Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep115: Episode 115: Prisoner Horror Stories

Episode Date: March 1, 2023

We open this evening’s proceedings with ‘Why I No Longer Work at a Maximum Security Prison’, an original story by Nana 488, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  /user/nana488 Our second scary story is ‘I’m a Serial Bank Robber who Escaped Maximum Security Prison’, also an original work, this time by Bearded Veteran, again kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  /user/BeardedVeteran We round off with an all-time epic story 'In the Penal Colony', an original work by the one and only Franz Kafka, a story in the worldwide public domain, read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.  https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/In_the_Penal_Colony

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. They say the strongest prison is the one where you're afraid to leave even though the door is open. There's no more heavy imprisonment from being afraid to be free. Though we'll put that to the test into nice three stories. Now, my dear friends, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery.

That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. Being a corrections officer is a tough job. I'm sure you already knew that, but I guarantee you it's worse than what you've heard. For every story you've heard about guards being spat on, I've got six or seven of prisoners biting me. One was HIV positive, which led to a scare that I was infected. I've also helped extract unruly inmates more times than I can track.

one through feces of us well that's what happens when you have to force non-cooperative prisoner to come out of the cell so we're used to it doesn't make me any less desperate for a shower afterwards though but we've all had our more horrific stories what I'm about to tell you is the worst I've had

I was working at a maximum security prison at the time you know the type It's not quite Supermax like you find in Florence, Colorado. That's the only federal Supermax prison, and it's also where so many bombers have lived. It's actually called Bombers Row. Such people as Ramsey Yusuf, and the Unabomber still live there, as did Timothy McVeigh up until his execution. Maximum security is similar. The prisoners are kept under very high levels of security, with their own cells and only being allowed out.

for a certain amount of time a day. The difference is the sheer amount of solitary confinement the inmates get. With Supermax, it's long-term and intensive, with little to no contact with other humans. Inmates are often there indefinitely, and the administration has ample authority to punish and manage prisoners. This little opportunity for prisoner grievances being addressed or outside review of officer conduct,

and the inmates can forget about having much in the way of education or recreation. That's why I find Supermax a bit cruel. That's not to say there aren't times for it or people who need to be there, but I personally find it a bit much. That doesn't make maximum security a picnic, though. Maximum security inmates might have more contact with outsiders, but outside their cells, they're often in restraints and being escorted by guards all locked in a cage for recreation time.

The high walls topped with razor wire and armed guards in observation towers. Just reinforced the point. I mastered the art of resting bitch face very quickly and made sure there was bite behind my bark. Well, that's the type of prison I was working at. I distinctly remember the day it started. It was actually pretty normal, or as normal as you can get with maximum security.

We had to shoot an unruly inmate with beanbags, which is never pleasant. It basically means the cell block or recreation yard is locked down until the prisoner is subdued and on the way to the prison's supermax unit, which, by the way, every prison has. It's just called the hole. I still had a headache after it all passed,

which was half ready to turn into a migraine with how much the air Stank At least There was only one more inmate Who needed escorting back to his cell The sound of clanking Metal made me and my partner

Turn our heads Metal upon concrete Always has a distinctive sound And it also has a certain sight Which is why I scrunched my forehead I didn't see any signs of metal hitting the cement floor I jerked my head up when I saw

saw something black and red. It almost looked like a face from a photo of an MRI scan. And continued looking around, as did my partner, only to find nobody left on the yard. Want to make some music officer, the prisoner asked, and then smiled like he just proudly evicted a suicide widow. My partner and I just rolled our eyes and tightened his restraints. behavior like that was always expected from that particular prisoner especially towards women the only good news is annoying comments and the occasional dumb prank was the extent of it it's not like we saw exactly what made the clang either and then we put him back in his cell where he belonged for a while it was business as usual one of the inmates had to go to work in the prison's license plate shops so we got him escorted there

another inmate had taken up residence in the block, which meant putting him in a cell. It was only 15 minutes later, when the screaming started. Normally, screams don't mean too much in maximum security. After you've been on the job long enough, you learn the different types of screams. The screams that indicate a fight is about to start are the ones that start quiet and then become loud. A distress scream starts out loud and doesn't get any. quieter. A fellow officer and I were in the control room when it started, the place in the cell block that can open and close all the doors, see the entire ward, and so on. We needed to report

to our immediate supervisor for some details about some new arrivals who'd soon be in the block. I looked up from the papers I was given and immediately noticed something about one of the inmates. At first, I couldn't tell what he was doing. It looked like, kind of like, well, he was trying out ballet dance, but what kind of self-respecting maximum security inmate does that? Maximum security is only one step below Supermax. People go to there because of how violent they are or they could be. I nudged my partner and supervisor.

We couldn't help but stare. My eyes scrunched when I noticed that the arm movements appeared to be picking up. momentum. I started walking towards the cell. His arms quickly started flailing around even more. My heart soon started pounding. I didn't even get to move forward two steps before the man started screaming. I could have sworn his lungs would burst with how loud it was. My boss called for backup as we approached the cell. As soon as I looked in the cell, I inhaled, I inhaled, sharply. His skin was turning purple. In between screams that by now were becoming strangled, he panted hard and desperately was seeking to get some air, and he was squirming and arching his back.

