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Info
Title: Der Narr weiß es am besten
Author: PallidAlbumen
The following work is part of a collection of stories, being The Cafe, and Season's Greetings. It is recommended you read these to get a better grasp on the setting, though it is not strictly required.
Louisiana, a small church on the outskirts of an abandoned town.
Rain poured down like bullets, cascading off of the oversized umbrella Henrick held tightly. It took him a while to walk here, as most of the cars in this section of town had long since been siphoned by various, more prepared people. And even then, he never knew how to drive, and had no desire to start to learn now. He walked up the steps and stood before the oakwood doors, wiping off his mud-caked boot soles on the creaking, dilapidated wood.
Right before he was to reach out for the handle, the doors burst open, revealing a woman as the culprit. She pushed through at a brisk pace, hastily clamoring to button her pants waist. The engagement was so fast, Henrick only got a glance at her face, noticing tears pooling at the glands of her deep, crimson, red eyes. He paused, momentarily considering calling out to her, but decided against it. He learned to mind his own business in this new world after seeing the aftermath of countless others who didn’t. And besides, if he had to carry this bag of food any longer, he felt like his arm might just fall off.
Shaking his head, he entered the building, immediately met with the scent of mildew unsuccessfully masked by the faintest scent of coffee beans. A woman lay on the ground next to a fireplace, shirt tossed haphazardly onto one of the pews. She turned at the sound of a hefty bag dropping onto the floor, meeting eyes with Henrick.
“In church of all places? How very… you.”
“Take it as an insult to the one upstairs for lying to us all. Do you really think any of this would happen if there truly was a God?”
“Well, truthfully, I think there’s better ways to get your “revenge” than having sex in this place.”
“Oh, fuck off, dick. Let a bitch have her fun.”
Her venomous side-eye was met with a soft smile from Henrick. He tilted his head, gesturing at the satchel of food he carried. He cast over to her, various cans of vegetables and fruits, ranging from spinach to peaches, spilled out of it, coming to a dull stop after a few moments of rolling.
“No pop? And here I thought you were trying to get your dick wet. Ah, though I’ve raised my prices, you gotta have six cans now. Real cane suga'. True Mexican shit. Hear that?”
“Six? Where did the rule of three go? You’re killing the soda economy here, Glass.”
“Not my fault, things are scarce here. I gotta make sure I get all I can with the least amount of effort possible.”
She sneered at him playfully, her top lip curling up to reveal the slightest image of two protruding teeth.
After a moment of silence, Henrick shifted slightly, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a photograph and fingered it gently, unfolding it with careful movements. He ran his finger over the creases, almost as if- if he stopped, it would fall to pieces as he held it.
Suddenly, a somber air filled the room. Glass’s face changed, a look of realization crawling over her. She turned around and hastily picked up her shirt. Henrick stared at her back, her thin shirt doing little to hide the various cuts and bruises on her back. Mind your own business. He repeated this to himself more than a couple times. It kept him alive thus far, and it wasn’t going to change now.
“Sorry, I- uh, forgot that was today. You shoulda’ said somethin’, Henrick.”
“S’fine, Glass. I know you just got done with a… session, but do you mind?”
“I can, yeah, but it’ll only be for a few minutes, Henrick. You know what happened after last time. I don’t wanna go over our time again, I’m already exhausted, and there’s no doctors-”
“Glass, I get it, I promise.”
A ghost of a smile creeped onto Henrick’s face. She nodded at his response, reassured by that familiar look of his. She was like a completely different person when she was worried, her brash nature melted away like butter as soon as the heat turned up. Though, he noticed this only happened when she was the recipient of the aforementioned worry. He strode over, handing her the photograph. She took it from him, studying the picture as if it were the only thing in the world that had meaning. Henrick sat down on a pew, patiently waiting. Rain continued to roll off the roof in droves. Henrick’s mind passed, and soon enough, he found himself battling with his eyelids, painstakingly trying to keep them open.
“Alright. We’re good.”
Glass’s voice cut through the air like a slap on the face. Henrick jolted, silently cursing himself at his tiredness. He stifled back a yawn, stretching his tired limbs. Glass shifted over to him, sitting down on the pew some distance away. She reached out, handing him the photograph, letting Henrick eagerly take it from her hand. Glass reached into her pocket, pulling out a small, bronze pocketwatch, staring at the cracked glass.
