Chapter 5: Gone Home

It's me,

It's been great being back in Germany. I'd like to come back here with you maybe once a year, but I don't know if I could stand going through scareport customs so much. It took forever to prove that Hoodude and I were accompanied by someone over eighteen. Robecca's engine parts alone should have convinced them that she's at least a hundred years old. And then there's that metal detector. Between my chain, Hoodude's pins, and Robecca being Robecca, it was a complete nightmare.

Things picked up from there. During one of our stops, I visited the house I grew up in. It's changed a bit since then, but it still feels the same to me. I also met a few Kette fans, but they didn't recognize who I was. That's okay. The best part was that I got really in touch with this crowd.

Hanging in Germany is a lot of fun, but I don't think it's where I'm going to learn how to be a real witch. I have to keep moving on to find what I'm looking for. Robecca found something else she wanted to do, so we'll be staying here a bit longer than we planned. After that, who knows where we'll go next?

Wait for me. I'll be back,

Wolf

"Doesn't even say, 'I love you.' Real nice," Clawdeen grimly grumbled as she sat up in her bed.

"Say what?" Howleen asked from her bed on the other side of the room.

"Just somethin' Wolf sent," Clawdeen answered.

"Oh, yeah?" Howleen said, as she returned to the game she was playing on her iCoffin. A tiny smile flashed onto her face. "He ask about me?"

"No. But he says the next time he sees you, he's gonna turn you into a frog," Clawdeen said.

Howleen mockingly mouthed Clawdeen's words as she continued her game.

Clawdeen scrolled her screen further along, and found the pictures that Wolf had sent to her. The moment she saw them, her heart fluttered. There was a small house set upon a hillside with a few trees around it and a pinfold where it looked like some animals had once lived. It was the very picture of a postcard photo. If she didn't know that it was a real place, Clawdeen might have guessed that it was some illustration from a storybook or a fairy tale that she would have read as a pup.

She set her tablet to her lap and began to wonder about the life her boyfriend would have had in such a place. High in the hills of rural Germany with his rockstar father and artist mother. The flowers that would have grown in the garden. The chickens scratching around their pinfold. Or did they keep ducks in there? Pigs, maybe? Sheep?

Clawdeen smiled at the thought of young Wolf in such a place. Knowing him, he must have been a terror at that age. The image of a hulking adolescent carrying a giant basket of eggs and chucking them at the walls flashed in her mind. In all likelihood, Wolf would have cursed them all to go rotten as soon as they impacted. Though it was barely audible, Clawdeen laughed aloud at the idea of such a thing.

Before Clawdeen sent a response, she noticed that she hadn't completely scrolled through the entire message, and scrolled her screen to examine it.

PS, I think you meant to say you were my 'Kuschelbär.'

"So, that's how it's spelled," Clawdeen muttered to herself, before she set to work looking up the mysterious word.

"What's it mean?"

Clawdeen jumped and shouted loudly as she pelted Howleen with a pillow, who had been reading over her shoulder for who knew how long.

The sun shone brightly on the hills of Germany that day. The green grass dotted with trees and flowers swayed gently in the light breeze that swept over the land. A single tree shaded the path that led into the hills. The birds chirped. The flowers bloomed. And somewhere up that path, the peace of the world waned as the sounds of the wilderness were drowned out by a hundred decibels of squealing guitar, rumbling bass and seismic drums. Set somewhere in those hills was the childhood home of Wolfgang Hexe.

On the path beyond the pig wire fence, three young travelers walked around the nearby bend. Frontmost was Wolf, banging his head as he walked up the path. He turned around and waved to his companions to follow. Robecca came next, holding her ears as her outer paneling rattled.

"Is this the place?" she shouted over the music.

"Yep! That's where I was born!" Wolf said, bouncing in time with the music.

Hoodude peeked his head out from around the bend and warily eyed the house.

"Gee. It's, uh…Really quaint. Has it always been this loud?" he asked.

"Hell yeah it has!" Wolf said, before he started up the path. "Come on! Let's go see inside!"

"Uh…I-I don't know about this," Hoodude said.

"Don't know about what?" Wolf asked. "You have stuffing. Show it and come have some fun. A guy like you would do awesome in a mosh pit."

The others watched as Wolf practically ran up the path toward the little house with the rumbling music.

"What's a mosh pit?" Hoodude asked.

"I'm afraid I don't know," Robecca answered.

"Should we go up there?"