Inmate A. 0.54551, stop screaming, I ordered, not knowing what else to do. He kept screaming as if he didn't hear me. The fact that his leg started kicking violently only made me jump. My colleagues and I couldn't do much except just look at each other. I grabbed my radio and asked for the door to be opened. And then, all at once, he collapsed. We managed to get into the cell, but it was already too late. His heart had already stopped. Our backup finally arrived, and they called medical why we tried reviving him with CPR. Not that it was going to work. work without grey the inmate was already getting we gave our statements about what had happened and i don't think her need to detail just how shaken the whole bunch of us were he was only five

foot ten but it looked like he was suddenly a foot taller and yet there was nothing near the cell door that he could have been standing on even if there was he didn't have any rope we already did a random check of the cells that morning, and we also checked the cell after we'd remove the body. There wasn't even a rope in the process of being made. A couple of my co-workers mentioned something. They all thought they saw something red and black, reminding them of an MRI face photo, floating around. Nobody could really get a good look since it was just in the corner of their eyes. There still half-heartedly regret looking up what an MRI face photo looks like. The glowing eye sockets are the least of it. The gaping blackness where the mouth their no should be reminded

me of vampires and zombies. If it was only one incident, chances are the prison might have even forgotten about it. But the very next week, another prisoner on my block died in the same manner. Then it happened again, two days after that. The first two inmates it happened to were known troublemakers. But the third guy was an inmate who barely caused any trouble in the first place. A guy who made everyone puzzled as to why he was even in maximum security in the first place. That was all it took for it to become a regular occurrence. It quickly became a well-known thing across the prison.

Everyone swapped stories after work. Some of us even told our families. As we came to find out, though, we didn't know everything, as we soon learned when the inmates began talking during recreation time. For all the tight security measures, inmates still managed to interact with each other.

The room was quickly started up, especially on the recreation yard. I finally saw them, one said. The ones with red skin and only eyes for features. I saw them. I and my colleagues just looked at each other. What did that even mean? Humans don't have only eyes for facial features.

I just had to ask an inmate as we escorted him back to his cell. Oh, you mean the red faces? Apparently they already had a name. The red faces were these beings with red skin that lived in the walls of the prison. And they had purely black eyes and not. no other facial features. Where there should have been mouth or a nose, grooves of skin had replaced them.

As soon as I heard that, it all made sense, though I'm not entirely sure how seriously everybody took it at first. Some inmates tried telling us there was a red face behind us. Some of the newbies fell for it, which made the prisoners and veteran officers alike laugh.

The jokes about the red faces started to speak, spilling over into our office duty hours. One day, after pulling into my usual parking spot, I put on a red mask with black eye sockets on it and snuck up on my boss. Oh, he was pissed. But, with my fellow officers watching and laughing their asses off, there wasn't much he could do.

Eventually he gave in and chuckled as well. But he did say one thing that would come to haunt me. Oh, that's going to get us in a lot of trouble. I hope you know that. In the moment, nobody thought much of it, but then he walked into the prison for our shift. We all got our pre-shift briefing, and learned what someone had done during the night.

Someone thought they saw a red face with no nose or mouth that looked like the MRI face photo when it happened. One of the night officers insisted, he'd seen the same thing. With violence in the prison lower during the night, he took everyone by surprise when the screams of distress came from the cell, and then they got to the cell and opened it.

The inmate's organs had burst from his abdomen. His small intestines draped over the toilet. Just thinking about that makes my calf muscles clench. Right away I felt bad about prank, my supervisor but then during that single shift we had four more attacks on prisoners from the red faces i was in the control room when three of them happened as for the fourth i was standing right next to the cell when the attack began and i must say there's nothing quite like being right next to the cell to realize the descriptions of the red faces were true the fact that i was standing right

and could get a good look inside the cell probably saved the man's life, especially since I could respond immediately. As soon as I saw inside the cell, I inhaled. It wasn't just the face that I saw, which really did look like an MRI face photo. No, the chest also looked like an MRI photo, albeit much too narrow. And then it made eye contact with me. By the time the cell door fully opened, the thing was gone. None of our supervisors believed us.

Not me, not my colleagues, not even my boss, who was watching in the control room. The administration simply did not believe us. Instead, they threatened to fire us if we ever mention the red faces to them again. That didn't keep us from listening to what the inmates had to say about it, though. Most of the inmates appreciated that And there's even a slight reduction In how much of a fight they put up If their tempers fled

Which everyone considered an improvement Not that that made anyone feel better By then Even a couple of the guards Had found themselves raised off the ground And choked They didn't die But they did quit right after they'd given their statements

Before they left They gave us a warning the red faces were changing. Beforehand their contours were round like we were used to seeing, even if it was still out of the corners of our eyes, but now they were becoming sharper and more angular. And then came the moment that changed everything. Yet another inmate had been attacked by a red face.

We managed to restart his heart, and he regained consciousness just in time for the prison's sense. superintendent to arrive with EMTs. As soon as the superintendent arrived, his eyes bulged. He took a step or two back, and he even started swaying. I think someone had to help him stay steady on his feet, but that didn't keep him from shaking, and shaking hard. Even his breathing started to get shaky.

It didn't even make sense. This was the same man who'd shouted like he was Ali Ernie's alter ego. Every time he had to deal with inmates on a regular basis, he yelled at them. His favorite insult being, go fart a rainbow, you plumby, psalpus. He yelled that whether you were fat or thin. We tried explaining what we'd seen, but he shot us all down and told us to shut up. And then the inmate was taken to the hospital. The next day, right before the start of shift, We learned that the inmate had died during the night. The prison superintendent got up on the podium.

