Witch Years E-Book

M.W. Westerberg

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 378

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

During the 17th century, famine, poverty, and failed harvests had spread across Sweden. The plague had broken out, and the witch trials were fully underway. In Dalarna, a man and his son traveled between villages to preside over the trials. He was both the judge and the executioner and his title was Witch Hunter, appointed by the Royal Witchcraft Commission to carry out Gods work. No one dared to question him because they knew his will was law, and his words came directly from God. The people were desperate and would make any sacrifices if it gave them hope for a better future. It was primarily women who were accused of witchcraft and consorting with the devil. The women were considered the devil's mistresses, and it was often through them that he carried out his deeds. In another place, Jakob grew up with his parents. He helped on the farm as much as he could and was far away from witch trials and war. He dreamed of one day traveling to Stockholm and starting a new life far from the toil of farming. One evening, Jakob met a strange woman by the well, and he realized that his life would not turn out as he had dreamed. Gods Servant is the first book in the series Witch Years.

Leseprobe

This book is dedicated to those who lost their lives during the witch trials in Sweden in the seventeenth century. The author has taken artistic liberties to depict the horrors these people endured, but even in this case, reality was much worse than fiction.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 1

She stood atop a pyre bound to a stake in the middle of the square. She had just turned fifteen, and soon, she would be engulfed by the flames on his command. Around her frozen and wounded feet lay branches, logs, and birch twigs.

The people of the small village had gathered at the site to witness her punishment for her sins. She had committed these sins for a long time; many had suspected her, and now she had finally confessed. They had longed for this moment for several days now since the day she was arrested. When she was dead, everything would be better. Everyone had been looking forward to this day.

Her blonde hair floated around her in the cold wind. The first snowflakes of winter danced before her eyes. Tears burned on her cheeks. She looked at her mother and father. She saw the shame in their eyes. She looked at her brothers, the ones who had reported her. She looked at all the others, those she knew so well, the ones who had been there for her all these years. Now, she only saw the hatred shining in their eyes and heard it pouring from their mouths. She did not understand how she had ended up here, what she had done wrong, or why she had been accused and designated as this sacrifice.

The lies about her were many, and at first, she had just laughed at them, but she didn't laugh anymore. She now understood that everyone believed it was her fault. The crop failures, the famine, infant deaths, poverty – yes, all the misery that had befallen them was her fault. She had done her best to convince them of her innocence, but nothing she said helped. After that, she was tortured so severely that she confessed. She couldn't bear the pain any longer. She could have confessed to anything. She just wanted to put an end to all the suffering she had been subjected to. The people needed a scapegoat, someone to vent their frustration on and blame for the horrors, and that became her.

She tried to scream out her despair, but now her voice was too weak. Her lament was drowned in the din of all the spectators who had come to see her like this, to witness her final moment on earth. All those who believed that her death would bring them happiness. Those who believed that if only she died, everything would be fine again. That the misfortune they had would disappear with her. That her death would mean new life and new hope for them all.

"My friends!"

She saw a tall man standing on a brown wooden box. He was dressed entirely in black except for a white band around his collar. His black coat fluttered in the harsh wind. He wore a large hat that obscured most of his worn face. In his right hand, he held a wooden cross raised towards the sky, and in his left hand, he held an open black book.

"You asked for my help, and I heard your prayer!" he continued, his gaze fixed on the book. Next to the man stood a boy no older than ten. He was dressed in the same manner as the man, and in his hand, he held a torch.

"Poverty, crop failure, and famine have plagued you for far too long, but do not despair, for I am your salvation! The Lord is your salvation!"

The people shouted and cheered, and the girl saw hope in their eyes. The man in black continued to speak, and once again, silence fell among the spectators.

"The one who sins is a servant of the devil, for the devil has sinned from the beginning. But the Son of God has appeared to destroy the works of the devil. Do you feel that the Lord's presence here tonight?"

The crowd cheered again, and the girl squirmed. Her back ached, and her wrists burned from the ropes tied around them. Blood ran down her hands, and she dug her nails into the rope. She had open wounds that burned all over her body. The cold numbed her so that she no longer had any feeling in her feet. She looked down at her dirty, bloody legs and figured it might as well be that way. She turned her head and looked at her mother, but she did not meet her gaze this time either.

