Бесплатный фрагмент - The Hinterkaifeck Murders

This novel is a fictional interpretation of the unsolved murders that occurred in Hinterkaifeck, Germany, in 1922.

Although the plot is based on historical facts and known details of the case, some characters, relationships, events, and locations have been invented or altered to enhance the narrative and create a gripping thriller.

The author has researched available historical materials and documents related to the Hinterkaifeck case but has, for artistic purposes, deviated from the actual chronology and interpretation of events. It should be regarded as a creative interpretation rather than an accurate account of the tragedy.

The author has strived to treat the memory of the victims with respect and offers sincere condolences to all who have suffered from these tragic events.

The purpose of the novel is not to establish the truth in the Hinterkaifeck case, but to create a work of fiction inspired by real events, and the author hopes that this novel will not cause additional pain or suffering.

Annotation

1922.Hinterkaifeck. Bavaria. A small farm becomes the scene of a tragedy that shocked Germany and went down in history as one of the most brutal and enigmatic crimes of the 20th century. Six people are brutally murdered. The police are baffled. Motives remain unclear. This book is a fictional exploration of the events at Hinterkaifeck, an attempt to understand what really happened and why this crime remains unsolved to this day.

The author, drawing on real facts and evidence, recreates the grim atmosphere of the Bavarian countryside and presents the reader with his version of events. «Our home is our castle,» goes the folk wisdom, but in Hinterkaifeck, it turned into a bloody irony.

Introduction

«The thing about unsolved crimes is that they are never truly solved. They just haven’t been solved yet.» At least, that’s what I tell myself. Perhaps it’s a convenient excuse for the hours I’ve spent studying grainy photographs and yellowed documents, the countless articles and books I’ve read, and the sleepless nights I’ve spent untangling the threads of the Hinterkaifeck mystery. I am not a detective, a historian, or even German. I’m just a writer drawn to the darker sides of the human experience.

But something about this story — the brutal murders on that isolated Bavarian farm, the decades without answers, the sheer, bewildering enigma — has stuck with me. I first stumbled upon this case in an old anthology of true crime, and the details have haunted me ever since. A murdered family, the absence of a clear motive, inexplicable footprints in the snow… it all felt unfinished.

But one thing I know for sure: the story of Hinterkaifeck deserves to be told, and I am here to tell it, to break the silence and present all known facts, striving, as much as possible, for objectivity and respect for the memory of the deceased. To analyze the evidence, to examine the motives, to explore the haunting legacy of a crime that has lingered for years. To grapple with the disturbing questions that continue to plague the minds of those who dare to delve into this story. Whether these lost souls will find peace is another story.

Part One

Premonition

Chapter 1

The Sockets of War

1919—1922

1922.Germany was suffocating in a fetid, post-war haze, poisoned by the acrid ashes of ruined cities and the skeletal shadows of hunger.

Once a proud and mighty empire, whose banners flew over all of Europe, now lay in ruins, like a defeated colossus struck to the heart.

Berlin, which only recently sparkled with lights and teemed with life, had become a labyrinth of debris, where crowds of exhausted and hungry people wandered among the ruins.

A thick smog hung in the air, mixed with the smell of burning and decay. Buildings, like disfigured faces, gaped with the empty sockets of windows, reminiscent of a former beauty mercilessly destroyed by war.

The Treaty of Versailles, like a red-hot brand of shame, seared deep, unhealed scars onto Germany’s ravaged body, humiliatingly restricting the army, seizing its fertile lands, and obligating it to pay unbearable reparations.

And hyperinflation, like an all-consuming fire, rapidly devalued everything, devouring savings, dreams, and hopes, leaving in return only soul-corroding despair.

In once-prosperous cities, where laughter rang and life flourished not long ago, chaos and all-consuming poverty now reigned. The streets filled with throngs of unemployed, yesterday’s soldiers.

Scarred by the war not only physically but also morally, they trudged along the pavement, dragging their mutilated bodies and wounded souls. In their empty eyes, one could read unbearable pain, despair, and a loss of faith in the future.

Medals, received for bravery on the battlefields, now merely clinked uselessly on their tattered uniforms, reminding them of betrayal and oblivion.

They wandered aimlessly through the city in desperate search of any kind of work, any occupation that would allow them to feed their families, or even just a crust of stale bread to quell the excruciating hunger gnawing at them from within.

Many of them, unable to bear the hardships of life, ended their days under bridges and in abandoned houses, dying alone and in poverty, forgotten by everyone except for those as wretched as themselves.

At the newspaper kiosks, the few that had survived the bombings and the economic crisis, dense crowds gathered, eagerly peering at the time-yellowed pages.

Like drowning men, they clung to scraps of news in search of some hope, some explanation for the unfolding nightmare.

Fear, weariness, and despair were etched in their eyes, and their faces were lined with deep wrinkles, like a map of the hardships they had endured.

Each headline, printed in dull font, cut into their consciousness like a red-hot brand, imprinting yet another portion of horror and hopelessness into their memories.

Like sponges, they absorbed every line, every word, trying to understand what awaited them tomorrow, how to survive in this insane world where money had turned to paper and life had been devalued to the extreme.

Berliner Tageblatt Morning Edition, October 18, 1922

Mark Continues to Fall! Bread Riots in Hartmannsdorf District!

Berlin, October 18. (From Our Correspondent) — Alarming news is coming in from all corners of the country. Despite government efforts, the mark continues to plummet, reaching new record lows today. Experts predict further devaluation of the currency, which will inevitably lead to rising prices and a worsening standard of living for the population.

Bread riots have erupted in the Hartmannsdorf district, caused by food shortages and exorbitant prices for essential foodstuffs. Clashes between demonstrators and police have been reported. Authorities are calling for calm, but the situation remains extremely tense.

The Minister of Finance announced today new measures to stabilize the economy, but details of the plan have not yet been disclosed. The opposition is criticizing the government for inaction and demanding the immediate resignation of the cabinet.

Social tensions are also on the rise in Berlin. Cases of robbery and looting have increased. The police have stepped up patrols on the streets but cannot fully control the situation.

The situation in the country remains extremely difficult and requires immediate and decisive action. The Berliner Tageblatt calls on all political forces to join forces to overcome the crisis.

Rheinische Zeitung Evening Edition, October 19, 1922

FAMINE IN THE RUHR REGION: PEOPLE ARE DYING IN THE STREETS!

Essen, October 19. (From Our Correspondent) — The situation in the Ruhr region has reached a catastrophic level. Famine is raging, claiming the lives of dozens, if not hundreds, of people. Mortality has risen sharply, especially among children and the elderly.

Horrifying reports are coming in from the towns and villages of the Ruhr region. People are dying in the streets, in their homes, in queues for meager rations. Corpses are left lying at the scene of death for hours, as the authorities lack the strength and resources to remove them in a timely manner.

«We are facing a real genocide,» said a doctor from Essen in private, who wished to remain anonymous for fear of reprisal. «People are dying of exhaustion, from diseases caused by malnutrition. Children have nothing to eat. Mothers cannot feed their infants. It’s hell on earth.»

Local authorities are appealing for help from the government, but their pleas go unanswered. The government, it seems, is occupied with more important matters than saving the lives of its own citizens. Food supplies are depleted. Prices for bread and other food items have reached exorbitant heights. Smuggling is flourishing.

Meanwhile, the French occupation forces continue to tighten their control over the region, which further exacerbates the situation. The invaders are hindering the delivery of food and coal, condemning the population to suffering and death.

Hartmannische Zeitung calls on all conscientious citizens to take immediate action. It is necessary to organize the collection of funds and food for the starving. It is necessary to put pressure on the government and the occupation authorities to take measures to save people. Time is running out. Every minute of delay costs human lives.

«I saw a woman fall to the ground right in the market square,» says Hans Hartmann, a resident of Bochum. «She was holding an empty basket, from which a few rotten apples fell out. People just walked by. No one stopped to help. Everyone is too busy with themselves.»

«My child died yesterday,» says Frau Schmidt from Dortmund, with tears in her eyes. «He hasn’t eaten for days. He didn’t even have the strength to scream. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling. I don’t know how I can go on living.»

Local authorities are appealing for help from the government, but their pleas go unanswered. Food supplies are depleted. Prices for bread and other food items have reached exorbitant heights. Smuggling is flourishing.

Speculators, hungry for profit, cynically sold essential goods ��� coal for heating, medicine for sick children, a piece of butter for exhausted mothers — at astronomical prices unaffordable to ordinary people.

Crime, like a poisonous weed in an abandoned field, grew at an alarming rate, poisoning an already unbearable life; petty theft, robbery, murder became commonplace, and the corrupt and demoralized police were completely powerless to stop this unrestrained orgy of lawlessness, merely helplessly watching as the country plunged into the abyss of chaos.

One evening, as twilight thickened over Berlin, an old watchmaker named Herr Klaus was returning home after a long day of work.

In his hands, he carried a small bag with the day’s takings — a few marks, barely enough for a loaf of bread and some potatoes for his family. He walked quickly, trying not to attract attention, but his worn-out shoes and patched coat gave him away.

Suddenly, two young men jumped out of a dark alley. Their faces were hidden by dirty rags, and they held shivs made from shards of glass in their hands.

«Stop!» one of them shouted roughly, blocking Herr Klaus’s path. «Your money or your life!»

The old watchmaker, trembling all over, tried to run away, but the second robber grabbed his arm and knocked him to the ground.

«Don’t resist, old man!» hissed the first robber, pressing the shiv to Herr Klaus’s throat. «Give us everything you have!»

«Please…» croaked Herr Klaus, choking with fear. «I have almost nothing… Only enough for food…»

«Don’t lie!» roared the robber, shaking the old man by the shoulders. «We know you have money!»

Herr Klaus, realizing that resistance was useless, handed over the bag of money with trembling hands. The robbers snatched it from his grasp and quickly disappeared into the darkness of the alley.

The old watchmaker lay on the ground, weeping with resentment and helplessness. He knew that his family would now go hungry. But he was alive, and that was the main thing.

Getting to his feet, he slowly trudged home, cursing the war, poverty, and those who had taken away his last hopes.

A particularly oppressive atmosphere hung over the bustling train station, which was normally filled with chaos and commotion.

The smell of coal, machine oil, and human sweat mingled with the pungent odor of disinfectant, a reminder of recent epidemics.

The vast hall, once gleaming with cleanliness and lights, was now dimly lit and covered in a layer of dust and grime.

Exhausted people with extinguished gazes sat on the tattered benches, waiting for their trains, as if for salvation.

In a corner of the hall, a woman was crying, clutching a hungry child to her.

Two men, wrapped in old, tattered coats, stood aside and spoke quietly, waiting for their train. Their faces were hidden by shadows, and their voices were muffled, as if they were afraid of being overheard.

Steam billowed around them from smoking locomotives, creating a sense of unreality.

«Did you hear the news from Munich?» asked one, adjusting his crumpled hat and nervously glancing around the crowd, as if afraid of being heard. «They say there are riots there again. Shooting, barricades…»

«Yes,» replied the other, nervously rubbing his hands and drumming his fingers on a battered briefcase. «This is all not good. They say it’s the communists. Give them free rein, and they’ll turn the whole country into a fire. They’ll get to us soon too.»

He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice: «The main thing is to stay away from politics,» the first advised, and his lips twisted into a semblance of a smile that did not reach his eyes. «And from… the Witch’s Forest. They say it’s unholy there. Locals whisper about strange lights in the night and terrifying cries. Better not to go there.»

The second man nodded, his face paler than usual. In his gaze, fear flickered, mixed with something else — perhaps curiosity, or perhaps a premonition. He glanced towards the exit, as if he wanted to leave this station, permeated with the smell of fear and uncertainty, as soon as possible.

Corpses lay in the streets, and there was no one to take care of their burial. The air was filled with the smell of death and decay.

Chapter 2

Quiet Groben

Groben… The very name seemed to absorb the essence of the place, sounding muffled and down-to-earth, like the whisper of the earth itself, saturated with the scent of damp moss and decaying leaves.

In 1922, when the world around was shaken by wars, revolutions, and economic crises, Groben remained a small, quiet village, lost in the heart of the Bavarian countryside, far from big cities and bustling highways.

As if cut off from the outside world, it was immersed in the greenery of hills and forests, like a child sheltered in its mother’s embrace.

Life here flowed slowly and measuredly, subject not to the bustle of time, but to the natural rhythm of nature and centuries-old traditions passed down from generation to generation.

Time seemed to flow differently here, unhurriedly, like a mountain river carving its way through the stones, leaving behind a trail of peace and tranquility.

In Groben, even under the rays of the bright sun, there was always a shadow, the shadow of long-gone eras, the shadow of great changes that seemed to never reach these secluded places.

Imagine: narrow, winding streets, as if sketched by someone’s careless hand, paved with cobblestones slippery from dew and time. The stones remembered the footsteps of many generations of Groben residents, and each cobblestone held its own story, its own secret.

Along these streets stretched modest but sturdy and well-kept houses, built of wood and stone, with tiled roofs darkened by rain and sun. Each house was unique, with its own character and its own history, but they were all united by one thing — the love and care of their owners.