It was so silent, I could hear someone in the back of the room scratching their arm. And then the superintendent spoke. I've heard reports people have been giving about red-skinned faces, with only eyes on their faces. I'm tired of this nonsense. You are corrections officers, not Hill, billies. From now on, any reports of these beings will result in the office involved being terminated. Any inmates who report instances of them are to be regarded as a danger to self and others.

If you fail to do so, you will be terminated. You will also be terminated if you discuss these beings with the inmates or each other. That day, six offices on my block alone were fired because they mentioned the red faces in passing. Two of the inmates on my block got sent to the hole for the same reason. We couldn't even look the inmates in the eye after that. The level of resistance from the inmate spiked, and it stayed there.

Many took to mutilating themselves to escape, but once they were released from the medical unit or the hospital, they simply found themselves in the hole instead of being transferred to another prison like they wanted. The only ones who succeeded in escaping the red faces, the ones who committed suicide. Every time that happened, we seemed to hear what sounded like a cow laughing, which only made me wonder if suicide was much of an improvement. After the superintendent's announcement, more prisoners were being killed, as many as two a day.

We noticed that we were all becoming more and more short of breath, and it was obvious why. More people were being fired than they were being hired at that point. Two months after the superintendent had made the announcement, we started finding the shanks, prison talk for handmade knives. Inmates started attacking officers, leading to privileges being taken away and being moved to the hole. The attacks lasted for months, on top of the red faces killing the inmates.

I was lucky. I was a little. only attacked twice. I don't consider that solace, though. Both incidents required stitches. The inmate who attacked me was perhaps the one who resisted more often than anyone else, which is probably what caused him to be transferred to an actual Supermax prison. And that caused more inmates to start attacking us. But, of all of them, he was the only one who succeeded. At that, the inmates seemed to have permanent scowls on their families. I don't think anyone doubted that something was coming.

And then it happened. It was halfway through my shift when four inmates found themselves under attack. There's so many officers gone. Nobody seemed to have a chance to rest before the next attack happened. In fact, when one attack was still underway, another started, forcing a couple of officers to investigate while the rest of us handled the first. of us handled the first one. We had to break protocol. There wasn't an officer in the control room, and the inmates noticed that. One of them managed to reach the control room and managed

to open the doors to the other cells. I was busy with another inmate, so I don't know exactly what happened. My eyes bulged when the inmates suddenly searched forward. It was like I was in the middle of the running of the balls. I couldn't move. I didn't even know where I was supposed to look or what to look at. For that matter, I couldn't even control how much my eyes were blinking. All at once, a sledgehammer feeling rocketed through my back. The taste of iron swirled around in my mouth, my lower jaw shooting arrows of pain through my face. My breaths were soaring in and out. I don't know if I groaned or not, but I was. I do know I was squirming. Despite the pain pinching my body, I managed to look up. I only got a few

glimpses, but I noticed my colleagues falling to the ground. Some of the inmates had started kicking them. One stomped on an officer's head in a swift drop kick. The foot might as well have been an axe. The bone might as well have been a tree trunk whose last stand had finally given out. My breathing started to hurt as soon as I saw that. And then there were the footsteps, oh, it was more like a pounding. The floor shook so hard I almost thought the prison was collapsing on top of me. Stomach acid lurched into my mouth and onto the floor as doors slammed and metal tore. And then I heard something. I haven't had anything quite like it before or sin. At first it reminded me of an entire herd of cow was mooing, but it soon mixed with a didgeridoo from Australian aboriginal cultures.

And then, all at once, I saw them. Giant spindly legs reminding me of the sewing spindle from sleeping beauty only much longer. I didn't understand how they could even function like that. They were much too thin to support any sort of weight. And yet, they pounded harder and faster than an industrial printer. But more than that, they were black with red stripes going up the sides. At that point, I was so dizzy. I forgot I was on the ground.

I shook my head in an effort to get my bearings, but it wouldn't go away. The only thing I succeeded in doing was making myself so nauseous, I threw up right where I was. One of the faces paused and loomed over me And then before I could do anything about it It stomped on my hip And everything went black I don't know how long I was lying on the floor Passed out

When I came to I thought I heard the bang of some sort of projectile being fired I even thought I heard the sound of a beanbag hitting skin It didn't matter I still coughed from the tear gas lingering in the air. Standing up after that was a difficult task, as I might as well have been moving in molasses.

My hips and lower legs hurt. My left wrist looked broken, but I still managed to stand up. I'm not entirely sure how low. My limbs were so heavy and my muscles so tight. My abdomen cramped up at one point and a starburst or two went off in my eyes. The copper taste in my mouth still lingered.

Then I looked at the floor and sharply inhaled. The first thing I saw was a hand lying at my feet. A hand severed from the wrist. The tendons, bone and ligaments reminding me of spaghetti. I kept looking around. Organs and body parts were hanging up the stairs. and the furniture inside the cells, even off the hinges of the cell doors. Some of the organs decorating the place were human intestines,

the blood redder than the nose of Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer. Chunks of brain matter and bone chips lit at the floor. A white substance that I later learned was human nerve, smeared the place. Slices of human liver lay on a couple of surfaces like paperware. The blood might as well have been turned into pains. Oh, and it was silent. The only things to be heard were my breathing, my footsteps, stepping in blood, and the occasional drip onto the floor.