"But God is not alone, the devil and his mistress are also with us tonight. He hides from our eyes, but she stands here among us." He pointed with the cross towards the woman on the pyre.

"No, that's not true!" she screamed. "You must not believe him!"

"Silence!" shouted one of the men in the congregation and hurled a stone that struck her in the forehead. The people began to laugh and cheer again, and a small stream of warm blood ran down her cheek.

"She's trying to deceive you, leading you into the darkness where the devil awaits. But do not listen to her; only listen to the Lord, for He is your only salvation now. It is written in the Book of Exodus 22:18: 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,' and I am here to do God's work!"

I am not a witch, thought the girl. Why does no one want to believe me? Everything I've done, I've done to serve the Lord and my beloved parents. I've done my very best even in difficult times. And the difficult times have been many. I've taken care of both crops and household, both my brothers and my parents. I've gone to bed last at night and risen first in the morning. I've done everything to serve my family in the best way possible. And this is the thanks I get.

"You, Stina Eriksdotter, have been found guilty of maleficium and are hereby sentenced to death in the name of God." The man turned to the boy and nodded slowly. The boy nodded back and began to walk toward the girl. The mud water splashed under his boots, and like the others, he didn't look at her. He raised the torch when he reached the pyre, turned to the audience, and then lowered the torch towards the twigs, and Stina began to cry again.

"No, you mustn't, you can't, mother, help me! Mother!"

Now, the mother met her gaze, and she said, "May God forgive you, my child!"

"Only through fire can you obtain forgiveness for your sins, and God is a consuming fire!" said the man in black, closing the book. At last, he looked up at the girl and met her eyes for the first time this evening. He had black, wolf-like eyes. His face was worn and pale, and he had a long black beard. His ice-cold gaze made her look away again.

The boy circled the pyre and lowered the torch in four more places. She looked at the boy and said, "You don't want to do this, please stop." The boy stopped and looked at her. His eyes were kind, and it frightened her even more than the look she had received from the man. What child could do something like this with gentle eyes and a smile on his lips? The boy placed the torch at her feet and returned to the man in black.

The smoke was now spreading. She jerked and tore and tried to get free, but the rope was too tight. The chain that lay wrapped around her body was cold as death, and the blood that flowed from her body was warm as life. She breathed faster and saw the steam coming from her mouth. She thought it was the spirit that was abandoning her now. The flames slowly began to caress her skin. Her feet slowly thawed, and she felt terrible pain. She wanted to scream, but she had no strength left.

She looked at her parents again. She asked them for forgiveness even though she didn't know what she had done wrong. She saw the tears in their eyes, and it cut like knives in her chest. It burned her more than any fire could, so she couldn't bear to look at them. She closed her eyes and said a prayer.

"God forgive me for the sins I have committed," she murmured. She coughed out the smoke filling her lungs. The pain swept over her like an embrace. An embrace of fire. She felt the heat against her legs. She started to lift her feet, but after a while, she realized that it was pointless. She could not escape the flames.

She looked up at the sky and wished that He would receive her. All she could think about now was pain. Her body screamed for an end to the suffering, but she could only wait. She moved her body convulsively, first to one side and then to the other. Nothing helped. Finally, she gave up and just stood there. She tried to push the thoughts away. Tried to remember a time when she was happy, but the flames burned away all the memories.

The smoke in her lungs made her panic. She tried everything she could to cough it up, but every effort failed. Nothing got better; everything just got worse. Tears ran down her sooty cheeks, and she tried to wipe them away on one shoulder.

The flames rose higher and higher now, and through them, she saw the joy on the faces of the spectators. She tried one last time to shout out her plea, but now she couldn't make a sound. No words, just liquid flowing from her mouth. She gaped as hard as she could in a last gasp. But all she felt was just more smoke filling her lungs.

