The Old Woman in the Wheelchair
A Gothic Horror Tale
The Old Woman in the Wheelchair
It was spring in the Bohemian town of Český Krumlov—or Krumau as it was called at the time. The misty rain that accompanied the dawn lingered into the afternoon until the Bürgermeister felt compelled to keep the street lamps kindled. And so the varied globes of diffused light wavered in the general obscurity occasioned by the unremitting fog, the narrowness of the streets, and the soot from the chimney pots.
A lamp-post stood on the topmost cobbled step of a broad staircase near a factory. Its hissing flame formed a dim corona beyond which the ancient castle loomed over the Moldau. The steps connected a street above to a towpath that ran along the river, which at night became a promenade where the working poor gathered to gossip and socialize.
An old beggar woman sat under this lamp in a rickety wheelchair locked into place on the uneven step. She pulled at a wire that made two marionettes, whose cords were looped over a hook on the post, dance in the air. Each puppet was dressed in a uniform and kepi, like a French soldier. Her palsied hands were far too frail to wield a marionette’s cross-bar.
A man and woman walked out of the upper level of the factory, which stood flush against the steps on the opposite side of the lamp-post. The man’s wife urged her husband to have pity on the old woman, so he dropped a coin into the cigar box that lay on the blanket over her lap.
Marek watched these proceedings from the yard below. He wore a stovepipe hat. His beard was straggly and flecked with gray. He was a devil of a man, who had murdered his own wife and children. He roamed through Bohemia, Silesia, and Moravia, staying in towns long enough to commit a dastardly crime but skipping out before he could be caught.
He had been watching the factory for three nights, because he planned to rob it. He had blackmailed the foreman and learned that the factory owner kept his cash in a wooden chest under a workbench behind a lathe on the top floor. The problem was that the old woman was on the steps every night close to the door, which he would have to force open with the spike and mallet he kept in a belt under his coat.
The evening merrymakers would soon be gathering at the base of the steps; and they would be there until the factory’s armed watchman showed up at 10 o’clock. One the watchman arrived, it would be too late. His plan was to break in tonight, escape into the slums and catch the 11 o’clock train to Tabor.
The old woman is going to have a spill down the steps tonight, he thought.
The factory owner was the last to exit the building. He locked up and departed with a newspaper under one arm. When he was gone, Marek snuck out from his hiding place and climbed the steps. He could hear the clicking of the marionettes’ limbs, and the coins sliding around in the cigar box.
I’ll buy my ticket with those coins.
He trod carefully so as not to trip and land on the spike. When he reached the top, he peered over his shoulder to make sure no one was on the towpath below. He went to the old woman and looked down at her bony hand clutching the edge of the cigar box, inviting him to make a contribution. He leaned over and whispered into her ear. “You’ve met the Devil tonight, Mother!”
He grabbed the cigar box, which was attached to the blanket. When he pulled it away, it revealed her nakedness. But in lieu of flesh was a lacquered chock of wood. Her legs were also wooden and fastened to her hips by rusty hooks and wires. In astonishment, he lifted his eyes to her face. Her features were carved to resemble those of a kindly old woman. Her eyes were painted blue, but her lips were the color of blood.
The reason she had been trembling was not because she was frail, but because she herself was being manipulated by an unseen puppeteer.
When the first two laborers arrived at the base of the steps that night, they froze in horror at the spectacle that confronted them. They raised the alarm and a crowd began to form. The magistrate was summoned. The sight was too grisly to look upon.
Marek’s eviscerated body hung from the factory’s brick wall. He was strung up by his guts and organs like a marionette. His genitals were torn away and replaced by a chock of wood. His limbs had been pulled apart at the joints and reconnected with rusty hooks and wires. Two bull’s horns had been thrust into his skull until they met at the point where his brains had been.
The old woman in the wheelchair and her two marionettes were gone.
The cries and lamentations carried over the Moldau and echoed through the streets of the town. There was a diorama in a shop window depicting two marionettes: an old woman in a wheelchair, and a horned devil bending low to speak to her.
The brothers who ran the shop stepped outside, each clad in a military uniform and matching kepi. They watched as the men and women ran past them in the direction of the factory. Then their lips curled into a ghastly smile that seemed almost wooden.
Brilliantly told, Daniel!
Absolutely chilling…and very satisfying. Looks like the “devil” met his match. My favorite kind of tale!