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.