Escape from the Past

by Oppenlander, Annette

  Bero shook his head. He glimpsed upward into the trees and sniffed. “It’s eventide. Mutter will be mad if I’m late for supper. I’ll get a whipping.” He jumped to his feet, light and quick as a squirrel, letting out a low whistle at the same time. New grunts and squeaks erupted as the pigs assembled around their master. He squinted again in obvious distrust. “See you ‘round… perchance.”

  To me it sounded like leave me alone. I stood up, too. It was growing dark for sure. The shadows of the undergrowth looked inky and I could hardly make out the sky. Maybe this was a good time to take a break and search for a snack. My mom always had ice cream stashed in the freezer.

  As Bero disappeared into the gloom, I turned 360 degrees. All I saw was dusk. All I heard was the song of some nauseatingly happy bird above me. I looked at my feet. I still stood in the woods and nowhere near on the carpet of my room. There was no pause button and no mouse.

  I shivered. I was somehow in the game and clueless what I was supposed to do. All games had goals like winning points and missions, shooting demons or collecting gold. But every game had a pause button and you could exit any time. What in the heck was I supposed to do standing in the middle of a forest? I remembered the sickening sight of the man’s bloody hand, the hole where his finger had been. Then there was the blood on my own hand. The foul smells. Never before, not even when my father had left, had I felt this alone…and scared. Games were supposed to be virtual and fun.

  I wondered how much time had passed since I’d punched the expert button. It had to be hours. What if I didn’t return by morning? My mother would freak out. I shook my head but nothing changed. Nothing except for new rustling that stirred to my right. It was much louder than the sounds of squirrels and birds. Who knew what dangerous animals Jimmy’s father had dreamed up? Maybe he’d stuffed the forest with wolves and bears.

  Renewed terror seized me. I stood absolutely still, forcing my brain into action. What if I were eaten by a bear? Was that even possible in a game?

  Maybe I’d missed some hint. Jimmy would laugh at me in the morning. Okay, I’d skipped level one and gone straight to expert, obviously a huge mistake. Great gamer I was.

  Struggling against the rising panic, I remembered Bero. Maybe if I could go with him until I’d find a clue and think things through. At least the guy knew his way around, even if he looked like he’d spent a year in the landfill. He didn’t sound exactly stupid, despite the fact he talked weird.

  Without another thought, I broke into a run in the general direction Bero had taken which turned into a sprint, something I hadn’t done since last year’s track season. The twilight turned everything gray, but I noticed the faint signs of broken sticks and upturned leaves the pigs had left.

  “Bero?” I yelled. I kept running, my lungs tight, thighs burning.

  In the vanishing light at the edge of the forest, the land fell in a gentle slope toward…what?

  Where the neat homes and hedged gardens, the paved roads and street lanterns of Bornhagen had been, shacks and huts squatted in the dusk, crooked and dirty with thatched roofs and muddy paths. This couldn’t be right. I’d spent two years in Bornhagen. I knew every street, nearly every house. I had to be in some other place, maybe one of those make-believe medieval villages, some kind of tourist attraction.

  Bero’s slight figure scampered along two hundred yards ahead.

  “Wait for me,” I shouted again, breaking into another run. At last I saw Bero stop. His pigs snorted loudly, impatient to get back to their stall.

  “Thanks, man,” I panted as I drew near.

  “What is it?” Bero frowned. “I’m late. Sows need water.”

  I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, a sure sign I was nervous. I thought of what to say, tell the guy some bullshit story about being mugged or losing my parents in a bloody car accident, but somehow it seemed unlikely that Bero would fall for it. I decided truth was best.

  “Look, I need a place to stay. Just for tonight. I’m sort of lost. I’m not from here, not exactly. I’ll try to explain, but I know you’re late. I’m not a spy even if I sound strange to you. Fact is you’re my only hope. Otherwise, I’ll…have no place to go.” I opened my mouth, but nothing else seemed right to say.

  Bero stared, his gaze lingering on my shoes. A minute passed. Whether it was my explanation or the underlying fear that had made my voice shake, Bero finally nodded.

  “You can come. But you must help with the sows. And don’t mouth off to Mutter.” Bero punched me in the shoulder, but I didn’t mind. I was strangely relieved.

