Guilty One
By Fire Child
Yes, I know…. I don't own Schu, everything else is mine, I haven't written in a while, gomen, enjoy!
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Solo got off the bus and walked into the village he'd be staying the night in before taking another bus to Berlin in the morning. As a budding linguistics student trying for his major, he needed all the help he could get. Living in Germany for several months wasn't going to be any hardship.
'Could be worse,' he thought to himself, with a grin. 'I could've been assigned to Afghanistan.' Flipping chocolate-colored bangs out of his dark eyes for what seemed like the billionth time, he looked at the top of the hill, where the old house he was supposed to stay supposedly was, and did a double-take. 'If any house could be haunted, that one would…' floated across his mind, before he quashed the thought. 'Ghosts don't exist.' Shouldering his duffle bag and scooping up his suitcase, Solo walked up to one of the men in the square, a hearty-looking old fellow with the biggest beard Solo had ever seen in his life, and said, "I'm staying at the old house on the hill tonight, can you tell me how to get up there?" He certainly wasn't prepared for the response he got.
"Oh, no, young man," the oldster exclaimed in heavily-accented English. "You can't go in there! Nobody's ever come out!" Solo snorted.
"What, is it haunted?" He'd meant it to be sarcastic, but the old man nodded vigorously and whispered,
"By Schuldige." Solo blinked. 'Schuldige' meant 'guilty one'.
"Ghost stories don't bother me. I'm going." He walked down the main road, assuming, quite correctly, that it led to the base of the hill. A winding path led up the hill, and by the time Solo reached the house, which wasn't as old as he'd thought, it was quite dark. He dug out his flashlight, found the door handle, and opened the door. Nothing attacked him, and he found the light switch quite without incident. The light came on, to reveal a large entrance hall with a long staircase and a dusty chandelier. The five photographs on the wall, in gilt frames and arranged in an 'X', drew his immediate attention, and he went over to look at them. The top left one was of a red-haired man, large and burly, and a much- smaller blonde woman, who was holding a baby. The top right had the baby now a young girl, blond like her mother and with her father's piercing blue eyes, and the mother holding another baby. His gaze was next drawn to the bottom left photo, with the girl now ten years old and the baby a young boy, with carrot-colored hair and jade-green eyes. The bottom-right photograph had the girl now a young woman of approximately fifteen, and the boy a ten-year-old, holding a little brown puppy in his arms with a big smile. The photo in the center was a great leap forward in time, the young boy now a young man of maybe eighteen, the puppy a middle-aged dog, the parents gray-haired and wrinkled, and the young woman, now maybe twenty- three, with her arm around a tall, sandy-haired man and a smile on her face as big as anything. Both men were dressed, Solo saw with a start, in WWII Nazi uniforms, and the whole photograph had the appearance of a 'boys going off to war' shot. Solo turned away from the pictures and headed up the stairs. He turned into the first open door he saw and flipped the light switch. A large bedroom with a fireplace, a bookshelf, a rocking chair, and, most importantly, a double bed, was revealed. 'People must've been in here to dust,' Solo thought, a bit bemusedly, for, except for the chandelier in the main hall, nothing he'd seen had a speck of dust on it.
'Wrong, katzchen,' a nasal, German-accented voice whispered in his head. 'I do.'
'Who are you?' Solo thought back, getting scared. 'And I am NOT a kitten!' The voice laughed.
'My name is Lukas Wagner….. but the living call me Schuldige.' With that pronunciation, a figure materialized in the rocking chair, standing up and striding over to the petrified Solo, gaining definition as it, no, he, approached. A rangy, roguishly-attractive man, his hair a wild carrot-hued waterfall past his shoulder blades, imperfectly tamed with a yellow cloth band across his forehead on which a pair of mirrored sunglasses perched, appeared, narrow, jade-green eyes dancing with amusement. He was dressed, not in the uniform Solo had subconsciously expected, but in a green double- breasted jacket, white slacks, and brown ankle boots. He grinned, and his smile was the smile of the terminally psychotic. "So nice," Solo absently noted he was talking out loud now, "to see there's one katzchen who will come and see me. One little kitten who's not scared…. Ach, but you are scared," he continued, speaking directly to Solo instead of to himself, "very scared, mein tier."
'His…. pet? Wait a minute, I'm NOBODY'S pet!' The ghost, Solo could no longer deny that that was, indeed, what the deranged apparition was, chuckled.
"Since you came here, and you chose to, you're mine. The living are toys for me to play with."
'Is he reading my mind?'
"Yes indeed, mein schoen katzchen. Pretty kitten got it right! How amusing!" He clapped his hands together as if catching a thought and anchoring it. "And now, time for the trade!" Solo froze. Trade? Before he could force even a mental protest out, Schuldige reached his hands out and caught hold of Solo's head, a feeling as if ice had invaded his brain and was playing about with his gray matter. He cried out…….
The next morning, the villagers, anxiously waiting and watching for any sign of the 'verrücht Ausländer', or 'crazy foreigner', as they'd dubbed him, saw, with great surprise, the young man who the mayor had described walk out the door, stretch, look around, shoulder his bags and proceed down the hill as if nothing whatever was the matter. They missed, however, the psychotic grin that spread over his face as he reached the bottom of the hill. They also missed seeing his brown eyes momentarily flash jade-green. In the mansion at the top of the hill, Solo, now trapped as the feared 'Schuldige', plastered himself to the window and watched with horror as the true ghost, riding in his stolen body, walked away down the hill. The villagers who were there that day still talk about the despairing scream that echoed from the haunted mansion as the bus, bearing the young foreigner, drove away.
