Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

Bartholomäus shrugged. “Just think it over. Other hangmen’s daughters would love to have an offer like this.”

“It’s enough for you to try to change Georg,” Jakob grumbled. “For heaven’s sake, stay away from Barbara. We’re here to celebrate a wedding, and then everyone will go their own ways. That’s what we agreed to.” Jakob turned around, but his brother’s sharp voice held him back.

“That’s what you do best, isn’t it, Jakob? Go your own way, and not concern yourself with others.”

“How dare you. .,” Jakob flared up, but at that moment Aloysius approached with another bucket of fresh guts. The knacker, whose face was scarred by pockmarks, greeted them with a brief nod.

“I’m going out back, master,” he mumbled into his stubby beard. It was clear he was missing some teeth.

“Do that,” Bartholomäus replied, “and remember the bishop needs the mastiffs tomorrow for his bear hunt, so wash and comb their fur, so they don’t embarrass us.”

Aloysius grinned. “Very well, master. They’ll shine like bridled white horses.” Humming a tune, he disappeared behind the shed.

“Do you have more dogs?” Jakob asked.

Bartholomäus looked at him, puzzled. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, Aloysius won’t be eating the entrails in the pail himself, will he?”

His brother laughed loudly, and Jakob thought he briefly detected a nervous twitch around his mouth.

“Hah! My apprentice will eat any damn thing and is a bit strange, but he doesn’t go that far,” Bartholomäus said in a raspy voice. “No, those are the stinking remains of the carcass. We’ve dug a hole behind the house, six feet deep, where we bury the garbage, on orders from the bishop. We can’t leave anything lying around here. The noble gentlemen have a fear of poison vapors.”

He pointed at the large blockhouse and the buildings standing around it, all apparently new. “The animals in the forest, especially his hunting dogs, are extremely important to the bishop; that’s why he had this large house built here. Before the war, the house of the bishop’s master of the hunt stood nearby, but now it’s just a ruin with the wind whistling through it. People say it’s haunted. Well, at least stories like that scare poachers away.” Bartholomäus grinned. “The bishop’s new master of the hunt prefers to live in the luxurious canon’s quarters, and I can do as I please here.”

“As you please. .” Jakob nodded. “I see.” He looked over at his son, who was scooping fat from the kettle. “How much longer do you need Georg today?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. “The womenfolk in my family are going to the theater to watch those silly people prancing, dancing, and singing. That’s not for me. I thought that Georg and I might perhaps go for a stroll in the forest. .”

“He’ll surely be busy for a while with the boiling, and the leather needs to be sent to the tanner today. I’m afraid there’s no time.” Bartholomäus forced a thin smile. “But feel free to ask him if he wants to talk with his father later on about the good old days.”

Jakob was about to offer a blunt response, but then he waved his hand wearily.

“Maybe it’s just better to go our own separate ways for a while. Georg and me, I mean, but also you and me. See you this evening, dear Brother.”

“Hey, where are you going?” Bartholomäus shouted gruffly as his brother started to leave.

Jakob turned around. “I need some peace and quiet, and some fresh air. The foul odor here is too much for me.”

“Then you’re heading in the wrong direction. There’s nothing to see there, just the place where we bury the garbage.”

As if to confirm Bartholomäus’s answer, the servant Aloysius just then came around the corner of the building with empty buckets in his hands. He looked at Jakob distrustfully and, spreading his legs apart, blocked the Schongau hangman’s way.

“One might almost think I’m not welcome here,” Kuisl growled. “Some family this is.”

He hesitated briefly, then headed for a small gate he’d noticed at the far end of the clearing, leading from the yard out into the forest. He walked through it without turning around again. The sudden silence of the forest immediately calmed him down a bit. Just the same, inwardly his spirit was in turmoil. He kept thinking of Bartholomäus’s words.

Ask your son. He likes the way he’s treated here. And your daughter Barbara would no doubt like it here, too.

Jakob knew his brother was right. His children would probably have a better life here than at home in Schongau. Perhaps Georg would someday even marry a woman from a higher social class, just like Bartholomäus was doing. But Jakob also knew the real purpose of these offers from Bartholomäus.

He wants to destroy me. After all these years, he still cannot forget.

A narrow, almost overgrown deer path ran along the fence behind the buildings and then deeper into the pine forest. The musty odor of wet needles mingled with the burning smell from the knacker’s fire behind him, while overhead the clouds hung so low they grazed the upper branches. Though it was only noontime, dusk seemed to already be settling over the forest.

Jakob Kuisl had gone some distance when he suddenly heard a long, drawn-out growl. At first he thought it had come from the dog kennels, but then he realized the knacker’s house lay far behind him. He stopped and listened.

Again he heard something growling, deep and threatening-but more importantly, very nearby.

Instinctively, Jakob Kuisl reached for the long hunting knife hanging on his belt, pulled it out, and looked around carefully. Then he took a few steps forward, but immediately stopped again when he heard a crackling sound close by.

Just a few steps in front of him, a ghostly figure scurried through the bushes. The thicket obscured his view, and all he saw was a vague apparition. But the figure was very large, and it growled deeply and angrily, like a veritable hound of hell.

“What in the world. .” he muttered, holding his hunting knife up and ready to strike.

But as fast as the figure had appeared, it vanished again. There was one last rustling in the bushes, suggestive of some large, furry creature, and then the spirit had vanished. Jakob waited awhile before cautiously moving on.

Who or what was that?

His heart beat faster and his worries about Georg, Barbara, and his younger brother suddenly receded into the background. The hangman thought of the severed arms and legs, the dead whore in the watchman’s office, and the strange odor emanating from them.

The odor of a wet beast of prey.

For a moment, Jakob was no longer sure whether or not he believed in the existence of werewolves. But then his reason won out. Deep in thought, he pulled out his cold pipe, put it between his teeth, and plodded onward. This creature might have been a large wolf, perhaps a wild dog, but certainly it wasn’t what his imagination had been leading him to believe.

Or maybe it was?

Kuisl picked up his pace. Perhaps the creature would pay him another visit. But this time, he’d be ready.

Wide-eyed, Magdalena sat in the sold-out hall of the tavern, staring at the stage, where Doctor Faustus screamed as he was taken off to hell.

The figure of the scholar was shrouded in clouds of smoke, and thunder rumbled through the room as the man condemned by God slowly sank into the earth while the devil danced around him, laughing. An older woman seated next to Magdalena groaned and fainted, while the man seated on the other side of the woman, presumably her husband, did nothing to help her, spellbound by the events on the stage. Cries of horror could be heard in the hall, and many in the audience clenched their fists or gripped their beer mugs in fear. The same people who had been carousing gaily just a few hours ago now seemed to have turned to stone. When Magdalena looked back briefly, she saw her younger sister standing behind her, pale and wiping the tears from her eyes.