The Glass Demon

by Helen Grant

  ‘All the attacks, they’re based on the pictures in the glass,’ I said. ‘I didn’t see it until the attack on Ru. Herr Mahlberg, that was the Naaman window. Your father’s uncle, Werner, that was the one with Adam and Eve. It was the apple that made me think of it –’

  ‘What apple?’

  ‘The apple…’ My voice trailed off. Oh shit. I put a hand over my eyes. ‘Look, you can’t tell anyone this, OK?’

  Michel was staring at me.

  ‘The day we came to Germany – the day we first met – we stopped in Niederburgheim to ask for directions and we saw him. Werner, I mean.’

  ‘When? Was he still alive?’

  ‘No.’ I shut my eyes, not wanting to see Michel’s face. ‘He was dead.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘We didn’t tell anyone.’ I opened my eyes and looked at Michel as earnestly as I could. ‘You don’t think we had anything to do with it? He was already dead when we found him.’

  ‘But you didn’t find him. The guy who worked with him did.’

  ‘I guess that was later,’ I said.

  ‘But…’

  ‘We didn’t report it,’ I said, interrupting him. ‘Look, we didn’t do anything to him. We thought – well, Dad thought – that he had probably just had an accident. And if we’d gone to the police we’d have spent hours and hours answering questions. So we just –’

  ‘Just decided to drive away and leave him,’ finished Michel.

  ‘Well, I said we should report it,’ I said defensively. ‘But Dad –’ I felt a twinge of guilt – ‘Dad didn’t want to.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Michel. There was a very long silence as he considered what I had just told him. His face was grim. Finally he said, ‘Your dad’s got a cheek reporting my father to the police.’

  Irrationally I felt a stab of irritation. I felt that I had crossed a line when I had blamed my father for abandoning Werner’s body to the elements. I had trusted Michel; I had allied myself with him and not with my family. Now here he was, criticizing.

  ‘Your dad threatened us,’ I retorted angrily.

  ‘He was scared.’

  ‘He was scared?’ I was so indignant that I lapsed into English. ‘What do you think my family felt like? They’d never even met him before. He just came storming in like a maniac, with that – that gorilla of a brother of yours – and –’ I realized from the expression on Michel’s face that he was not following what I said at all. With an effort I made myself slow down and go back into German. ‘Look, he really frightened them. Tuesday thought he was threatening to kill us.’

  ‘He was scared for me,’ said Michel. ‘The ram’s head –’

  ‘Yes, where did he get the ram’s head?’ I demanded.

  ‘He found it,’ said Michel quietly. ‘It was on the doorstep in the morning, when we got up.’

  ‘He found it?’ I was dumbfounded.

  Michel nodded. ‘That was why he went mad. He said it was a warning. He said I had to keep away from you, that if I hung around with you it would be dangerous.’

  I stared at him. I had the sense of pieces of a jigsaw sliding together with the ponderous motion of tectonic plates.

  ‘Abraham,’ I said slowly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Abraham and Isaac,’ I said. I looked at Michel. ‘He was right. It was a warning: This time it was the ram, next time it’ll be your son.’ I put my hands to my face and held them there, feeling the comforting warmth of my own breath on my fingers. ‘Whoever left the ram’s head on the step had seen the glass and they knew your father had seen it too.’

  I looked out of the open side of the picnic hut, into the forest. In spite of the chill in the air, the day was brightening and sun was streaming down between the trees. I had the strangest sense of disconnection, as though I were sliding between two different worlds. In one of them the sun was shining and on the other side of the forest in Baumgarten shops and cafes were opening and people were doing ordinary stuff – walking the dog, shopping. In the other one anything could happen: legends could come to life; a killer could take inspiration from a medieval masterpiece and sculpt his own interpretation in the flesh of his victims. I felt as though something essential inside me was pulling apart, strands separating, ripping…

  Michel was saying something. With an effort I made myself concentrate.

  ‘He kept crying,’ said Michel. ‘It was weird.’

  I agreed. Personally I would believe in weeping statues of the Virgin Mary before believing that tears ever came out of Michel’s father’s flinty eyes. I had no faith in his grief; I had seen the work of his fists.

  ‘He said that he’d lost my mother and he wasn’t going to lose me,’ said Michel. ‘He said he knew I’d been to the church…’ He sighed. ‘I guess I wasn’t as careful as I thought I was when I put the boards back. He didn’t seem to care much about that. He was worried that I was going to tell you or your father where the glass was. He said loads of crazy stuff. He said the glass was cursed.’ He shook his head. ‘And he kept saying the priest was right.’

  ‘The priest?’ There was a sickening lurch in the pit of my stomach. I could not hear that word without thinking of Father Engels, of his beautiful angry face, a memory which was inextricably entwined with a searing sense of shame. ‘What did the priest have to do with it?’

  ‘Dad went to see him after my mother died. I think he thought he shouldn’t have shown her the glass and the church; maybe he shouldn’t have brought her to live here at all. So he went and had a discussion with this priest, and the priest told him – he was right.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He was right. It was the glass that was responsible for her death.’

