Der Händler
Hallo, ich bin hier, um euch eine Geschichte zu erzählen. Die Geschichte eines bemitleidenswerten Menschen, der viele Fehler machte und immer anderen die Schuld dafür gab. Sogar denen, die ihm eigentlich nur bei seinen Problemen helfen wollten. Aber genug von mir, lasst ihn die Geschichte aus seiner Sicht erzählen. Aber seid vorsichtig. Vielleicht lernt ihr ja etwas daraus …
Kennst du das, wenn dich alles um dich herum zum Kotzen bringt? Wenn es sich anfühlt, als würde eine dunkle Wolke in dir aufsteigen? Wenn du am liebsten auf die Straße rennen und alles umhauen würdest, was dir in den Weg kommt? Mir ging es damals so. Mir sind ein paar miese Sachen passiert und ich wollte einfach meinen Ärger rauslassen. Also bin ich einfach in den nahegelegenen Wald gerannt. Ich weiß nicht mehr, warum, vielleicht wollte ich einfach nur meine angestaute Wut rausschreien oder gegen einen Baumstumpf treten.
Aber ich bin einfach hin und her gelaufen, ohne auf irgendetwas zu achten. Als ich mich etwas beruhigt hatte, dämmerte es mir bereits und ich merkte, dass ich keine Ahnung hatte, wo zum Teufel ich war und dann lief ich auch noch in ein Spinnennetz.
„Verdammt noch mal!", schrie ich. Ich sah mich panisch um und ging einfach nach rechts. Und da, wie auf Befehl, war eine Lichtung mit einer Hütte mitten im Wald. Rückblickend hätte ich skeptisch sein sollen. Ich war selten im Wald, aber in der Kleinstadt, in der ich lebe, gab es viele Pilzsammler und Hobbyjäger. Und tja, abends in der Kneipe, nach ein paar Bier, fangen sie gerne an zu reden und prahlen mit ihren ach so großen Fängen. Aber keiner von ihnen erwähnte jemals eine Hütte im Wald. Aber im Moment dachte ich gar nicht daran, ich wollte einfach nur raus aus diesem Wald. Ich ging auf die Hütte zu und da sah ich ihn.
Er saß auf einem Stuhl auf der Terrasse und lehnte an der Hauswand. Er trug einen knielangen, dunkelgrauen Mantel, der aus Pelz zu sein schien. Darunter trug er ein dunkelrotes Hemd, das etwas um seinen Bauch spannte. Sein kurzes, braunes Haar war unter einer Schiebermütze verborgen, die er tief ins Gesicht gezogen hatte, und seine rechte Hand ruhte auf einem Spazierstock. Im Mund hatte er eine Holzpfeife, aus deren Öffnung eine kleine Rauchwolke aufstieg.
Ich stand eine Weile einfach nur da und überlegte, ob ich ihn ansprechen sollte. Er sah ziemlich komisch aus, als wäre er einem alten Schwarzweißfoto entsprungen. Aber es war die Aussicht, die Nacht im Wald zu verbringen, die meine Beine vorwärts trieb. Er bewegte sich überhaupt nicht, ich fragte mich, ob er überhaupt atmete. Dann öffnete sich sein Mundwinkel und er stieß eine Rauchwolke aus.
„Ähm … guten Abend …"
„ Wir haben geschlossen ." Er unterbrach mich sofort. Seine Stimme war zischend und dunkel.
„Äh… was?" Ich war verwirrt, dann sah ich ein Schild über dem Dach der Terrasse hängen. „Das Kabinett" stand dort in schwarzen Buchstaben.
„Ähm, nein. Also ich … ich wollte es einfach."
He looked up at me with one eye, in the glow of the setting sun, his eye seemed bright yellow for a moment. Then he blinked and the piercing yellow was replaced by a warm blue.
'Or do you want to buy something?' came the question. I was still so startled that I just nodded without really realising it. The man grinned, exhaled another puff of smoke, took the pipe out of his mouth, leant on his walking stick and stood up. He was stocky and slightly shorter than me, but had much broader shoulders. The door to the hut opened with a creak.
'Welcome to my shop, come in of your own free will.'
I can't describe this room that stretched out in front of me. Even if I really wanted to. The easiest way would be to imagine a flat from a historical film. So, with old paintings, books, candlesticks and all and then an HP Lovecraft fan would have it stacked with all sorts of macabre and grotesque stuff. The owner of this shop, with his walking stick in hand, walked to a counter at the back of the room. Behind his back was a huge painting of an enormous black snake coiled around a tree.