  “Thanks, man.”

  At the edge of the village a shack stood surrounded by a fence. Blackened timber crisscrossed its whitewashed outer walls, reminding me of a crooked chessboard. On the doorstep a girl of about twelve sat shelling beans by a smoldering light. She didn’t look up until Bero opened the gate and shooed his pigs into an enclosure with a low-roofed barn. I slinked along. “Mutter is cross with you,” the girl shouted in Bero’s direction. When her eyes fell on me, she began to stare, her mouth forming a perfect O. I nodded. She shrieked and disappeared inside the hut.

  Ignoring her, Bero pointed toward a wooden bucket that hung on the fenced-in pen. “Water troughs need filling. You have to go three times. Sows are thirsty after the long day.”

  I grabbed the pail and looked for a faucet. Surely it had to be near the house.

  “What are you doing? Make haste,” Bero said.

  “Looking for the faucet.”

  “What’s a faucet?”

  “For the water.” We stared at each other as if we were both fools.

  Finally Bero shrugged and pointed down the path. “The well is that way. Make haste, I’m starving.”

  I ran past more crooked huts until I saw a circular wall with a crude roof above. Remembering vaguely what I’d learned in history class, I circled around it. The wooden crank, splintered and silvery from age, was encased in rusted iron. I gave it a shove, breathing a sigh of relief when I heard the sound of trickling water in the depth. It was nearly dark now except for a low shine escaping from the open door of Bero’s hut. In the distance, I saw other lights. They were so dim that they looked more like fireflies than lamps. Jimmy’s father sure had done a good job with this place. It looked pretty authentic, wherever it was.

  “You dawdle like a drunken snail,” Bero said after my third trip, snatching the pail from my hand and returning it to the barn wall. “Let’s eat.”

  I wiped my damp hands on my jeans and followed Bero into the hut.

  Chapter 3

  “Mutter, I brought someone.” Bero slumped on the bench, scanning the table. I stood unmoving. Two tallow lamps flickered in earthen pots, barely making a dent into the gloom. The thick mixture of smoke, dust and body odor was worse. Disgusted, I rubbed my nose. It didn’t do any good.

  The left side of the ceiling hung so low that I easily touched it with my hand. The other half was hidden by dense smoke. A scrawny fire smoldered in a stone hearth along the back wall. In front of it stood a woman of indefinable age, stirring a cast-iron pot.

  “You’re late,” she said without turning. “Next time we eat without you.”

  “I told you she’s mad,” said the girl who’d been shelling beans earlier.

  “Hush, Adela,” the mother shot back. I looked back and forth between them, struggling to follow the weird speech while identifying the smell emanating from the pot. Nothing came to mind. Despite the terrible stench in the house, my stomach gurgled in anticipation.

  “Nay, I was late because of this lad,” Bero said. “He needs shelter for tonight.”

  At last, the mother turned around. Even in the gloom I could tell that she was shocked, maybe scared, her eyes blackish pools in the haggard face. She carefully placed the ladle on a stone plate and stepped closer—her eyes now squinting, scrutinizing. I wanted to bolt. A disgusting odor enveloped me. While Bero smelled of earth and pigs, the woman reeked of sweat and something sour. I tried br
eathing shallow breaths, thinking I should just leave and sleep outside. But then I thought of the rustling in the woods, the evil riders wielding their swords—worse, how clueless I felt.

  “His name is Max,” Bero offered from the bench. “He hid in Hanstein’s forest.”

  The woman stepped closer and then crossed herself. “May the Lord have mercy. A Wanderer to bring doom to our Haus.”

  I vehemently shook my head. “No, no, I’m just lost and need a place for the night.”

  Bero’s mother stepped closer still. She was inches shorter, yet her shoulders were wide and her arms thick and muscled. I shrank back. She’d beat me to a pulp no problem. To my horror she extended an arm to inspect my hair. “What’s a lad like you doing in the Lord’s forest? You look like a stranger. A conjurer perhaps.”

  “He said he is from the village,” Bero intercepted. I wished he’d shut up. It was nerve-wracking enough to deal with Bero. The woman was positively frightening—nothing like my mother who was gentle and sweet.

