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Walpurgisnacht

Walther knew.  But he could not resist,what ten-year-old could?  Every year was the same.  Grandmother Dunkelhaus would shake her finger at him and warn, “Walpurgisnacht, the devil’s night—you stay indoors.  Devils,witches, ghosts—they come, they get little boys, eat you.”  Then she would snap together her shiny wooden teeth—clack!—as if she knew the flights of witches first hand.

 

But this year—tonight!—he would know, he and Elsa.  “We must see,” they had promised one another.  Walther slipped out this afternoon, to sleep a while in the orchard as Elsa had suggested.  The nap should help him stay awake tonight.  He had put apples in his rucksack and a handful of matches—also Elsa’s idea. She swore she would sneak away with a lamp.  He looked around the room; never know what you might need.  His woolen cap and sweater would keep him warm—spring was on the calendar, but not in the night air.

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