'Well. How can I help you?" He smiled at me with an almost sinister twinkle in his eye. It was really hard to tell how old he was. His skin was pale and smooth and his hair was short. Still, I would estimate him to be around mid to late twenties. The only thing that was irritating was his dark voice, which shouldn't fit a young man at all. All in all, he radiated such calm and composure that you wanted to confide in him straight away. If only it weren't for those piercing eyes, which almost looked as if they were those of a snake.
I didn't want to stand around like an idiot, so I walked up and down the shop. I stopped in front of a glass display case. Something that looked like a flute was displayed on a pedestal, but it was grey and had strange intertwined decorations.
'It's not for sale." His voice rang out behind me. 'It's like an old family heirloom."
He had an accent I couldn't define, probably something European.
"What kind of wood is that? It looks strange."
'It's bone." he replied in a monotone.
I didn't know if he was serious or just joking, but I took a few steps back anyway.
There was an oil painting in a frame on his counter. It showed a woman with long white hair that reached down to her back and somehow reminded me of spider webs. She was wearing a black dress and had unnaturally long fingers. It was hard to tell how old she looked either, she could be 20 or 40.
"Is that some pagan goddess? Looks creepy, like she wants to eat one up."
He stayed quiet for a moment and just looked at me.
'That's my wife.' he said in an even rougher voice.
All right, I'd better go to another corner of the shop. I stopped at a shelf of books. Most of them were in a language I didn't understand. One had a picture of a black spider on it.
"This is my wife's favourite book, by the way."
I put it back again. At last, a book in English and by a well-known horror author, whose name I'd better leave out now, and signed too.
'Where did you get this?' I asked, because I really couldn't believe I'd found something like this here of all places.
'I got this from the author himself as a token of thanks,' he said with a smile.
"As a token of thanks? For what?"
"Inspiration. I've been in the business for a while and at some point you have a lot to tell. For a small payment, I'll be happy to tell you a story, and what you do with it afterwards is up to you."
I don't want to go into it any further, but I'm interested in his accent. So I asked him where he was from and his answer was simply that his family came from "'Hameln"'.
Then it happened, I lifted my head and looked into an old, bronze mirror, about the size of a kitchen tablet. And my blood froze.
My reflection and behind me the trader, but his eyes were bright yellow with black, slit pupils.
Startled, I turned around. But he looked the same as before. He had a confused look on his face and glanced briefly over his shoulder.
'Is something wrong?' he asked calmly.
"Er...um. No. I...I think I'm just tired." I stammered. What the hell was that?
He pulled a pocket watch on a chain from the breast pocket of his coat. Seriously, from which century was this guy?
"Listen! It's getting late and I don't suppose you want to spend the night in the forest, do you? So tell me what your problems are and I'll give you exactly what you want. Believe me, everyone gets what they need here, no matter what."
This guy is definitely the strangest weirdo I've ever met. But all right, I'll just play along.
'For example." I replied with feigned disinterest.
He reached under his counter and placed a small glass bottle with grey powder in it in front of me.
'For men's problems, if you know what I mean.' He grinned suggestively.
'Erm. No thanks." I don't even want to know what that is.
"Oh yes, that's right. This is America. Anything that stands for more than ten minutes gets stolen." He laughed. It was loud and dirty.
"Sorry, little joke on the side. But seriously, you look like things aren't looking so good in your life right now."
He could be right about that. My girlfriend broke up with me. I'm being bullied at college and my grades are plummeting.
"Can you tell by looking at me?"
"A Händler has to know his customers."
"A What?"
"Händler.( /hɛn(d)lɐ/.) You know, trader, dealer, merchant or salesman. Whatever. My experience tells me that there's usually an unhappy relationship behind something like this."
That voice. So calm and pleasant, as if they wanted to hug you. But also so rough and dark that it somehow reminds me of a predator. Like a predator luring its prey.
"All right. I suppose you're only interested in real specialties?"
Actually, I just want to get out of here.
He went to a wooden box in the corner of his store and took out... an axe.
"You want to release some pent-up anger? Then this is just the thing."
The blade of the axe was covered in a dark substance. You don't have to be a genius to guess what it is.
"Yes...this axe is a bit...wayward and its former owner was quite clumsy." he said hesitantly.