  “I’m visiting,” I tried. Maybe it was best to say as little as possible.

  Bero’s mother grabbed my T-shirt and rubbed the fabric between thumb and forefinger. “Your clothes are…odd.” Then her eyes fell on my shoes, half hidden in the straw. Obviously not hidden enough. She got on her knees mumbling something. Then she crossed herself again. I stood waiting and hoping my legs wouldn’t tremble. To keep from fidgeting, I stuck my hands in my pockets, my right fingertips making contact with something within.

  I’d forgotten about the knife and wristwatch. The band was broken and I’d procrastinated having it fixed. What if she searched me and found my stuff? They’d call me a witch for sure. Wait. Weren’t those female? What was the male equivalent of a witch?

  “You cannot stay, it’s devil’s work.” She straightened and crossed her arms.

  Bero watched from the bench. “I think he’ll be fine. He’ll work for me.” I stared back. Was he high? I was going to do no such thing.

  “Let him stay,” the girl said, her eyes glowing with curiosity. “He’s thin. He won’t eat much.”

  “He’ll be an extra hand,” Bero said.

  The mother continued staring and for a moment the room grew silent. At last she stood and poked a forefinger at my chest. “Visiting, hmm?”

  “Yes, Mam.”

  “All alone? No mother to take care of you then.”

  “Yes.” I fought to hold her gaze though I wanted to disappear and go home. Have dinner with my mother.

  “It is agreed then. For tonight. Don’t think I won’t be watching you.”

  “Thank you,” I stammered. It sounded like a sigh.

  “Let’s eat. Adela, fill the bowls.” The mother grabbed a clay flask and filled four stone mugs while Bero patted the seat next to him.

  I sagged on the bench. Bero grabbed hold of his wooden spoon, but stopped in midair.

  “We pray.” The mother’s eyes flashed a warning before she lowered her head. I watched Bero obediently bend forward and followed suit.

  “Unser Vater inn dem himel.

  Deine name sey heylig.

  Dein reich kome…”

  My thoughts drifted. She recited some old-fashioned version of the Lord’s Prayer. I was in the twilight zone and the sick dream continued.

  “Amen.”

  Snapping awake I surveyed the table. Within a split-second Bero stuffed his mouth, chewing and swallowing loudly. His mother broke a piece off a grayish loaf and offered it to me. I sniffed and took a tiny bite. Bread. Despite the grainy texture it tasted good. But when I took a spoonful from the bowl, I nearly spat it back. It tasted as it looked: slimy gunk like snot and completely flavorless. I snatched the mug to wash it down. The liquid smelled slightly bitter and I managed to swallow. At least, this stuff didn’t taste too bad. I tried another bite of slime and chased it with the bread. When I looked up from my bowl, I found the girl staring at me. I stared back. Maybe it was my imagination but it sure looked like she turned pink.

  “What’s this?” I asked, taking another gulp from the cup. Somehow I felt light-headed and heavy at the same time. The bowl in front of me refused to empty.

  “Ale,” Bero said. “I’ll eat your gruel if you don’t.”

  “Hush, Bero,” his mother said. “Let him eat in peace.”

  I sensed an opportunity to rid myself of the crap in the bowl. “I’m not that hungry. Bero can finish it.” I pushed the gunk sideways.

  Without comment Bero gobbled it down in record speed.

  My legs felt like rocks, my head filled with air, incapable of clear thought. Maybe the beer was getting to me. Or the stinky air, virtually devoid of oxygen. I ached to lie down, had it not been for my overfilled bladder. Why hadn’t I peed in the woods? I thought of the tiled bathroom my mother kept spotless.

  When Bero’s mother and Adela got up, I cleared my throat and whispered toward Bero who was picking a few forgotten bread-crumbs off the table. “Where’s your bathroom?”

  Bero wrinkled his forehead. “What’s that?”

  “Got to piss.”

  “We have an outhouse.” Pride swung in Bero’s voice. “I built it myself last year.” He jumped up and climbed across the bench. “What’re you waiting for?”

  I forced my sluggish legs to follow Bero out the door. The sky shimmered white, sprinkled with more stars than I’d ever seen.