On the windows and wooden balconies, like bright jewels, boxes and pots with flowers flaunted. Geraniums, petunias, nasturtiums — simple but so dear to the heart flowers, as if competing with each other in brightness and beauty. Every morning, the residents of Groben lovingly cared for their flowers, watering them, trimming dry leaves, and rejoicing in each new bud.

In the mornings, a thick, milky fog rose over the village, like a ghost, enveloping houses and fields, making Groben look like a fabulous, unreal world. Silhouettes of houses and trees barely broke through the fog, creating a sense of mystery and enigma. It seemed that time had stopped, and Groben was frozen in anticipation of something extraordinary.

But then, finally, the first rays of the sun appeared, piercing the fog with their golden arrows. The fog slowly dissipated, exposing Groben in all its glory. Houses, fields, trees — everything was transformed under the rays of the sun, acquiring bright colors and clear contours. And Groben awoke to a new life, filling with the sounds and aromas of a new day. Roosters crowed, cows mooed, dogs barked, coming from the surrounding farms. The air smelled of fresh bread, smoke from chimney flues, and the scent of flowers. Groben lived its life, a life full of work, cares, and hopes.

Most of the inhabitants of Groben were peasants. Their life was inseparable from the land, from sunrise and sunset, from the seasons. Even before the first rays of the sun broke through the morning haze enveloping the valley, the peasants were already getting up. The creak of floorboards, the quiet whisper of a prayer, the sound of water pouring into the washbasin — this is how every day began in a peasant family.

After a meager breakfast consisting of bread and milk, the men went to the fields. Their rough hands, etched with wrinkles and scars, remembered the touch of the earth, of the ears of wheat, of the raw clay. They plowed the land, sowed the grain, harvested the crop — worked from dawn to dusk, knowing no fatigue. Their backs bent under the weight of labor, but their eyes shone with perseverance and hope for a good harvest.

Women remained at home to care for the livestock, cook meals, and look after the children. Their caring hands milked cows, fed pigs, and collected eggs. They washed laundry in cold water, wove linen, and sewed clothes. Their days were filled with chores, but they never complained, knowing that their labor was as important as that of the men.

Some residents of Groben were engaged in crafts. Blacksmiths forged horseshoes, carpenters made furniture, tailors sewed clothes. Their hands skillfully wielded tools, creating beautiful and useful things. Their crafts were passed down from generation to generation, preserving the traditions and culture of Groben.

The life of the peasants was hard and full of worries. Droughts, floods, livestock diseases — all this could suddenly ruin their plans and deprive them of their livelihoods.

But they were strong and hardy people, accustomed to labor and hardship. Nature itself had tempered them, teaching them to appreciate the simple joys of life: the warmth of the hearth, a child’s smile, the taste of fresh bread. They were bound to each other by ties of kinship and friendship, helping each other in difficult times and rejoicing together in successes. Their life, simple and unpretentious, was filled with deep meaning and dignity.

In Groben, as in any other village, there was its church. It was the center of the village’s spiritual life. On Sundays, the residents of Groben gathered in the church to pray and listen to the priest’s sermon. Church holidays were celebrated solemnly and joyfully, with songs, dances, and folk festivities.

In Groben, as in any other self-respecting Bavarian village, a church towered. Not just a building of stone and wood, but the heart of the village, the spiritual center around which the life of every resident revolved.

Its high spire, soaring upwards, was visible from afar, like a beacon pointing the way to lost souls. The church was built many years ago, back in the days of the kings, and within its walls, the prayers of many generations of Groben residents had been heard.

Inside the church, there was an atmosphere of reverence and silence. Sunlight, penetrating through the stained-glass windows, painted the air in soft, muted tones. The smell of incense and old wood filled the space, creating a sense of peace and tranquility. On the walls hung icons of saints, with stern but kind faces, watching over the parishioners.

On Sundays, when the sound of the bells spread throughout the surrounding area, the residents of Groben, dressed in their best clothes, gathered in the church. They came here to pray, to ask forgiveness for their sins, and to receive a blessing for the new week. Their voices, merging into a single choir, rose to the heavens, filling the church with prayers and hymns.

The priest, an old and wise man, read the sermon, talking about love for one’s neighbor, about mercy, and about how to live according to God’s laws. His words resonated in the hearts of the parishioners, strengthening their faith and hope.

Church holidays were celebrated in Groben solemnly and joyfully. The residents of the village dressed in their most beautiful costumes, decorated the church with flowers and ribbons, and organized folk festivities. Songs, dances, games, treats — all this created an atmosphere of joy and unity. All the residents of Groben, from young to old, gathered on the church square to celebrate the holiday together and take a break from the hard workdays. The church, like a caring mother, united all the residents of Groben, giving them faith, hope, and love.

In the village, a little away from the central square, was the school — a small but sturdy building with large windows overlooking the quiet village landscape. Here, every morning, children from Groben and the surrounding farms streamed in, with backpacks on their backs and a gleam of curiosity in their eyes. The school was the pride of the village, a symbol of hope for the future and a place where dreams were born.

The teacher, Mr. Hauser, was a respected man in Groben. Short, thin, with a penetrating gaze and a kind smile, he was not just a teacher, but rather a mentor and guide to the world of knowledge. He knew each student by name, remembered the peculiarities of their character and their dreams. His house, located next to the school, was always open to children and their parents.

The classroom contained wooden desks, covered in ink and etched with carved names. On the walls hung maps, multiplication tables, and portraits of famous Bavarian kings. It smelled of wood, chalk, and fresh ink. Here, in this simple and cozy setting, the children learned the basics of literacy and science.

Mr. Hauser taught the children reading, writing, arithmetic, history, and geography. He told them about faraway lands, about great discoveries, about heroes of the past. He tried not only to impart knowledge but also to develop critical thinking in the children, to teach them to analyze and draw their own conclusions.

But the teacher gave his students not only knowledge. He instilled in them a love for their homeland, for their Bavarian land, for its traditions and culture. He told them about the beauty of their native nature, about the importance of labor, and about the need to respect their elders. He taught them to be honest, just, and merciful.

The school was not only a place of learning but also a place of communication. Here, children found friends, learned to work as a team, shared their joys and sorrows. Here, true friendship was born, which lasted for many years, connecting generations of Groben residents. The school, the teacher, the students — they were all part of one big family, the Groben family, united by love for their land and faith in a bright future.

Chapter 3

The Inn «At the Old Oak»

Inside the inn, it was always noisy and lively. Long wooden tables, roughly hewn, were placed throughout the hall, with peasants, artisans, and merchants sitting at them, sipping beer and exchanging news. In the corner, in front of a large fireplace, firewood crackled, warming the room and creating a cozy atmosphere.

But it wasn’t always peaceful. Sometimes, a rough cry would ring out, and a scuffle would begin. Andreas Gruber, the head of the family from Hinterkaifeck, was not a frequent guest, but when he appeared, the atmosphere changed noticeably. Drunk, irritable, he often found fault with other visitors, insulted them, and provoked them into fights. Hans, the innkeeper, tried to appease him, but Andreas was a stubborn and aggressive man.

«Well, Hans, pour me a mug of your best beer!» shouted a tall, lanky man in a worn leather jacket, sitting down at one of the tables. It was Josef, the local blacksmith.

At the next table, swaying, sat Andreas Gruber himself. His face, usually stern, was flushed from the beer he had drunk. His eyes gleamed with a feverish light, and his lips twisted into a mocking grin. He clutched his glass as if he were afraid it would be taken away from him.

«What’s wrong, men, have you lost heart?» he roared, his voice hoarse from drinking. «Come on, have fun! Drink while you can! Tomorrow, maybe, there won’t be time to drink…» His words hung in the air, like a bad omen.

Fritz, who was playing cards with Günther, glanced at Andreas, trying not to meet his gaze. «Everything’s fine, Andreas,» he muttered, hoping that this would appease Gruber.

But Andreas could not be stopped. «Everything’s fine? And on my farm…”, he stammered, his face contorted with anger, «On my farm, things are happening… Ghosts, at night, wandering around. I hear footsteps, creaks… It’s getting scary!» He laughed, but there was a note of hysteria in his laughter.

Hans, hearing this, frowned. He knew that Andreas was not a simple man. Lately, he had become suspicious, secretive, and had increasingly complained about strange incidents that supposedly took place on his farm.

«Andreas, you should sit at home, rest,» Hans tried to reassure him. «You’ve had too much today, you’ve completely lost your head.»

«Shut up, Hans!» roared Andreas, waving his arms. «It’s none of your business! It’s my life, and I’ll decide what to do!» He splashed the remains of his beer right on the table, causing Fritz and Günther to wince. «And you, cowards, sit here, trembling. Afraid of ghosts? Ha! I have…»

He did not have time to finish speaking when Josef, the blacksmith, rose from the neighboring table. His face, usually calm, was grim. «Andreas, you’re crossing all boundaries today,» he said, his voice firm and confident. «Behave yourself or get out of here.»

«Are you going to tell me what to do, you snot-nosed kid?» Andreas jumped to his feet, his eyes bloodshot. «I’ll show you…»

And then, before he could finish the sentence, he lunged at Josef. A scuffle broke out in the inn. Mugs clattered, chairs flew, shouts and curses were heard. Hans and his wife, Anna, tried to separate the fighters, but Andreas was too strong and fierce. The fight ended only when one of the peasants, seeing that Hans could not cope, dragged Andreas out of the inn, almost throwing him out onto the street. A loud bang of the front door echoed, and silence fell.

The inn became quiet, as if a hurricane had just passed through. People exchanged glances, straightened their clothes, and examined the broken mugs. Hans sighed heavily and began to clean up the aftermath of the fight. Everyone knew that Andreas Gruber was a dangerous man, and this night did not bode well.

A thick silence hung in the air, broken only by the crackling of firewood in the fireplace and the quiet whispers of the visitors. Hans silently swept up the shards of earthenware, his face darker than a thundercloud. Anna, clutching a rag in her hand, carefully wiped beer from the table, trying not to look towards the door behind which Andreas had disappeared.

Josef, the blacksmith, sat at his table, rubbing his bruised jaw. His face was grim, but his gaze was firm. He was not afraid of Andreas, but he understood that this night’s quarrel could have serious consequences. Gruber was a vindictive and vengeful man, and no one knew what he might take it into his head to do.

«So what will happen now?» Fritz asked quietly, turning to Günther. «This Andreas won’t let it go just like that.»

Günther shrugged, his face expressing anxiety. «Who knows what’s on his mind. They say he’s completely lost it.»

«Ghosts or no ghosts, it’s better not to mess with someone like that,» added Josef, interrupting their conversation. «We have to be careful. Especially those who live next to his farm.»

Hans, finishing cleaning up, approached their table, his face serious. «Josef, you’re right,» he said. «This Andreas has completely lost his head. I wouldn’t be surprised if he does something terrible. We have to report to the sheriff.»

«And what will the sheriff do?» Fritz scoffed skeptically. «Andreas is a rich farmer, he’ll always find a way to buy his way out. And then we’ll have to live with it…»

«Nevertheless, we have to do something,» Hans insisted. «We can’t keep silent. Otherwise, trouble can’t be avoided.»

But, as is often the case in small villages, fear and distrust prevailed over a sense of duty. No one wanted to interfere, no one wanted to incur the wrath of Andreas Gruber. Everyone preferred to pretend that nothing had happened, hoping that the storm would pass them by.

And outside the window, in the night darkness, stood the old oak, a witness to many generations of Groben residents. Its branches, like bony fingers, reached towards the sky, and its leaves rustled, as if whispering words of warning. But no one heard them.

Soon, the inn «At the Old Oak» was filled with noise and fun again. The musicians played a new melody, people began to dance, and life seemed to return to normal. But beneath the mask of merriment hid fear and anxiety. Everyone felt that something was wrong, that a dark shadow hung over Groben, which was soon to engulf this quiet and peaceful corner of Bavaria.

The villagers, despite the quarrel in the inn and the anxiety hanging over them, still clung to the hope of a better future, believed that the economic difficulties and the ominous shadow of Andreas Gruber would soon pass. Deep down, each of them cherished the dream of returning to the former calm and measured life, when they could not fear for their loved ones and not flinch at every night rustle. They continued to work diligently in the fields, hoping for a good harvest, prayed in the church, asking for God’s protection, and tried not to think about the bad.

It was in this contradictory atmosphere, in the quiet Bavarian village of Groben, far from big cities and noisy highways, where hope flickered, but fear was brewing, that the tragedy of the Hinterkaifeck farm unfolded. It burst into their lives like a bolt from the blue, destroying the illusion of safety and peace, and shocked not only little Groben, but all of Germany with its cruelty and mystery. Rumors of the brutal murder, of innocent victims, of evil that had settled in the heart of Bavarian land, spread with the speed of a forest fire, sowing panic and horror.

The Hinterkaifeck tragedy forever changed the lives of the residents of Groben. The trust and good neighborliness that had been the basis of their existence for so long were destroyed.

Neighbors began to look at each other with suspicion, fearing that a real monster might be hiding behind the mask of a respectable resident. Fear settled in their hearts, preventing them from sleeping peacefully at night. And even after years, when the wounds from the tragedy had healed a little, the memory of Hinterkaifeck continued to live in every house, reminding them of how fragile life is and how easily it can be destroyed. This tragedy left an indelible mark on the history of this small, unremarkable corner of Bavaria, turning it from a symbol of tranquility and peace into a symbol of horror and mystery, which has never been solved to the end.