"I see... did he accidentally hit himself in the leg or something?"
"Well. I think it was accidental. It wasn't his leg, though, and it wasn't his own."
I want to get out of here, I screamed inwardly. I wanted to turn around and run out of this house as fast as I could and not stop until I was at my front door. By now, I wished I had.
"The look on your face, it was startled at first, but then I became interested. So I'm on the right track."
He apparently considered, then an almost malicious smile spread across his face, exposing a somewhat unkempt set of teeth, with four long fangs.
"I've got it now. This is perfect for you."
He let the axe slide back into the box, went to a vitrine and took out a long piece of leather wrapped in fur with both hands.
"A fur belt?" I asked incredulously.
"Exactly. But a special one. Believe me, many people would give the last shirt off their back for it."
"Yes, of course."
"I know that sounds unbelievable. But just take it in your hand."
He held it out to me. I lifted my hands and wrapped them around the soft fur. At the same moment, my whole body tensed up. I could feel my veins pulsing, my blood was practically rushing through them and all my hair was standing on end. I had to have that belt.
"I'm afraid you'll never be able to afford it," he interrupted me harshly and snatched it out of my hands. My blood immediately started pumping normally again.
"What?" But...I...but...the belt." I couldn't think straight.
"The belt is ancient. It's even older than your country and has an incredibly eventful history. That alone makes it almost beyond price."
I stood there, stunned and blank-faced. Why would he first offer me the item, only to take it away from me again?
"But I'm an old-school Händler, which means I also accept barter deals."
My thoughts are slowly clearing up. Bartering? So now he wants something from me. Maybe I can turn the tables now.
"And what's that supposed to be, my immortal soul?" I smiled and tried to play the game. But he just exhaled in annoyance.
"Hah...hah. Do you seriously think you're the first one to make that joke? That strange guy is offering you the fulfillment of your dreams and wants your soul at all costs. Think about it, there are so many bad people in the world. Do you really think the devil needs to steal some poor idiot's soul? So, no. I don't want your soul and I'm not the devil," he said seriously.
Sounds kind of believable. It's strange that I even have to think about it. This guy is starting to creep me out and I really want to get home as soon as possible.
"What kind of bartering?"
"Services, my boy. You're going to do a few things for me."
"What are those services?"
"You don't need to know yet. But if you agree, the belt is yours."
"You're not the devil, you said. Who are you anyway?"
He just shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm a Händler. So nobody to be afraid of. And what do you say, do you strike?"
He held out his hand to me and, in my stupidity, I took it. The moment I touched his hand, I felt an incredible pain in my forearm, as if a burning needle was being stuck into it.
I can hardly remember anything that happened after that, I just remember holding my pulsing arm and the Händler sending me out of his store with a smile and pointing me in the right direction out of the forest. After that, all I remember is that I came to completely from my front door.
Now I'm sitting here on the floor of my apartment, staring at this belt. It was early fall and yet I had to take my top off because I was sweating like a pig. With trembling hands, I slowly reach for the fur.
Dude, I think to myself, it's just a stupid belt and nothing more, it can't do anything. So why are you shitting your pants here?
I put the thing around my hips and hook the buckle.
Nothing happened for a moment, I thought that this damn trickster had ripped me off.
But then I crumpled to the floor. The belt had pulled itself tighter around my body.
The pain was unbearable, as if it wanted to break my pelvis. I tried to feel for the buckle and rip the damn thing off my body. But it only pulled tighter. The pain ran through my whole body, all the way to my fingertips.
I wanted to scream, but it got stuck in my throat. I wriggled on the floor, thrashing around, trying to grab hold of something.
Then suddenly a voice echoed in my head, HIS voice.
"The deal is done."
"What?"
"Your breath, getting hot."
This pain.
"The second soul is burning inside you."
"What have you done to me?"
"Your bones are bursting."
"You dirty bastard."
"Your eyes are starting to glow."
My vision goes black.
"The pale moonlight, calling to you."
"Ahhhhr!"
"The transformation is complete."
I woke up on my floor, the belt lying next to me. I sat up slowly, I think all my joints were cracking.
But I felt really good, honestly. I haven't felt this good in months. Like all my pent up anger, doubt and everything else I've been bottling up has been erased. However, I do have a disgusting, metallic taste in my mouth. With a surprisingly light step, I almost pranced into my bathroom. While brushing my teeth, I suddenly spat out brownish-red foam. Was that dried blood, had I bitten my tongue in my sleep?
