Читать книгу The Ice People 13 - The Devil´s Footprint - Margit Sandemo - Страница 7

Chapter 2

One night in the middle of summer the mysterious creature came to Christiania.

The landlord of an inn insisted that he had caught a glimpse of something that rushed past in the street outside, but when he looked out it had disappeared.

He later explained to the authorities at Akershus Castle that it was something huge. He could tell that because he knew how high above the windowsill a normal passer-by could reach, and for a brief moment this creature had blocked the entire window as it went past. No, he was unable to see what it was as it passed by because the leaded panes were uneven and almost opaque. All he knew was that he was filled with indescribable terror.

Soon everybody realized that what he had said was true. A couple of nights later, a whore was found in the gutter. Her corpse showed no signs of violence – her eyes merely stared up in incredulous horror. Or, to put it more precisely, when she was found, she lay staring towards the main street, which ran well outside her regular haunt. Then the reports began to pour in, each one more colourful than the next, but with one thing in common: they had seen the Devil himself, or at any rate the dead that followed in his tracks. Christiania was in a state of paralysed terror. Whatever it was that moved about among the people at night, the pattern was the same. The stranger was in search of food, and if anyone surprised him they had to die. Very often there were no signs of struggle, no wounds, no marks on the dead bodies. It seemed that they had simply been scared to death. At other times a witness had clearly got too close and then there might be a broken neck or other terrifying signs of violence.

People put out bait and soldiers lay in wait ready to shoot, but the beast always managed to hide whenever danger lurked.

By now there were many who had seen brief glimpses of him in the streets before he ran off. He came out during the night but nobody knew where he hid during the day. It was easy for him to move about in the small, narrow, filthy streets and easy to hide, as quick as lightning, in alleyways and dark corners.

The description of him was always the same: a huge creature covered all over in masses of hair. The few who had caught a glimpse of his face, said that it was pleasant in itself, yet with an expression so terrifying that you didn’t want to see it again. His “armour” seemed to consist of leather, not steel, as the first reports had implied.

The focus of interest was very much on his feet. He seemed to wear something that could be called a shoe or a boot on one foot, but his other foot was wrapped in skin, maybe with birch bark underneath, but this couldn’t be established. This foot was alarmingly short, and the fact that he limped so badly frightened people even more.

Never had people gone to church so often as they did then. All Protestant statutes were forgotten and lots of votive offerings were made in the hope of salvation. The people of Norway were accustomed to plague epidemics and famine, natural disasters and the unjust measures of the ruling powers. But never before had the Devil walked about on earth, reaping victims before their time had come. Could Heaven not see at all what was going on? Couldn’t it see that His Reverence from the underworld was stealing souls before the Lord had even judged them?

The people were seized by fatalistic dejection. What was the point of toiling and trying to live in the spirit of God, hoping at least for a tolerable life in the hereafter, when something like this could happen? The tar burners alone were happy because every house had to receive the sign of the cross, so there was almost a shortage of tar.

What was more frightening than anything else was that so very few of the victims showed any signs of violence. The expressions on the dead faces seemed to show that they had been frightened to death. Or ...

No, people didn’t dare to think about it, and certainly not to say what they thought, which was that maybe the monster was able to kill without touching its victims. Perhaps its yellow, burning eyes had that much power. No, this was inconceivable. Because if that were the case ... Well, then this was the Devil himself they had among them. No earthly being could kill merely with his gaze! A special task force of seasoned volunteer soldiers had been set up with the sole purpose of putting down this monster that was ravaging the town. They were cocksure, convinced of their invincibility, brutal and murderous. They felt that there hadn’t been enough wars during their lives but here was a task that suited them precisely.

If only they could get him within firing range. But he was super-sensitive and could scent danger at a great distance, only to disappear without a trace.