Not so much the rumors of crime and lawlessness, of hyperinflation and famine, reaching them from the big cities — these news items came in fragmented pieces, as if someone was trying to tell about a nightmare but could not find the words — as much as the inexplicable, chilling fear hanging in the air, made people flinch at every rustle and lock their doors tightly at night.

Old Greta, whose face was etched with deep wrinkles, like a map of future misfortunes, sat by the window, watching the darkening twilight, and whispered to her neighbor, crossing herself:

«They say things are very bad in Munich… You can’t get bread,» whispered old Greta, and her voice trembled as if from a chill, although it was hot in the heated hut. She looked away from the window, behind which crimson twilight was thickening, as if not daring to face the impending disaster.

«And what will happen next?» asked the neighbor, Frau Schmidt, frightened, nervously fingering the cross on her chest. In her eyes, a primeval fear splashed, as if she felt the approach of something terrible, something she could not explain.

Greta was silent, listening to the silence, broken only by the crackling of firewood in the stove. «Next…» she croaked finally, and her voice sounded ominous, like the croaking of a crow. «Next, it will be worse. Hunger is not the worst thing. Evil… it’s already here. It hides in the shadows, waiting for its hour. And soon it will go hunting. Pray, Frau Schmidt. Pray that it passes us by. But I’m afraid… I’m afraid our prayers will not be heard.»

And on the very edge of the village, half a kilometer from Groben, at the very edge of the ominous Witch’s Forest, stood the Hinterkaifeck farm. It stood out against the background of the neat and well-kept houses of Groben, like a dark spot on a light background. A place that was whispered about behind their backs, a place that was avoided, especially after sunset.

The Hinterkaifeck farm… there were bad rumors about it, that the land there was cursed, that the harvest was never good, and that livestock often died for no apparent reason. As they used to say in Groben, not just evil lived there, but something ancient and powerful, something that was better not to disturb. They said that on moonlit nights, strange lights could be seen above the farm, and terrible howls could be heard from the forest. The Hinterkaifeck farm is a place where the light ends and darkness begins.

Chapter 4

The Farm at the Edge of the Forest

April 4, 1922 — a date that will forever remain branded into the memory of Groben and all of Bavaria. On this day, the peaceful sleep of the village was rudely interrupted by terrible news, sweeping through the surrounding area like a funeral knell. All the inhabitants of the Hinterkaifeck farm, located just a few kilometers from Groben, but in a completely different world from that which reigned in the peaceful village, were found brutally murdered.

The news of this event, passed on in whispers, was overgrown with gruesome details, chilling the soul. At first, they didn’t believe it, they thought it was fiction, scary stories. But when the rumors were confirmed, terror gripped their hearts.

Despite the fact that there had been much larger-scale crimes in the history of Germany, the Hinterkaifeck tragedy stood out for its particular, transcendental darkness. It not only shocked the public, but also touched the most hidden corners of the human soul.

The murders, committed with unimaginable cruelty, seemed to expose the darkest, wildest sides of human nature. The shadow of this evil hung over Groben, poisoning the air with fear and distrust.

Everything — the setting of the lost farm, surrounded by forest, cut off from the world, the chronology of the gruesome events unfolding over several days, the method of killing — blows with a mattock, from which there was no escape, even the fate of the bodies of the dead, left at the scene of the crime and not given to relatives for a long time — is literally imbued with some kind of oppressive hopelessness. As if death itself decided to play a cruel game, putting its darkest scenery on public display.

If Edgar Allan Poe, the master of mystery and horror, had lived in the twentieth century, he would have gladly used this plot for a story in the style of «The Fall of the House of Usher.» The Hinterkaifeck farm would have become his «House of Usher» — a dark, abandoned, cursed place, where terrible things happened under the cover of night. The inhabitants of the farm would be his characters, doomed to perish, and the investigation would be a journey into the depths of human madness. In every word, in every detail, one would feel the atmosphere of growing nightmare, the premonition of inevitable tragedy, and the feeling that evil lurks in the darkest corners of the human soul. But even Poe, perhaps, would not have been able to fully comprehend the mystery of Hinterkaifeck, a mystery that still haunts researchers and stirs the imagination.

In addition to the brutality of the murder itself, what horrified the residents of Groben and the investigation was another, even more disturbing circumstance: the killer, like a ghost, had lived on the Hinterkaifeck farm for months unnoticed. Not just broke into the house, committed the atrocity, and disappeared, but lived there, breathed the same air, ate the same food as his future victims.

This thought haunted the residents of the surrounding villages like a nightmare. It turned out that the monster could be hiding in any guise, be among them, pretending to be an ordinary person.

He, like a shadow, glided through the rooms of the farm, watching every movement of his victims. Studied their habits, their daily routine, their fears. He knew when they went to bed, when they got up, when they went to the field. He was invisible, hearing their every breath, every whisper, every word. He lived their life, but his heart was filled with hatred and malice.

He waited, like a predator lurking in ambush. He waited for the right moment to strike his deadly blow. He hatched his plan, preparing for the most terrible night in the history of Hinterkaifeck. This thought that the killer had been nearby for a long time, in close proximity to the victims, amplified the feeling of horror and helplessness. It turned out that no one was safe. Evil could be lurking around every corner, hiding behind a mask of benevolence, waiting for its hour to strike. This fact was not just frightening, it was paralyzing, instilling in the souls of the residents of Groben a chilling fear that did not let them go for many years.

But first things first, because chaos and confusion will not help to get closer to understanding this terrible story. First of all, it is necessary to reject superficial judgments and generally accepted truths, in order to, like a diver, plunge into this bottomless darkness and try to discern at least faint glimpses of the truth.

It is necessary to forget about the comfort of the familiar world, about safety and predictability, and step by step, word by word, detail by detail, try to understand: how could this happen? How could it happen that in the very heart of the Bavarian hinterland, far from wars and revolutions, a tragedy occurred, comparable in its cruelty only to ancient Greek myths?

How could it happen that in a family of six, loving and caring (or so it seemed), such a monster grew up, or did it penetrate from the outside, remaining unnoticed? How could it happen that the residents surrounding the Hinterkaifeck farm did not feel anything suspicious, did not hear cries for help, did not see signs indicating the impending disaster? How could it happen that the perpetrator, after committing such a terrible atrocity, remained uncaptured, unpunished, disappearing into the unknown?

To answer these questions, it is necessary to return to the past, to explore the life of the Gruber family, to study every aspect of it, from the simplest to the most mysterious.

It is necessary to carefully study the area, to understand the geography of Hinterkaifeck and its surroundings. It is necessary to listen to the testimonies of eyewitnesses, to analyze documents, to read letters and diaries that could shed light on this dark story. Only in this way, step by step, will we be able to approach the truth, understand the motives of the perpetrator, and unravel the mystery that still troubles the minds of people around the world. Only by plunging into darkness will we be able to find at least some glimmer of light.

Many who encounter the Hinterkaifeck case for the first time, or who have been trying to unravel its mystery for a long time, sooner or later, inevitably ask a question that seems simple at first glance, but in fact contains many mysteries: where was this ill-fated farm actually located? Where was this Hinterkaifeck, which has become synonymous with horror and despair?

The question of the location of the former farm, at first glance, may seem insignificant. However, knowing the exact location allows you to visualize the tragedy, to feel the atmosphere of those places, to understand how isolated this place was from the rest of the world. This allows you to better imagine the life of the Gruber family, their surroundings, their opportunities and limitations.

On the Internet and in various sources, you can find many conflicting reports about the exact location of the farm. Some claim that it was in the immediate vicinity of the town of Schrobenhausen, others — that it was lost in a remote forest, far from settlements. Some even indicate incorrect coordinates, misleading those who are trying to find the site of the tragedy on their own.

Despite the fact that the Hinterkaifeck farm has long ceased to exist (it was demolished shortly after the murder), the exact place where it once stood is of great importance for understanding the story. Knowing where the farm was located, you can imagine how difficult it was to live in such an isolated place, how vulnerable its inhabitants were in the face of danger, and how difficult it was for them to seek help if necessary.

In addition, knowing the exact location allows you to see the surroundings, which may have played an important role in the tragedy. The forest, the field, the road, the neighboring farms — all these details can provide a clue to the mystery of Hinterkaifeck, help us understand how and why this terrible atrocity happened.

The Hinterkaifeck farm (translated from Bavarian, the language of the local residents, as «the back part of Kaifeck»), as if cursed, stood in the backwoods of the Bavarian countryside, on the very edge of the forest, not far from the village of Groben. This place, as if deliberately chosen for solitude and isolation, was shrouded in silence and tranquility, but this silence, as it turned out, concealed something sinister.

Hinterkaifeck was a small isolated farming community. Families often lived on the same land for generations.

Despite its seemingly advantageous location in the heart of Bavaria, surrounded by fertile fields and picturesque forests, it was extremely difficult to call this place a lively corner. It was located approximately seven kilometers from the small town of Schrobenhausen, in the Weilheim-Schongau district, a picturesque but sparsely populated part of Bavaria. The nearest neighbors were quite far away, and the road to the farm was bumpy and difficult to pass, especially in winter.

The exact address, if it matters to those who are trying to find its trace: Hinterkaifeck, 86520, Germany. But at this address you will find only forest and emptiness, because the farm has long been demolished, and its territory has become overgrown with trees and shrubs. Only an attentive observer will be able to notice the barely noticeable traces of the foundation, reminiscent of the tragedy that unfolded here almost a century ago.

At the time of the tragic events of 1922, the farm belonged to the church parish of Waldau. And it was the priest from Waldau, Father Huber, who was one of the first to sound the alarm when the residents of Hinterkaifeck stopped appearing at Sunday services. This place, Hinterkaifeck, has become a curse for many, a symbol of evil that can hide in the most remote and quiet corners of the world.

The village of Groben, immersed in greenery and silence, was then, in the distant year of 1922, part of the larger town of Wangen. The administrative boundaries drawn on maps meant little to the residents of these places; their lives were centered around the fields, forests, and small farms. Subsequently, on October 1, 1971, Wangen, along with quiet Groben, became part of the larger community of Weilheim-in-Oberbayern, which was part of the process of reorganizing the administrative division of Bavaria. But in those years, when the Hinterkaifeck tragedy unfolded, this had no meaning. None of the residents of Groben cared about these administrative rearrangements; their concerns were completely different.

For the residents of Groben, and for the Gruber family living on the remote Hinterkaifeck farm, it was just a place, their world, limited by the horizon, separated from the rest of the world by fields and forest. A world where time flowed slowly and steadily, where centuries-old traditions intertwined with harsh peasant labor, where joys were simple, and worries were urgent. A world where everyone knew each other, where helping one’s neighbor was not just a duty but a necessity.

But beneath this apparent idyll lay a dark side. Isolation, superstitions, old grievances, and unresolved conflicts — all this accumulated over the years, creating a breeding ground for evil. The forest surrounding Groben and Hinterkaifeck did not just separate them from the rest of the world; it became a symbol of secrets and fears, a place where dark secrets lurked, ready to burst out and destroy the fragile world of the inhabitants of these places. And the Hinterkaifeck tragedy became a terrible confirmation of these fears.

If you now, in 2025, possessing knowledge of the impending tragedy, could travel back to Groben in the spring of 1922, to the very time when clouds were gathering over the Hinterkaifeck farm, and set out to go to this ill-fated homestead, your path would be challenging, but quite surmountable. You would start your journey from Eibergstrasse, the main street of Groben, passing through the center of the village.

Leaving the village, you would feel the asphalt you are used to walking on end, and under your feet would be a narrow, dusty dirt road, winding among the fields and copses. This road, like a snake, snaked towards the horizon, beckoning and at the same time frightening with its unknown. You would have to turn off Eibergstrasse onto this dirt road, leaving behind quiet and cozy Groben, plunging into the world of the rural backwoods.

Continuing along this dusty road, you would notice how the landscape gradually changes. The fields were replaced by sparse copses, the air filled with the smell of earth and wild herbs. And about half a kilometer from the road, rising above the surrounding landscape, you would see a solitary «windy spruce». This was an unusual spruce, with a curved trunk and branches, as if turned inside out by the wind. It served as a landmark for the locals, indicating the way to Hinterkaifeck.

Ahead, as far as the eye could see, stretched an endless panorama of the Bavarian countryside. Golden fields of wheat, already ready for harvest, alternated with emerald meadows, where cows grazed. Far on the horizon, dark forest massifs could be seen, like impregnable walls surrounding this quiet and peaceful world. But your attention would be riveted to one landmark, towering over this idyllic scene.

Your path lay to the lonely «windy spruce», visible from afar. This huge, ancient spruce seemed to have grown here since time immemorial, surviving generations of people and witnessing many historical events. It stood out from other trees, not only in its size, but also in its unusual appearance. Its mighty trunk was severely curved, as if in a perpetual struggle against the strong winds blowing from the mountains.