I felt like going to my favorite bar for the first time in a long time.
It was an old-fashioned pub, a rustic wooden building with a few stuffed animals on the wall. You can usually come here to have a beer and listen to the old men tell their supposedly legendary hunting stories.
It was Chris' turn to tell the story, he was my age and we went to the same elementary school. You could recognize him by his beloved red and black checked jacket, which he always wears when he goes into the woods. He was a nice guy, but a rather mediocre shot. However, he seemed to be having more luck lately, bringing home a new kill almost every day.
Then Walter, our local ranger, spoke up.
"You won't believe me, but when I checked my wildlife cameras this morning and looked at the night-time photos, I almost had a heart attack from the shock of seeing a huge wolf running into the picture."
He held up a photo as if to prove it. The picture did indeed show a wolf staring into the camera with glowing eyes and looking really unnaturally large.
Loud and unintelligible murmurs spread through the pub, and after a few minutes it was agreed that the giant wolf would be the new main target of the local hunting party.
I'd had enough for the day and decided to go home. Once again I put the belt on at night, but instead of writhing on the floor in pain again, I lost consciousness straight away.
I came to the next morning, lying at the foot of my bed with the blanket wrapped around me. When I went into the kitchen to make myself a coffee, I noticed that the entrance to my front door was completely filthy. However, I explained that I had forgotten to take my shoes off at the front door the night before and had brought all the mud in with me.
The rest of the day went as normal, I went to college, came home, did my homework and went back to the bar for a few beers in the evening. That evening, Walter told us that he had found a dead, half-eaten deer in the forest earlier that morning. It had apparently been killed by the huge wolf.
A few weeks have passed since then, but the wolf has not only restricted itself to wild animals, but has also killed some of the local farmers' sheep.
Around the same time, I also noticed some changes in myself. I'd lost a lot of weight, I'd never really worked out, but when I stepped out of the shower the other day and looked in the mirror, I noticed that you could already see my ribs. Also, my beard and fingernails are growing much faster. I noticed this when I had to shave twice a week instead of just once.
Then came the news that shocked the whole town: there had been a death.
Walter our forester found a male corpse on his morning forest tour. It was an open secret that the students had a stash of alcoholic drinks or cannabis in the forest. Officially, it was said that the exact circumstances of the death had yet to be clarified. Walter, however, confessed after a few beers that the man had clear bite wounds, which he said were definitely from a wolf.
The local gun store was completely sold out the next day. Every amateur hunter and gun enthusiast wanted to get their hands on the giant wolf.
However, I was preoccupied with something completely different at the time, because I knew the dead man, but to be honest I wasn't sad or shocked at all, because well, let me put it this way. I hated this guy. He was always bullying me and pushing me around at college. That's why my sadness was really limited at the moment.
But somehow the whole thing seemed to have taken more out of me than I thought, because that evening I forgot to put my belt on for the first time and went straight to bed.
I had a nightmare that night. Well, the dream itself wasn't really bad, but it felt so real. Do you know that? You have a dream that isn't really scary or bad in itself, but it feels so real that it's the real horror.
My dream looked like this, I was standing in a dark forest and wrapped around me was a huge black snake with glowing yellow eyes staring at me like I was its next breakfast. The moment its mouth opened and it shot towards me, I woke up.
As I said, it wasn't exactly the worst nightmare, but I was still soaking wet from top to bottom. But what was much worse was that I felt terribly miserable again, as if everything that seemed to have magically disappeared since I started wearing this belt had returned.
So it didn't help, from this evening onwards I will be wearing the belt again.
After a while, calm returned and the death was written off as a tragic wildlife accident. But just when I thought this was just a one-off incident and that everything would soon be back to normal, there was another death.
This time, unlike the first, it wasn't in the middle of the forest, but on a remote country lane leading to the town.
And this time, too, I knew the victim. She was my ex.
I'm sure you can imagine what a spectacle the media made of it afterwards, so I'll spare you the details about the "killer wolf".
To cut a long story short, people usually only left the house armed, no more after sunrise, children no longer left unattended and everyone jumped at the slightest rustle in the bushes. Well, the typical chaos and panic.
I sat back on my couch that evening and stared at the ceiling. We hadn't parted on good terms, there had been some very bad words between us. But still, news like that doesn't pass you by without leaving a mark.