People called him the Beast, but the characteristic tracks in the muddy streets were still dubbed the Devil’s footprints. Everybody knew what was hidden inside the wrappings on his short foot! Most people were convinced that it was the Devil himself that was at large. Or might it be one of his helpers? This was certainly what the soldiers believed, because they probably wouldn’t have dared to take on the Devil himself. However, in order to be on the safe side, they had brought along plenty of silver bullets ...

The Ice People were probably the only ones who weren’t sceptical. But even they were unable to guess where he came from and what it was he wanted.

You would think that such a creature would kill animals and eat them, but this wasn’t the case. He would leave domestic animals in peace. He didn’t even care for the fish in the river. But he loved to eat prepared food such as the hams and dried fish that hung from the ceiling in people’s pantries.

The commander of the appointed troop, Colonel Plucky, thought that it was a pity that the Beast didn’t kill domestic animals. He wouldn’t have hesitated. But the Beast didn’t care for such things in the least. And the colonel’s men could see that traps were of no use. The Beast, whoever he was, was intelligent. He would never allow himself to be caught like that.

Nobody dared to go out at night anymore. The whores and the other shady characters did little business, and soon hardly anybody dared to go out during the day either. A mass exodus from the town began.

Colonel Plucky was growing increasingly impatient. It troubled him that he hadn’t seen the Beast at all. Nor had his men seen so much as the shadow of what everybody was talking about.

Nevertheless, he had a plan, although he didn’t care to talk too much about it. If you wanted to lift a cross from the shoulders of mankind, you also had to sacrifice something.

Once he had made up his mind, he felt at ease and efficient.

He knew of a young boy who wasn’t appreciated by the poor family he had been born into. He was so crippled that he hadn’t even been given a proper name; he was just called Limpy. He could control neither his arms nor his legs. His legs couldn’t keep pace with him when he ran, and his arms would assume the most grotesque positions. Everybody in the street laughed at him when he walked because it was easy to make fun of somebody like him. His parents had many other children and therefore hardly a spare moment for him, so he was forced to wear the same old rags a couple of years at a time, and when they were obliged to get new clothes for him, because the old ones were almost dropping off him, they would complain of how much money he cost them and what a gross misfortune had befallen them. The neighbours muttered about the Lord’s punishment and the parents felt hurt because they didn’t think that they deserved to be punished like that.

Colonel Plucky bought Limpy for two shiny rixdollars. His parents thought they had an excellent bargain, and didn’t ask what the colonel wanted to do with the human wreck.

Limpy was eleven years old. He tried to say something when the colonel came to take him away but nobody could understand what he said. No one saw the tears in his eyes, or if anybody did, they said nothing.

As Colonel Plucky dragged him away, his parents and siblings were already arguing about how they would spend the money.

Colonel Plucky stood in the shadow of a wall, proudly admiring his work.

Three of his men lay in wait opposite a small square, with their guns ready. He himself stood at a safe distance, looking down onto the square with its horse trough and street lamp. In the middle of the square stood Limpy, with one twisted foot tied to a pole by the horse trough.

The boy’s helpless moaning reached right up to the colonel. It won’t be long now until you won’t have any more to moan about in this world, the colonel thought, feeling like a great philanthropist. Things will be much better in heaven, because doesn’t it say in the Bible that people like you will be the first?

The night was dark, the sky brooded blackly over the quiet town. Everybody had been ordered indoors. Only the lamp on the square shone in the darkness.

The boy down there yelled and moaned. You just yell, the colonel thought. Yell so that the monster hears you and becomes curious. He hates human beings, that’s for sure, and here is one served up on a silver platter!

The colonel laughed at his own joke. Poor, empty-headed devil who understands nothing, he thought. It’s simply the decree of Providence that such creatures have no understanding ... although people talk about the work of the Devil. They say there was a curse on the parents that caused them to get a changeling. Served them right! Well then, the Devil’s helper is bound to turn up to fetch his offspring.

The colonel smiled once more at his joke. He was so extremely funny tonight.