Passing the last houses of Groben, immersed in the greenery of gardens and orchards, you would feel the road, like a living being, begin to wind among the fields, leading you further and further into the Bavarian countryside. The world around you seemed to narrow, the horizon became closer, and darkness, even in the daytime, began to thicken, as if foreshadowing something sinister.

To the left of the road, as far as the eye could see, were carefully cultivated plots of land, neatly sown with grain. The even rows of ears, swaying under gusts of wind, created an impression of peace and prosperity.

On the right stretched the forest, gloomy and silent, like a living creature lying in wait for its prey. Its dense crowns, shielding the sun, cast long, sinister shadows on the ground. It seemed that invisible eyes were hidden in the depths of the forest, watching your every step. The silence of the forest was deceptive; it only emphasized its sinister character.

The wind, piercing and cold, blew from the fields, penetrating under your clothes and making you shiver. It whistled in your ears, drowning out all other sounds, but at times, through this whistle, strange, frightening sounds came from the forest. Either the howl of wild animals, or the whisper of ancient trees, or the moans of lost souls. These sounds filled you with anxiety and a premonition of trouble, making you look around for danger. Every step you took along this road brought you closer to the Hinterkaifeck farm, to a place where horror and despair awaited you.

It was there, to that windy spruce, three hundred and fifty meters after the turn from Eibergstrasse, that you should direct your gaze. There, in the shadow of the spruce, was the point where the world ended and the nightmare began. And where the Hinterkaifeck farm was hidden, awaiting you in chilling silence. It was a place where the blood-soaked earth kept its terrible secrets.

The exact time of construction of the Hinterkaifeck farm, unfortunately, is not recorded in any documents available to researchers. Time has taken its toll, and many archives have been lost or destroyed. However, judging by the preserved fragmentary information, photographs, and eyewitness descriptions, as well as by the architectural style of the building, it can be assumed with a high degree of certainty that the farm was probably erected in the late 19th or early 20th century, during a period of active development of agriculture in Bavaria.

The building was a typical farmhouse for Bavaria at that time: a two-story structure, built of durable stone and wood, materials available in this area. Stone provided strength and durability to the structure, and wood was used for the construction of floors, walls, and the roof.

Hinterkaifeck was arranged in such a way that its inhabitants could live and work without practically leaving the complex. The residential house, outbuildings, and even the barn were connected into a single unit, forming a complex system of passages and corridors. This created a sense of seclusion and security, but at the same time made the farm vulnerable. It was thanks to this isolation and the ability to move between buildings without going outside that the perpetrator was able to carry out his plan, remaining unnoticed for a long time.

The roof of the farm was covered with red tiles, laid in the traditional Bavarian style. The tiles protected the house from the weather, keeping it warm in winter and cool in summer. The roof had a steep slope, which allowed snow to slide down easily, without creating additional stress on the structure.

The house was closely adjoined by outbuildings necessary for farming and providing for the life of the farming family: a spacious barn for storing hay and grain, a stable for keeping horses and other domestic animals, a shed for storing agricultural implements, and other auxiliary premises, such as a wood shed, a chicken coop, and a pigsty.

All these buildings formed a single complex, closely connected with the life of the farming family, providing them with everything necessary for survival and prosperity. The Hinterkaifeck farm was not just a house, but a whole world, in which the life of several generations of Bavarian peasants unfolded.

The Hinterkaifeck farm, like many other peasant farms in Bavaria, was most likely built by one of the members of the Gruber family, which owned it for several generations, passing it from hand to hand, from father to son, from grandfather to grandson. This was the land of their ancestors, the roots of the family, the source of their life and well-being. They invested their labor, their hopes, their dreams in this land.

The location of Hinterkaifeck was relatively secluded. There was a decent distance to the nearest houses, and several kilometers to the village of Groben itself. Due to its remoteness, the farm was quite isolated from the surrounding world. A narrow dirt road, surrounded by forest, led to the farm. This created a sense of detachment from the outside world, which played a fateful role in the tragic events of the spring of 1922. The farm was far from busy highways and transport routes, which made it difficult to access and made it vulnerable.

The farm itself, if you could see it in those last peaceful days, was a huge, austere stone structure, shaped like a giant Latin letter «I». The living quarters, spacious and probably well-furnished, made up the main part of the house, while the stable and barn adjoined them under one roof. Thus, everything necessary for living and working on the farm was under one roof, in close interweaving. This, combined with the remoteness of the farm, created an atmosphere of self-sufficiency and isolation.

Outside, order reigned in a large open courtyard, paved with rough stone slabs. On the left, a small shed stood separately, serving as both a bakery and a laundry room. Its chimney rose above the roof, spreading the aroma of freshly baked bread, which, however, was never felt in the house again. In the courtyard adjacent to the main building, there were sheds for storing hay, as well as enclosures for livestock, creating a scene familiar to a peasant yard. Everything was in its place, familiar and calm.

And yet, despite its apparent reliability and durability, Hinterkaifeck seemed to exude a certain gloom, as if it harbored an unspoken secret. On quiet evenings, when the sun set over the horizon and a thick shadow enveloped the forest, it seemed that the walls of the farm were compressing, and invisible observers were hiding in the dark corners.

The attic seemed particularly sinister. The creaky floorboards, the whisper of the wind in the cracks, and the bizarre shadows cast by the moonlight created the feeling that something invisible and unkind lived there. Sometimes at night, strange sounds came from there — either a rustle or a creak, which made the blood run cold in your veins.

And although the Gruber family had grown accustomed to this gloomy atmosphere and had learned not to pay attention to the strange sounds, an inexplicable fear lurked in the depths of each of them. Fear of the dark, of the forest, of what is hidden in the shadows.

Hinterkaifeck seemed to be waiting for something. Waiting for its hour to reveal its terrible secret. And this hour was approaching with every minute, with every creak of the floorboards, with every rustle in the forest.

Chapter 5

The House Where the Light Goes Out

The Hinterkaifeck farm, immersed in the Bavarian outback, belonged to the Gruber family. It was said that they lived in prosperity — the land was fertile, the livestock was well-groomed. But money, as you know, does not always guarantee peace.

The Grubers were not loved by their neighbors. They lived reclusively, as if guarding some secret, and this always causes suspicion. They were shunned, whispered about behind their backs, called strange, even sinful. As if the shadow of an ancient curse lay on the farm.

Few documents about the Grubers have survived, memories are vague, and rumors… rumors are painted in dark colors. It was felt that something was wrong in this house, that something dark was hidden behind the external decency. As if behind the locked doors of Hinterkaifeck, its own sinister drama was unfolding, which no one was supposed to know about.

The Grubers lived as if in a besieged fortress, cut off from the world not only by the stone walls of the farm, but also by an invisible wall of alienation. Rarely was anyone seen at village festivals or in church; they did not share their joys or sorrows with their neighbors. And the neighbors, admittedly, did not particularly strive for communication, trying to turn to them only in case of extreme necessity. As if they felt that something unkind was in the air in Hinterkaifeck, that it was better to stay away from this place.

The only exception was Viktoria, the daughter of Cäzilia and Andreas. This tall, slender girl, unlike her parents, did not shun the outside world. She was the thread that connected Hinterkaifeck to the surrounding villages. Viktoria went to school in Weidhofen, where, albeit reluctantly, she communicated with other children and teachers. These few hours away from the farm were a breath of fresh air for her, a rare opportunity to feel part of ordinary life.

On the way to school, and sometimes on household chores, Viktoria sometimes exchanged a couple of words with the postman or passing merchants. These conversations were short and formal, but even they served as a thin thread connecting her with the outside world, reminding her that she was not completely forgotten. Helping around the house and rare visits to church services also gave her the opportunity to escape, albeit briefly, from the oppressive atmosphere of the house.

Viktoria was mostly spoken of well — sweet, quiet, with a beautiful voice. She was a pretty girl, but there was a strange detachment in her appearance. It seemed that she lived in her own world, cut off from the cruel reality surrounding her.

It was said that her angelic singing in the church choir seemed to atone for the sins committed within the walls of the farm. But even in church, in a holy place, Viktoria could not completely relax, as if she was afraid that Andreas’ shadow would catch up with her there. She feared her father like fire, never contradicted him, avoided his gaze, and unquestioningly carried out all his orders. But even this did not save her from anger — the bruises, carefully hidden under her clothes, were an eloquent testimony to the cruelty that reigned in Hinterkaifeck. Viktoria was not the only child of Cäzilia, but she was the only one of all the children who lived to adulthood. The older sister, unable to withstand life in this cursed place, married and left, leaving Viktoria alone with her fear.

And so, at the age of 27, fragile and broken, she continued to live in a house where cruelty and violence reigned, dreaming of a salvation that never came… Her home was more like hell, and there was almost no hope that she would escape from this hell.

The neighbors’ opinions often differed from what the Grubers themselves saw. And one of those who had known this family for many years was Kurt Wagner, who lived on a neighboring farm:

Kurt Wagner’s Testimony.

Having lived on a neighboring farm and known the Gruber family for many years, he left heavy memories of Andreas Gruber and the living conditions of the children. In his testimony, he stated that, in his opinion, the child probably died due to a lack of proper care and insufficient nutrition. Wagner also claimed that he and his father often heard the children being locked in the basement for several days when they passed by the farm. In conclusion, he added: «I’ll tell you frankly, these people were not good.»

Little information about them has survived to this day, as if time and human memory were trying to erase their names from the face of the earth. And those grains of information that have reached us, for the most part, are negative. It seems that history itself is trying to warn us, saying that something terrible was hidden behind this prosperous facade.

Testimony of Hermann Bauer:

In a statement submitted to the police in 1922, Hermann Bauer, a local farmer who sometimes worked with Andreas Gruber, stated the following: «The Grubers were very diligent and thrifty. They led a secluded lifestyle and avoided any contact with other people whenever possible.» Bauer further added that, despite the difficult times caused by war, famine, hyperinflation, and political instability, the Gruber family worked hard to maintain their farm.

This laconic report, devoid of any emotion or personal assessment, nevertheless gave an idea of the Gruber family. They were hardworking and economical, but at the same time extremely withdrawn and detached from the surrounding world. Their lifestyle may have been due to the difficult circumstances of that time, but it could also be evidence of something more — of hidden motives, secrets, and fears.

The history of the Hinterkaifeck farm began long before the tragic events of 1922. Initially, this land belonged to Josef Asam, the first husband of Cäzilia Gruber. It was he who, through his labor and perseverance, turned the abandoned plot of land into a thriving farm. He built a solid house, acquired livestock, and began to cultivate the fields. Hinterkaifeck became the дело (deed/life’s work) of his life, the embodiment of his dream of a quiet and peaceful corner where he could live with his family.

But fate decreed otherwise. Josef Asam died, leaving Cäzilia a widow with a young daughter in her arms. And then Andreas Gruber appeared in her life, a strong and powerful man who offered her his hand in marriage. Cäzilia, in need of protection and support, agreed to marry him, and thus the Hinterkaifeck farm passed into the possession of the Gruber family.

Studying fragments of information, testimonies, and archival data, I will try to recreate more complete portraits of each member of the Gruber family, trying to go beyond dry facts and see them as living people with their hopes, fears, and secrets.

Andreas Gruber:

Andreas Gruber… His very name sounded rough and sharp, like the crunch of gravel underfoot. The master of Hinterkaifeck, stern and uncommunicative, in his not quite sixty years, he was the embodiment of the inhospitable land he cultivated. His face, etched with deep wrinkles, seemed carved from stone, and his eyes, gray and cold as the winter sky, rarely expressed anything but discontent.

Always dressed in dark, worn clothes, he seemed to merge with the landscape, becoming an integral part of the gloomy farm. It was said that he was hardworking and disappeared in the field or in the barn from morning to night.

But this diligence was more forced than virtuous — the land reluctantly yielded a harvest, livestock often fell ill, and every day one had to fight for survival. And perhaps it was this constant struggle that hardened his heart, made him so unsociable and suspicious.

However, there were other rumors… They whispered about his cruelty, about how he treated his wife and daughter, about his outbursts of anger, which made the walls of Hinterkaifeck tremble.

Whether this is true or not, we can no longer find out, but one thing can be said for sure: Andreas Gruber was not an easy man, in whom some dark and sinister secret lurked.

The shadow of tragedy, like a black wing, hung over the Gruber family long before the events in Hinterkaifeck. Andreas’s second child, born in his first, short-lived marriage, died at the age of two.

The circumstances of this death, already sad, were shrouded in a thick fog of rumors and speculation, which over time turned into something sinister. The official cause of death was listed as illness, a rapid fever that took the life of the baby.

But in the quiet Bavarian villages, where gossip spreads faster than the wind, they said something completely different. They whispered that Andreas was involved in the child’s death, that he was too harsh with him, that he did not provide proper care.

Some spoke of an accident, others — of premeditated murder. They even named motives: an unwanted child, an obstacle in life, a burden that needed to be gotten rid of.

There was, of course, no evidence for these monstrous accusations. But even the absence of evidence could not dispel the oppressive feeling that the death of the child was something more than just a tragic accident.

Despite the difficult times, Andreas was a fairly wealthy farmer. He did not trust banks, remembering past crashes and hyperinflation. He kept all his savings — gold coins and banknotes — at home, which many in the area knew about.

