The Vanishing of Katharina Linden

them. He could walk through the mill at night, when the building was full of furtive scratching noises, and malevolent eyes glinted redly in the darkest corners, and he would be as relaxed as a visitor wandering through a greenhouse full of tropical butterflies. And perhaps because he was so totally unafraid, it seemed that none of these creatures could touch him.”

“Cool,” said Stefan.

Shut up, I telegraphed at him with a furious glare.

“The phantoms waited eagerly for Hans to flee like the others,” went on Herr Schiller. “When he didn’t, they redoubled their efforts. Things with far too many spindly limbs and leathery wings articulated like the spokes of an umbrella would dive upon him as he strolled through the mill after sunset, and tangle in his flour-dusted hair; grotesque faces would leer up at him out of the water butt outside, or from the corner cupboard where he kept his knife and plate. At night the creaking of the mill’s timbers mingled with groaning and wailing that would have made anyone else’s hair stand on end. Hans endured it all unmoved.

“Well, at last the things that infested the mill grew angry. At night the creaking of the beams sharpened to shrieks, and by day the great cogs of the machine seemed to move more slowly, as though working against some unseen resistance. If Hans cared about these things, he gave no sign.

“However, one day late in April he left the mill and walked into the town. When he returned he had a little package in the pocket of his breeches, carefully done up in a clean handkerchief. Intrepid as he was, Hans knew that in two nights it would be Walpurgis, the eve of May Day, when the witches gather for their Sabbath. The unseen foes with whom he was struggling for possession of the mill were certain to make some kind of attack.

“The last day of April was cloudy and overcast, and a chill wind was blowing. Night came in early and inside the mill it was dark, the light from Hans’s one little lantern hardly penetrating the deep shadows. Hans ate his solitary dinner of rough bread and cheese, said his prayers like the good Catholic he was, then put out the lantern and lay down on the pallet that served as his bed. Hans always slept well, caring nothing for little scuffling footsteps on the floor of the mill, or tiny clawed feet running across his blanket in the night. Tonight he slept on his back, his face turned boldly up to the ceiling and his beard quivering gently to the rhythm of his snores.

“For several hours his sleep was undisturbed. The oppressive atmosphere that had haunted the mill for days seemed to have lifted. The wind outside had dropped, the clouds had parted and the full moon shining through the little window above Hans’s rough bed outlined the few sticks of homely wooden furniture and the parts of the mill machinery in glowing silver.

“Perhaps it was the light that woke Hans up. At any rate, he opened his eyes and looked about him. Was it his imagination, or had he seen two twin lights, hot and red like the glowing embers of a fire, winking at him from a corner? Yes; there it was again-blink-blink, as if something were watching him, but shutting its eyes lazily for long seconds. Hans coughed gently, as though to show his unconcern, and was about to turn over and pull his blankets around him, when he saw a second pair of lights glowing from the top of a cupboard. Again they seemed to glint for a moment and then blink out.

“Hans considered for a moment, then he pulled the blankets around his shoulders and closed his eyes. Hans being Hans, he would actually have managed to fall asleep again, but just as he was drifting into slumber there came the sound of velvet feet padding softly across the earthen floor of the mill.

“This time, since Hans was lying on his side, he had only to open his eyes to see the source of the sounds. A large cat was strolling across the room, a cat with inky-black fur that shimmered like taffeta, and great green eyes that glowed phosphorescently in the darkness. Abruptly it stopped, settled itself on its hindquarters, tail curled elegantly about its haunches, and regarded the miller with its luminous eyes.

“For several seconds Hans and the cat stared at each other. Then Hans said, ‘Ach, pussycat-I’ve no milk for you.’ And he turned his back, pulling the blanket with him. Then there came a hissing, like an intake of breath, and another cat came padding out of the darkness, and then another. They wound their way through the patch of silver moonlight on the floor; they weaved in and out of the legs of Hans’s solitary chair; they sprang onto the sacks of grain and perched on the stout timbers of the mill. They slipped like quicksilver through the chinks between the planks of the door and slid knifelike between the stones of the walls. They oozed like viscous honey from the cracks about the window frames.