If it weren't for the chain, she would have collapsed by now. She felt her blood begin to boil in her veins. She screamed one last time as her hair caught fire. A heartbreaking sound that silenced the crowd. All she could see now were the flames slowly consuming her body. Flames that caressed her face and melted her eyes. She wished she could see her family one last time, but she never did.

A scream echoed through the autumn evening and cut like a sword through the silence. Her mother collapsed in the mud, and the father bent down and lifted her up.

The crowd dispersed as the family left the scene. Some turned to the pyre and made the sign of the cross on their chests. Others just left the scene with teary eyes, horrified by what they had just seen. Evil glances were thrown at the man in black. He didn't see them, but he felt them coming towards him. It always did when his work was completed.

Chapter 2

Jakob slowly opened the kitchen door, tiptoed in, and sat down on his chair at the table. He placed the basket on one of the other chairs. The house was as quiet as it usually was at this time of evening. His parents had gone to bed long ago. Outside, it was still bright as usual on summer evenings.

He picked up the glass of milk from the table and took a deep sip. He reached for the sandwich his mother had also set out for him on a small white plate. Jakob looked at his dirty hands and placed the sandwich back on the plate. He wiped his hand on his trousers, rubbing his palm hard against the fabric. He looked at his hand again but couldn't see much difference. He considered getting up to wash his hands, but he didn't care and picked up the sandwich again, taking a big bite.

The kitchen was small and contained only the essentials. A table with three chairs. A wood stove and a bench with drawers underneath. Some kitchen cabinets and a wooden sofa that his father, Gustav, used to rest on after a hard day. In the window, there was a flowerpot, and on the wall hung a couple of paintings, that was all.

He set the sandwich back on the plate and leaned back in the chair. Balancing the glass of milk on his stomach, he closed his eyes.

Jakob chewed slowly and took deep breaths. He checked where it hurt. His back and legs were stiff. He stretched out one leg, then the other. He grimaced slightly, but he tried not to dwell on the pain. It will be gone by tomorrow, at least the worst of it, and that's good enough.

He listened to the sounds outside the open kitchen window. Sounds from various animals. It seemed he wasn't the only one awake at this hour. He yawned heavily. He should gather his strength and get up now. Go and lie down in his comfortable bed. He tried to move his legs, just shift one foot, but he remained still.

Jakob had worked hard today as well. He and his parents had gotten up early in the morning. His mother had prepared breakfast and packed food while he and his father had harnessed the ox and gathered the tools and equipment they would need for the day. After breakfast, they set off a couple of kilometers to reach the field where they would work all day. Each armed with a scythe, they began to cut the grass and gather it into piles with the help of rakes. They unloaded the stakes from the wagon, and with the help of skewers, they anchored them into the ground. They set up the remaining stakes into a hay rack and placed the grass there.

The work had taken all day and well into the evening. Jakob had volunteered to take care of the last tasks, and Gustav had gone home before him. It had taken longer than Jakob had thought, and now it was almost night. When he returned to the farm, his parents had already gone to bed. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. He had finished the last chores, as promised, and he was proud of that, but now he was very tired. Jakob had unharnessed the ox, given him water and hay, put back the tools they wouldn't need the next day, and finally pushed the wagon back into its place, all by himself. Now, he sat here on a chair in the kitchen, resting. He could well afford it after today's toil. He took another sip of milk.

He heard footsteps from upstairs. The floorboards creaked and groaned in the old cottage. Sounds from the stairs with each step, small light steps approaching him. Now, through the hallway, and a moment later, the squeaking sound of the kitchen door sliding open. He closed his eyes, too tired to open them.

"My dear boy," whispered his mother with the gentlest voice. He felt the glass of milk leave his hand, and the hat lifted off his head.

"Come, let me help you," she said, and her hands slid under his arms, lifting him to his feet again. Her arm wrapped around his waist, and he opened his eyes. Helena looked at him with a wide smile, and he smiled back. He draped one arm over her shoulders, and together they left the kitchen. They entered his room, and she sat him down on the bed. The gray strands of her black hair shimmered in the evening light. She helped him out of his vest, shirt, socks, and trousers. He lay down, and she tucked the blanket over him. She ran her hand through his hair, then leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

"My good, sweet boy," she said, running her hand through his hair once more. She stood up and left the room. She closed the door almost completely and ascended the stairs again. He fell asleep to the sound of her light footsteps on the staircase steps.