"I suppose. How often do you see Wolf smile so?" Robecca said.

It was the truth. For as long as he had known Wolf, Hoodude hadn't seen him smile as broadly as he had just then. Figuring that it couldn't hurt to indulge his brother, Hoodude silently agreed to go on.

He and Robecca approached the house, noticing first the open front door and the men sitting next to it. Both were rough-looking monsters, whose origin or race neither of them couldn't identify. One's face was hidden by his shaggy hair and wild beard, but his eyes shone out like a couple of live coals. As they approached, the wild man gulped down a bottle that he was holding and nodded to Hoodude and Robecca.

"Du können besuchen. Aber dort nicht Zimmer mehr," he said to them.

When they heard that, neither of them were sure of what to make of what was said.

"Gehen rein?" the man asked, leaning back in his seat.

"Uh…" Hoodude began, trying to remember the german that Wolf had taught him. "Umm…Der Junge…mit die Kette?"

The two men scoffed and laughed as if some corny joke had just been told.

"Mit der Kette," the wild man corrected.

"Oh…Right…"

The wild man reached down to his side and pulled a bottle from a cooler that was set between him and his friend, which he then tossed to Hoodude.

Hoodude fumbled to catch it, but eventually managed to grip the flying bottle. Once he had, he noticed the wild man motioning to the inside of the house, where the music blared the loudest. Braving the worst, he and Robecca walked inside.

The music hit them both like a wall that had suddenly shifted across the room. Had they any bones, they would have felt like they were rattling in their bodies. Once they were inside, though, they found the music far less jarring. But the building itself was just as much of a shock. From the look of it, it was something that was half a museum, half a tavern. The walls were covered with posters, paintings, band merch, guitar picks, music sheets and ticket stubs. Mannequins were placed about, wearing elaborate costumes and makeup, and some were even holding instruments. One entire wall was laden from ceiling to floor with liquor bottles, and a bar in front of it. At the bar, one of the customers was ordering a drink. And the patrons of this house were as shocking as the music and the decor.

Monsters of all races were seen in that place, touring around, drinking their beverages and rocking out to the music that played from some unseen speakers. Their style of dress was rough and varied. Some wore jackets that looked like they had been intentionally shredded. Some wore neat clothes with elaborate art upon them. Others wore dark clothes that stood out against the bright walls. Others still wore what looked like updated styles from centuries ago. Most striking of all were the presence of humans among the monsters. Except, there didn't seem to be any tension or animosity between them.

Wherever Robecca and Hoodude looked, there were friends traveling with friends. Strangers meeting fellow travelers for a few glorious moments, then parting with nothing but good will.

Hoodude glanced down to the drink that had been tossed to him, and gradually began to feel as if that place might not have been as terrifying as he might have thought.

"Drink!"

Hoodude jumped as a voice suddenly spoke behind him. Turning around, he and Robecca saw Wolf with a small liquor bottle in his hand.

"Drinking age is lower here than the States," Wolf explained, opening his bottle with the end of his chain, then stuffing fistfuls of ground up anise and cloves into it.

"Where did you get that thing?" Robecca shouted over the music.

"Helmut. At the bar. He owns this place. He's the genius who turned my parents' house into a hostel for people like us," Wolf explained, nodding to the human behind the bar. He then held the bottle up to Robecca. "Have a drink. Put some kick in your combustion."

"Ah, no thank you. Alcohol doesn't pressurize well with my system," Robecca declined, pushing away the bottle.

Wolf offered Hoodude the bottle next.

"Um, it just makes my stuffing soggy," Hoodude replied, passing the bottle that had been given to him earlier to Robecca.

Wolf simply shrugged and began drinking from the bottle. When he finished, he wiped his mouth on his wrist.

"Follow me. There's some stuff here I wanna show you," he said, and grabbed Hoodude by his collar, dragging him along to who knew where.

Robecca was about to follow after, when the bottle that Hoodude had given her was snatched from her hand. She turned to see who had accosted her, and caught sight of a man drinking heavily from it. When he finished, Robecca could see his face clearly. He was much younger than the other patrons, looking as if he had just graduated high school yesterday. Startlingly so, his hand that held the bottle was mechanical, made up of brass sprockets, springs, hinges and ball bearings.

"You have a pretty good look," he said.

"What?" Robecca asked, her attention taken from his hand.

"Your style."

"My style?" Robecca said. "Oh! My ensemble. Thank you."