Down on the square Limpy could feel how his powerlessness was getting the better of him and he let out a new yell of sorrow. He didn’t know why he was standing there like this, what he had done wrong. All he knew was that the man with the bad eyes had taken him away from his home.

Limpy was used to being beaten and abused – this was all he knew. He thought that he must be the most impossible child on earth since nobody cared about him.

Although he was unable to make himself understood, Limpy could think, though nobody had bothered to teach him anything. His small, lonely soul yearned so much for a loving word, a caress or a kindly look.

He had heard the others in the family speak about the church, that this was where you could receive help and compassion in times of poverty, illness and need. He had gone there once. It had taken quite some time because he wasn’t good at walking. He preferred to crawl. He didn’t like to meet people he didn’t know because at best they would stare at him and make the sign of the cross and whisper behind his back. At worst they would assault him and call him horrible names.

But this time he had ventured right up to the church door. He held on to it, stood up and opened it with great difficulty. When the vicar caught sight of him, he ran down the aisle and chased him away, beating and hitting him while he screamed: “Get away from me, Devil!” and “You’ve got a nerve, you monstrosity! Do you want to desecrate the House of the Lord?”

Limpy woke up from his bitter memories. He was scared, desperately scared and alone and didn’t understand why he was tied here, but he sensed that it didn’t bode well.

He gave a start.

In the quiet night he heard something that filled him with renewed anxiety.

Steps. Slow, limping steps ...

That individual limps exactly like me, he thought. Yet there’s something ominous, evil, about those steps. I’m scared, truly scared, and no one wants to help me.

The steps stopped quite near him. Limpy sensed that something was standing in the shadow in the narrow alleyway. He could feel that somebody was gazing at him. Eyes in the dark.

He fell to his knees. Praying was something he had never learnt to do and his only visit to the house of the Lord hadn’t been a success. Kneeling there, he was overcome by helpless weeping. He sniffled and blubbed, not so much from fright but from powerlessness at the inevitable. But even weeping was difficult because he was unable to control his facial muscles.

Everything was quiet and still around him. Limpy dried his eyes with his sleeve and listened.

He had never seen anything there in the shadows, but now he intuitively felt that nothing was standing there anymore. Surprised, he began to sob and sniffle despondently. What had happened?

Colonel Plucky asked himself the same question.

He had also heard the steps and had rubbed his hands. He had heard the soldiers prepare themselves, lying in wait, tense, ready to shoot.

But whoever it was who had stood in the shadow was now gone. Had he discovered them? That wasn’t possible because they were so well hidden behind the shadowy branches.

The colonel’s ears were very nearly popping out of his head but he could not hear a sound. A dog was barking in the distance, monotonously and without any hope of an answer. But here, in the small square, nothing moved, not the shadow of a rat along the wall, not a rustling in the leaves where the soldiers were hidden.

Suddenly he started. He heard a half-stifled rattle from where the soldiers lay. He strained to see but all he could perceive was a huge, dark shadow that moved swiftly, bent over the men.

“Shoot, shoot for heaven’s sake!” he yelled.

It was too late. Three times he heard a short, frightening death rattle. Then the shadow towered up over the men before it disappeared in the dark.

Colonel Plucky no longer lived up to his name. He fled from the square as quickly as his legs could carry him.

Limpy was still on his knees, dumbfounded at what he had heard. He hadn’t seen anything either, had merely sensed what was happening around him. His heart beat so fast that he thought his chest would explode. If it was an animal that was up there it might come down to get him – and he couldn’t break loose.

He moaned with fear as he tugged and pulled at his chain but, of course, he had no strength in him.

Then he heard steps once more and stared, paralysed, in their direction. Something tore itself loose from the darkness of the streets and stepped into the light shed by the flickering lamp.

Limpy stared. His eyes were almost popping out of their sockets and strange grunting sounds came from his throat. His body began to jerk, which it always did when he was nervous, and his arms and legs shook uncontrollably.

He flung himself to the ground in a heap.