I almost collapsed when I saw a team of offices in the windows of the control room. Maybe they were too shocked to see me being alive and standing, to be able to register right away. Or maybe they'd only just arrived, but as soon as I almost collapsed, they jumped to my side. As if they were statues and me collapsing was the only way to make them capable of moving again. What's your name? One of them asked. Janet Fitzroy.

I croaked out, though it all sounded so distant. I wasn't the only survivor that day, but there weren't many of us. I couldn't bring myself to care that the inmates. killed the prison superintendent, much less that he had been decapitated. His spinal cord ripped clean out of his spine and draped over his desk, glamp like a Christmas garland. It did get to me, though, that my boss was dead. It wasn't just that. It was also how they found him. His nose had been sliced clean off, and his mouth had been so and sharp. For days afterwards, I remained dazed. Investigators interviewed me, though I'm not sure they really believe me.

When the media got wind of the red faces, not even turning off the news could make them stop. I had to file a restraining order just to get some peace and quiet. I didn't stop me from learning one more detail, though. Dozens of inmates' hand officers were dead, and had had their organs removed, but only a few of them were found like my boss was, their mouth sewn shut. shut and their nose is gone. But beyond that, they'd also had their eyeballs ripped out, leaving nothing but empty eye sockets. The state governor personally visited me and the other surviving officers. She hugged me, I remember, and gave her condolences over what had happened.

We all received leave with full pay. Well, I never set foot in that prison again. In time, Nobody would be able to visit it without also committing trespassing. The governor announced that, once the investigation was complete and the scene processed, the prison would be permanently decommissioned. The surviving inmates were relocated to other prisons. Most of the surviving officers, myself included, found work at other prisons after our doctors gave us a clean bill of health. Not all of us lived long enough to regain our...

health though. I attended two funerals for those who died of self-inflicted shotgun wounds to their head. Like I said at the beginning, being a corrections officer is one tough job. Ask any one of us and there are things we just don't like repeating to others. And that's one story I really don't like repeating. So, why am I? The answer is simple. last week i got a phone call from someone who worked with an old co-worker of mine any annoyance i had at dinner being interrupted who'd vanished when i answered the phone is this janet fitzroy the voice on the other end of the line asked as soon as i heard the shaking voice my stomach sank my name is lucas somerset i work at a prison in albany i heard you worked at that prison where the massacre had you worked at that prison where the massacre had happened. That immediately got me still. I already knew what he was going to say. Those things the media described, those red faces. Oh, I didn't think they were real until we all saw them. Four of our inmates have been found strangled to death. They've all been found

with their noses severed and their mouth sewn shut. For the better part of 15 years, I was and still am, the hardened career criminal. Endless nights of partying, drugs and boozing. Wishing I could blame anyone by myself. Oh sure, how easy it is to say I hung around with the wrong crowd. Bad influences, you've heard it all before. However, after years of being in and out of the correctional facilities, county jails and federal prisons,

I've come to finally admit I'm the one responsible for where I am in life. There are no excuses such as my mom was a crack or dad was a junkie-slash-alcoholic. No, nothing like that. Coming from a good, strong Christian family, my parents did everything right, worked hard to provide everything I could ever want. With one being a doctor, the other high-profile lawyer, well, they were so good to me. Perhaps I just grew up bored. I suppose this all began at a young impressionable age.

At first it was only petty theft, terrorising my own neighbourhood with friends. Whether it was hitting cars with rocks from slingshots or airsoft guns, even cutting random people's cable TV from outside their home, or slicing tyres on a car. Yes, I know. A dick move. When you're young like that, you believe you're untouchable.

Hell, back then maybe we were. Quickly, I elevated my crimes from simple shoplifting to finding myself with a stolen handgun, robbing liquor stores. I remember my first one. My hands were shaking, afraid from my own life, even with an adrenaline rush. I walk into the cooler area,

waiting for the store to empty. then rushing the lone man at the counter. The cashier complied as I threw a bag on the counter demanding the cash. All the money in the bag now, I urge. Back then I didn't even attempt using a disguise. At 19 years old, I had accumulated enough cash from robberies that I bought a muscle car. It was my dream car.

A custom black with white racing strikes. 1969 Super Sport Camaro with a 327 5.4 litre engine a monster of a vehicle and now my getaway car for every robbery from here on in named her Emma I don't know why but I've always loved that name

she was very loud and drew far too much attention of course getting caught wasn't a concern at the time live fast die young well that wasn't the goal but a way of life. It's not one I'd personally recommend, rather it's the one I lead.

They say crime doesn't pay. Well, it sure as hell did when I stood behind someone at the ATM, ambushing them after a withdrawal. Of course, I only stork my victim when they were alone, and generally in nice cars, doing so strictly at night. I never used force or assaulted them in any way, merely using a six-hour P-226-9mm as an incentive.