  ‘Who –’ I could hardly bring myself to frame the question. ‘Who was the priest?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  I sat for a long time, just thinking. I thought about Father Engels, about the cold hard core which lay within that beautiful exterior. I thought about Michel’s mother. I thought about Herr Mahlberg, who had written to my father, and Werner Heckmann, who could have told my father about the glass if he had lived. I thought about Michel’s father crying and saying that he didn’t want to lose Michel too. Michel’s father was right; the Allerheiligen glass was cursed, and it seemed to me that we were part of the curse, my family and I. No one we touched was safe. If I asked Michel to help me, I was asking him to put himself deliberately in the line of fire.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said finally.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.’

  Michel looked at me and his face was serious. ‘You’re not going back to the church on your own.’

  I sighed. ‘Michel, I have to do something. I have to try.’

  ‘Then I’m coming with you.’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Lin –’

  ‘No. Really, no.’

  ‘Lin, you need me to tell you when Dad’s going to be away. And I’m not letting you go alone.’

  I started to say that I didn’t need Michel at all; I didn’t need anyone. But the truth of it was, I did need him. I didn’t really want to go back to the church on my own, to stand there in the dark with the smell of dust and decay and those mouldering crates, not knowing who or what would come to find me. I thought that I would feel a thousand times better if Michel was by my side.

  I stood up. ‘Can’t we go now? Your father’s not out yet, is he?’

  Michel shook his head. ‘I’m supposed to be helping him on the farm this weekend. I can’t get away.’

  He rose to his feet and for a moment we were standing very close to each other. It would have been quite natural to step a little closer, to touch his hand, to turn my face up to his, but I didn’t. I knew that I was putting him in danger simply by being with him; I knew that what he was offering I had no right to demand. I was not going to pay for it with a Judas kiss.

  I stepped away from him.
/>
  ‘Lin?’ he said. ‘Promise me you won’t go there on your own.’

  I looked him in the eyes. ‘I promise,’ I said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Monday morning dawned clear and dry. When Michel arrived I was already waiting outside the gate, my bag over my shoulder.

  We were halfway to school before he told me.

  ‘My dad’s gone to Prüm again.’

  ‘What, today?’

  He nodded. ‘The rain caused a lot of damage on the farm. There’s stuff he wants to get for the repairs.’

  ‘Has your brother gone?’

  ‘No, but he won’t go into the forest. Lin, you know my brother’s not – he’s not quite like other people.’

  I stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  Michel sighed. ‘You’ll see if you get to meet him. He won’t bother us, don’t worry.’

  ‘Michel –’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  I was tempted to probe further, but Michel was clearly disinclined to say anything else, and a more urgent consideration was filling my mental horizon.

  ‘Then we can go to – you know?’

  Michel nodded.

  I bit my lip. ‘Look… your dad, he’s definitely gone, hasn’t he? I mean, he couldn’t just be –’

  Michel was shaking his head. ‘He’s definitely gone. He’s meeting someone in Lünebach at two o’clock.’

  For a while we drove along without speaking. I don’t know what was going through Michel’s mind. I was wondering whether we were planning to do something heroic or something downright stupid. I had a nasty feeling that we were carrying on like two children trying to frighten off the night by waving a couple of sparklers at it. I was not sure whether I longed for the school day to end or for it to last forever.

  I was still thinking about it when Michel pulled up at the school. For once there was a parking space free right outside the gates. Frau Schäfer was in for the surprise of her life: I was going to be on time.

  ‘We should go in,’ said Michel, glancing at his watch.

  ‘I know,’ I said, not moving.

  Our eyes met. There were people walking down the street towards us, I knew that. The school bell was going to ring at any minute and the pavement was crowded with students, some of them from my year, probably from my actual class. None of it made the slightest difference. I leaned over and pulled Michel closer. Very deliberately I kissed him.

  There was a thump on the window on my side of the car. The fat boy from my class was leering through the window at us, making the thumbs-up sign. There was a muffled cheer from someone behind him.

  Michel himself was speechless and pink in the face, but I could see the corners of his mouth curling upwards. He still had that same radiant look on his face when we walked into school together.

  I felt happy too. Something simple and wonderful had happened, and the burden of my woes was suddenly a little lighter. I had no idea that in six hours this was going to turn into the very worst day of my entire life.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  I had the first inkling that something was wrong when I was on my way to the last double lesson of the day. I was walking between classrooms when my mobile phone went off in the bottom of my bag. Normally I kept it switched off when I was in class; evidently this time I had forgotten. I fished it out, jabbed at the green button with my thumb and clamped it to my ear, hoping that none of the teachers would pass by and tell me off.

  ‘Lin?’ said my father’s voice.

  He spoke much too loudly as usual; it was as though he was shouting directly into my ear. I winced.

  ‘Dad, I’m at school.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Look, something’s happened.’

  ‘What?’ I said, alarm instantly flooding through me.

  ‘It’s Tuesday. She’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ Suddenly I actually felt weak, as though my legs would no longer carry me. There was a large window with a low wide sill; I went and sat on it. People walking past looked at me curiously. I ignored them. ‘Dad? What happened? Where are you?’

  ‘Baumgarten – there’s a call box. She’s just – gone. Went off this morning and took Ru with her.’