The terrifying thing that now appeared stopped by his head. Limpy saw two feet quite close ... so different from each other that you wouldn’t believe they could belong to the same person.

He tried to lift his head but it was shaking so much that everything was in a haze. Higher and higher he lifted his gaze.

And then, suddenly, he saw a face more terrifying than anything he had dreamt of in his worst nightmares. He saw the thing draw back its upper lip just like an angry dog, and its white, sharp teeth glistened. They were a remarkable colour, those eyes that looked down on the miserable human wreck. A horrible hissing sound came from its throat.

Limpy knew that his last hour had come. But he had nobody to send up his prayers to, because he had never been taught about Jesus or God and the vicar had said that he was not to besmirch the house of the Lord, so there was nobody, absolutely nobody, he could turn to. He whimpered heavily, pleadingly, but the creature standing over him would show no mercy, Limpy knew that.

This unfathomable animal, or whatever it was, suddenly bent towards him. Limpy crouched, trying to protect his head. He felt a strong tug – and then he heard the dragging steps move quickly and silently away.

He could hardly believe that he was still alive. Once more he stretched out his body slowly. He looked about. No one was nearby. He sat up with difficulty.

The chain no longer felt tight. He stared at it in surprise. It had been torn loose from the pole and was now dangling around his leg.

It was a little while before he understood what had happened. But when it had sunk in, he began to crawl away on all fours, faster than he had ever moved before.

He didn’t know where he was. When he entered streets with more lights he could see people with heavily laden carts, all hurrying in the same direction. There weren’t many, though – he counted three carts in a quarter of an hour.

Limpy couldn’t ask anyone for directions. He didn’t even know the name of his own street, and had he known nobody would have been able to understand what he was trying to say.

All he could do was follow the direction the carts had taken.

And this was how Limpy came to leave his home town of Christiania and travel through the countryside to a place he had never been to before. He would sometimes walk, sometimes crawl, while the chain jangled after him so that he could be heard from far off. The sound was almost like a plague bell, because Limpy was as unwelcome as a plague victim in other people’s eyes.

The exodus from Christiania didn’t last long, because people soon realized that the monster had left the city.

Now Colonel Plucky and his band of soldiers eyed a chance to kill him.

It seemed that the Beast had made a stupid mistake, probably because he didn’t know the countryside around Christiania. He had gone to Ladegaard Island, also known as Bygdø, apparently not realizing that it was not part of the mainland. It was only linked to the mainland by a stony road along a causeway. There were plans to fill in the stretch of water between the island and the mainland but so far nothing had been done about this. Ladegaard Island was still an island.

It was a mystery how the Beast had got the idea of going there. People believed that he must be looking for something in particular.

At any rate, they had him now, unless he could swim or sink into the earth. There were many who believed he was able to do the latter.

Colonel Plucky decided to station a platoon on permanent watch on the causeway. These men were armed with cannons and other firearms. The rest of the soldiers began to move onto the island. The colonel recruited reinforcements so that they could walk in a solid rank, and all were armed to the teeth.

The fact that he had lost three of his bravest men didn’t bother him. He had plenty of volunteers to choose from.

To be on the safe side they had also brought along three priests, but not the one who had shown most boldness in downtown Christiania. He had got closer to the Beast than anyone else, had been movingly brave, holding the Bible high so that its cross could be seen from afar. Reading prayers and invocations to exorcise demons, he had entered the courtyard they had seen the Beast disappear into. There were no windows facing this yard, so those who were hidden farther up the street only saw the priest bursting back out of the gate, tumbling over at a terrific rate – and here he lay in the street, dead, still loyally clutching his Bible.

Nobody doubted that the Beast endangered not just the whole city of Christiania but the entire nation as well.

The colonel had never gone back to the small square where he set his ambush. He had left it to others to take care of the dead soldiers. Limpy he couldn’t care less about. He was sure that the lad was dead and if he wasn’t then surely somebody would come and set him free. The colonel didn’t spare a thought for Limpy’s fate.