Work quite well, I'd say. Holding the gun against their back, I would whisper, just give me the money and we can all go home. Each time they would be directed to lie down, face first, counting to a hundred before getting up. To be completely honest, I had every opportunity of success. Could have gone to any thing.

school of my choice, paid in full by my wonderful parents. But the thrill soon took over that thought. I was an adrenaline junkie. It's the only time I really felt alive. Almost how people really enjoy watching a horror movie with a jump scare. Your body creates the adrenaline as a chemical reaction to your own fear and sudden change. Despite the fact, you know it's coming, you always go back for more. Think of how you feel right before a car crash. That's exactly how it was during my robberies. What a rush. This may seem me egotistical.

They say you should never self-diagnose. I just don't think I'm crazy. Sure, I took insane risks. My life was in danger at every turn. Personally, I'm just not convinced. Rather, simply along for the ride. Now, the actions performed by myself and my peers certainly would say otherwise. Friends, you could hardly call them that.

We get drunk, fight and even steal from one another. Yeah, an interesting period in my life for sure. So, two years go by as I perfect my craft, becoming even more brazen, no longer only striking at night. I quickly learn many different techniques. begin trying new disguises, constantly switching style and the location of the robberies. I'd rob one bank in a nice suit and tie carrying a briefcase, approaching the bank teller quietly with a note. Other patrons wouldn't even know anything had happened.

Calmly walk out of the bank, parking my car two blocks away. No one would be looking for a man slowly walking to a car in a suit. So you have to adapt to your inventory. environment. Downtown, wear a three-piece. New apartments being built nearby, you wear jeans, a reflector vest and a hard hat. Sometimes I'd wear multiple layers of clothes and a wig, run from the bank in a back alley, toss the first set of clothes in a dumpster, and casually walk away after stuffing all the money into a sack. Not once did they ever give me a dip-pack. If you don't know, a dye pack is a radio-controlled incendiary device used by banks to foil a bank robbery

by causing stolen cash to be permanently marked with dye shortly after a robbery. In most cases, a die pack is placed in a hollowed out space within a stack of banknotes, usually ten or twenty dollar bills. This stack of bills looks and feels similar to a real one, with technology allowing for the manufacturing of flexible diapacks which are difficult to detect by handling the stack. When the marked stack of bills is not used, it's stored next to a magnetic plate near a bank is sheer,

in standby or safe mode, ready to be handed over to the bank robber by a bank employee. When it's removed from the magnetic plate, the pack is armed, and once it leaves the building and passes through the doorframe, a radio transmitter located at the door triggers a timer, typically at least ten seconds, after which the dipak explosively releases an aerosol, usually of dispersed red-nine,

and sometimes tear gas, intended to destroy the stolen money and mark the robber's body with a bright stain. Well, I had one robbery where I wore two layers of clothes, and underneath the first layer I had a runner's uniform on. I'd also hidden a running stroller for toddlers nearby. So, when I left the bank and stripped down, All you saw was a man pushing a baby stroller down the street. I'd just hide the money within, and even had a fake baby under blankets. Most of the time, I'd be in and out of the banks in less than two minutes.

Well, bank security has changed a lot. Some banks have two locked security doors now with metal detectors. You can only pass through each door as the teller unlocks them one at a time. after they can determine you're not a threat nor are you armed more high-definition cameras two inch bulletproof glass which goes to the ceiling

even automatic doorlocks that keep the robber from escaping once inside so years pass and I continue my exploits I have a girlfriend now two to be exact one of them a normal girl with a regular job

after being with her for years trying to hide what I really did for a living it just got boring the other I met more recently she however is quite different a stripper with an exotic lifestyle similar to that of mine well without all the high value theft that is

I kept them both in the dark about everything let me tell you something Women have needs. I love them, but good God, they hard to please, always wanting more. And that meant I had to up the ante. More crimes, more stealing, more brazen attempts. I began sleeping in stores with banks inside them,

breaking into the banks late at night, and then leaving from the rooftops. Well, you could practically live in them if you had nowhere to go. So many places to hide. Furniture, food, entertainment, everything really. But I had places to be. Women to keep happy. Weeks pass as the pressure is weighing down on me. This double life growing increasingly difficult to maintain.

God, I hate lying. I know, sounds crazy. A criminal with a conscience. wild right how can i justify damaging businesses hurting people mentally and financially lying about it on the other hand well that's what i had trouble with which really became a problem ultimately deciding to break it off with both of them feeling free but some were afraid as they're each furious with me now i even moved just to get away from them i suppose i'm always running settled in a new undisclosed location, laying low with the money I've saved up, all stolen, of course.

I live off what I have for a while, but wanting one last score, spending months scoping out different banks. This is going to be the big one. Now there's one I really like in a very nice end of town. I decide on this large bank nearby a highway overpass, but, right? right in front of a large wooded area. This particular bank has a vault with safety deposit boxes. There's an interesting layout here. I learned the layout after becoming a potential customer,

renting a deposit box and routinely paying a visit once a week. Each time writing down notes, and even drawing my own version of a schematic onto blank paper. When you walk in, there are rows of safety deposit boxes on each side of the vault from wall to wall. there's another or in the centre of the room call it luck for piss poor design

I notice there's a corner of the room with lockboxes that connect to each other blocking view from anyone's sight there's also nothing behind it has the perfect amount of room for me to stand up or kneel down and not be seen continue to go there each week every time learning something new

such as the location of the support beams in the ceiling. Are the tiles removable? Turns out they are. Bringing a bag with me, appearing to insert contents in my specific safety deposit box. I hide my tools in the false ceiling.

