right where you are, you rotten scoundrel!” he shouted, “And drop your dagger if you value your life.”

Only now did Salter appear to notice him in the darkness. With a calm, relaxed demeanor, he turned to Simon. Simon was astonished. The man in front of him looked sensitive and intelligent, not someone Simon would expect to commit such dastardly crimes.

“When my life ends is something I’ll determine myself,” Markus said, so softly that Simon could barely understand him over the sounds of the wind and the raging fire. “And the final curtain has not fallen.”

Not until now did Simon have a chance to look more closely at the woman, whose hands were clearly shackled. She looked haggard and drawn, and her dress was soiled and ripped. She was no doubt one of the people Salter had abducted. Were there others trapped down below in the burning cellar? If so, they had little chance of making it out alive.

“Where is Barbara?” Simon demanded with a trembling voice. “The hangman’s girl? What did you do with her, you devil?”

“So that’s what you want to know?” Salter smiled. “Are you one of her relatives? It must really be a large family-almost as large as mine was once.” The smile vanished. “I’ll make you an offer: I’ll tell you where Barbara is, and you’ll let the two of us go.”

“By God, if she’s still down there, I’ll shoot your head off,” Simon replied grimly, pointing at the barrel of the gun.

Salter gave him an innocent look. “Who says she’s there? Perhaps I’ve taken her somewhere else altogether.”

“She’s-” the woman started to gasp, but Salter put his arm around her neck and held the knife to her throat.

“Don’t say a word or you’re dead,” he hissed, then turned back to Simon. “Well, what do you say? Throw the pistol away, and I’ll talk.”

“And suppose you don’t? What do I do then?” Simon asked.

Markus Salter smiled. “That’s just the risk you’ll have to take.”

Simon took a deep breath. What should he do? Accept the madman’s offer? He was about to go into a long-winded reply, just to buy time, when from of the corner of his eye he saw someone climbing out of the shaft. And this time he was quite sure who it was.

It was Jakob Kuisl.

Salter couldn’t see him, as his back was to the building, and Jakob was still a good thirty yards behind him. The hangman raised his hand in a warning to Simon.

I’ve got to stall him, Simon thought. Just a bit, until Jakob is close enough.

“What a splendid hideaway you have here,” he said, keeping a firm grip on the pistol. “It’s too bad it’s all going up in flames.”