  Bero pointed toward a shadowy contraption behind the house. “The privy.” A horrific stench floated around it like a cloud. Where was a tree when you needed one? Holding my breath, I opened the door—pitch-black. I’d seen an outhouse in a museum once. Arms outstretched I felt my way inside. My fingers touched rough wood and something soft, like leaves. My lungs bucked and I drew breath. The stink made me gag. I clamped my mouth shut while struggling to urinate into the hole.

  I emerged and gulped more air to get the smell out of my nose.

  “My turn,” Bero said, slipping past me. I stumbled toward the hut’s entrance, dreading to sleep among the unwashed people. But what choice did I have?

  Bero reappeared and grabbed a ladder, leaning against the side of the house.

  “We sleep on top.” I now noticed that the low half of the ceiling formed a sort of loft. Bero climbed with his usual quickness. I followed, trying to ignore the giggles that came from the back corner. Adela was nearly invisible in the shadows, but she couldn’t suppress the bubbly sounds of nervous laughter. Below us, Bero’s mother cleared her throat. It was all that was needed to shut up the girl.

  I lay on my side, a coarse straw-filled sack underneath and a slightly softer linen sheet on top. Everything reeked and I wished my nose would quit working. How the heck was I playing a game when I actually ate real food and drank beer? Jimmy’s father had created something monstrous and I had fallen for it. How could I’ve been so anxious to get my hands on the freaking game? I could’ve been in my own clean bed instead of feeling itchy and smelly and dreaming of a nice hot shower.

  Look at the bright side, I smirked. At least I’m sleeping inside instead of in the woods with wild animals, rain and nothing to eat. What I knew of peasant life, they were scraping by. They’d shared their food and their beds. I sighed. What game was I playing? Exhaustion finally took over and I fell asleep.

  Chapter 4

  I rolled on my back and listened to the sounds of pots clanging. Breakfast had to be ready. I was hungry for fresh-baked rolls, butter and homemade strawberry jam. But when I opened my eyes, I discovered two greenish beetles a foot from my nose, scampering and taking cover inside the thatch. I jolted sideway as the memories of last night came crashing back.

  Beneath me, Adela placed three mugs on the table. She hummed quietly while adjusting a blond curl that had escaped her cap. The first rays of sunlight illuminated a cloud of dust swirling through the room.

  “You awake? It’s late.” Bero’s face came into view from below.

  I nodded and struggled to sit. Remembering the roof at the last second
, I swung my legs over the edge and climbed down the ladder. My throat felt like sawdust. I wanted a nice glass of orange juice followed by a cup of coffee with cream. I’d discovered coffee recently and loved the caffeine jolt—especially when I stayed up late gaming. I sniffed, but nothing smelled remotely like my kitchen at home.

  “Let’s eat,” Bero said. “We’ve got work to do.”

  Adela smiled at me and filled our mugs from a carafe. Bero had taken hold of the bread from last night and tossed a chunk to me.

  “Eat.”

  I took a sip from the mug. It was lukewarm and smelled like watered-down sour milk. “What is this?” I said, quickly biting into the bread. I hated milk and this tasted disgusting.

  “Whey,” Adela said, her eyes quickly scanning my face. “We get it cheap from the neighbor. They have a cow.”

  “Can I just have water?” With the mother absent, I felt a bit braver.

  “What would you need water for? People get sick from it,” Bero said through bulging cheeks.

  I decided to let it go. I wasn’t up yet for another argument. Holding my breath, I took another sip and chased it with bread. At this rate I was going to lose serious weight.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “Tending the field.” Bero threw a scolding glance at his sister.

  Adela jumped from her seat. “I’m going to help her now.” She quickly looked at me before disappearing out the door.

  Still chewing, Bero got up. “Hurry, we’ll miss the market.” He poured water into the cups, swirled and hurled the mixture out the front door. Then he took hold of two baskets filled with leeks, carrots and onions.

  I stretched my achy shoulders, unsure what I was supposed to do. Here I’d thought things would sort themselves out in the morning. But nothing had changed. I was still in the rotten game and no closer to figuring out what to do. I’d just eaten the lousiest breakfast in history and instead of heading to school for my algebra test I was still standing in a shack.

  “What’re you waiting for?” Bero dragged the two baskets outside. “You going with me, or what? I could use the help.”