Since my watch was already showing midnight and I was still far too agitated, I decided to fall back on my grandfather's favorite sleep aid. A double whisky.
Maybe it was more than one. Anyway, after that I just fell into bed. Without the belt. But this time I had a nightmare.
I was standing in this dark forest again. A few meters in front of me was this Händler, staring at me with vicious yellow eyes with slit pupils.
He stretched out his arms towards me and his gray cloak began to fall apart. It fell off him in shreds and as soon as the shreds hit the ground, they became...rats. Big gray rats that crawled towards me.
"Pay me!" he shouted at me in his hissing, raspy voice.
Then I woke up.
My T-shirt and a bed sheet were completely soaked with sweat, and the alcohol from yesterday was still burning in my throat.
I think I drank a whole liter of water in one go.
I noticed that I had two spots on my forearm, they look kind of like a snake bite.
Now I'm sitting at my kitchen table with my head resting on my arms.
What the hell is going on here? Something is very wrong here.
Why is a wolf showing up right now and killing people? Why is it two people from my neighborhood of all people? Who is this strange merchant? And most importantly: what's wrong with me?
So many questions and I damn well want answers. It's semester break right now. I think I'll do some research.
The Händler told me that he was from "Hamelin". So I typed that name into my smartphone. Hameln, or Hamelin in English, is a town in northwest Germany. This also explains the trader's accent, so it was German. One of the first pictures shows a statue of a man who appears to be wearing a colorful costume and playing an unnaturally long flute. I remembered the legend of the "Pied Piper". We had it at school back then. An old legend about the Pied Piper, or rather the "Ratscatcher ", as he is originally called.
According to the legend, the town of Hamelin was suffering from an extreme plague of rats in the Middle Ages when a strange man in colorful clothes and a flute suddenly appeared and offered to help the townspeople get rid of the plague. With his flute, he lured the rats into a nearby river and drowned them. However, when he went to collect his reward, the people refused to give it to him and threw him out of the town. But the Pied Piper refused to put up with this and returned in the middle of the night, once again playing his flute, but this time it was not the rats that followed him, but the children of the town.
The children were never seen again. However, there are various theories as to what could have happened to them. One theory is that he also drowned them in the river. Another claims that there is a mountain nearby where satanic rituals used to be held and the children were sacrificed to the devil and one even claims that the children were led into a cave and later reappeared in an area in Romania that was called " Siebenbürgen" at the time because many Germans moved there, today better known as Transylvania.
That's really bizarre.
But that's just an old story. It can't have anything to do with me or my current situation.
I remembered my dream from last night, the rats. No. It's pure coincidence, according to legend it all happened in 1284, almost 750 years ago.
I'm so exhausted, my eyes are almost falling shut. Still, there's one more thing I have to enter, a word that I'm sure you can think of and I can too, but I'm afraid of this word, even though I know it can't be true. But I have to know it, otherwise I'll never find peace.
And so I type in this word with trembling fingers.
WERWOLF
Several thousand pages of results come up.
I could have guessed that. I type in:
Werewolf true events.
I find a page with the heading: "Confession of a werewolf."
Sounds quite promising.
I'm now struggling to keep my eyes open, so I lie down on my couch and let the read-aloud function on my smartphone tell me the whole website.
Peter Stump, or Peter Stubbe, was born between 1525 and 1539 in western Germany as a farmer, depending on the source. He became famous after a trial in 1589 in which he was found guilty of murdering at least 18 people, mainly women and children. The victims were all mutilated in a gruesome manner. He had allegedly even distorted parts of them.
Under torture, Stubbe confessed to the murders and claimed that the devil had given him a wolf skin with which he could transform himself into a ravenous wolf.
"Wait...what?" I jumped up from the couch and was wide awake.
Because of his confession, Stubbe was sentenced to death.
"NO."
His execution was carried out by the wheel.
"Shut it down!"
Then he was also beheaded.
"Be quiet!"
Finally, his remains were burned at the stake. His head, however, was impaled on a stake and displayed ...
With trembling hands, I fumbled frantically on the screen until I was finally able to silence it.
The supposed wolf skin was never found...
My smartphone slips from my fingers and falls to the floor. I jump up and run to my sink in the kitchen, I have to vomit.
After my breakfast had gone, I sank to my knees and buried my head in my lap.
This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be. This is impossible.