Jakob woke with a start and sat up in bed. He looked out the window, and the sun shone as if it were midday. He reached for his trousers lying on the chair, and when he noticed how neatly folded they were, he remembered how his mother had helped him the night before. When he usually took them off, he would just toss them over the back of the chair.

He hurriedly put on the rest of his clothes and rushed out of the room. The hallway and the kitchen were empty. He went upstairs, calling out, "Hello!" at the same time, but no one answered him. He cautiously opened the door to his parents' room, but there was no one there. Had he overslept? He rushed back downstairs, missing a few steps and nearly falling but managing to land on his feet. He grabbed his hat from the hook, laced up his boots, and stepped out through the front door, and that's when he saw his mother kneeling in the vegetable patch.

"Where's father?" he asked, approaching her.

"Good morning. He left a little earlier this morning without you because he thought you needed to sleep a bit longer," Helena said, smiling.

"Sorry, mother, good morning, see you tonight," Jakob said, turning around and starting to run across the yard and out onto the road leading to the field where they worked.

When he finally arrived, he was drenched in sweat, and he stopped to catch his breath for a moment. He saw his father far away, out in the field, and beside him stood someone. After gathering himself, he walked briskly towards his father, and as he approached, he saw that it was a girl his father was talking to. Gustav turned towards him, and with a sneer, he said, "So you're awake now?"

"Sorry, father," Jakob said, "It won't happen again." He looked shamefully at the ground, but after just a short while, he looked up. First at his father, then at the girl. She smiled at him and turned to Gustav, saying, "So this is your son you were just talking about, he doesn't look like much."

"No, I know, but he's quite good at working," Gustav said, extending a rake towards Jakob. He took it, face flushed, and stepped a few paces away from them before starting to rake up the grass.

He heard her chuckle, and although he didn't want to admit it at first, he liked the sound of her laughter. He glanced over at her, and she looked directly at him. He heard them talk for a while longer, and then the girl left. He wished he had put on a clean shirt or at least washed his hands, but there wasn't much he could do about it now.

Chapter 3

The Ardennes horse struggled forward through the mud, neighing. The wheels of the wagon squeaked, and the boards creaked. It was an old wagon, hastily repaired in several places. They had been on the roads for a long time now. The boy could no longer remember his home.

He had been only a few years old when their journey began. They had never celebrated his birthday, so he didn't know his own age. He had asked some boys they met in a village a couple of years ago how old they were. They had looked like him, so he assumed they must have been the same age. They had said they were seven and eight years old, and that was three years ago, so he should be about ten years old now.

He sat next to his father, thinking about when he removed the chain from the girl a few hours ago. He had climbed up on the remnants of the pyre and stood for a while, looking at her. She now looked like all the others. A fire had that impact on the human body, he had learned. Smoke rose from the lifeless girl. Her clothes had melted into her skin. The sooty, bloody hands clung tightly to what was left of the smoldering rope.

He ran a finger over one of her arms, and bits of skin fell off like charred little leaves. He tried to hold his breath, he had learned that now. In the beginning, he could throw up several times before completing his task, but now it was just a chore like any other. He had seen it before, many times before, and he was used to it now. He thought of them as whole roasted pigs, and according to his father, they were worth less than that. At least you could eat pigs, his father had once said.

"Come on boy!" his father called, and he replied that he would hurry. He walked behind the girl, undid the chain, and then pulled it as hard as he could. She spun around half a turn before the chain released from her body. A small cloud of smoke rose into the sky. The chain was still hot, so he tossed it into a pool of water and walked away from the ashes.

In the beginning, they did not use a chain, and the witches were able to escape. Admittedly badly burned, but still. They had come a few meters from the fire before they sank to the ground. The audience had been horrified by that sight, and it wasn't good for business, his father had said. Now they always used a chain to make sure they couldn't break free until it was too late.

When the chain had cooled, he picked it up and put it on the cart. He jumped up and sat down next to his father.

