Heinrich turned up at the church at midnight. He was in a daze, eyes glazed over like the pierced doe in a royal hunt. He knocked thrice, and when my minsters opened the door he walked in and climbed the crucifix, soiling the collections with his bare feet. On the stained glass window near the ceiling he kept a single piece of green stone, shaped into something.
It was a skilfully crafted sculpture of a throne, on a bed of green carved out to represent undulating waves. The stone itself looked old, like nothing I had seen in the town itself, even in the houses of the Lords. It was cool to the touch, and covered in dark striations that sprang from within like the offshoots of some irreverent creeper.
'God help us,' said Heinrich.
We gathered around him, his glazed eyes now furtive, awake, scanning the room. He shivered, drenched and cold.
'It walks before him. It walks these lands, and it always has.'
He passed out after this. The town physic was awakened and carted to him through the slush and sludge, but medicine could not return to him what he had lost. There was no reason, or rationale in him anywhere - they were gone as strawmen in a storm
YOU ARE READING
I found the journal of a Church pastor from the 1200s. The Pied Piper is real.
Historia CortaA reddit story written by u/potato_on_puberty about a very interesting take on the Pied Piper, a famous story based in Hamelin, Germany. I hope you enjoy!