After what felt like hours, I managed to get up again. I walk back to my couch on wobbly legs, my smartphone still lying on the floor. I remembered the book I saw at the Händler's shop. I enter the terms black spider, book, Germany.
I immediately found what I was looking for. "The Black Spider" by Jeremias Gotthelf. But not from Germany, it was from Switzerland.
The book is about an evil nobleman who demands something from his subjects that they cannot possibly achieve. One day, a stranger appears to the desperate villagers and introduces himself as the Green Hunter. He offers to take care of their plight, but demands an unbaptized child as payment. When the villagers are shocked and refuse, a young woman named Christine decides to make the deal behind the villagers' backs. However, she plans to trick the hunter, but this goes badly wrong and the angry hunter summons an army of small poisonous spiders that kill all the villagers' livestock. In their fear, the villagers decide to give the hunter what he wants after all, but when they try to cheat him out of his payment again, the hunter turns Christine into a giant black spider, which kills the nobleman but also almost all the villagers. At great sacrifice, the villagers manage to imprison and seal the spider.
I need some fresh air now, so I put on my jacket and walk into the town. I tried to think carefully about everything that was happening here. But I couldn't really get my thoughts straight. It's strange how you can think about all sorts of things and nothing at the same time.
My legs are still weak, so I'm looking down all the time to avoid tripping. At some point, when I looked up from the sidewalk, I realized that I was standing right in front of our public library.
I know that our library has a section for European literature. Thinking that it might be better than just wandering around aimlessly, I enter. I look for books that have something to do with sinister deals or the devil.
After a short time, I've already found a few books, the most famous of which is probably Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's Faust.
The book is about an old scholar called Doctor Faust who makes a deal with a devil called Mephisto to regain his youth in exchange for his soul.
In another book, I read about an old story called "Der Freischütz". A story that later became famous through the opera of the same name.
The story is about a young man who, out of sheer fear of failing his shooting test, makes a deal with a one-legged man who introduces himself as Stelzfuß (stilt-feet) and offers him so-called free bullets. Of these 60 bullets, 57 will hit their target, but three will be directed by the Stelzfuß himself, because he would claim his prize through them. During his test, however, one of the bullets hits the young man's fiancée. Mad with grief and rage, the young man kills the mayor of his village because he believes he recognizes the Stelzfuß in him. The story ends with the young man being executed.
I scream and drop the book. There was an illustration on one page of the book, showing two men standing in front of a fire and making bullets in a mold. And one of them was him, wearing a tattered soldier's uniform, with a crutch under his arm and a wooden right leg, but the face and those eyes, that was definitely him. The Händler from the forest.
I pick up the book again, fortunately no one seems to have heard my cry. I actually found the book "The Black Spider" here, but the cover looked different to the one from the Händler. There was also a picture on one of the pages, again showing him. He doesn't have a gray coat, but a green hunter's outfit, but the same face and the same eyes. I close the book, put all the books back on the shelf and leave the library without a word.
I stare at the sidewalk, the honking cars, the people talking, I hear nothing from them. I don't know what to process first, the fact that I'm probably a werewolf or that I've met the goddamn Pied Piper.
I rummage in my pocket for my key and reach out to open my door, then pause and stay there for a few seconds. Then I turn around and start running. Towards the forest.
The leaves rustle under my feet and the twigs have probably scratched my entire face, but I hardly notice.
Where is this clearing? I know I've been walking in that direction.
"HÄNDLER!" I scream. "RAT CATCHER!"
Man do I feel stupid.
I suddenly hear a flute playing and decide to follow it.
I knock a branch aside and stand in the clearing. And in the middle is the hut and there he is. He's standing on the terrace and looking straight at me, I almost think he's smiling slightly.
I run towards him, my blood tightens in my veins, I stretch my hands out slowly as I run. I have this irrepressible urge to grab this guy's neck and squeeze.
He comes towards me at a leisurely pace, smiling, holding his walking stick in his left hand. When I was only a few meters ahead of him, he reached for the pommel and pulled out a blade. A cane sword.
I brake so abruptly that I fall to the ground. Before I could get up again, he held the tip of his sword right at the height of my chest.
"I have a feeling you're not entirely satisfied with your purchase," he said almost mockingly.
"What have you done to me?"
"I sold you a belt."
"Right. You gave me the damn thing." I shouted at him.
"Exactly. But you put it on yourself."
"And now two people are dead because of you."