The men who were slowly crossing Ladegaard Island weren’t afraid of the Beast. They possessed a courage that was equal parts foolhardiness and stupidity, convinced of how splendid they were and that they could certainly tackle the deformed creature they called the Beast. The colonel had never before suffered a defeat, which was why they dubbed him Plucky. His motto was: a firm hand can win you anything.

They spent the whole day searching the island, finally driving the Beast on to a spit at its southern end.

It was a spit that was covered in impenetrable forest. Colonel Plucky felt sure that the hunt had its victim cornered. They had certainly cleared Ladegaard Island carefully in advance. All the civilians had left the island with admiring glances at the brave soldiers who were risking their lives for the sake of the country. His anger was mounting. They had seen the monster several times, and shot at it several times, but perhaps they had been too eager to pull their triggers. At any rate, they hadn’t shot it. He had lost eleven men. Some in close combat ... those idiots! What had they expected anyway? The rest ... well, it wasn’t pleasant to have to admit it, but they had simply died. Nobody was left to explain how this had happened.

Until now he hadn’t managed to see the Beast but he was absolutely sure that he would get hold of it. He knew exactly how. If only he got the chance!

Now there was a chance: the Beast had fallen into his trap. It was at the farthest point of the spit, somewhere in the dense brushwood. Facing it was a dense wall of well-trained soldiers.

He asked for volunteers to scout. Of course, he would have offered to do so himself but who was to lead the troops in the meantime, then? From all those who volunteered he chose two tough soldiers, each with a sure hand on the trigger.

They disappeared into the undergrowth. The others stood waiting, hoping that the Beast would be scared and try to escape. Then they would get hold of him, no doubt about that!

But nothing happened.

Then suddenly somebody yelled: “There! Look up there, just below the top of the cliff! There he is!”

Now they could all see him. The crouching creature was barely hidden in the grass and scrub. Like an evil spirit, he squatted, observing every single movement in the forest.

“For Gawd’s sake, shoot!” Colonel Plucky barked to the soldiers standing nearby.

“The distance is too great,” several of them replied.

The colonel wanted to order them to advance, but on the uneven terrain this would have caused big holes in the ranks, something they just had to avoid at all costs.

“Then I’ll kill him,” he said, raging. He hadn’t forgotten his defeat on the small square. Like an irritated bull, he charged across the forest. “He’s not armed, what is there to be afraid of?”

The colonel was heavily armed so he felt confident and sure of himself.

But before he managed to get within firing range, a loud shot rang out in the forest. One of the scouts must have moved sufficiently close to the Beast.

“Damn,” the colonel muttered to himself. “Now I’ve missed my chance.”

The creature up there started and sank out of sight.

“I got him,” the agitated scout yelled. “I shot that devil.”

Colonel Plucky met the two men. One was swinging his rifle triumphantly.

“I got him! He’s not immortal. I shot the biggest menace in the history of Norway. I’m a hero! I looked him straight in the eyes and they were ...”

His eyes began to flicker. The corners of his mouth slid downwards, and his chin dropped. “Help me,” he whispered, surprised. “I think I ...”

Then his knees gave way. He fell forward and rolled over, then lay motionless on his back, his eyes staring blindly towards the sky with an expression of surprise and anxiety.

“Dead?” the colonel said incredulously. “He wasn’t even close to the Beast!”

“He said it himself. He looked him right in the eye,” the other scout muttered.

The colonel tried to think but his thoughts fluttered like confused butterflies.

At that moment they saw a shadow from the corners of their eyes.

Up on the cliff, the Beast had got to his feet again. He seemed twice as large as before, but this was, of course, merely an optical illusion.

“Come on, let’s be off,” the surviving scout whispered.

“We’re pulling back for renewed consultations,” the colonel corrected him with dignity.

But he pulled back extremely fast, out of the range of vision of the evil creature on the cliff.