The Grimm Dossier

Chapter 5 - The Silence of the Night

West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
3 November 1898, 6:47 pm

The Father just wouldn't stop rambling. How proud St George was of the stained glass windows in the chapel. What a terrible story it would be that a harsh wind had probably destroyed one of those very windows weeks ago. That not far from the little village was Wistmann's Wood, a woodland of oak trees overgrown with mosses and ferns and said to be haunted.

"According to pagan legends, the Yeth Hounds of the Wild Hunt roam there. Needless to say, this is all just Ammen talk."

Kyle rubbed his temples tensely with his index and middle fingers. What did the priest know of the Otherworld? Or, for that matter, of things that were more than mere legends. Where did religion get the audacity to think that it was the only one that contained a core of truths? And that it had the right to exalt itself above all others.

His thoughts wandered off, just hanging somewhere far away so that the sudden swaying of the car caught him unawares. All at once, the car made a neat leap. His notebook slipped from his fingers and landed on the carriage floor with a thud.

"What the hell?!"

A loud crack pierced the soundscape like a rumble of thunder. As if someone had put too much tension on a bow and the wood finally cracked with a groan under the strain. Then suddenly the carriage began to tilt at an angle and Kyle slid sideways on his bench.

"Hold on!" shouted Dr. Archer. As if they hadn't done that out of reflex anyway!

They heard cursing and then harsh commands from the coachman and the shrill whinnying of the two horses from outside. The broken wheel bucked and cracked under the weight of the carriage and finally could no longer withstand the weight. It broke loudly and audibly with another crunch and the wagon sank a little lower again until the axle rod dug into the road. Earth and gravel swirled up and trailed a tail of dust behind them. Outside, the coachman tried to bring the rearing steeds and the carriage back under control so that they would not go completely off the road, injuring the horses or even causing them to roll over.

Inside, the passengers were tossed around like dolls, and out of instinct, they grabbed the leather retaining straps on the sides of their seats with the presence of mind. With a snapping sound, Kyle's strap suddenly gave way and his body jerked forward. Within a blink, Dr. Archer braced his legs against the wood of the opposite bench seat and a firm grip closed ironically around his upper arm. The carriage trundled a few feet, then swung sideways, then came to a jerking halt. Caught by the momentum, the priest fell towards them, landing with a startled yelp half on top, half between them, and together the three of them rumbled with momentum against the carriage wall.

"Are you all right?" asked Dr. Archer and only now did Kyle realize that his senses were buzzing but Benjamin was still holding his arm. He would never have thought that this stockfish had the strength and agility not only to stand upright in all this chaos but also to prevent his head from hitting the nearest window with his firm grip. Of course, Dr. Archer had once been a soldier. But only a field doctor. Now, however, the doctor's cool voice had taken on a different color that was difficult to describe. More authoritarian and at the same time stern and authoritative in a harsh way. The kind of tone a captain took on all by himself as soon as the situation tipped, aware of the responsibility over life and death.