Andreas, according to neighbors, was a rude, gloomy, and quick-tempered man. He didn’t get along with anyone due to his bad character. He repeatedly got into drunken brawls and all sorts of scrapes, not disdaining to use force. At any stinging remark addressed to him, he would explode and threaten to kill the offender.

At home, he turned into a real tyrant, punishing all household members for the slightest offense. He often raised his hand to his wife and daughter.

Therefore, the villagers shunned him and did not want to get involved with him, preferring to bypass the Hinterkaifeck farm. They knew that Andreas Gruber was a dangerous and unpredictable man, and it was better not to cross paths with him.

He was a stranger among his own, a lonely and embittered man, ready to vent his anger on the closest and most defenseless.

It is known that he was married twice. Almost nothing is known about the first wife; her name has been erased from people’s memory. It is said that she died under mysterious circumstances, but these rumors were never confirmed. Having married Cäzilia, he received not only a wife but also the Hinterkaifeck farm, which he skillfully took over. Andreas Gruber was not just a farmer; he was the master of his land and his family.

Cäzilia Gruber:

A quiet shadow in the Gruber house. At seventy-two years old, she seemed older than her years. A face etched with wrinkles revealed a hard life full of labor and cares. Her eyes had dimmed, as if the light of hope had gone out in them. She modestly dressed in dark dresses and scarves, hiding her gray hair. Her movements were slow and careful, as if she was afraid to disrupt the fragile balance in the house.

Cäzilia Zanhuber (later Gruber) entered into her first marriage with Josef Asam von Hinterkaifeck. His name, although it sounded weighty, did not mean belonging to the aristocracy. «Von Hinterkaifeck» is not part of his surname, but rather an indication of his origin and ownership of the Hinterkaifeck farm. In those days in Bavaria (and in other parts of Germany), it was customary to add «von» to the surname if the family owned land or had noble origins. However, the Asam family was not noble, so «von Hinterkaifeck» rather indicates their connection with this particular farm.

This marriage was not just a union of two hearts, but also a deal sealed by blood and land. Already on April 24, 1877, Josef Asam inherited the ancestral plot of land, the Waldhof farm, from his widowed father, Johann Asam. Land, as is known, feeds and protects, and in those days, owning it was a guarantee of survival.

But that’s not all. A notarized marriage and inheritance agreement was concluded between Cäzilia and Josef — a document written in dry legal language, but concealing complex interweaving of interests and hopes. After the conclusion of the marriage, Cäzilia Asam became a co-owner of this plot of land. Paper giving her the right to part of this harsh land, a right that, as it turned out, did not guarantee her happiness and security.

Soon this right turned into a heavy burden. On May 21, 1885, Josef Asam died, and Cäzilia suddenly remained alone — a widow and the sole owner of the Hinterkaifeck farm, on whom all responsibility now lay.

This burden was not easy, especially for a woman, but Cäzilia did not break. The hard work on the farm, exhausting day after day, did not break her physically, but took away her last mental strength.

A year later, in 1886, she married for the second time — to Andreas Gruber. What motivated her? Echoes of hope for happiness, a desire to find a kindred soul, or simply a desire for stability in a troubled world? The farm certainly needed a strong owner, and Cäzilia needed reliable support, a person who would share the burden of care and provide a future for her and her loved ones. After the wedding, an agreement on joint ownership of the farm was signed, which was common practice at that time — a formal confirmation of the union and common interests.

And yet, contrary to all hopes and expectations, this marriage became not salvation for Cäzilia, but rather a burden that she bore silently and meekly. She was patient, like the earth accepting any rain, and submissive, allowing fate to lead her along its intended path. Every morning she woke up knowing that only one thing awaited her: the repetition of yesterday, filled with silence, hard work, and fear. It seemed that fate had long decided everything for her, and Cäzilia only humbly accepted every blow, not hoping for change. She was like an old icon, darkened by time and grief, but still retaining in the depths of her soul a faint glimmer of faith in the best.

The woman lived a hard life. According to rumors, she was subjected to violence by her father, and later by her husband Andreas. It is, of course, impossible to confirm these rumors now, but the life of a peasant woman in those days was rarely easy and cloudless. Women worked on a par with men, endured hardships, and often became victims of domestic violence.

Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to consider Cäzilia a soft-bodied and spineless victim. Those who lived in the village confirmed that she had a strong character and a firm will. She knew how to stand up for herself and for her family, although perhaps she could not always openly resist the tyranny of her husband. Cäzilia was a complex and contradictory personality, formed under the influence of difficult life circumstances.

Viktoria Gruber:

On a cold February morning in 1887, when the howling wind shook the bare branches of trees around Hinterkaifeck, Cäzilia gave birth to a girl. The entry in the church book read: Viktoria Gruber, February 6, 1887.

The birth was difficult, exhausting. When the midwife gently placed the newborn in Cäzilia’s arms, she closed her eyes, exhausted.

Viktoria was born silent. No cry, no squeak — only a quiet groan, which made the midwife wary. Andreas, usually restrained in showing his feelings, stood aside, watching what was happening with an inscrutable face. His gaze, sliding over the girl’s pale skin, lingered on her large, wide-open eyes, as if he was trying to discern in them something hidden from others.

Years passed, but this gaze, full of the unsaid, remained a mystery. Viktoria, who grew up on the Hinterkaifeck farm, was like being woven from contradictions. Her tall, almost angular figure seemed to carry a burden unbearable for her young age. Her movements, usually smooth and graceful, sometimes became sharp, nervous, betraying hidden tension. Her face, framed by dark, thick hair, seemed pale, almost lifeless, as if her blood flowed slower than others. Large gray eyes, which could have captivated with their beauty, now looked at the world warily, as if searching for signs of danger. Her gaze was penetrating, sharp, capable of noticing the smallest details that remained unnoticed by others.

She was silent and reserved, preferring to observe rather than participate. Her voice sounded quietly, almost in a whisper, as if she was afraid to break the silence, to attract unnecessary attention to herself. There was some internal recluseness in her, as if she was shielding herself from the outside world with an invisible shield. She rarely smiled, and when she smiled, it seemed that the smile did not touch her eyes, that it was just a mask hiding her true feelings.

Her hands, usually occupied with hard housework, were distinguished by a strange grace. Her fingers were long, thin, as if created not for rough labor, but for something more elegant. She loved to spend time alone, wandering through the surrounding forests, collecting herbs and flowers. It was said that she knew the language of plants, understood their secret messages.

There was something unearthly in her, something otherworldly, that both attracted and repelled. She seemed to be a mystery that could not be solved, a secret that was better not to touch. She was like a warning, like a sign indicating that there are things in this world that are better not to know.

Sofia Gruber:

Two years later, in 1889, the cry of a newborn was heard again in the house — Cäzilia gave birth to a second daughter, Sofia. In the first days, the house was full of joy, but along with it, a vague anxiety seemed to hang in the air, a vague premonition of trouble. Sofia seemed too fragile, too defenseless against the dark forces that seemed to surround Hinterkaifeck.

She was not destined to live long. Sofia left this world at the age of two, as if an evil spirit had stolen her soul, leaving only a lifeless body. A disease, shrouded in mystery, seemed to descend from the surrounding forests, twisted her fragile body, deprived her of breath.

Infant mortality in those days, like an insatiable reaper, reigned in the Bavarian lands, and no house could feel safe. Every child born came into the world with the mark of vulnerability, like a thin sprout that had to break through rocky soil. And few succeeded in this. Typhus, diphtheria, measles, scarlatina — the names of these diseases sounded like ominous spells, dooming infants and children to a painful death. There were no vaccinations, no effective medicines, only prayers and herbal decoctions, which more often brought comfort than healing. Poor hygiene was everywhere: dirty water from wells, crowding in cramped huts, where both people and livestock gathered in winter, lack of basic knowledge about germs and infections. Diseases spread like a forest fire, engulfing entire villages. Mothers watched in horror as their children faded before their eyes, as their bodies became covered with rashes, as they were suffocated by coughs. They wiped the sweat from their foreheads, whispered prayers, hoped for a miracle, but miracles rarely happened. Even if a child survived a serious illness, he remained weak and defenseless against other dangers: hunger, lack of warm clothes, hard labor, which began at the age of five or six. Many children simply did not live to adulthood, taking with them unrealized dreams and unfulfilled hopes. In the cemeteries outside the villages, children’s graves occupied entire rows — faceless mounds covered with grass and wildflowers, a sad reminder of how fragile and short life was in those times.

The death of the child was another blow for Cäzilia, although outwardly she endured it silently and without tears. The loss certainly left its mark, but hardly anyone noticed it behind her usual submission and humility. In the harsh realities of life on the farm, where every day was a struggle for survival, there was simply no room for long grief. One had to work to survive, and Cäzilia continued to perform her duties as if nothing had happened. But what was going on in her soul remained a mystery.

Chapter 6

Land and Blood

1910—1914

In those days, land was not just capital; it was the cornerstone of life, a source of livelihood and social status. Intrigues were always woven around land ownership, conflicts arose, and destinies were decided. The Hinterkaifeck farm was no exception.

In 1885, when the issue of succession to the farm was being decided, the documents were drawn up in the name of Cäzilia Senior. This was in accordance with a long tradition common in Bavarian peasant families: land, as a rule, was inherited along the female line. This rule existed not because of feminist beliefs, but for pragmatic reasons. It was believed that women were more attached to the land, to the hearth, and therefore would be better able to preserve the integrity of the farm, without dividing it among numerous male heirs.

However, after the marriage of Cäzilia Senior in 1886, her husband Andreas Gruber naturally became a co-owner of the farm. This was quite common. The husband, entering into marriage, took on obligations to manage the farm, help his wife in managing the land, and provide for the family. In return, he received the right to a share of the profits, the right to vote when making important decisions concerning the farm, and, importantly, a certain social status.

Andreas Gruber was a co-owner of the Hinterkaifeck farm for almost thirty years, until 1914. During this time, he undoubtedly played a significant role in the development of the farm, making decisions, participating in field work, and interacting with local residents.

However, working on the farm was never easy, and sometimes even a strong peasant family needed help from outside. This was especially true during periods of sowing and harvesting. At such moments, it was almost impossible to do without hired workers.

In those days, many were looking for work, but not everyone was willing to put up with the bad character of Andreas Gruber. The Hinterkaifeck farm had a bad reputation, and therefore hired workers did not stay here long. They appeared only for the season to do the hardest work, and then hurried to leave this troubled place.

In the cold season, when the main field work ended, the need for seasonal workers disappeared. Family members coped with current affairs on their own. The only exception was the maid. Cäzilia, due to her age and illness, could no longer cope with all household duties, so a woman who helped around the house lived on the farm permanently.

After 1914, sole ownership passed to their daughter Viktoria. By that time, Viktoria was already 35 years old. Viktoria Gruber, whose fate could already be called difficult, was officially considered the owner.

Viktoria, a girl, as she was described, modest and pretty, was forced to bear the burden of her father Andreas’s bad reputation. The residents of the surrounding area perceived her primarily as the owner of the land, a «rich heiress.» Unfortunately, this often attracted not the most honest people to her.

In April 1914, Viktoria Gruber, the daughter of the owners of the Hinterkaifeck farm, Andreas and Cäzilia, married the farmer Klaus Briel.

And although at first glance this seemed like an ordinary union, many in the village whispered that Klaus was guided more by selfish motives. Perhaps he hoped to improve his shaky financial situation by marrying the daughter of wealthy farmers. Unfortunately, such marriages of convenience were not uncommon in those days, especially in rural areas, where land and wealth were of great importance.

A month before the wedding, as if foreseeing trouble, Viktoria’s parents made an important decision. They transferred ownership of most of their property to their daughter. Perhaps this step was dictated by concern for Viktoria’s future, a desire to provide her with at least some protection in case of unforeseen circumstances. Thus, after the conclusion of the marriage, three-quarters of Hinterkaifeck officially passed into the possession of Viktoria, and the remaining quarter went to Klaus, her husband.

Driven, probably, by a sincere desire to create a strong family and contribute to the common cause, Klaus embraced his new status with enthusiasm. He moved to his wife’s house, the Hinterkaifeck farm, and, rolling up his sleeves, began working for the benefit of the farmstead. He worked hard in the field, helped around the house, trying to prove his worth and usefulness. He probably wanted to earn the respect of Victoria and her parents, to become a full member of the Gruber family. He naively believed that hard work and dedication would help him win their hearts and create a solid foundation for a future marriage. He did not yet know that the real reason for the problems lay not in his lack of hard work, but in the dark secrets hidden within the walls of the Hinterkaifeck farm.

In the village, Victoria and Klaus’s marriage was talked about little, and even then in whispers, as if afraid to scare away the already fragile semblance of family happiness.

«Victoria is certainly a striking woman, but Klaus, it seems to me, needed a housekeeper, not a wife out of love,» gossiped old Frau Schmidt, sitting on the porch and shelling sunflower seeds. Others, more observant, noticed: «I saw them at the fair once. They walked side by side like strangers. They didn’t exchange a word, didn’t exchange a glance.» There were also whispers that Klaus had long refused this marriage. «Poor Victoria! She thought she would find support in Klaus, but he only loves her land,» compassionate Gretchen sympathized with her.