By Fire Child
Yes, I know…. I don't own Schu, everything else is mine, I haven't written in a while, gomen, enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Solo got off the bus and walked into the village he'd be staying the night in before taking another bus to Berlin in the morning. As a budding linguistics student trying for his major, he needed all the help he could get. Living in Germany for several months wasn't going to be any hardship.
'Could be worse,' he thought to himself, with a grin. 'I could've been assigned to Afghanistan.' Flipping chocolate-colored bangs out of his dark eyes for what seemed like the billionth time, he looked at the top of the hill, where the old house he was supposed to stay supposedly was, and did a double-take. 'If any house could be haunted, that one would…' floated across his mind, before he quashed the thought. 'Ghosts don't exist.' Shouldering his duffle bag and scooping up his suitcase, Solo walked up to one of the men in the square, a hearty-looking old fellow with the biggest beard Solo had ever seen in his life, and said, "I'm staying at the old house on the hill tonight, can you tell me how to get up there?" He certainly wasn't prepared for the response he got.
"Oh, no, young man," the oldster exclaimed in heavily-accented English. "You can't go in there! Nobody's ever come out!" Solo snorted.
"What, is it haunted?" He'd meant it to be sarcastic, but the old man nodded vigorously and whispered,
"By Schuldige." Solo blinked. 'Schuldige' meant 'guilty one'.
"Ghost stories don't bother me. I'm going." He walked down the main road, assuming, quite correctly, that it led to the base of the hill. A winding path led up the hill, and by the time Solo reached the house, which wasn't as old as he'd thought, it was quite dark. He dug out his flashlight, found the door handle, and opened the door. Nothing attacked him, and he found the light switch quite without incident. The light came on, to reveal a large entrance hall with a long staircase and a dusty chandelier. The five photographs on the wall, in gilt frames and arranged in an 'X', drew his immediate attention, and he went over to look at them. The top left one was of a red-haired man, large and burly, and a much- smaller blonde woman, who was holding a baby. The top right had the baby now a young girl, blond like her mother and with her father's piercing blue eyes, and the mother holding another baby. His gaze was next drawn to the bottom left photo, with the girl now ten years old and the baby a young boy, with carrot-colored hair and jade-green eyes. The bottom-right photograph had the girl now a young woman of approximately fifteen, and the boy a ten-year-old, holding a little brown puppy in his arms with a big smile. The photo in the center was a great leap forward in time, the young boy now a young man of maybe eighteen, the puppy a middle-aged dog, the parents gray-haired and wrinkled, and the young woman, now maybe twenty- three, with her arm around a tall, sandy-haired man and a smile on her face as big as anything. Both men were dressed, Solo saw with a start, in WWII Nazi uniforms, and the whole photograph had the appearance of a 'boys going off to war' shot. Solo turned away from the pictures and headed up the stairs. He turned into the first open door he saw and flipped the light switch. A large bedroom with a fireplace, a bookshelf, a rocking chair, and, most importantly, a double bed, was revealed. 'People must've been in here to dust,' Solo thought, a bit bemusedly, for, except for the chandelier in the main hall, nothing he'd seen had a speck of dust on it.
'Wrong, katzchen,' a nasal, German-accented voice whispered in his head. 'I do.'
'Who are you?' Solo thought back, getting scared. 'And I am NOT a kitten!' The voice laughed.
'My name is Lukas Wagner….. but the living call me Schuldige.' With that pronunciation, a figure materialized in the rocking chair, standing up and striding over to the petrified Solo, gaining definition as it, no, he, approached. A rangy, roguishly-attractive man, his hair a wild carrot-hued waterfall past his shoulder blades, imperfectly tamed with a yellow cloth band across his forehead on which a pair of mirrored sunglasses perched, appeared, narrow, jade-green eyes dancing with amusement. He was dressed, not in the uniform Solo had subconsciously expected, but in a green double- breasted jacket, white slacks, and brown ankle boots. He grinned, and his smile was the smile of the terminally psychotic. "So nice," Solo absently noted he was talking out loud now, "to see there's one katzchen who will come and see me. One little kitten who's not scared…. Ach, but you are scared," he continued, speaking directly to Solo instead of to himself, "very scared, mein tier."
'His…. pet? Wait a minute, I'm NOBODY'S pet!' The ghost, Solo could no longer deny that that was, indeed, what the deranged apparition was, chuckled.
"Since you came here, and you chose to, you're mine. The living are toys for me to play with."
'Is he reading my mind?'
"Yes indeed, mein schoen katzchen. Pretty kitten got it right! How amusing!" He clapped his hands together as if catching a thought and anchoring it. "And now, time for the trade!" Solo froze. Trade? Before he could force even a mental protest out, Schuldige reached his hands out and caught hold of Solo's head, a feeling as if ice had invaded his brain and was playing about with his gray matter. He cried out…….
The next morning, the villagers, anxiously waiting and watching for any sign of the 'verrücht Ausländer', or 'crazy foreigner', as they'd dubbed him, saw, with great surprise, the young man who the mayor had described walk out the door, stretch, look around, shoulder his bags and proceed down the hill as if nothing whatever was the matter. They missed, however, the psychotic grin that spread over his face as he reached the bottom of the hill. They also missed seeing his brown eyes momentarily flash jade-green. In the mansion at the top of the hill, Solo, now trapped as the feared 'Schuldige', plastered himself to the window and watched with horror as the true ghost, riding in his stolen body, walked away down the hill. The villagers who were there that day still talk about the despairing scream that echoed from the haunted mansion as the bus, bearing the young foreigner, drove away.