As the wagon started moving, he had turned around and looked at her one last time, lying in the pile of ashes. He wondered who would take care of her now, and he thought it was good that it wasn't him.

The wagon jolted as one of the wheels rolled over a stone. The man pulled the horse to a halt and jumped down into the mud. He walked around to check if the wheels had been damaged. Once he confirmed that they hadn't, he climbed back onto the wagon. Turning to the boy, he said, "It's starting to get dark now, and soon, I won't be able to see the road. It's probably best if we make camp here."

The boy nodded, thinking that the warmth from the campfire would be welcome. He was also starting to feel hungry now, knowing that his father had bought good provisions in the village they had just left behind.

The fire crackled and hissed as it warmed the man and the boy. The boy sat carving a piece of wood while the man finished the last of the chicken. He tossed the chicken bones into the fire and wiped his hands on his coat. Taking out a few coins, he carefully counted them and placed them into a leather pouch. He made some notes in his black book, tied it shut, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat, along with the money pouch. Adding a few more logs to the fire to keep it going through the night, he lay down, lifted his hat, looked at the boy, and said, "Time for sleep now." Then he pulled the hat over his face.

The boy nodded, tucked the piece of wood and the knife into his coat pocket, and lay down. He tried to lie on his back like his father, but he always ended up rolling onto his side. He lay there, gazing into the fire. The fire follows me everywhere, he thought.

A wolf howled in the distance, and something moved in the forest behind him—perhaps a bear, a wolverine, or an elk. Whatever it was didn't matter. He was always afraid when it came time to sleep in the woods. Once, he had woken his father because he thought he heard a bear. When his father confirmed there was no bear, he got a beating for disturbing him unnecessarily. He didn't want to repeat that. He wriggled a little closer to the fire; it warmed him so nicely.

He heard voices from within the forest, someone whispering his name. He turned around and peered into the dark spruce forest behind him. He had heard it before, and his father had told him about elves, trolls, forest spirits, and other creatures that lived there and rarely showed themselves to humans. For a moment, he thought he saw something moving in there. He held his breath, his gaze wandering. He tried to focus, but everything was dark and blurry. He could only see a few meters into the forest, and it wasn't enough. He wouldn't have time to react if something attacked him. He listened. All was quiet now. He exhaled. Rolled back again. Regardless of what it was, he tried not to think about it.

The whispers grew louder, drawing closer to him. Tempting him. He covered his ears with his hands, pressing them as tightly as he could. Shut his eyes and began reciting the Bible as his father had taught him. Tears welled up in his eyes. He wanted to open them, but he was afraid of what he might see. A tear ran down from his eyelid, irritating the tip of his nose. Now he couldn't hold back any longer, so he opened one eye. Relaxed his arms and slowly removed his hands from his ears. Opened the other eye. All was completely silent except for his father's snoring. He wiped away the tear from the tip of his nose and ran his hand over his face. Lay there staring into the fire for a while, squeezing the warm blanket tighter, and closed his eyes again.

He jolted awake. The cold pierced through his body. The fire had died out now. His father was already awake, feeding the horse with a handful of hay. The boy was shivering uncontrollably. He knew he had to get up. Forced himself onto his feet. If he lay there any longer, he might become frozen in the ground. He turned around and looked towards the forest. He liked it better now that it was illuminated. The morning sun made the snow resting on the branches shine so beautifully.

He rolled up the blanket and pelt and tied a string around them, then went to the wagon and placed the bundle on the flatbed. He glanced at his father but didn't want to disturb him. He picked up a stick, squatted down, and started poking at the ashes from the campfire.

A sound echoed from within the forest, a branch snapping. He stood up and listened. Nothing. He struck his stick against bushes and tree trunks. Then he heard the sound again; there was something out there. He crept closer. Carefully, he peered between the trees. He saw a deer grazing. He wanted to get closer, to touch the animal. Slowly, he moved toward it. He was careful to watch where he placed his feet. The deer raised its head and began to look around anxiously. The boy stopped and stood completely still. He held his breath and just waited. The deer wandered further into the forest, and the boy followed.