All these whispers and gossip added up to a depressing picture, like barbed wire entangling the Gruber house. No one spoke about it openly, but everyone felt that there was a chasm between Victoria and Klaus. «Klaus needed the farm, not a wife,» they said furtively. Sympathy for Victoria mixed with disdain for Klaus, and the overall atmosphere was more like a pre-storm silence than a family hearth. And even the most pessimistic residents of Hinterkaifeck understood that this marriage would not end well.

Just a few agonizing weeks after the wedding, Klaus Briel, as if feeling like a prisoner in a golden cage, to the surprise and gossip of all Hinterkaifeck, suddenly left the farm and returned to his parents in the modest village of Lak in the Neuburg-Schrobenhausen district. Officially, the reason for his departure was never announced, shrouded in vague hints and omissions. However, behind the veil of silence, passions were boiling and versions were multiplying.

Some whispered that the reason was the unbearable atmosphere in the Gruber household, where the stern and authoritarian Andreas, Victoria’s father, kept all the household members under his thumb, and Klaus, accustomed to more freedom, felt oppressed and humiliated. Others claimed that the reason was a banal conflict with Victoria, whose views on life and farming turned out to be completely incompatible with his own.

It was said that their marriage cracked almost immediately, like ice under the spring sun. Quarrels between Victoria and Klaus shook the silence of Hinterkaifeck, some heard cries even beyond the outskirts. «Victoria was wailing like for the dead,» whispered old widow Seiler, who lived next door, «and Klaus was growling like a beast in a cage.»

The few witnesses to these quarrels noticed in Victoria’s eyes not only tears of resentment and disappointment, but also some hidden fear, as if she was afraid not only of her husband, but of something more. And in Klaus’s eyes, there was not just irritation, but open disgust, as if Victoria was not a wife to him, but a burden. «You can see he didn’t marry her for love,» Frau Miller shook her head, «but only because of the land. And now he’s taking out his anger.»

Others added that they had seen Klaus leaving for the forest after quarrels and wandering there for a long time, as if seeking solace in solitude. But what he was really looking for remained only to be guessed.»

There was also a third version, the dirtiest and most indecent, which was spoken about in hushed tones, behind tightly closed shutters. It concerned Andreas and his relationship with his daughter, Victoria. It was whispered that there was a connection between father and daughter that made the blood run cold, going far beyond ordinary family feelings. «He’s awfully affectionate with her, the old tomcat,» said one compassionate neighbor, spitting over her shoulder. «He looks into her eyes like she’s a young maiden.»

Rumor had it that Klaus, feeling superfluous and unwanted in this perverse triangle, preferred to flee rather than witness an unhealthy attachment. It was said that he was often away from home, supposedly earning money, but in reality, he simply couldn’t bear the atmosphere that reigned on the farm.

But many did not believe the version about Klaus’s escape. His disappearance was too suspicious, leaving Victoria with elderly parents and the farm. Rumors circulated that Andreas himself had gotten rid of his unwanted son-in-law so that no one would interfere with his dirty deeds.

Only decades later, in 1952, a new detail of Klaus Briel’s convoluted story surfaced, told by Jakob Knecht, one of the hired workers who worked on the Gruber farm. Huber claimed that, in his opinion, Klaus could never reconcile himself to the unhealthy closeness between Victoria and her father, Andreas. «He wasn’t one to put up with that sort of thing,» Huber allegedly said, hinting at the unbearable atmosphere in the house. It remained unknown whether Klaus was planning a divorce from Victoria, seeking to break this vicious circle, or whether he simply fled, not having the strength to resist the Gruber family demons.

One way or another, Klaus’s decision to leave Hinterkaifeck immediately after the wedding cast a shadow over the entire Gruber family and became a harbinger of impending misfortune. It was like a crack in the foundation of a house, foreshadowing an imminent collapse. Klaus’s departure to Lak gave rise to many questions that were never given clear answers, only giving rise to new rumors and speculation, which, like poisonous roots, sprouted in the hearts of the residents of Hinterkaifeck.

However, the fact remained: just four months after fleeing to Lak, on August 14, 1914, Klaus Gabriel enlisted as a volunteer in the military registry. In the «Reason for Enlistment’ column, it was written in a crooked hand: «Patriotic duty.»

But who knows what duty actually drove him into the inferno of World War I? Perhaps a duty to his country, or perhaps a duty to himself, to prove that he was not a coward, not a fugitive, but a real man.

It is noteworthy that, when filling out the documents, he indicated the address in Lak as his home address, completely erasing Hinterkaifeck from his life, as if this farm was a cursed place, stained with blood and lies, from which one had to run without looking back. And he ran. He ran towards the war, towards gas attacks, trenches, mud, and death. He ran there, where human life was worth nothing, where yesterday’s peasants and artisans were turned into cannon fodder, where entire generations perished for the ambitions of kings and generals. He ran to hell, hoping, perhaps, to find there deliverance from the hell that haunted him on earth.

On December 12 of that same year, 1914, another tragedy befell the Gruber family, as if an evil fate was haunting their heels. News arrived from the front, sealed with a wax seal and permeated with the smell of gunpowder and death: Klaus Briel, had fallen bravely somewhere on French soil, fighting in the ranks of the Kaiser’s army. The dry, bureaucratic wording («fell bravely for the Fatherland’) did not say a word about what he felt in the last moments of his life, what he was thinking about, whom he was remembering.

The news of her husband’s death reached Victoria while she was carrying their daughter, little Cäzilia, under her heart, condemning the newborn to orphanhood even before she was born. Victoria was doomed to widowhood and the heavy burden of raising a child alone.

In Hinterkaifeck, as in many Bavarian villages, mothers without husbands were treated with restraint, if not wariness. A child born out of wedlock was considered a stain on the family’s reputation, and the mother was seen as a woman who had made a mistake. Of course, no one would shout insults openly, but she would feel that she was being shunned. Respectable citizens would try not to linger on her, as if afraid of getting dirty. Married women would whisper behind her back, discussing who the father of the child was and how this could have happened. The priest, although he would not curse her from the pulpit, his sermons about the purity of marriage would sound to Victoria like a personal accusation. There would be no open hostility, but she would feel a cold detachment, as if an invisible wall separated her from the rest of the village.

And who could say what weighed heavier on the heart: the pain of loss (even if not the happiest) or the fear of a future in which she and the child would have to survive in this atmosphere of wariness and condemnation?

After Klaus’s tragic death at the front, Victoria, in addition to grief and the burden of widowhood, faced the need to resolve property issues. According to the laws of that time, the quarter of the Hinterkaifeck farm that had previously belonged to Klaus was inherited by his closest relative — Victoria.

Thus, Victoria Gruber became the sole owner of Hinterkaifeck. All three-quarters of the property that had previously belonged to her parents, and the quarter inherited from her husband, were now at her full disposal. She became not just the mistress of the house, but also the official owner of the farm, bearing full responsibility for its maintenance and prosperity.

It would seem that this fact should have strengthened her position and ensured her a stable future. However, in the case of Hinterkaifeck, owning property became more of a curse than a blessing, placing on her shoulders an unbearable burden of responsibility and attachment to a place imbued with grief and secrets. The status of official mistress only increased her dependence on Hinterkaifeck, preventing her from breaking out of the vicious circle of tragedies that haunted this farm.

Chapter 7

Absolute Power

1910—1915

After Klaus’s death, life on the Hinterkaifeck farm seemed to freeze, bound not only by grief, but also by a kind of oppressive, lingering silence. The days dragged on monotonously: working in the field, tending to the livestock, caring for the child, endless chores around the house. Victoria, with her extinguished gaze and haggard face, seemed to have turned into a shadow of herself. But, as is known, silence is deceptive. Behind the closed shutters of peasant houses, gossip was brewing, which with each day became louder and bolder.

And it wasn’t just her widowhood or her illegitimate child. There were rumors, dark, indecent, that made some cross themselves, as if warding off evil forces. These rumors concerned her relationship with her father, Andreas Gruber.

Victoria, a beautiful and self-confident woman, the lead singer in the church choir, now seemed broken. Before the war, she was the sole mistress of the yard, made decisions, and was respected… or, rather, she was feared. There were rumors that she was not averse to male attention, although perhaps these were just envious gossip, born of her independence. But, as it turned out later, during the investigation, there were three men willing to swear that they sought a closer relationship with Victoria.

Andreas, tall and strong even after sixty years, always kept the farm in his iron grip. Judicious, but quick-tempered — the village remembered at least two cases when he used a pitchfork and a gun. It’s strange that the signs of a break-in on the eve of the tragedy did not frighten him. Perhaps he was too confident in his own strength, too accustomed to defending his territory. But was he defending only territory?

The version of violence on the part of Andreas against his daughter Victoria, despite the lack of direct evidence, seems frighteningly plausible, especially in the context of that era and social structure. Reasoning logically, one can reconstruct a chain of events that pushes towards this gloomy conclusion.

Andreas, marrying Cäzilia, by no means a beauty, five years older than him, and also a widow who inherited the farm, was most likely guided by cold calculation. A marriage for love? Hardly. Rather, it was a deal, beneficial to both parties. Andreas received the farm and stability, Cäzilia — protection and continuation of the family line. The couple had children, but an evil fate haunted the Gruber family: only Victoria lived to adulthood, the rest died in infancy, as, unfortunately, often happened in those days.

And now Victoria, like a bud, blossoms, turning into an attractive girl. And Andreas, a man in the prime of his life, suddenly realizes that he has power not only over his hateful wife, but also over his daughter, who is completely dependent on him. Impunity and power intoxicate the mind. What can stop the master of the farm, the head of the family, a man accustomed to unquestioning obedience, from satisfying his dark desires?

As the English historian John Dalberg-Acton said, «Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.» And Andreas, endowed with unlimited power over his family, could succumb to temptation and turn Victoria’s life into a nightmare.

Did Cäzilia know about the incest? Most likely, yes. In close-knit rural communities, it is difficult to hide the truth, especially if it hangs in the air like the heavy smell of decay. Perhaps she noticed Andreas’s glances, his touches, heard snippets of conversations, felt the oppressive atmosphere in the house. But, being a dependent, intimidated, or simply tired of fighting woman, Cäzilia preferred to close her eyes to what was happening. The wife knew about the incest, but knowing does not mean acting. Whether out of outright fear of her husband, or content with the material well-being he provided, she preferred to remain in the shadows, not trying to change anything. Her silence became complicity in the crime, a tragedy that played out within the walls of the Hinterkaifeck farm.

In the dim light of the old church, where the scent of incense mingled with the smell of damp earth, Victoria, trembling all over, knelt before the confessional. Her head was pounding, her heart was beating wildly, like a bird thrashing in a cage. She had been summoning her courage for a long time, putting off this moment, but the burden of secrecy became unbearable, threatening to crush her.

Behind the thin partition, the priest, Father Huber, was waiting for her in silence. Kind, responsive, he seemed to her the only person capable of understanding her pain. Taking a deep breath, Victoria began her confession, trying to speak quietly, almost in a whisper, as if afraid that the walls would overhear her words.

«Father… I… have sinned…» she began, uttering the words with difficulty.

The priest, leaning closer to the grate, replied in a calm, encouraging voice: «Do not be afraid, my daughter. God is merciful. Speak and ease your soul.»

Summoning her courage, Victoria blurted out in one breath: «I… I am in an intimate relationship with my father… since I was sixteen years old…»

Silence reigned in the confessional, so thick that it could be touched. Victoria held her breath, awaiting the priest’s reaction. She hoped for words of comfort, for forgiveness, for advice on how to get out of this nightmare.

Finally, Father Huber broke the silence, and his voice contained not only compassion, but also horror: «My daughter… what you are saying is monstrous… This is a vile sin, defiling not only you, but also your family, and the very land on which you live…»

Victoria wept, burying her face in her hands. She knew that her sin was terrible, but she did not expect the priest to speak to her in such a tone. She had hoped for understanding, but received only condemnation.

«What should I do, Father? How can I atone for my sin? How can I get rid of this nightmare?» she asked through her tears.

The priest was silent for a moment, and then said in a quiet but firm voice: «I… I must think, my daughter. What you have told me requires serious consideration. I will pray for you, and tomorrow morning I will inform you of my decision.»

Victoria thanked the priest and left the church, feeling even more devastated and depressed than before. The hope that had barely sparked in her heart faded, leaving behind only the cold ashes of disappointment.

She did not yet know that Father Huber, instead of seeking a spiritual solution to the problem, had decided to turn to the secular authorities. Considering Andreas’s sin so monstrous that it surpassed all church laws, the priest violated the secrecy of confession and reported the incident to the sheriff, believing that in this way he could protect Victoria and stop the evil that was happening within the walls of the Hinterkaifeck farm. He could not have imagined the tragic consequences to which his «good intention’ would lead.

The rumor of incest, like a bad reputation, quickly spread throughout the district, poisoning relations between the Grubers and their neighbors. Instead of sympathy, they met with alienation. People tried not to run into them on the street, avoided conversations, as if afraid that the sin would spread to them too.

Behind their backs they whispered:

«I know nothing about the Gruber’s family relationships. However, there were rumors that Gruber mistreated his wife. It was further said that Gruber committed a bloody dishonor with his daughter.»

