Franz learned to enjoy the long and lonely patrols in the mornings. It was quiet, except for the occasional singing of a raven or the clinking of far away hooves on the cobblestone streets. He had time to think; his favourite pastime was thinking. And although his duties included the actual collection of taxes, he found ways to avoid the boredom that paired with it.

That morning, however, the station was abuzz with chaos. Amidst the hubbub, Mr. Worschaw found the young man. His face was painted in worry. Franz instantly felt his neck get hot. What could be the matter?

“Schwarz! Where have you been, boy?”

Franz opened his mouth to respond, but the old man continued diligently.

“Never mind that! You must come at once.”

Franz rushed along, following Oliver as he hissed at the others in the station. It wasn’t until Franz focused in on the crowds around them that he noticed the blood stains on their clothing. He pulled his hat down and hugged it close to his chest.

“What...happened?” He whispered.

Oliver wiped his sweaty brow, his eyes darting from officer to officer.

“The monster…” He cursed, “the monster did this. I warned them, didn’t I?”

Franz raised a brow, unsure of how to respond to his terrified superior, “...the monster? What monster?”

Finally, Oliver stopped in front of one of the rooms in the station, the nurse’s room. A spotlight from the dim lantern above shed its hollow glow on the oak door frame. His shoulders tensed as he heard the painful groans from inside. Oliver shook his head and placed a blood-stained glove on the handle.

“Then tell me, Franz Schwarz, what else could’ve done this?”

He swung the door open to reveal a scene that made Franz nearly faint right then and there. He attempted to focus his gaze, trying to soak in the details, attempting to make sense of what was presented before him.

A man in policemen's uniform laid on a gurney, his face wrinkled in distress. A rag in his mouth to keep his screams muffled. Franz's eyes traveled down his body; the torn flesh that stuck to his vest, growing thicker and deeper crimson as it stopped at the exposed bone protruding from his severed leg. Like a twig that had been snapped by a toddler. Franz could barely see the skin on the man’s thigh through all the torn muscle and liters of blood that caked it.

Franz’s eyes watered, he covered his nose. The putrid smell had begun to reach him. What on earth had happened?

A nurse ran to the two men in the doorway, her uniform stained with the amputee’s blood. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“I can’t stop the bleeding! Not without a doctor.” She panted.

Oliver moved her aside and rushed to the bloody scene, Franz clung to the doorway for dear life. The old man clutched the officer’s shoulders, spitting onto his face with every word.

“What did you see?”

The officer jerked back, his words barely comprehensible behind the rag and his violent sobs. Oliver ribbed the cloth from his lips.

“It was a monster! It came from the fog. It-it ripped me apart! Dear god...Help me!” he screeched.

Franz’s legs shook, the nurse noticed his weak composure immediately. She ran to his side and steadied him. Ashamed, he pulled away and slammed into the door, taking in several breaths to calm himself.

He spoke finally, “A monster...did this?”

Oliver turned suddenly, in a hushed voice he hissed, “Word of this killer mustn’t get out. We would have a plague of terror among the people. Chaos.” Oliver warned as he pushed Franz out of the room.

He whispered to another officer, “Get a doctor, now.” and slammed the door behind him.

Franz pressed a hand to his heart, “What do we do, sir?”

Mr. Worshcaw sighed and pressed his palms against his temple. A shaking Franz waited for his instruction. The image of the man’s gruesome injuries in the room just behind them. He wouldn’t live, he knew that. The amount of blood loss was fatal.

“We can’t do anything but allow those in charge to do their job.” Mr. Worschaw said finally.

Franz would have argued that it was their humanitarian duty to help catch the killer, but he had seen too much. If a trained officer was able to be killed by this “monster”, what of Franz? A weak and fragile tax collector? He shuddered at the mere thought of his own leg being ripped apart like the officer, each splintering bone tearing through his skin, sharp tears that screamed like fabric torn at the seams. Nerves being pulled from his tissue like weeds. Franz started to feel lightheaded.

“It’s that prisoner from the broken jail cell, I’m sure,” Oliver said.

Franz nodded, “But didn’t you say it was a circus freak? Why would one of them be killing policemen?”

Oliver straightened his jacket and began to make his way out of the station.

“I don’t know. But with strength like that, no one in Auchtermuchty is safe, no one..” He said.

Franz gulped.

Oliver continued, opening the door from its blood-stained handle, a brisk air darting inside the heated station, “If that’s the case, what else could we call him but a monster? A freak.”

Franz’s eyes darted around the street. The fog was thick. He could barely see a yard away from him, a perfect disguise for a killer. At any moment he could be viciously ripped apart, and no one would have predicted it.