The deer looked so peaceful as it wandered around. The boy wished he were that deer that he didn't have to travel around like he had for all these years.

The deer lifted its head again and stood completely still, just staring. The boy stopped and held his breath. The deer bolted and ran away on light feet between the spruces. The boy rushed after it. He kept a little distance but didn't want to lose sight of it. However, he did lose it anyway.

He stopped, put his hands on his knees, and breathed heavily. He looked around, inspecting the surroundings. He walked in a circle to see if he could find any trace of the animal, but besides his footprints, the snow lay undisturbed. After a while, he gave up and returned to his father. He followed his tracks in the fresh snow, and soon, he was back at the campsite again.

He walked towards his seat on the wagon, and before jumping up, he said, "Good morning, father."

”Good morning, boy,” the man in black replied. The father climbed onto the wagon and set the company in motion by snapping the reins, and the Ardennes horse began to move.

"The next stop will be in Malung," the man said.

"How far is it, father?" the boy asked.

"We should arrive by midday, assuming this wagon holds together as planned," the man replied. "I'll have to take the opportunity to fix it up a bit when we get there."

The boy sat in silence, gazing out towards the forest. He scanned for any interesting animals, perhaps a hare or a wolverine. It had been a while since he had seen a wolverine now. He wasn't even sure if there were wolverines here since he didn't really know where they were. His father had tried to teach him a bit of geography and other subjects, but the boy had never attended school, and his father was no teacher, at least not in academic subjects. He had learned many other things from his father. Things that were much more important to him, like hunting, skinning an animal, preparing it for a good meal, and burning witches. His father had also taught him to read, at least enough to understand a few lines from the Bible. Mathematics, geography, and the other subjects that children in school learned were not as important to him. Besides, Wolverines are found throughout Sweden, so it wouldn't be surprising for him to see one soon, regardless of where he is.

The boy's father began to hum a tune, and the boy recognized it. It was the melody his father used to hum when he was in a good mood. The boy joined in, and his father looked at him. The boy smiled, and his father smiled back. It was rare for his father to smile, especially at him, and it made the boy feel warm inside. The boy hummed louder, and his father chuckled, a rumbling laugh that made the seat shake. The boy laughed too, and his father reached out, pulling the boy's hat down over his eyes.

The boy was startled by a scream and fell silent, and the man in black stopped the horse. The scream echoed again, and now they could hear that it was coming from a girl - another piercing scream echoing between the trees. A cry for help. The boy leaped down from the wagon and ran into the forest, between the trees, and the man called out for him to stop, but the boy was already gone. The man turned around and reached for the rifle under the seat, then jumped down from the wagon and rushed after him.

Chapter 4

Jakob felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned around. It was his father, holding out a bottle of juice to him. Gustav was sweaty, his face flushed, and for a moment, Jakob thought he might collapse. He set down the rake and accepted the juice.

"Thanks, let's go sit in the shade for a while, Father," he said, taking Gustav by the arm and leading him behind one of the haystacks. They both sat down and removed their hats. Gustav extended the basket of provisions towards Jakob, but he just raised his hand in response and said, "You eat, I'm not very hungry."

"I brought sandwiches for you too; I knew you'd show up after sleeping in," Gustav said, and Jakob smiled, accepting the basket.

He unpacked the bundle of sandwiches and offered one to his father. Then he took the other for himself and took a bite. The filling consisted of both cheese and salted pork, and it was only then that he realized how hungry he actually was. He took another bite and then a sip of blackcurrant juice.

He enjoyed it thoroughly, and the coolness of the shade was welcome after the warm day. His father sat silently with folded hands, and Jakob felt ashamed that he hadn't prayed before devouring the sandwich. His father didn't get angry, but he looked at him, and Jakob understood exactly what he was thinking.

Gustav was tall and lean, with a round face adorned with a thick mustache and only a few strands of hair on the sides of his head. His scalp had been reddened by the sun despite Jakob's repeated reminders that he must keep his hat on when out in the sun. Gustav had listened half of the times, at least.

"Father," Jakob said after they had sat for a while in silence, enjoying the food and the coolness.

