The Pied Piper and the Rats

My leg twisted even further this summer, contorting my toes in the wrong direction. The burning pain would relentlessly nag me most of the nights. With effort, I pushed myself off the bed, relying on my worn wooden crutch for support. Slowly, I limped towards the window. It rained. The heavy droplets cascaded onto the decaying wooden frame, filling the room with a sickly damp odour.

I could feel the rats' presence. Their incessant scratching and faint squeaks emanated from the corners of the room, from the ceiling, and even my straw-filled bedding.

Rats were everywhere these days. The church's construction demanded every available silver and copper piece to be donated, leaving our own homes in a state of disrepair. I wondered whether I would join the prayers at the church to find temporary relief from the constant squeaking and scratching; I shook my head at the thought. Never.

The sound of Eve’s inconsolable sobs echoed from a neighbouring house. She hasn't stopped crying since I saw the priests visiting her. Retreating to the bed, I pulled the blanket over my head to muffle the sound.

The next morning, our town was ablaze with its usual activity. Cows had to be milked. Sheep let out to pasture. Pompously dressed officials hurried through the bustling crowd to the mayor's office. The clanging of cooking pans and the swish of wet linen accompanied the officials' loud complaints about the rat infestation, all part of the morning's daily routine.

I sat on the porch. A bedraggled blanket covered my legs, hiding my disfigurement.

"Hans!" My mother's voice pierced through the morning, tinged with weariness. Her hands, stained with soot, clutched at her worn skirts as she approached me. I could see the exhaustion etched on her face. She worked late nights at the tavern. "What are you doing outside?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "Quickly, go back in before..."

I glanced down at my feet, concealed under the blanket.

"Before what, mother?" I asked, my tone tinged with frustration. We’d had this conversation countless times before, and today, I lacked the patience for it. With a determined gesture, I stood up, allowing the blanket to fall to the ground. The cool breeze kissed my exposed leg as I leaned on my crutch, meeting my mother's gaze. Her eyes, stained with guilt, darted around nervously, scanning the street for onlookers. I looked into my mother's reddened face.

"Sixteen years, and you've never been ashamed of me," I continued bitterly. "But now, with this looming church, suddenly I am to be hidden away?" My words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them visible on my mother's slumped shoulders.

"It's not like that, son," my mother replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She averted her gaze, her eyes flickering with unease. I noticed the way she repeatedly scanned our surroundings, as if fearing judgment from others. "Your leg, it's just... different, unnatural, the devil's mark. We have to be careful, just for a little while longer. Once the church is finished and we join the parish, get their blessing… Then we won't have to live in fear anymore."

As if the priests would ever accept me. I had seen the way they looked at me, their eyes filled with disgust, their fat fingers tracing invisible crosses on their chests at the sight of my deformity. Devil's child, they whispered. Fingers reached towards my shoulder, rested on my lap. I pushed the thought out of my mind.

"It would be better for all of us if they were gone," I said.

My mother's tired eyes shot up to meet mine, a mix of fear and desperation gleaming in them.

"Hans! Don't blaspheme," she said, her voice trembling. Her fingers instinctively moved to touch her forehead, a newfound habit born out of this church ordeal. Anger surged within me, fuelled by her meaningless fear.

"How could you so easily give up all you believe in? You taught me to laugh and sing in celebration of the seasons' change. We've been warm and fed as long as I remember because nature provides. That is something I can respect and believe in. What have they done for us? Those priests you listen to so intently, mother? What has their god done for us? Since they arrived, it's only been grief. They take our money, our workers, our children."

"Stop, now! It's wrong of you to talk this way. We have to acknowledge our mistakes and embrace the truth. Let's be grateful. We are going to be a part of something bigger, a new faith, new hope that sweeps over the entire country."

"Tell that to Ruben, if you ever find him again, and to his little brother. Tell that to Eve if you can calm her crying long enough." My frustration was about to boil over. My mother gave no reply. She stood, her knuckles white in her skirts, her cheeks flushed red. "Have you stopped for a moment to ask yourself what happens to those who don't want to be swept away, mother?"

Her lip trembled. Desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere and my anger, I pushed past my mother. In a last attempt, she reached out to coax me inside, but I brushed her hand away. With a determined limp, I made my way to the back of the house, following the sound of the river, seeking respite.

