The last three weeks have had no rain. The clouds lifted the day I made my decision, and whispered it into the green stone throne that Heinrich had brought into the church. The sun shone down, and the waters receded suddenly, as if pulled away like puppets on strings. I paid no mind to the supernatural anymore - I have witnessed more of it than many men can dream of in their most intimately disturbing nightmares.
Today is St. John and Paul's Day. One of the happiest days of the year, marked off by many, months before it rolled around. The church's stained glass window would have been adorned with decorations. It was a day of celebration, but there was none to be seen now. Only mothers crying , only fathers stifling their tears. Only the ending of a hundred bonds over the command of something that creation had little say over.
Only the wailing of those who would lose the last iotas of light that kept them alive through months of absolute, unutterable despair.
As the promised hour came to a close, I heard drums beating in the East. A fell wind blew in, and in the distance something entered the twilight shadows, playing a green horn that sounded at once like heaving waves, rustling leaves and the roaring rush of an avalanche. Like war, like the rumbling of a wound-up catapult.
Like death. And a hundred little feet pattered behind it, entranced
YOU ARE READING
I found the journal of a Church pastor from the 1200s. The Pied Piper is real.
Short StoryA 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!