«I have heard stories that the father (Gruber Andreas) committed a blood connection with his biological daughter (Mrs. Gabriel). I don’t know exactly when this happened; I only learned about it after these two were imprisoned for it. In my opinion, these two committed a bloody disgrace at a time when she was already married to Klaus Briel. I draw this conclusion because the young farmer (Klaus Briel) abandoned his wife and returned to his childhood home. I don’t know how long he was absent at that time. I myself did not live in Groben at that time, as I was serving in Fontenay.»

The isolation of the Gruber family became increasingly palpable, and the shame — increasingly unbearable.

The Grubers, already unsociable, became even more withdrawn. The Hinterkaifeck farm turned into their personal world, where they were left to their own devices. Trips to the village for necessities turned into an unpleasant duty, and communication with neighbors — into a formality.

In 1915, after several months of agonizing preliminary investigation, Weidhofen froze in anticipation. In the courtroom, reeking of dampness and mothballs from old uniforms, a trial began that could overturn the foundations of the entire district: the trial of Andreas Gruber and Victoria Gabriel.

Only fragmentary information about that trial has survived. The minutes of the court session have disappeared without a trace, leaving historians and biographers only room for speculation. It is unknown who exactly initiated the case, who gave the first testimony, who dared to break the long-standing silence of Hinterkaifeck.

In court, everything was turned upside down. Victoria, who had expected sympathy and help, appeared before the court as an accomplice in the crime. She was accused of not resisting her father’s will, of remaining silent, covering up his sin. Andreas Gruber, on the contrary, held himself arrogantly and confidently, denying all the charges. What they actually said, what arguments they presented, remained a mystery.

One cannot rule out that there was no publicity at all, but only a piece of evidence. The prosecution, representing the state, may have used it to initiate legal proceedings. After all, in criminal proceedings, the victims only supplement the lawsuit, the main role is played by the prosecution, represented by the state.

The court delivered its verdict: Victoria Gabriel was found guilty and sentenced to one month in prison. Andreas Gruber received a more severe punishment — one year in prison. A sentence that caused surprise and whispers in the village. Was this justice or just a semblance of justice? After all, the perpetrator of a brutal crime got away with such a lenient punishment.

Who could have reported the Grubers’ sins? Suspicion fell on Maximilian Altmann, Victoria’s half-brother. This fact added dark colors to an already dark picture. Martin, as some believed, may have been a witness to this connection between his sister and stepfather. Perhaps he had kept this terrible secret to himself for many years, fueled by his own resentment. After all, after his father’s death, Martin received only a paltry 100 marks of inheritance, while his sister Cäzilia Starringer became richer by as much as 700 marks. Could envy and a thirst for justice have pushed him to betrayal?

Martin was the only male heir, and who knows what thoughts were swirling in his head. Perhaps he considered himself more worthy of managing the farm than his half-sister, and this trial was his way of regaining his lost position. It is quite likely that revenge became his only way to drown out years of pain and humiliation.

However, it remained unclear how Martin could calmly live under the same roof with people he had accused of such a terrible crime. Victoria, the powerful mistress of the farm, would surely not tolerate the presence of a traitor. Unless, of course, Martin was cunning enough to remain in the shadows, acting anonymously, leaking information to the prosecutor’s office, while remaining unnoticed in Hinterkaifeck. The true motives of Maximilian Altmann will forever remain a mystery, buried beneath a layer of time and gossip.

According to another version, Victoria Bauer revealed the secret. There were rumors that it was to her, her namesake, that Victoria Gabriel confided in a fit of despair, pouring out her soul and telling about the dark secret that tormented her. Perhaps Bauer, driven by moral principles or sympathy for her friend, could not keep this terrible secret. Maybe she tried to persuade Victoria Gabriel to turn to the authorities, and when she refused, she took a desperate step and sent an anonymous denunciation. Perhaps she hoped to save Victoria from her father’s power, even against her will. What exactly prompted Victoria Bauer to such an act — sympathy, a sense of duty, or something else — will forever remain a mystery.

Yet another version linked the trial to the Gabriel family. Many drew attention to the fact that the case of blood revenge was initiated shortly before the birth of Cäzilia, Victoria’s daughter. This suggested that the birth of the child and the subsequent accusation were somehow connected. Klaus Briel Sr., the father of Klaus who died in the war, may have long suspected an unhealthy relationship between Victoria and her father.

It is possible that the Gabriel family doubted Cäzilia’s paternity. Any doubt about the child’s origin could serve as a motive for revenge.

Perhaps it was Klaus Briel Sr. who anonymously informed the authorities about the crime, wanting to avenge his son’s violated honor and protect the purity of his blood.

Moreover, at that time, a dispute arose between the Gabriel and Gruber families over the inheritance of the deceased Klaus Jr., which could have prompted the old man to take decisive action. Perhaps this was a cunning move in the struggle for family lands, a carefully planned revenge, disguised as concern for justice.

Some whispered about the neighboring workers who were working on the reconstruction of Hinterkaifeck in those years. Josef Steinerr, in his later testimony, confirmed that between 1908 and 1909 the farm was bustling with activity, and local residents were helping the Grubers.

In his testimony, he stated:

«I was well acquainted with all the residents of Hinterkaifeck,» he claimed, «and even helped them harvest, including during the war when Klaus Briel died in France.» He knew everyone except the mysterious strangers who never appeared in the Hinterkaifeck yard.

There were rumors that old Gruber was maintaining «incest’ with his widowed daughter, and Steinerr even claimed to have seen gendarmes arrest him for it in the meadow — a case shrouded in the fog of time and casting doubt on the veracity of the memories.

Steiner didn’t know how Victoria behaved with men after her husband’s death, but he remembered that once she was «in blessed circumstances’, and everyone in the village gossiped that the child’s father was her own father. And this concerned not Cäzilia, who had already grown up on the estate, but that boy, who died as a result of the murder… but we will return to this later. Steiner even remembered the autumn day in 1919 when he was helping to thresh grain on the farm. Then the old man Gruber dropped a strange phrase: «Oh, May Bubben («my friends’ in the local dialect’), I hardly went to sleep this night… last night a young woman gave birth… Yes, from my point of view, it would be whoever wanted it, including Bauersepp because of me!»»

I apologize again for the previous errors. I’ve tried my best to provide you with an accurate translation of this section.

Under «Bauersepp’, as everyone understood, Gruber meant himself, indirectly admitting his involvement in his daughter’s pregnancy and expressing dissatisfaction with the child’s father. Who this father was remained only to be guessed. But one thing was clear: the secrets of Hinterkaifeck, like a thick fog, shrouded every event, distorting and refracting the truth.

Perhaps, during these works, amidst the noise of saws and axes, one of them managed to see or hear what was hidden behind the closed doors of the house. They watched the lives of the inhabitants of Hinterkaifeck, noticed oddities in the relationship between father and daughter, and these observations, like seeds, long sprouted in their minds.

But why then did they remain silent for so many years? If they really witnessed a crime, why did the anonymous denunciation appear only years later? Perhaps fear of Andreas Gruber, a powerful and cruel man, forced them to remain silent. Or maybe they were just waiting for the right moment, until the burden of guilt and silence became unbearable.

But, of course, one could not exclude the possibility that all these versions were only speculation and fantasies, born of popular rumor. Perhaps none of the people listed had anything to do with this story. Perhaps the anonymous denunciation was the work of a completely different person, whose motives and name will forever remain a secret. And, perhaps, all these assumptions and conjectures are just an attempt to fill the void created by the absence of truth.

The Neuburg an der Donau Prosecutor’s Office filed charges as part of case number Str.P.Reg. 105/15, and on May 28, 1915, the court delivered its verdict. Andreas Gruber and Victoria Gabriel were found guilty of a crime against morality, better known as «shame on blood’. The court considered proven the fact of incestuous relations that took place between 1907 and 1910.

Article 173 of the German Criminal Code, which was in force in those years (from January 1, 1872, to October 1, 1953), regulated the punishment for incest, that is, sexual relations between close relatives. It was under this article that Gruber and Gabriel were most likely convicted. The article stated:

(1) Sexual intercourse between relatives in the ascending and descending line (for example, between father and daughter, grandfather and granddaughter) shall be punished for the first case by imprisonment for a term of up to five years, for the second case by imprisonment for a term of up to two years.

(2) Sexual intercourse between relatives in the collateral line (brothers and sisters) shall be punished by imprisonment for a term of up to two years.

(3) In addition to imprisonment, the court could deprive the convicts of civil rights.

(4) Minor (under eighteen years of age) relatives were exempt from punishment.

But why was incest punishable by law? The prohibition of incest has deep historical roots and is associated with a number of factors. First of all, it is concern for the health of offspring. Genetically close relatives, entering into sexual relations, increase the likelihood of transmission of recessive (hidden) genes responsible for hereditary diseases. As a result, children may be born with physical deformities, mental retardation, and other health problems.

In addition, the prohibition of incest contributed to the maintenance of social stability. It regulated marital relations, created clear boundaries between families, and prevented conflicts over the distribution of resources and power. Incest, by destroying these boundaries, could lead to chaos and the disintegration of society.

In a religious context, incest was often seen as a desecration, a violation of divine commandments and, as a result, a sin. In Christianity, for example, the prohibition of incest was part of the moral code and served to strengthen family values.

The trial of Gruber and Gabriel was a stark reminder of the moral norms that prevailed in German society at that time. It reflected the struggle to preserve these norms, to protect the family and the health of future generations. But, as the history of Hinterkaifeck showed, these norms could not always withstand the dark secrets hidden in the depths of the human soul.

Andreas Gruber, having served a year in prison for incest, returned to Hinterkaifeck. This was a slap in the face to the public, a mockery of law and morality. He seemed to be saying to everyone: «You can’t do anything to me.» And indeed, what could ordinary peasants do against a man who, it seemed, feared neither God nor the devil?

Having returned, Gruber continued to live with Victoria as if nothing had happened. He seemed to be declaring his power over her, over the family, and over all of Hinterkaifeck. It was a demonstration of impunity that aroused only whispers of horror and disgust in the district.

How could Victoria live with a man who had abused her, with a father who should have been despised? How could the neighbors tolerate the presence of this monster? The answer lay in the atmosphere of fear and silence that reigned in Hinterkaifeck.

Andreas Gruber’s return from prison brought with it not only scandal, but also, it seemed, an iron grip that bound Victoria in its vise. His ban on remarriage became another link in the chain of violence and subjugation. After Klaus Briel’s death, Victoria theoretically had the opportunity to start a new life, find herself a husband, and break free from her father’s oppression. But Gruber, having returned, as if proclaimed: «You belong to me.»

This prohibition may not have been legally formalized, but it had enormous power, based on fear, dependence, and moral pressure. It deprived Victoria of freedom of choice, condemning her to loneliness and complete dependence on her father’s will.

Victoria was trapped: public condemnation, economic dependence, and fear of Gruber deprived her of the slightest opportunity to resist. She was attached to Hinterkaifeck, to her father, to her past, and this attachment, as it turned out, led to imminent death.

Chapter 8

Neighborly Connection

1910—1913

Just five hundred meters from Hinterkaifeck, from its grief-soaked fields and gloomy forests, stood the house of Kurt Wagner. It seems that these five hundred meters, separating the solid Wagner yard and the Gruber estate, defined the difference between worlds: a world of prosperity and well-being, where life was in full swing, and a world of fear and despair, where it slowly faded away. In one house, laughter of children, the ringing of a blacksmith’s hammer, and the steady hum of a working mill were heard. In the other — only the creaking of floorboards, muffled sighs, and a silent anticipation of something terrible.

But these five hundred meters were deceptive. They could not isolate Kurt Wagner from what was happening in Hinterkaifeck. As the village elder, he was aware of all the events, knew about the dark rumors surrounding the Gruber family, about the incest, about Andreas’s strange behavior. He tried to do something, turned to the authorities, but faced indifference and a reluctance to interfere in other people’s affairs.

Kurt Wagner was indeed a prominent figure in the district, and not only because of his solid house, towering just five hundred meters from the gloomy Gruber estate. He was one of those people who would now be called «influential’. His farm prospered, the land yielded a good harvest, and the solid house was a clear testament to wealth and a solid position in society. Wagner did not just live, he led, set the tone.

The respect and authority he enjoyed among his neighbors was not just an empty phrase. He was the village elder, which in those days meant much more than just an administrative position. The elder was a mediator between the peasants and the authorities, resolved disputes, organized joint works, and maintained order. Kurt was a kind of «gray cardinal’, a person to whom people turned for advice and help.

He was respected for his judgment and fairness. Kurt knew how to listen and hear, weigh all the «pros’ and «cons’, and make decisions that seemed fair to most. Of course, he was not a saint; he had his own interests and shortcomings. But on the whole, he was a man who was trusted and whose opinion carried weight.

Wagner’s influence extended not only to the village, but also to the surrounding lands. He was a major landowner, and the fate of many peasants depended on his decisions. He could give work, he could help in a difficult moment, but he could also refuse, condemning a family to starvation.

In the history of Hinterkaifeck, Kurt Wagner played an important role. He was one of those who tried to figure out what had happened, who sought the truth and tried to punish the guilty. His influence and connections helped in the investigation, although, as we know, the case was never fully solved. He, like many other residents of Hinterkaifeck, remained forever with the burden of this tragedy, with a sense of injustice and powerlessness.