Crow bars, log picking instruments, even small battery-powered drills, hammers and the like. Deciding to wait until there's a federal holiday. On my last visit to the vault, I plan to stay the night.

Well, two nights. I bring food, bottles of water, and an alarm clock. I'm wearing a maintenance uniform. Hiding in my spot in the corner behind lockboxes, wearing my watch. It feels like forever. 5.30 comes. I hear the manager locking the vault. I'm on a time limit.

I must get started immediately. The vault will open at exactly 9 a.m. two days from now. It cannot be open before then, as it has a time lock on it. I raise myself from the corner now, on top of the deposit boxes, moving the full ceiling out of the way, grabbing each tool. I start with a lock-picking set, which proves to be difficult, as there are two locks per box. So I move to the all-so-primitive hammer and metal stake.

forcing them open. I count approximately 300 boxes to open, hammering away for hours, collecting my loot, going through everything, separating jewelry, money, and gold, from the random paperwork, that is.

I take a well-needed break. My arms are completely sore, out of breath and exhausted, opening a bottle of water, eating a snack, looking around at all, the damage caused so far. Damn it.

There's so much more to do. Leaning up against a row of steel boxes, I doze off. Awaken by a noise, frantically checking my watch. I've slept for four hours. Jumping up, grabbing the hammer and metal stake, getting back to work, switching arms every so often. I'm about one third of the way done, frustrated as many of these are empty. have to keep it together and remember every step of the plan.

The next day comes, I've got them all broken and pried open, leaving that which I don't want or need. Personal belongings are useless to me. Though nice trophies, they're easily traceable. Now, with two backs full of loot, I plant fake evidence. Random hair samples I'd found. I wore shoes, two sizes too big, He even grabbed a soda can from the trash of the bank and just left it lying there, hoping they would think it's an inside job.

Doing my best to close back all the door so the damage isn't completely obvious. I have everything ready. Back in the corner hiding, waiting. It's almost 9 a.m. The vault will be opening soon. I make a phone call to the bank manager, informing them the maintenance guy is coming. They're expecting me as I'd sabotaged their systems earlier. I exit my spot about 9.20. Leave the vault, both bags in hand.

Wearing my maintenance uniform, calmly walking out of the bank. Okay, you're back online now, I say. I'd park my car about a mile away in a parking garage. Arriving back to my car, I tossed my bags in and drive away. I drive to a storage unit that I pay for. Oftentimes, after a robbery, I would take my car there. I have a mattress, a chair, and books, so I can hide out until the heat dies down, opening each back, counting, and still sweating from the nerves. Terrified I'd made some sort of mistake. I'm exhausted. barely slept much in the two days I was inside the vault.

So, I pass out for a while. Leave the area and get a bite to eat. The TV's playing at this restaurant. I noticed a reporter interviewing someone. Looking closer, I realize it's the bank I'd just robbed. There's a police lieutenant being questioned on TV. Hey, could you turn that up, please? I ask nicely. Lieutenant,

There are signs of a forced entry. Was this an organized crime ring or gang? Was the vote compromised? She says, holding the mic. At this time, we know very little. There seems to be some evidence left behind. Right now, we have no suspect. Our best forensic guys are in there now, work in the case.

The investigation will continue until the individuals are found. We've estimated approximately $2.4 million in valuables were stolen. That's all for now. Thank you. He explains. Eating my burger, I look down, smiling, enjoying my meal. I spit out my food, trying not to make a scene. Holy shit, I think to myself. Feeling smarter than everyone else. Those of you that work nine to five every day are schmucks. Laughing to myself. Good luck with your investigation, asshole.

bought out of my mind after six months laying low, not drawing any attention. I once again started living my life, as I have before. Bars, booze, women, drugs. Living fast, blowing money like crazy, buying everything I could. I still have most of the money. Figured it couldn't hurt to have a little fun. A few more months pass. I grow my beard out, get long hair as well.

as I've been doing since I committed my last robbery. Starting to notice everywhere I go, there are now wanted posters of me plastered throughout the city. Even saw myself on TV. Fortunately, I don't look like that at all, or not exactly. That picture of me, clean-shaven, and many years ago from an arrest when I was 18. So, they know my name, have my picture.

I live on the outskirts of town, paying cash so I won't be traced, wondering how they learned it was me. I left fake DNA samples, I was very careful, even wore gloves. I had to have made a mistake somewhere. But how? I was so meticulous in my planning and execution. Staying in the area, monitoring their investigation from a safe distance. The now infamous Friday night bandit, will I strike again? Watching news reports every other day.

There's a massive manhunt for me. Hard to tell if they're getting close. I'm sure they already have an APB and will be on the lookout for me as well. Oh, points bulletin. Typically contains information about a wanted suspect who is to be arrested or a person of interest for whom law enforcement officers are looking for. Time to go on a run. Gathering my immediately needed things, I pack up my car and move out of state. Looking for a place to stay, a bit further into the woods out in the country. Being a

criminal, I have contacts who are, well, let's say, on the other side of the law, one in particular. Matt is a document forger. He creates fake passports, ID cards and other important documents. I phone him up for his services, meet him the next day. It's a bit of a drive. Take a new photo for the IDs, obtain a great name. Matt chose this one, Jesse James. How clever I thought. Collect the rest of the paperwork Matt made for me.