I lowered myself to the ground at the edge of the water. A sickening pang of pain shot through my leg as I stretched it out, dipping my foot into the cool current. The night rain had soaked the soil under me, but the sun shone, and I was warm. I looked across the river to the field on the opposite bank. Typically, at this time of year, I'd be here watching the town construct the bonfire for the Midsummer celebrations. By tomorrow, the festivities would be in full swing, the air filled with music and laughter, culminating in the bonfire being lit, and people leaping over its flames with laughter echoing deep into the night. Even though I couldn’t dance myself, I never felt left behind. I would watch the other children being merry, sharing the joy they felt. They would bring me treats and weave flowers into my hair. Not one of them ever judged or pitied my disfigurement. We used to be nature’s children on those nights, all as one.

There was no sign of any preparations this year. No benches, no wood for the great fire, no weaving flower wreaths to decorate girls' heads. The church came through with their knights and horses and said such behaviour was not proper anymore. They left three of their kind to make sure we obeyed.

"It's a sad sight, isn't it?" the raspy voice behind my back made me twitch. I had heard no steps. I turned my head to see a tall, strangely clothed man. His long robe, half red and half yellow, fluttered in the soft wind. Despite a warm day, he wore a scarf at the end of which hung a windpipe, masterfully carved. With an exhale, he sat down by the water next to me. He seemed young. My chin had more hairs than his.

"My name is Pip," he said and gave me his hand to shake. I told him my name and accepted his handshake. His skin was so soft, I was sure he was not an average peasant.

"Do you play?" I nodded at the pipe, feeling uncertain about talking to a stranger.

"Oh yes, I do." Pip smiled and stroked his instrument lovingly. His voice sounded noble, even with its rasp, like velvet I saw the mayor wearing. "I travel a lot, and hoped to play at the Midsummer celebration. I heard it's quite a festival here. Alas..." he swept his arm, taking in the empty field.

"The church forbade it," I said. Pip must have noticed the heaviness in my voice.

"You don't approve?"

"Of course not. It's not our way." I paused, inclined to tell more, confiding in this stranger who will soon be gone, anyway. "Bad things keep happening too..."

Pip hasn't moved, and I assumed he was listening intently.

"Children keep getting hurt, some disappear."

"And you blame the priests?" he didn't sound convinced yet.

"I do."

A knot gripped my throat, a memory of my one and only direct encounter with one of the "holy" men bobbing to the surface, still vivid. A wave of nausea gripped my gut.

I was in my usual spot on the porch. A man in a clean, dark robe approached me. A symbol of his religion dangled on his chest. His voice was in my ear, his hand on my shoulder, then my chest, then under my blanket. I looked around in panic, not sure what to do, paralysed. My eyes met my mother's in the tavern across the street. Help me, I thought desperately. She turned her head and looked the other way. The man pulled the blanket off my knees and leaped away at the sight of my twisted leg. Devil's child, he called me as he hurried away.

"They are not careful with showing their... affections." I said to Pip, heat creeping up my neck. We sat in silence for a while.

"Maybe I can help," he said, his face set.

Pip said he had an appointment at the mayor's office. Since he couldn't play at Midsummer, he would apply for a different job. I warned him the mayor's office likely had no funds to pay him. All the gold and silver poured into the building of a church. He told me not to worry.

I didn't like the spark in his eye then. He fingered his windpipe eagerly, likely expecting to put it to good use soon.

We devised a plan; I didn't know all the details, but I knew my role in it. At that moment, hurrying back to town, I wished for nothing more than for my leg to work properly. I went to Eve first. Living so close to each other, she was like a little sister to me. I didn't use the front door. Instead, I knocked on the window to her room and waited for her to crack it open. She had to stand on her toes to reach over the windowsill. Her eyes were red-rimmed wounds. I shared the plan with her. She smiled then. Seeing hope in her eyes felt like wind at my back, carrying me along as I walked down the street to Timmy, Ruben's little brother.

He was quick-footed and eager, so I asked him to share the plan with the rest of the kids, for I was out of strength just then. My foot felt like a searing hot rod of pain.

It took me almost until sundown to hobble back home, and I immediately collapsed into my bed. Mother was not home from the tavern yet, and I was grateful for her absence. I was not in the mood to either answer questions or come up with lies. For once, the rats’ scratches all around the house did not bother me. By morning, all the rats would be gone. And all the children would be safe as well. Pip promised.

As soon as I let my eyelids close, I slept. My dreams were vivid, filled with visions of Pip and his windpipe, dancing and playing a merry tune, surrounded by the townspeople, their faces melting into grimaces like wax candles.

I woke up still dressed in street clothing and feeling groggy. Someone was screaming outside.

It was dawn. I stood up, swaying for a moment on my one unsteady leg. The sleep still clung to my shoulders and pulled at my eyes. I half-limped, half-dragged my way outside. By then, a crowd gathered near the bridge at the end of the street. I made my way to the commotion, noticing the sleepy children standing at their parents' sides.