1918 brought grief to the Wagner household. The death of Kurt’s first wife was an unexpected blow, like a bolt from the blue. The family was shocked, the household was orphaned, and Kurt himself seemed to have lost his footing in life. The district sympathized, neighbors came to support him, brought food, and offered help around the house. Grief united people, and it seemed that Wagner was drowning in sympathy and support.

But Kurt’s mourning turned out to be suspiciously short. Just fourteen days after the funeral, rumors began to spread through the village, at first quiet and uncertain, then louder and more persistent: Kurt Wagner had been seen in close relationship with Victoria Gruber.

These rumors caused a real stir among the neighbors. How could this be possible? He hadn’t even finished mourning his wife, and he was already seen with Victoria, around whom there were so many unkind rumors…

Wagner seemed to pay no attention to the gossip. He continued to visit Victoria, helped her around the house, and there were even rumors that he was going to marry her. This was madness. If he was really going to do this, then it meant that he had either lost his mind from grief or was pursuing some hidden goals of his own.

Soon Victoria became pregnant. Like sparks from a fire, rumors spread throughout the district, fueled by curiosity and whispers. Who is the child’s father? This question caused lively discussions among those who followed the lives of both families.

Andreas Gruber bristled, vehemently denying his involvement. He swore that Kurt was the father, trying to shift the burden of shame and suspicion onto his neighbor’s shoulders. Perhaps there was some truth in his words, but in Hinterkaifeck it was more difficult to find the truth than a needle in a haystack.

However, strangely enough, Kurt himself did not believe in fatherhood. His words conveyed not so much joy at future fatherhood, but rather doubt, distrust, and even disgust. Knowing firsthand about the unhealthy atmosphere that reigned in the Gruber household, he did not want to take responsibility for a child who may have been conceived as a result of incest.

Wagner’s doubts only added fuel to the fire of rumors and suspicions. People whispered behind Victoria’s back, cast sidelong glances at Kurt, and discussed the dark secrets of Hinterkaifeck with renewed vigor. Victoria’s pregnancy was not a joyous event, but rather a new twist in the drama, foreshadowing even greater tragedy.

The mystery of Victoria’s child’s paternity remained unsolved. Kurt Wagner publicly refused to acknowledge his fatherhood, Andreas Gruber denied his involvement, and Victoria, unfortunately, left no evidence capable of shedding light on this issue.

Despite the lack of reliable information, many residents of Hinterkaifeck believed that Andreas Gruber was the father of the child. This point of view, of course, was formed against the background of long-standing disturbing rumors about unhealthy relationships within the Gruber family. In addition, it cannot be denied that public opinion about the Gruber family at that time was far from the most benevolent.

Kurt Wagner, despite his doubts, still decided on an act that shocked Hinterkaifeck no less than the news of Victoria’s pregnancy.

What motivated him? Public opinion, which was putting tremendous pressure on him? Sincere sympathy for the fate of an unhappy woman? Or a desire to strengthen his influence and position in the district by becoming related to the family, albeit such a controversial one? Perhaps all these factors played a role.

Whatever the case, Kurt Wagner went to Andreas Gruber with a request to give him his daughter Victoria as his wife. This was an unprecedented step, which caused surprise and gossip. Many did not understand why a respected man would connect his life with a woman who had tainted herself with scandal and notoriety.

Marriage to Kurt could certainly be a salvation for Victoria. It could rid her of the stigma of incest, provide her with a stable future, and restore respect in the eyes of society. Wagner was a wealthy and influential man, and his support could change Victoria’s life for the better. But was it a sincere desire to help an unhappy woman or a calculated move aimed at achieving his own goals? Only Kurt Wagner himself knew about this.

But Andreas Gruber, succumbing, perhaps, to his deepest complexes and, as we now know, under the influence of certain circumstances that, unfortunately, have forever remained hidden from us, gave Kurt Wagner a sharp refusal.

«I can caress my daughter myself,» he said cynically, not shy about anyone or anything.

Unfortunately, this refusal deprived Victoria of the opportunity to somehow change her life, to get at least a glimmer of hope for deliverance from the oppressive dependence in which she found herself. In a fit of feelings that are now difficult for us to understand, Andreas locked his daughter in the closet so that she could not even look at the person who, perhaps, could have become a support for her.

He probably understood that Victoria’s marriage to Kurt could lead to a loss of control over what was most important to him. The documents show that it was Victoria who was to inherit Hinterkaifeck, and therefore her future child would also have rights to the property. If Josef was recognized as Kurt’s son, then the latter, as husband and father, could also claim ownership of the land. Andreas, apparently, could not allow this to happen.

1919, winter gripped Hinterkaifeck in a deathly hold, bringing with it not only cold, but also the birth of Josef — Victoria’s son. There was irony in this name, Josef. After all, Josef in Hebrew means «God will increase’. But in Hinterkaifeck, only grief and secrets multiplied. The question of paternity haunted both Victoria and Kurt.

1915

Doubts tormented Kurt, preventing him from finding peace of mind. Josef… was he really his son or just evidence of a shameful secret, an echo of the incest that filled the village? He was afraid of becoming a pawn in someone else’s game, of paying for sins he had nothing to do with.

One day, on a gray autumn day, when rain was monotonously tapping on the glass, Kurt made a decision, as if shedding a heavy burden. Unable to endure the oppressive uncertainty any longer, he went to the police station.

There, in a modest office, he outlined his version of events. He spoke restrainedly, but confidently, trying not to give in to emotions. He declared his suspicions regarding Andreas and Victoria, about the incest, the fruit of which, in his opinion, was Josef. He emphasized that he had no evidence, but he could no longer ignore the rumors and his own doubts.

Kurt realized that his words could have serious consequences. He understood that an accusation of incest was a serious step, and in case of its unfoundedness, he himself could be punished. But the desire to know the truth, to get rid of oppressive thoughts outweighed the fear of possible retribution. He was ready to risk it in order to dot all the «i”s and finally gain clarity.

Kurt Wagner’s statement, like a match thrown into dry grass, ignited a new fire of scandal in the already troubled Weidhofen. The news that Andreas Gruber was again accused of incest spread throughout the district faster than the wind, accumulating new, even more shocking details along the way.

The police, under pressure from public opinion and Kurt’s insistent statements, began an investigation. Andreas was arrested and again appeared before the court, where he faced severe punishment for incest. Victoria, finding herself at the epicenter of this nightmare, was in despair. She denied all the charges, but who believed her? The shadow of the previous scandal, like sticky mud, haunted her, preventing her from justifying herself. It seemed that this sticky mud had seeped into this courtroom as well, cold as a grave, where she was to be held accountable.

The courtroom was permeated with cold, like a stone dungeon. The windows, shrouded in a gray, overcast sky, let in not a single ray of sunshine, plunging the room into semi-darkness. The air was filled with the smell of dampness and old wood, mingling with the heavy feeling of oppressive silence. The wooden benches, creaking under the weight of people, were filled to capacity. The faces of those present — serious, tense, full of anticipation — resembled stone masks. Victoria felt the piercing gaze upon herself, as if she was an exhibit in a bizarre museum.

She sat, clutching a thin batiste handkerchief until her knuckles turned even whiter. The fabric had long been soaked through with sweat, becoming sticky and unpleasant, but Victoria did not notice. All her attention was focused on the frantic rhythm of her own heart, which was beating so hard, as if trying to break through her ribs and break free. Each blow echoed painfully in her temples, drowning out the voices in the hall and усиливая (increasing) the feeling of unreality of what was happening.

The sounds reached her as if from afar, muffled by cotton wool: whispers, the creaking of benches, coughing — all this merged into an indistinguishable hum, which only усиливал (increased) her confusion. Fragments of phrases, faces, events swirled in her head — like the pages of a jumbled book that cannot be put together. She tried to concentrate, to grasp at least some thread, but her thoughts slipped away like water through her fingers.

Everything around seemed alien and detached, as if she were looking at what was happening through thick glass. Behind this glass, people lived their lives, spoke, gesticulated, but neither meaning nor warmth reached Victoria. She felt lonely and vulnerable, as if she had suddenly been left alone in a huge, unfamiliar city. It seemed to her that any attempt to speak, move, or even just sigh would attract unwanted attention. She could only sit still and wait for this nightmare to end, although deep down she knew that this was only the beginning.

The judge, a gaunt man with graying temples, took his place behind the massive oak table. His eyes seemed to express no emotion at all; his gaze was cold as ice. He quickly reviewed the papers, then raised his eyes and pronounced the words that became a sentence for Victoria: «The court session in the case of Andreas and Victoria Gruber is open.»

At that moment, a ringing silence reigned in the hall, as if everyone had held their breath, waiting for the start of the bloody spectacle. And then, as if on command, Kurt stepped forward. He moved slowly, leisurely, with the air of a man confident in his righteousness and the inevitability of victory. His face, usually friendly and open, was now distorted in a malicious grimace. In his eyes, which had recently looked at Victoria with sympathy, now only hatred blazed.

Kurt began his speech calmly, in an even voice, as if telling a long-known story. He spoke of violated honor, of sins requiring atonement, of the need to restore justice. His words, like poisonous drops, slowly penetrated the minds of those present, poisoning their souls and kindling the flame of animosity. With each phrase, his voice became louder and more confident, and a fanatical gleam appeared in his eyes. It seemed that he was addressing not the judge, but the crowd, thirsting for blood and justice. And with each of his words, Victoria felt an invisible ring tightening around her, depriving her of air and freedom.

Kurt began with memories of the past. He reminded the court that Victoria, who later became the wife of Klaus Briel, was thirteen years younger than him. He had known her since childhood, but he only really became close to her after the death of her husband, a tragic loss that he, Kurt, endured with sympathy.

Next, Kurt turned to Andreas Gruber, describing his life in the shadow of a strict father. He mentioned that the old man Gruber controlled even his son’s personal property, holding a notebook with records, and did not hand it over even after Klaus’s death, hinting at injustice and oppression. According to Kurt, this emphasized the full depth of the family drama.

Turning to the most delicate question, Kurt confirmed the rumors circulating in Weidhofen about the intimate relationship between Andreas and his daughter Victoria. He claimed that Victoria herself told him this story when she was about sixteen years old, admitting her powerlessness in the face of her father’s pressure. He mentioned that after the death of Klaus Briel, they were condemned, and in this, according to Kurt, lay the whole essence of the tragedy.

Kurt continued to testify, moving on to his personal relationship with Victoria. He called her frivolous, citing as an example an episode that occurred shortly after Klaus’s death: he, Kurt, was helping to move a closet, and then Victoria made him a direct proposal, which he, being married, rejected.

However, as Kurt continued, after the death of his own wife, the situation changed. Victoria herself came to him in the hayloft, offering not only marriage, but also intimacy. «She grabbed me and knocked me down on the hay,» Kurt frankly admitted, «and that’s how it all happened that first time.» According to him, this was repeated no more than five times in the following days.

Soon after the start of their relationship, as Kurt claimed, Victoria suggested that he discuss the issue of marriage with her father. He could not remember the exact date, but he remembered that soon after it became clear that Victoria was pregnant, although she did not tell him about it directly. Kurt was sure that he would marry her, and therefore decided to talk to Andreas Gruber, asking for his daughter’s hand. Gruber, according to Kurt, gave his consent, as did Victoria.

And then Kurt, as he claimed, put forward one condition: Andreas must end the vicious relationship with his daughter, repent of his sins, and he, Kurt, would take responsibility for her moral correction. «I told him that I am a good Christian and would not tolerate such depravity,» Kurt added. To this, according to him, Gruber replied only one thing: «Then we’ll see.»

Kurt continued his story, recalling a meeting with Victoria shortly after she confessed to him about her pregnancy. According to him, she hinted that he was the child’s father. Kurt reminded her of her father’s involvement, to which Victoria, according to him, replied: «This is the best I can tell my father so that you are also involved in this, otherwise he will kill me.» She added that her father could no longer marry, but he, Kurt, should do it for him.

According to Kurt, he tried to talk to Andreas Gruber, returning from the meadow. Kurt asked if he was serious about entrusting this role to him. Gruber, as Kurt claimed, only exclaimed: «My God, my God!» When Kurt threatened the police, Gruber in a rage attacked him with a scythe, and Kurt had to flee.

Despite this, Kurt decided to meet with the women in the Gruber house while he was in the meadow and ask if they really insisted that he «make the father’. Both confirmed this and, moreover, stated that he would have to pay for it. Kurt reminded the court that initially Victoria had promised that there would be no need to pay, only to «make the father’.

When Kurt says that he needed to «make the father’, he means several things at once. Firstly, he needed to officially recognize himself as the father of Victoria’s child, taking on all the duties and responsibilities that this entails: alimony, upbringing, and so on.

Secondly, he needed to take Andreas Gruber’s place in Victoria’s life. Gruber, according to rumors, was not only the father of the child, but also had an intimate relationship with Victoria. Therefore, in order to «become the father’, Kurt had to not only become the father of the child, but also marry Victoria, become her husband and partner, replacing her father in both senses of the word.