  I let my head fall back against the windowpane and closed my eyes. I didn’t know quite how to feel. I was shocked, but mixed with shock was a feeling of bitter satisfaction. It was as though I had always known that she would do it again.

  ‘Lin?’ My father’s raised voice sounded tinnily from the mobile phone. ‘Lin, are you still there?’

  I didn’t reply. In my mind’s eye I could see Tuesday hurrying from the castle with Ru half-asleep in her arms. Settling Ru in his car seat and doing up the straps. Opening the boot to put a bag inside and closing it carefully so my father wouldn’t hear. I could see her glancing back at the castle one last time, then climbing into the car and driving away, accelerating, putting as much space between herself and the Kreuzburg as she possibly could.

  She’s done it again.

  Tuesday had run away once before, when Polly and I were little – old enough to understand that she had gone, but not old enough to understand why. Young enough to be terrified that our mother would never come back, that we would never see her again. An already untidy, disorganized family life had descended into chaos. My father had tried to jolly us along at first, to make it sound like tremendous fun to eat baked beans every night, to wear each other’s things because he couldn’t remember what belonged to whom. Eventually he had lost patience. He had work to do – important work, work which would make him famous. I never blamed him for not wanting to be bothered with two little girls – after all, our own mother had left us, hadn’t she? All the same, I protested. Polly had become silent, a wraith with a thumb permanently in her mouth, even though she was too old for thumb-sucking. I had had tantrums.

  In desperation my father had farmed us out to friends and relatives. He had even tried hiring a housekeeper, whom I had hated with a vengeance. Then one day Tuesday had come back. She had come back and the housekeeper was summarily dismissed. I had watched from my bedroom window as she walked down the garden path to the waiting taxi, with her parting shot ringing in my ears.

  ‘You’re no mother to those girls,’ she had told Tuesday roundly. And I had believed her. I had never quite stopped watching Tuesday after that, waiting for signs that she was going to leave us.

  At last, she’s done it again.

  ‘Lin?’ I didn’t realize I had spoken aloud.

  ‘I’m here, Dad.’ I sighed. ‘She took Ru?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Should I be glad about that? I wondered. At least she hadn’t abandoned him the way she had abandoned us. Perhaps she had learned something over the years. Or perhaps she loved him more than she had us.

  ‘Where have they gone?’

  ‘Karl’s. She left a note.’

  ‘But Uncle Karl said we couldn’t go there,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Do you think that would stop her?’ asked my father grimly. ‘She said she’s not staying at the castle any more. She thinks it’s not safe.’ I heard my father sigh into the phone and the line crackled. ‘She took the car, obviously. I had to walk into Baumgarten. I’m going to try to hire a car, though God knows where –’

  I interrupted him. ‘Polly – where’s Polly? Is she with you?’

  ‘Well, no, she’s still at the castle…’ he began.

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ I could not keep the frustration out of my voice. ‘You promised not to leave her there alone!’

  ‘She was shut in her room. She wouldn’t come out and I had to go.’

  ‘Why was she shut in her room?’ I could hear my own voice rising and with an effort I controlled myself.

  ‘She had… We had a disagreement this morning.’

  I didn’t need to ask what it was about. ‘You had a row?’

  ‘Polly can be difficult, you know that.’ My father’s voice had taken on a defensive tone; he sounded like a little boy try
ing to cover up the fact that he had not done his homework.

  ‘Dad, she’s ill.’

  ‘I know that, Lin.’

  ‘And you promised not to leave her alone.’

  The conversation was going round in circles. I listened to his protestations for half a minute more and then I told him I would be home in an hour and a half and hung up.

  All through the last lesson I sat and fidgeted, unable to concentrate on what the teacher was saying. Polly would probably be fine, I told myself; she was not a little kid, and anyway she would not be on her own for long. All the same I could not stop thinking about her, stranded there in the castle, a little island in that vast expanse of forest. I imagined her coming downstairs, her anger fading, and finding the house empty. She would open the front door and look into the courtyard. She would see that she was quite alone and perhaps she would stand there for a while and listen. The breeze would be cool and sound would carry far through the crisp air: the crackle of bulky animal bodies moving through the thick undergrowth, the desolate cry of a bird of prey far above. If anyone – or anything – else were to approach the castle through the dense cover of trees, would she distinguish the stealthy movements of a killer from the natural sounds of the forest?

  And so I squirmed in my seat and looked at my watch surreptitiously under the desk and counted the minutes until the bell rang. There was nothing else I could do, after all. I was dependent on Michel to run me back to the castle, so even if I had made some excuse myself and left the classroom early, I could not have got home without him. I told myself that then and I keep telling myself that now.

  The moment the bell rang I was out of my seat, stuffing books and pens haphazardly into my bag. I ran for the door. Out in the corridor I paused. It was Monday, so Michel would be in the science lab. I was at the door before he emerged, and as soon as I saw him I grabbed his arm and tried to pull him along with me.

  ‘What’s the hurry?’ he asked, struggling to fit a large file into his bag as he stumbled along beside me.

  ‘It’s Polly.’

  ‘Your sister? What’s the matter with her?’