"Yes," Gustav replied without looking at him.

"Who was the girl that was here earlier?" he asked, shifting a bit in his seat.

"It was a girl from the neighboring village. She was on her way to her aunt's place, so she stopped by to chat for a while."

"Now it's time to get back to work, so get up," Gustav said, preparing himself.

"Girl from the neighboring village," Jakob said quietly as he stood up. He took his hat and put it on his head. Gathering the glass bottles and towels, he placed them back into the basket. He put the basket back on the wagon, took his rake, and returned to the spot he had been at before. He looked up at the sun and then over at his father, who was feeding the ox.

"Father," Jakob said again, raking a bit as he spoke.

"Yes," came the reply after a little while.

"What's her name?" Jakob asked, pausing and looking over at Gustav. Gustav lifted the water bucket from the wagon and set it down in front of Brutus. He looked at Jakob, smiled, and said, "You'll have to ask her yourself." Jakob snorted and went back to his work. Gustav smiled and patted the ox on its side.

"Ask her," Jakob muttered quietly to himself.

This day had also been a long day, but now it was finally over. The sun had begun to set, and a lovely coolness swept over all three. The ox struggled as the cart made its way along the forest roads. Gustav held the reins, and Jakob sat next to him and peered into the forest. He thought he would see some exciting animal, but all he saw was a couple of squirrels.

As the crew pulled into the yard, they were greeted by Helena, who helped untie Brutus and lead him to his paddock. Jakob and Gustav unloaded the wagon and pushed it aside to its place next to the barn, and together they went inside to eat supper.

Jakob wasn't very fond of grout sausage and rutabaga mash, but he didn't say anything about it, and now he was so hungry he could eat a whole ox. Not Brutus, but another ox.

"Jakob, can you go fetch some water after the meal so you can wash up properly tonight," Helena said, placing one hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, you're probably right that it's needed," Gustav said, looking at Helena. She smiled at him, and he then reached out his dirty hand towards her face. She screamed and slapped it away. She laughed, Gustav laughed, and Jakob watched his parents and smiled.

"Yes, Mother, I will," Jakob said once they had calmed down. After that, everyone ate in silence, and when Jakob had finished eating, he stood up and thanked his mother for the meal.

He went out to the barn and fetched a bucket, then walked toward the well. He removed the well cover and tossed in the well bucket, letting it sink below the surface. Then, he grabbed the rope and began to pull the bucket up again. He heard something moving among the trees. He peered intently but saw nothing.

"Hello," he said, but there was no response. He continued pulling on the rope, looking around, but he still couldn't see anyone.

A thick fog had settled over the forest and fields now. The occasional call of a bird still awake broke the silence. He looked over at Brutus, who stood in his pen with all the goats gathered around him. He pulled up the well bucket and emptied the water into the bucket he had brought with him. He tossed the well bucket back in and then heard the sound again.

This time, it sounded like footsteps. He turned quickly, but no one was there. He pulled up the well bucket again and quickly poured out the water. He bent down and grabbed the handle of the bucket, and as he straightened up, he saw her.

She stood in the middle of the meadow, looking at him. She wore a black dress, and her dark hair waved in the wind. She took a step toward him, and he flinched. He wanted to say something, but no words came out. He took a step back and stumbled over the bucket. He felt some water splash onto his feet. She started walking toward him with jerky, dragging steps.

"Stop!" he shouted, but she didn't listen, approaching him more and more.

"Who are you?" he asked, but she continued towards him with her eyes fixed on the ground.

"Please stop," he said, and now he felt panic grip him. He froze, froze to ice. He had never been so scared in his entire life. He had heard of beings that came in from the forest at night and abducted children. Performed horrible rituals on them. Sacrificed them to other gods. He thought they were just fairy tales to scare children; he didn't think that anymore.

The woman was only a few meters away from him, and now he could see her face. It was gray as ash and expressionless. The eyes were frosty and cloudy white. Her streaky, damp hair hung over half her face. Her face was disfigured, and her lips were black. She raised her hand and pointed at him with her bony finger.