"Also yes. But I meant your engineering. Your creator must have been inspired by classical design when you were made. It's rare to see anyone who appreciates such things," he said.

"Appreci–Ah, yes…It wasn't classical when I was built," Robecca stammered.

The young man nodded. "My name's Axel."

It took a moment for Robecca to process what had been said to her, before she remembered the manners that had been programmed into her. "Robecca! I mean– My name. It's Robecca.

Axel drank the rest of the bottle and chucked it into a nearby bin. "How about I show you around?"

"Erm…Yes, please…"

Deep inside her, Robecca's internal temperature regulator rose slightly and her oil pump began pumping faster.

In the next room, Wolf showed Hoodude what he had wanted. Even more mannequins, merchandise and memorabilia had been set up, and Wolf was standing in the midst of it as if he were basking in some radiant light.

"Take it in. We're in the hall of greats here," Wolf said.

Hoodude looked around, seeing everything that was on display and not much else.

"Sure, it's great. There's a lot of really neat art. And, uh…Ooh, that's kind of morbid," he said, noticing the poster of a Gothic warrior kneeling in the midst of piles of burning corpses, their spirits swirling like a stormcloud overhead.

"You're missing the point. Everything that you see here tells a story," Wolf said. He pointed to the poster before them and explained, "See that? Most people would see a warrior who's burying his dead."

"Would they?" Hoodude wondered.

"But that's not what it's about," Wolf continued, as if Hoodude said nothing, "What it shows us is the strength and wisdom that we get from our ancestors. The importance of veneration and reverence of those who came before us."

Before Hoodude had a chance to take in what Wolf was talking about, Wolf grabbed him by his shoulder and swiftly turned Hoodude to face another display. They were now gazing upon an impressive mural of sequential art.

"Get a load of this!" Wolf said, his face lighting up. "This whole piece here is a metaphor for how what we have may not be what we need."

Hoodude looked at the art that was sprawled out before him, seeing many different characters and settings upon it. At one end, there was a man who was simply walking.

"The pilgrim wanders on, not knowing where he'll end up next," Wolf said, before pointing to the next part of the mural, where a holy man stood in a beam of light on a hill. "The missionary has his holy book with him. If you look closely, you'll see that he's crying. If those torn pages flying around him are any clue, he didn't find the answers he wanted. Or maybe he did, and it wasn't what he wanted to know."

He yanked Hoodude along to look at the next part, where there was a man in chains down in a dungeon.

"The prisoner collects the torn pages that have blown into his cell. As he reads them, he begins to feel hope dwelling inside of him. It might have something to do with that key-shaped brand on his arm," Wolf said, pointing to the picture.

"I hope he got some ointment on that–Bu-urn!" Hoodude choked as he was yanked over to the next part of the picture.

When he got a look at it, Hoodude wasn't sure what he was seeing. It was a human woman, to be sure. But she had no eyes, no mouth, no nose, and was standing naked and still in a crystalline cave of unimaginable beauty and tranquility. As Hoodude looked at it, he couldn't help but wonder about the bloody, keyhole-shaped wound where her face used to be. As far as he could tell, a massive key had been jammed into her face, thrown away, then she was left standing as though she were nailed to some invisible cross.

"Now, she…" Wolf said, pointing emphatically at the woman, "She represents something intangible. She's something else entirely."

"I bet she's really cold without clothes on," Hoodude suggested.

"You don't get it! She's connected to everything else in this picture!" Wolf said, grabbing Hoodude in a tight headlock and pointing to the familiar figure that was seen at first. "She is an abstract of everything that the others are looking for! She's enlightenment! She's innocence! She's redemption! But look there!"

Wolf grabbed Hoodude by his collar again and thrusted his face to one particular part of the mural. There, Hoodude laid eyes on a familiar sight.

"Right there, the pilgrim walks right past her and stays the same as he was in the beginning. Unchanged by what's going on around him. Not accepting what was offered to him. He started with everything he had, and he ended with the same."

"Is that kind of like what you're doing here?" Hoodude wondered.

"No!" Wolf shouted, spiking Hoodude to the floor. "The point of this whole trip is to change! To make something better of myself and put the old me behind! Nobody should end up like the pilgrim! And if you're lucky, you won't end up the same!"

It wasn't the first time it seemed like Wolf had lost his temper when he was only speaking his mind. But it always scared Hoodude when it happened. However, the storm passed as quickly as it came, and Wolf stood with his back to Hoodude.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Hoodude wondered.