Pay the man and add in a tip for the fast work, leaving his humble abode and heading towards my new place I had acquired recently. I keep glancing at my new driver's license and laughing. I look ridiculous. Long hair everywhere and crazy beard. Even formed a smile worthy of DDP. Ah, hell with it. It's good enough.

Continue driving until arriving at home. I make something to eat and start watching TV. Getting settled in, just relaxing. Popping back a few cold ones watching a movie. I hear people. and loud commotion outside. What the hell? I don't live near anyone.

Why is that? Standing up quickly, looking out the window. My house is surrounded. Police uniforms and FBI in every direction. My back door is busted open, yelling and screaming from every room. Get down now! Teagas throw inside.

I fall to the ground. guess the jig is up. I surrender peacefully, knowing I won't survive a firefight with the authorities. I'm held down and handcuffed. The house is full of agents and officers, searching every room, guns drawn. Clear! One man shouts. They eventually find my loot.

Captain, in here, I've found it, another man yells. A few moments pass. I'm sitting on my couch being questioned. Where's the rest? This isn't all of it, the man asks. I look up and say, with a stern expression on my face. I spent it all. He glares at me with a questionable look.

Sarge, it's approximately $300,000, I hear one of them say. Now, being hauled off to the back of a squad car. I asked the arresting officer. So, I'm curious. How'd you find me? Come on. Be honest. He laughs, looking in the rearview mirror at me. You really want to know? We tracked your cell phone.

After gathering enough evidence against you, the judge signed off on a trace. Receiving permission from your phone carrier. He explains. My head falls forward. Chin hitting my chest. embarrassed I don't say another word thinking to myself

how stupid could I have been everything was planned so well that a simple cell phone brought me down all because I forgot to buy a throwaway phone you can pay cash for the officer and I are due to arrive at the police station soon just before we pull in I ask him seriously

you know they only found some of the money right Let me go free I'll give you the rest $2 million Tell him I assaulted you and I escaped He lifts his head for a moment and thinks After a few minutes He speaks

Nah I have a promotion coming soon Bringing you in should help Besides I like arresting the bad guys He says with a smile Great Had to be him a freaking boy scout.

At the station I'm booked in, fingerprinted, and a new photo taken of me. My court date comes as I await in myself. I'm found guilty on all counts, and sentenced to 15 to 20 years with no possibility of parole. Now I'm going to spend the next part of my life in prison. The transfer commences as they haul me off to my new home. They place me in C-block. Currently, I have no cellmate. For the first year and four months or so,

I'm on my best behaviour. No problems at all. Even score a job in the prison metal shop. After a few months of gaining the trust of the civilian that runs it, I talk to him daily, even befriend the guards in that area. I play chess with them. Tell them I want to do some carving so I can tell him. pieces for my board. Contraband is strictly prohibited in prison. However, I slip under the radar,

always pleasant, on good behavior and cooperative with them. They let it slide. I carry a sack on my shoulder when I leave the shop. God asks, making more pieces tonight? I smile and nod. Emotions for me to come through. I'm nervous and jitter. tree. Little does he know. I've been hiding small pieces of steel in my bag and I've been hiding tools in myself for months now. I use the shop to sharpen my small metal steak. Slowly, but surely, I began cutting into the concrete surrounding the bars of my window cell. I know if I can take out the whole box, I can fit through there. Pebbles come off of the walls as I dig. So, each time I have to flush the debris down the toilet.

Another problem I have is it'll be pretty damn obvious when they conduct a cell search that the wall has been tampered with. So, I create a putty using water, toothpaste and toilet paper. After weeks of doing this, I get it to the right colour and thickness so it matches the wall. I use the putty to replace the spots along the barred window that could be compromised or easily seen. Eventually, getting it hollowed out. I noticed there's a rebar in the wall between the concrete holding the other bars together. Using my sack that I often carry with me to my prison job in the metal shop, I conceal a stolen, sharp handsaw blade.

It was being thrown out as it was partially broken. I drop it down into my bag. After work was done, I'm in line for a pat-down search. Damn, I don't know this guard. He's staring me down. Just then, one of the guys I do know smiles and waves me through. A huge relief washes over me. I pass by and head to my cell.

Night comes, and I'm now using the stolen sawblade. I'd fashioned a handle from old bed sheets, so I won't cut myself while soaring into the metal bars. It's louder than I thought. I only work at night as the guards do less rounds in C-block. so I have more time to work in my cell between bunk checks. One bar is cut. I slowly work throughout weeks as it's tedious to get through them all.

I don't sleep much as I'm normally up most of the night cutting the bars, putting the blocks back in place and constantly applying the putty to conceal any damage. So far, none of them have noticed anything when doing a cell search, as I've hidden all my tools inside of the window where the broken bars are. Closer and closer, the day is coming, still planning my escape. I'm on the top floor, so when I make it through the window, I'll have to drop down onto the nearby roof. The whole window unit comes out in one piece. I've been cutting all the bars that were holding the unit in.

I've finished cutting all the bars. There's two fences I need to clear, each one with barbed wire on top, and an armed guard who drives around the perimeter in a trunk. I wait until nightfall and create a makeshift person on my prison bed, using clothes and toilet paper and a few sheets to create the illusion and an inmate is sleeping. Even putting hair on it to match that of mine, which has been cut short now. I remove the window unit and put it aside. dropping down onto the roof below, I grabbed the window and put it back in place, wearing a dark blanket over my clothes that I'd fashioned earlier. Now down on the bottom level, in a field of grass.