"Because of me? I didn't kill those two. You did."
It felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.
"But... but. I would never have done that. If I had known that..." I jumped back to my feet. "THAT WASN'T MY FAULT!" I shouted at him.
The Händler started laughing and held the blade of his cane sword dramatically in the air.
"That's what always fascinates me about humans. You can do the worst things and still claim afterwards that nothing is your fault. You can get drunk, drive over three people and then claim it wasn't your fault, but the alcohol. Even though nobody told you to drink five glasses of booze and then drive. I really don't know whether I should find that funny or pathetic."
He directed his gaze and the tip of his cane sword at me.
"You entered my store of your own free will. You wanted the belt and you were willing to pay the price. You put on the belt of your own free will and the blood of those two is on your hands."
My legs give way and I sink to the ground. My hands dig into the ground. He's right.
I manage to lift my head and look the Händler in the eye. In the glow of the sun, it looks like his eyes are glowing yellow again.
"Those old stories, the Pied Piper, the Black Spider, the Freischütz, they're all true. You said you weren't the devil."
"I'm not the devil. What people do with the stories I tell them is their business and the devil just sells better."
I stared at him, wordlessly. At some point, he lowered his sword and put it back in his walking stick.
"But all right. I'm still a service company. If you pay me, I'll take the belt back."
"And what does the payment look like? "
"You'll soon find out for yourself. Let's put it this way: you're not the only one who isn't prepared to pay the price."
"And if I simply destroy the belt?"
"You think this will get you out of the deal? I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you still have to pay me. And if you've read the old stories, you'll know what happened to those who tried to betray me."
A shot rang out in the distance. I hadn't even noticed that it was almost dark.
"Apparently they must be looking for you. It might be better if you went back home now, we don't want you to have to explain yourself."
I slowly get up and walk towards the trees, then I hear another shot, I walk faster, then another, I start to run. It's as if they're getting closer and closer. They are on the hunt. They are hunting me.
Only when I feel the asphalt of the road under my feet again do I slowly calm down. I just want to get home. My mind is made up, I will never put this belt on again.
I put the belt in another room and try to fall asleep. At some point I succeeded. However, when I woke up the next morning, I realized that the belt was wrapped around my hips.
Please don't. Did I do it again? I reach for my smartphone and open our city's news website. The very first headline reads:
"Another victim of the wolf."
Now I understand. He wants to use me to get rid of those who have also refused to pay.
I grab the belt and throw it against the wall. Then I look for a lighter, pick up the belt and hold it to it.
But then I came to my senses again. I think about it. The guy wiped out a whole village because they tried to double-cross him and he took all the children from a town that refused to pay him. My God. His coat, the rats, is that what happened to the kids?
I have several siblings and they have kids, my parents, my cousins, if I do this now will he hurt them?
I walk up and down the house trying to find a way out, something that could help me. But I can only think of one thing: When I was researching werewolves, I read something about a flower called aconite or wolfsbane. It's supposedly used as a remedy against werewolves.
The thing is, I have no idea where this plant grows, and it's highly poisonous, so it probably won't be sold at the florist around the corner. But I have a friend in college who studies botany and therefore has access to the greenhouse where all sorts of plants are grown. I called him and asked him if we could meet there later. When he asked why, I replied that my cousin collects special flowers and I wanted to give her some seeds for her birthday and asked if he might have access to flowers that are difficult to get through normal channels. I had also wanted to have a look at his workplace for some time.
However, he told me we couldn't meet until tomorrow at noon at the earliest.
So I have to get through the night in some way. The belt has to stay out of my reach somehow. I don't have a safe and the only door that can be locked and to which I have a key is the one in my bedroom. In the evening, I put the belt in the kitchen, go into my bedroom and lock the door. Then I go to sleep.
The next morning I wake up with hellish pain in my hands. They were bloody and full of scratches and there were scratch marks on my door. I actually tried to scratch the door open in my sleep. It's not a permanent solution, but if the aconite doesn't work, it might give me a reprieve.
When I met up with my friend at noon and when he left me alone for a moment to get the seeds out of the cupboard where they were kept, I called up a picture of the monkshood on my smartphone and ran frantically through the whole area with the poisonous plants to look for them.
Contrary to my own expectations, I found them with a pair of scissors I had with me, cut off a few flowers, dropped them into a plastic bag and put it in my jacket pocket.