“If Hans had opened his eyes, he would have seen some of them come right through the walls, stretching as they did so, pulling their hindquarters after them. But Hans did not need to see this to know what they were; they took the form of cats, but his nocturnal visitors were witches, assembling for their great Walpurgis Night meeting in the place where they always met, and determined to turn this audacious mortal out.

“At last, when the whole floor was packed with furry bodies, the cats began to cry. They howled and screeched together in an unearthly chorus. At first Hans put his fingers in his ears, but it was no use: the sound that the cats made was not heard only by the ears, you understand; it could also be heard by the soul. It was a song of damnation, evoking the milling pit of lava into which the tainted soul must fall and shrivel to a crisp, but stay eternally and exquisitely conscious, ever burning, an immortal ember in the sluggish lake of fire. I think if you or I had heard it, we would have lain right down and died.”

I shivered. “That’s horrible.”

Herr Schiller continued, unperturbed. “But Unshockable Hans was made of sterner stuff. Since the diabolical song could not be ignored, up he sat and looked boldly about him, as though the sounds were nothing more than the normal yowling of a queen cat come into heat. ‘Himmel!’ he exclaimed. ‘How is a man supposed to sleep with a racket like that going on? Be quiet, the lot of you, or you’ll go out, even if I have to take each and every one of you by the scruff to do it.’ And so saying, he lay down again.

“For one second there was silence. Then there began a screaming that was like tortured metal, as though all the fiends of Tartarus were bursting through its iron gates and streaming forth, devouring everything in their fiery path. Then with a screech that overtopped them all, the largest and wildest cat, an enormous tom muscled like a bull, with fur the color of jet and blazing yellow eyes, made a mighty spring onto Hans’s chest, and sat there like the demon Nightmare, snarling into his face with its wicked fangs.

“Up sprang Hans at once, grasping the creature with both hands so that he felt the terrible strength of its sinews and bunched muscles under his fingers, and flung it from him, as far as he could. Then he reached under his pillow and drew out the little package that he had brought back with him from the town. Tearing off the wrappings, he revealed a rosary-a plain wooden rosary with polished brown beads, which Hans had received from the hands of the holy Fathers.

“With a great cry, he threw the rosary straight at the snarling creature that had attacked him. ‘By the name of all that is holy,’ he cried at the top of his voice, ‘I order you to leave-now!’ And as the last word fell from his lips, every one of those diabolical cats vanished and he found himself standing alone, breathing hard, in the dark and silent mill. He had won. The pests had been routed, and the mill belonged to him. Then at last Hans lay down and slept the sleep of the righteous until morning came.”

Chapter Nine

Herr Schiller fell silent. The hand that had mimed the casting of the rosary at the demonic cats dropped to the arm of his chair, patted it lightly, then moved to his pocket, fumbling for his pipe. There was a long silence while he lit it, puffing gently, little wisps of white floating up like smoke signals.

“Well, I don’t think that was very scary,” said Stefan eventually. I shot him a furious glance; if his chair had been closer to mine I would have aimed a furtive kick at his legs.

“You don’t think it was scary?” repeated Herr Schiller. I was thankful to notice that he did not sound annoyed- more amused. If Stefan had offended him, it might have been the last visit to Herr Schiller, in which case I would never have forgiven Stefan. Our newfound alliance would be dissolved, even if I spent the remainder of my schooldays playing and working all on my own.

“No,” said Stefan, quite casually. When Herr Schiller said nothing, but his bushy white eyebrows went up, Stefan was encouraged to continue: “I don’t think there’s anything frightening about a bunch of cats.”

“But these were not really cats, were they?” probed Herr Schiller in a conversational tone. “They were