Oliver noticed that as well, “I suggest you head home early today, Schwarz. Auchtermuchty is a dangerous place right now. Lock your doors and tell your neighbors to do so as well.”

Franz nodded and withdrew from the station. His heart raced as his superior faded into the distance, leaving him alone in the vulnerability of a cold and blurry street.  

“Clara?”

The maid peered from over the balcony. Mr. Schwarz was early today, perhaps he forgot something. It wasn’t until she noticed his wringing hands that she realized he was frightened. She quickly hurried down the steps, stopping a polite distance in front of him.

“Mr. Schwarz, are you alright?”

Franz’s eyes darted around the house before he quickly slammed the door behind him, locking it frantically. He pressed his forehead against the window pane. Clara patted her apron. Something was wrong with him, she knew. But she also understood that it was incorrect manners to intrude in her master’s matters without first being given the invitation to do so. Franz waited a while before finally letting out a slow shaky breath.

“We mustn’t leave now, Clara. You will not leave the estate until I say so. Understood?” He said.

Clara nodded, her brows wrinkled in worry, “Is something the matter, sir?”

Franz shook his head, his lips pressed to a thin line, “No...nothing. Just don’t leave the estate, alright?”

He was frantic, she noticed. Despite her instinct to comfort him, she remained static and acted as a servant should.

“Would you like me to make some tea, sir?”

Franz pulled his hat off, running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. He took a few moments to relax his shoulders, his shakes subsidized. Eventually, Franz nodded and Clara left to the kitchen in haste.

Mr. William’s words reappeared in her memory, the escapee from the jail. In the distance, she heard Mr. Schwarz running along with the estate, checking rooms and locking windows. She continued to pour water into the steel kettle, Mr. Schwarz hobbled up the marble steps, she lit a match under the kettle, he rushed into his sleeping quarters. She sighed to herself, all this exertion would only inflame his knee. Once the fire was steadily growing, she tossed a few logs into the furnace. She slowly tended the flames with a silver poker.

Mr. Schwarz yelled from above, “The kitchen window, Clara! Lock it!”

Clara closed the furnace’s door and went to close the window. She pulled it down and flipped the hinge, securing it. She noticed a raven outside the window, peering in with dark eyes. She smiled and lowered herself to its level. It pecked at the window. She lifted a finger and tapped back. It’s twitching composure and jet black eyes reminded her of her master in the upstairs hallway. Locked out in the cold world, behind a glass. If Clara could only open that window, let him in. Allow him to feel a familiar warmth once more. But alas, birds should not be let into homes. Not when her master had instructed her to keep the windows shut.

Clara poured the tea into the same light blue teacup that Franz drank out of, day after day. She lowered the kettle and folded her hands in front of her. She graced the outline of the envelope in her apron and remembered her lingering chore.

Franz lifted the cup to his mouth, trembling and cracked from the brisk morning. Clara took the envelope from her apron and placed it in front of him.

“Mr. Williams arrived earlier today. He said to give this to you, sir.” She said.

He raised a thick brow and glanced at the blank envelope. He didn’t see an address, nor a name. A strange detail considering Mr. William’s usual formality and dedication to penmanship. He lowered the teacup to the table and lifted the envelope. He observed a few minor tears on the edges, but despite that, it had been kept in a cold and safe area. The age was hard to tell, due to its excellent upkeep, but a delicate yellow tint made it a little over 10 years old. He flipped it around a few times, then tore it open. 

Clara watched him pull the letter from inside. His eyes caught the first few letters and his face went cold. His hand tightened around the thin letter.

"Sir?"

Suddenly the cup dropped from his hand, crashing into the floor. Clara flinched, hands over her mouth. Franz sat, shaking as he read the letter. His eyes became red with anger.

Clara, unsure of how to assist him, leaned down to pick up the shards of porcelain that were scattered on the ground. A sniffle from above willed her to glance towards him. She was startled to see Mr. Schwarz's face flushed with tears.

"Mr. Schwarz?"

His brow furrowed, he was furious. No, not furious, hurt. Betrayed. He rose quickly to his feet, the chair nearly toppling over from his quick and rough movements. He dropped the letter onto the floor and marched off. Clara watched him grab his coat from the hanger near the door and run out the door in haste. In a blink, he was gone. 

She walked over to the letter, crinkled in a fit of indiscernible fury. Clara leaned down and picked it up. Even though she understood the invasion of privacy it was to read such a personal matter, she couldn't understand what could have sent her master in such a frenzy.

And as she read the first few lines, she clutched her apron in bewilderment.

To Mr. Peter H. Williams

We regret to inform you that Mr. Otto Marcel Schwarz and Mrs. Adelheid Schwarz were found dead on the twenty-third of this month. Our men discovered the cadavers by the tracks 3 miles away from Beffingham Station...