When he came back with the bag of seeds and asked me why I was so sweaty. I replied that I couldn't stand the humidity in the greenhouse. I don't know if he believed me, but the truth would probably believe me even less.
The main thing is that I have the aconite flowers. They are perhaps my last hope. If they don't work, I only have one way out and I don't really want to think about it.
On the way back to my apartment, Chris came towards me, wearing his typical red and black checked jacket and his rifle bag hanging from his shoulder, in which he kept his beloved shotgun. He looked very depressed, which was quite unusual for him, as Chris was actually quite cheerful. I asked him what was wrong with him and he replied that, like most of the other hunters in the village, he was on his way into the forest to hunt the killer wolf. He didn't actually want to, but he was being pushed into it, he claimed. I patted him on the back, wished them good luck and said that it would all be over soon. I just wished my old school friend luck in killing me.
The bag of flowers lies on the table in front of me. I don't know exactly what I should do with them now. I've read that witches are said to have made ointment from aconite and then applied it to their bodies. But as I said, aconite is poisonous. Just touching it can cause skin inflammation and poisoning.
So, making an ointment or brewing a tea from it is out of the question. In the end, I just do the simple thing: I take a sock, stuff the flowers into it, tie it up with a string and hang it around my neck. I know that sounds quite stupid, but I really can't think of anything else.
I lie down on my bed and briefly consider whether I should say a prayer or something like that. But I don't know any.
My last glance falls on this cursed belt lying on my bedside table.
Then I close my eyes.
I'm in a forest, it's dark, but I can still see everything. Is this a dream? I hear a scream. A woman is standing in front of me. She looks frightened, she tries to run backwards, but she stumbles. She crawls backwards, she screams again, it's almost unbearably loud. I want to cover my ears, but somehow my hands don't want to move properly. All I can feel is earth beneath them. I look down, where are my hands? I try to move them, in the field of vision of my eyes I see a dog's paw?
Holy shit. I'm the wolf.
The woman continues to scream, I turn around and start running. I feel the forest floor under my feet, I see the trees I'm running past, I hear gunshots in the distance, I smell gunpowder.
I have to get out of here. But then what? What should I do next?
I hear something else. A whistle, no, it's a flute. His flute.
That's it. I'll go to that godforsaken Händler and rip his damn throat out. After that I'll destroy the belt, I don't care about anything else right now.
I follow the noises, they get louder and louder. I gather all my strength and leap through the thicket and land in the clearing and I look straight down the barrel of a gun.
Der junge Mann in seiner schwarz-rot karierten Jacke starrt noch immer ungläubig auf die große, pelzige Leiche vor ihm. Neben ihm steht eine stämmige Person mit breiten Schultern, gekleidet in einen grauen Mantel. Langsam hebt der junge Mann den Kopf und blickt seinem Nachbarn ins Gesicht. Im Schein der aufgehenden Sonne scheinen seine Augen das gelbe Licht zu reflektieren.
„ So …", begann er, „ ist das jetzt alles, sind wir quitt?"
Der Mann im grauen Mantel lächelt.
„Ja", sagte er ruhig. „Deine Schuld ist beglichen. Bis du wieder neue Kugeln brauchst, natürlich."
Dem jungen Jäger läuft ein Schauer über den Rücken.
„Ich glaube, das möchte ich lieber nicht, ich meine, der Preis ist schon ziemlich hoch."
„Nun, das ist Ihre Entscheidung. Wenn Sie Ihre Meinung ändern, wissen Sie, wo Sie mich finden."
„Und was hast du jetzt damit vor? Möchtest du einen Pelzmantel für deine Frau?"
„Nein, meine Frau interessiert sich nicht für so etwas. Aber wie viele Gürtel kann man wohl aus so einem Fell herstellen?"
Nun, das ist das Ende dieser Geschichte, aber ich habe noch viel mehr zu erzählen.
Kennst du das? Du hast gerade eine Horrorgeschichte gelesen oder einen Horrorfilm gesehen und schaust sicherheitshalber in allen dunklen Ecken und Schränken nach und schaltest überall das Licht an. Aber ich kann dich beruhigen: Ich werde nicht da sein. Warum auch? Schließlich bin ich nur ein Händler, also niemand, vor dem du Angst haben musst – solange du bereit bist, den Preis zu zahlen.
Wir sehen uns bestimmt irgendwann. Bis dahin wünsche ich Ihnen eine schöne Nacht.