His own question was answered when he stood up and saw Wolf standing before an exact effigy of someone he had seen on the posters in Wolf's bedroom. Far more imposing than any illustration was his father, Heinrich Hexe.

He stood atop a massive adderstone, his feet on either side of the hole that was cut through the center. In his left hand, he held his guitar by its neck. His right hand was thrust forward and raised high, his index and pinky fingers extended while the others were kept curled. Whether it was some trick by the mannequin's designer or some unseen lighting, there was an ominous glow about him. A presence that commanded the adulation and veneration of many.

As though his thoughts were not his own, Wolf raised his arm up and his hand mimicked his father's gesture in a reverent salute.

Hoodude couldn't explain it, but he could feel something as he stood next to Wolf. Some longing or desire. For what, he thought he could guess.

"That's your dad, huh?" Hoodude said.

Wolf didn't even nod.

"Gosh. He's, uh, really big."

Wolf didn't even have the will to tell Hoodude that it was just because he was standing on that adderstone. But as he gazed upon the image of his father, a strange kind of spirit entered the young witch's body. The kind of thing that only happened when he listened to an old favorite song and found something deeper within its music and lyrics. From his sleeve, a shadow dripped out like leaking water and formed in his palm. Hoodude had to step back as the shadow grew larger and produced Wolf's guitar into his hand.

"Step outside," Wolf said.

Hoodude did as instructed and followed Wolf outside. The outside was populated by more of the museum patrons and people who were staying overnight. As they walked, Hoodude tried not to meet the eyes of the others around him. The only one who made him look twice was a werecat who appeared in the edge of his vision. When he looked, he saw that she was at least ten years older than he was, with an ochre coat and spots. She was heavily accessorized with many belts, chains, bracelets, armlets, piercings and a studded necklace that looked like barbed wire. For just one moment, he thought that Toralei would have liked something like that. Then again, she already had so many of each of those things. One more wouldn't mean anything to her.

His mind was wandering so much that Hoodude didn't notice the enormous tree root, until it caught his foot and he went toppling over. Before he ever fell, he was stopped by Wolf's chain lashing out and catching him. Once Hoodude was upright, he saw Wolf jump onto a tree stump that must have been ten feet across.

Wolf stood at the ready with his guitar, looking over the others who were present.

"Hey," Wolf said to Hoodude, "still wondering how you'd do in a mosh pit?"

"Not really," Hoodude answered.

A pick appeared in Wolf's other hand, which began swirling with dark flames and crackling with lightning.

The pick scraped across the topmost string of his guitar, making a long, sustained squeal that made the speakers in the building start to fizzle with static. The static was drowned out when Wolf began to dance as he whaled on his guitar. Soon, the music he played was blasting from every speaker in and out of the place. Nearby some of the other patrons began whooping loudly, throwing up the same gesture that Wolf had saluted his father with.

Hoodude began to grow worried as all around him everyone seemed to be losing their minds. They all started banging their heads and whipping their hair around. Others began bouncing up and down in time with the tune.

Abruptly, Wolf clapped his hand over his guitar strings and shouted, "Hier ist nicht keine Magie!"

Just as suddenly, he played more loudly and danced more fiercely than before. With his guitar came the other instruments that played whenever he cast his magic. Bass, drums, violin, wooden flute, shawm, scheitholt, waldzither. They all harmonized together to create a tune to make the blood flow and the mind sharpen. Something that spoke to the primal being of those who had already tapped into their fighting spirit. Their inner warrior had been drawn out, and began to take over.

Hoodude watched in terror as everyone seemed to start fighting with one another. They pushed and shoved, slammed their bodies together, punched and kicked. One patron jumped onto her husband's shoulders and started thrashing around. Drinks were pulled from nearby coolers and thrown into the crowd, which were drunk up with gusto. The alcohol seemed to only fuel the chaos, sending everyone into a wild frenzy with their inhibitions lowered even more.

"Uh, okay! Everyone just pull yourselves together!" Hoodude said, keeping his head low among the mayhem.

Even if they could have heard his timid request, nobody would have stopped. They had been awakened, and they were not going to rest until they were ready. Too much fun was to be had by all. And Hoodude was going to join them whether he wanted to or not.

He was slammed into from behind, making him stumble forward.

"You really shouldn't do that!" Hoodude said.

He was slammed again.

"You can really get hurt!"

