The Diary of Caspar Kruse III, Executioner: Goslar, 2 July 1637 — Under the Market Hall

 The air beneath the market hall had been suspicious for weeks. People said it was the rain trapped between the boards, the rotting wood, the fish remnants from Fridays. But I knew better. rotten air has layers, and this one had that dull, penetrating note that quiets even dogs.

I was sent with my oldest man, Hans, by the Council to inspect what was truly brewing under the boards. We pried up a row of floorboards on the south side, where the arches are lower. Beneath was a dark pit, no more than a hole, deep and reeking like an open grave.

We found rags, worn leather, clotted cloths, fish scraps and entrails. And more: a half-rotted pig’s head, still with teeth in the jaws. The bones were mixed with fibers, hair, something that looked human but was no longer recognizable. Hans whispered,
“Either a pig. Or worse.”

We dug with hooks, scooped into leather buckets, and poured lime over everything. The stench did not lessen, but it foamed and hissed as if the town’s sins had been laid bare. We dug until we hit the stone floor. Then we laid wooden cover-boards over the opening and nailed them shut with nails from our own stock.

The secretary, Mr. Thiemann, came only when the work was finished. He wore thin leather gloves and held a scent-pouch to his nose. He nodded, briefly.
“Good work,” he said.

But when we asked for water to wash, he shook his head.
“My pump is for the notables. You have your own bucket.”

I looked at him. He did not dare meet my eyes.
We returned to the abattoir, dripping with rot. People in the market made way for us. Children laughed; a woman covered her mouth. But I carried the smell on purpose. It was my weapon. My revenge.

That evening I washed my hands with ash and vinegar. Still the air remained — in my hair, beneath my nails, in the fold of my sleeve.
Anna asked, “What lay under the market?”
I answered, “The truth.”
She was silent.

In a week the summer fair will begin. New cloths, cheeses, herbs and linens will cover the boards. The air will seem sweet.
But I know what lies beneath.
I have seen it.
And it lives.




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