"The fire will destroy you, Jakob Gustavsson," she hissed and looked up at him. He started walking backward. First, slowly with his eyes fixed on her, and then faster and faster, and finally, he turned and ran towards the house.

Chapter 5

"Stop boy!" the man in black shouted, but he could not see his son any longer. The boy ran as fast as he could. He did his best to get through the terrain quickly. Jumped over moss-covered rocks, ducked under tree branches, flung himself across a stream, and felt one boot get wet when he landed. Stumbled on some roots and fell, but he was quickly back on his feet. Heard how the scream came closer, the cry for help. He ran so his frozen legs ached. Tasted blood in his mouth, but he didn't stop running. Got a branch in the face as he ran between a couple of trees. He dropped his hat, but he didn't turn around to fetch it. The scream came closer, and he was almost there now.

The autumn wind cooled his forehead, and his hair fluttered in front of his eyes. Just a few more steps. He couldn't take it anymore, so he stopped. It had been a while since he heard her scream now, maybe it was already too late? He was panting quickly, the coldness scalding his lungs. His thighs ached, and his vision blurred for a brief moment. He massaged his thighs with wet mitts and closed his eyes. The scream echoed through the forest, and he sped off again. She must be close now. He must not give up.

He saw a girl his age standing with her back against a tree. In front of the girl stood three wolves, their jaws snarling menacingly. They saw the boy coming towards them and turned to face him. The boy tried to stop, but he slipped and fell on his back. The wolves approached. He held up one arm so they wouldn't strike him in the face, and with his other hand, he frantically searched his pocket for the knife.

One of the wolves pounced on him. Bite his arm. The beast pulled and tore. Another wolf came after and bit the boy's leg. He unsheathed the knife and tried to slash at the wolves. He didn't know if he hit them, but they didn't give up. They made new grabs, and the boy's clothes were torn, and the wolves' teeth dug into his skin. Deeper with each bite. Rage shone in the beasts' eyes. The instinct to kill its prey.

The boy screamed and flailed his arms and legs as much as he could, but nothing helped. Slashed the knife at their heads. He tried to hit their eyes, but they were too fast, and he felt the power drain from him. Each time one of the wolves made another grab, the boy felt a new pain as different parts of his body were attacked by the wolves' jaws.

Panic rose, and the boy kicked and punched to get free. He shouted at the girl to help him, but she remained petrified by the tree. He put one arm over his face so the wolves wouldn't attack him there. At the same time, he pressed his chin down to his chest so they wouldn't bite his throat. He knew if they struck him there, it was all over. He would bleed to death in seconds, and the wolves would tear him to pieces. He would never see his father again.

One of the wolves bit his arm, and he dropped the knife, so now he could only protect himself. He could no longer attack them except with a few kicks that did very little damage. He didn't even try to drive them away; it would have been pointless.

The wolves slashed at his arms, and soon, he could no longer protect his face. He began to lose all sensation in his arms and legs. They pulled and tore at him, and he went back and forth. The growls of the wolves echoed in his head. He yelled at them to stop, to leave, but everything only got worse. They were starving, and he was their prey. First him, then the girl. He regretted trying to save her now.

Then, there was a deafening blast, and the wolves ran off. The boy wailed, and tears rolled down his cheeks. He rolled around in the snow and didn't know where to go or how to get out of the pain. He breathed quickly and held his leg. He had lost his gloves, and his hands were red with blood.

"Are you completely crazy boy?" the man said and went forward and lifted the boy in one arm. The boy screamed in pain, his legs buckled, and he fell back into the snow. When the man noticed that the boy could not stand on his legs, he lifted him up on one shoulder. He looked at the girl by the tree who sat down in tears, and then he turned and walked away.

The boy saw the blood-red snow around the place he had just been. Then he raised his head and looked at the girl. She stood up slowly, wiped her face with one sleeve, and then slowly moved, followed. The boy smiled as he saw the girl following them from a distance.

The boy cried and was ashamed, but he also felt that he had never loved his father as much as he did right now. The father stopped, bent down, and picked up the boy's hat, he stretched again and continued the walk back to the wagon through the dense forest.