He was slammed again. That time, the people around him heaved even if they weren't hit. One particularly large monster from the pit glowered at Hoodude, who smiled and waved weakly in return. The large monster smiled and waved back, then slugged Hoodude with a right hook that made him spin.

Around him the other moshers spun as well when they felt the hit. It took only one look at Hoodude for them all to get the same idea.

Had he any flesh, it would have gone pale as Hoodude was helpless to stop the others from jumping him like dogs on a piece of meat. He was battered mercilessly, thrown about like a ragdoll. And there was no end in sight for it to stop.

Inside, the patrons began flooding out into the open to join the mayhem.

"YES! I've never heard this live before!" Axel said, banging his head to the music.

Robecca watched in horror as all around her the others were beginning to go crazy.

"Oh dear! Oh no! He's done it!" she fretted.

"You know this musician?" Axel asked.

"It's my brother! He's put a spell on you all!"

"No he hasn't. Didn't you hear him? 'Hier ist nicht keine Magie.' 'There ain't no magic here!' It's just the spirit of the mosh pit!" Axel said.

If this was what a mosh pit was, Robecca didn't know if she wanted to be involved. Yet it seemed she had little choice in the matter as Axel led her by her arm to the open area out back. There before her mechanical eyes was a horrendous sight.

Not an ounce of restraint was practiced as all of the guests at the house were throwing themselves into a wild frenzy. Among them, Hoodude was laughing gleefully as he was grabbed by his ankles and swung in wide circles, before being released and caught by another mosher.

Lording over the pandemonium was Wolf, playing his music as dark clouds formed above him. The clouds swirled into tiny tornados, and lightning wreathed his body like an extension from his chain.

"Mighty hell! Your brother must have channeled the spirit of Hexe himself!" Axel said.

"Actually–" Robecca began. But she never got to finish as she was thrown into the pit with Axel.

The only thing she could hear over the music, the shouting and the small storm that was brewing was the dinging of the other bodies against her own. The spotted werecat pounced upon her, making Robecca stumble harshly, before she was caught by Axel.

"Careful! If you fall, not all of you might get up!" Axel yelled over the music, showing his prosthetic hand to Robecca.

Robecca nodded understandingly and was guided to the edge of the pit where it was safer.

Wolf played on until he finished the song. Never once did anyone learn his name or recognize his face. But he didn't care. It was the spirit that mattered. And he had found it. The first great lesson to be a witch had been learned.

By the time the music ended and the cheers roared from the crowd, Hoodude landed with a resounding thud after he had been tossed into the air.

"Is it over yet…?" he wondered, even though some small part of him wanted to keep it up.

The only answer he got was a riff from Wolf's guitar, accompanied by a devilish accordion and xylophone, and a roar of cheers from the crowd. And Hoodude trembled down to his last stitch.

A/N: Check out Wolf! He's just taken the first step on his journey! I think it was Tolkein who said that a great adventure always begins with a single step. Actually, everybody got a little bit of something in this chapter. Hoodude learned how to have a little fun with his powers, and Robecca might have found a special someone.

Since adderstones were mentioned, I should explain that they were tools that were used by witches in the old days. Once upon a time, it was believed that if you looked through the hole in the middle of an adderstone, you would be able to see through illusions that were conjured by evil magic. This can be seen being demonstrated in 'Coraline.' I recommend both the book and the movie.

By the way, since we see Wolf throwing up the horns in this chapter, how about another lesson about real life witch history?

We all know the image of the hand horns being thrown up at a heavy metal concert. This gesture has roots in European witchcraft. It originates from Italy, where it was called the mano cornetti (meaning 'hand horns') and it was done as a way of symbolically gouging the evil eye to break curses, glamors and other evil spells. It was also believed to repel evil spirits and bring good luck to whoever you gestured it toward. Centuries later, this knowledge was conveyed to a little boy named Ronald James Padavona (later known as Ronnie James Dio), who learned of all this from his Italian immigrant family. When he became a sensation in the heavy metal scene, he would always gesture the mano cornetti to his audience, and the gesture soon caught on. It was quickly misconstrued into devil horns, and was seen as a salute to the devil instead of the good magic that it originally meant.

And with that, we're done visiting with Wolf and the others. Let's get back to the program and see what the ghouls are up to in the next chapter.

Last, but not least, I wrote a book called Secret Seekers: The Hidden Girl. It's the first in a series I'm working on about a group of girls who look for the strange and fantastical in their fantasy world. Look for it at the Lulu website . Thanks for reading.