"And so I, the Pied Piper, demand my pay, a thousand gold, as promised!" I heard Pip's voice near the bridge and followed it, making my way through the buzzing crowd.

"You... What is the meaning... We should hang you for this!" the mayor shouted.

"You wanted the rats gone, good man. They are gone, see? My part of the bargain is complete."

I finally got a clear view of Pip, wearing his strange robes of red and yellow, gripping his windpipe. Next to him, the mayor, his balding head glistening with nervous sweat, his suit in disarray. He obviously dressed in haste.

Behind the two of them, at the river bank, I made out three heaps of white and black clothing. I looked again and gasped. Those were not clothing, those were the priests. All three of them, their robes bunched up, floating with the river's current, their faces blue and blank, dead. My head spun momentarily. It was not what I imagined would happen.

"You murderer!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"Nah-ah!" he put out an arm in front of him. "What kind of town are you that don't respect a bargain made?" he asked. "If you refuse to pay me what I am due, I'll take your children instead."

"Liar!" shouts emerged. "Murderer!" So ingrained was the habit of obedience that, despite the Piper’s disturbing presence, the townsfolk didn’t act beyond words without the mayor’s say.

Pip brought the pipe to his lips and started playing. For him, nothing seemed to have changed; he proceeded with the plan. Townspeople exchanged looks, confused. His song was a signal for the children. Meanwhile, I hesitated. The deed Pip committed was monstrous, but those men in the water were no innocents either. They were strangers to me, besides the incident on the porch, yet their deaths were now also on my hands. I looked at the ground, at my twisted leg. A ghost of a memory tickled my senses, the priest's hand under the blanket on my lap. I flinched.

"Eve, no, stop," a woman cried. I saw Eve, still in her nightgown, walking to the Piper, an uncertain but hopeful smile on her face. Her mother grabbed at her arms, but she struggled free of her grip and ran to stand behind Pip, who still played the tune.

"What are you doing, Timmy?" The heavy weight of grief and worry for his missing older son had left his father numb, unable to prevent his younger from dashing away to join Eve and Pip. More kids, all of them, moved then. Some doubtfully, smaller ones had to be carried, but they all followed.

Though the price for this choice was a brutal one, the children, chose to leave. Their sense of hope and togetherness convinced me as well. I was the last one to move towards them. The Pied Piper still played as he led the children across the bridge and down the road into the forested hills.

"What kind of magic is this?" the mayor asked, finally getting hold of his senses. "What kind of trick?"

I paused and stood in the middle of the bridge, leaning on my crutch. The children were better off without me slowing them down. I turned to the confused crowd of adults and scoffed at them.

"Hans, please don't do this." I heard my mother pleading. But I turned away from her, like she had turned a blind eye to my suffering before.

"For all the pains we, your children, endured. For all the blindness you refused to shed. Now all your children are gone, and you will forever simmer in your guilt alone." I spoke louder to be heard over the rising murmurs. "They will build their own community and live the way they choose, not the way they are told. And you? You will still have me. I will not let you forget. A devil's child, for you are the devilish parents."

They stood speechless. A man from the crowd I didn't know rushed towards me to go after the runaway children. I tripped him with my crutch. I stood there, a flimsy barrier, giving the kids time to escape, but no one else approached me. Whether they didn’t want to come near “the devil’s child”, or maybe Pip’s music did hold some magic after all, I would never know.

It didn't take long for the adults to shed their doubts, and they quickly overpowered me. The delay, however brief, gave Pip the opportunity to lead the children deep into the forest, vanishing from sight amidst the trees.

They put me in a cell, even though they had no proof of my wrongdoings. I had no allies left beside the rats. They were not that bad after all, in comparison. They remained, while my own mother was too fearful to speak to me. I had hope. A hope that tonight, the night of Midsummer, the children would dance and sing around a bonfire, celebrating their freedom and newfound safety, healing.

Years have passed, and I still wondered where the children had gone. The thought gnawed at me. Was Pip, the Pied Piper, a saviour or a deceiver? Did he truly deliver them from harm, or lead them into an even darker abyss?

Eventually, new priests and their knights have arrived. They hung the mayor for murder and finished building the church. There is no fight left in me to stand up against them, or stand at all.

I sat on my porch, my mother long dead and buried. It was June, Midsummer’s eve, and no blanket covered me. As I exhaled and closed my eyes, letting go of the pain one last time, I saw the Pied Piper playing his pipe in the field, and the kids, forever young, dancing around him, bones of the rest of us who stayed behind, scattered under their feet.