“I’ll start, but we only have a few minutes, Henrick. Say what you want and stop, you know how this goes. You’re not even sure if she likes being back either. You know that, right?”
“I know she does, damn it! Would you ever say no to coming back in her position? You give me the same spiel every time. I get it, Glass. I made the payment.”
“…Asshole.”
Her voice trailed off, and the rain took over the small quiet of the church. Henrick tried to focus on the rain, tried to block out the sound of shifting skin, of crackling bones, growing teeth, shrinking legs and decaying muscles, but he couldn’t. He never could. He closed his eyes, and waited for it to pass. When he opened them, he saw that Glass’s face had completely changed. What was once a tired, old, yet somehow youthful face, was now the face of a teenager, dark hair and pallid eyes.
“Your eyes…”
Henrick’s voice almost cracked at the sight of her. Her eyes had, before the Great Shift occurred, been a beautiful hazel, now completely clouded over like watered-down milk. It was the first of the changes that happened to her. Even now, he could see the strands of white spilling into her hair, a material reminder of what was taken from her.
Glass, now Claire, shed a tear. She could never handle these meetings well, and while Claire wasn’t really “here”, just being able to at least see a past loved one seemed to be more than enough for most people. When it came to it, this was the least she could do.
“I can’t say much, again, and I know it’s frustrating. I can tell you anything you want to hear but I know it won’t mean much, I know it won’t fix what happened, but this is the least I can do.”
Henrick reached into his pocket, and pulled an envelope, handing it to “Glass”. She turned it over her hand, and looked back up at him. She couldn’t speak to him, as per the effects of her curse, only being able to stare into him. He moved his arm and wiped his eyes, noticing her visibly wincing. Knowing his time was almost complete, he reached into his coat again, pulling out various rolls of Polaroid photos. Each one held a different scene, from birthdays, to game nights, crying fits, and so on. Each one a memory.
He held them close to her face, and let her grab them in her hands. She held them preciously, as if they could burn away at any moment. She combed over them, silently shaking her head and squinting her eyes. Already, Henrick could tell this wasn't working, and guilt mixed with frustration grew inside of him. The Change had not only done something to her—to everyone, but it had especially affected himself, slowly having to watch the one he cherished the most turn into a doll-like creation, only to fall and break while he was asleep. It was, in his eyes, pathetic. She always seemed to vaguely remember him, but anything past a surface level look was beyond her.
His patience was growing thin with her, and, unable to quell his rising frustration, he snatched the photos out of her hand, stuffing them back into his coat pocket. She stared at his face, her expression turning from cold to a look of contempt and sorrow. He hated it. He always did. Before he could say something, a squeak came out of her throat.
“Jesus, I’m sorry, Glass. Stop, you can stop now, alright?”
She nodded at him, seeing him turn away. Familiar sounds of shifting meat filled the church. Small cries and moans escaped from Glass’s mouth. She had never shifted this frequently, and she didn’t care to experience the feeling anytime again.
They sat there in silence, nothing but the sound of pattering rain to slice through the thickness of the air. Henrick stood up quickly, dabbing his eyes again.
“I should go before it gets dark. You know how it is to camp in these places, dangerous folk and whatnot.”
Glass didn’t comment on the shakiness of his voice. He was ever the paranoid one, and she wondered if Claire’s transformation into the doll she became had any effect on that. Her life was taken slowly, though in an instant, as well. She didn’t think he would truly ever move on from her.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to camp here? Save you the trouble? It’s not like I’m running low on space here.”
“No, I can’t- I just- no. I’m sorry.”
Glass stood, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around Henrick in a loose embrace. He brushed his hand against her arms, but did not turn back to see her. She let go, understanding the message. The last thing she saw of him was him closing the church door, not even a goodbye escaping his lips. She couldn’t blame him, he was a troubled soul, one that ultimately, felt no remorse. Alone, she fingered the letter she had given him, and tossed it into the fireplace. Any curiosity of what had been inside of it turned to ash along with the letter.
It was better this way. It was. She justified herself, unable to find any other excuse for it. Just as she turned away, the sound of a door opening caught her attention once again.