Staring at the first fence, I go at it with my blade tearing through it easily. Seeing headlights approaching, I drop down to the ground. The truck passes slowly as normal. I squeezed through the first fence with ease, knowing they could be back at any minute, cut through the second fence as fast as possible. I'm out, running into the nearby woods, adrenaline pumping, being cut by trees and falling several times, hitting rocks, knowing every step counts. At 0600, everyone will be up for breakfast. It won't be long before they discover I'm gone.

Finding an old couple's home, I break in, take their truck and money, cutting the phone lies in the house and locking them in a room. I buried the rest of my money I stole in the woods by the last home I lived in, along with my passports and IDs. It's about 26 miles away from where I'm at. The local police will no doubt be setting up a dragnet at any moment. I have to get my money and get the hell out of the area. It's too risky to hang around for long.

Heart racing, trying not to fall asleep, as I've been awake for days now. I've gone back to my old place and dug up everything. Now, on the road heading south, it might be hard to get into the States, but it's easy as hell to leave it. I'm using a car I bought with cash. Dumped the stolen truck, as I'm sure it's plastered all over the news, as is my photo. In prison, I'd learned which countries have no extradition treaty signed with the USA. Not my first choice, but I learned Cuba is one of them. Time's running out.

I have about $2 million left. I'm on the run. The race is on. I'm almost to West Palm Beach, Florida. Gonna buy a boat and head to Havana. All the police find me before I cross the border? Or will I outsmart them and become a very wealthy free man? Catch me, if you can.

In the penal colony, it's a particular apparatus, said the officer to the traveller, gazing with a certain admiration at the device, with which he was, of course, thoroughly familiar. It appeared that the traveller had responded to the invitation of the commandant, only out of politeness, when he had been invited to attend the execution of a soldier condemned for disobeying, and insulting is superior. Of course, interest in the execution was not very high, not even in the penal colony itself. At least, here in the small, deep, sandy valley,

closed in on all sides by barren slopes. Apart from the officer and the traveller, there were present only the condemned, a vacant-looking man with a broad mouth and dilapidated hair and face, and the soldier, who held the heavy chain to which were connected the small chains which bound the condemned man by his feet and wristbones, as well as by his neck, and which were also linked to each other by connecting chains. The condemned man had an expression of such a dog-like resignation

that it looked as if one could set him free to roam around the slopes and would only have to whistle at the start of the execution for him to return. The traveller had a little interest in the apparatus and walked back and forth behind the condemned man, almost visibly indifferent, while the officer took care of the final preparations. Sometimes he crawled under the apparatus, which was built deep into the earth,

and sometimes he climbed up a ladder to inspect the upper parts. These were really jobs which could have been left with a mechanic, but the officer carried them out with great enthusiasm, maybe because he was particularly fond of this apparatus, or maybe because there was some other reason why one could not trust the work to anyone else. It's already now, he finally cried, and climbed back down the ladder. He was unusually tired, breathing with his mouth wide open, and he'd pushed two fine ladies handkerchiefs under the collar of his uniform.

These uniforms are really too heavy for the tropics, the traveller said, instead of asking some questions about the apparatus, as the officer had expected. That's true, said the officer. He washed the oil and grease from his dirty hands in a bucket of water standing ready, but they mean home, and we don't want to lose our homeland. Now, have a look at a look at it. at this apparatus. He added immediately, drying his hands with a towel and pointing to the device. After this point, I had to do some work by hand, but from now on, the apparatus should work entirely

on its own. The traveller nodded and followed the officer. The latter tried to protect himself against all eventualities by saying, well, of course, breakdowns do happen. I really hope none all occur today, but we must be prepared for it. The apparatus is supposed to keep going for 12 hours without interruption. But if any breakdowns do occur, they'll only be very minor, and we'll deal with them right away. What? Don't you want to sit down? He asked finally, as he pulled out a chair from a pile of cane chairs and offered it to the traveller. The latter could not refuse. He sat on the edge of the pit, into which he cast a fleeting glance. It wasn't very deep. On one side of the hole,

the piled earth was heaped up into a war. the other side stood the apparatus. Oh, I don't know, the officer said, whether the commandant has already explained the apparatus to you. The traveller made a vague gesture with his hand. That was good enough for the officer, for now he could explain the apparatus himself. This apparatus, he said, grasping a connecting rod and leaning against it, is our previous commandant's invention. I also worked with him on the very first tests and took part in all the work right up to its completion. However, the credit for the invention belongs to him alone. Have you heard of our previous commandant? No? Well, I'm not claiming too much when I say that the

organisation of the entire penal colony is his work. We, his friends, already knew at the time of his death that the administration of the colony was so self-contained that even if his successor had a thousand new plans in mind, he wouldn't be able to alter anything of the old plan, at least not for several years. And our prediction of his successor had a thousand new plans in mind, he wouldn't be able to alter anything of the old plan, at least not for several years. and our prediction has held the new commandant has had to recognise that it's a shame that you didn't know the previous commandant however the officer said

interrupting himself I'm chattering and his apparatus stands here in front of us as you see it consists of three parts with the passage of time certain popular names have been developed for each of these parts the one underneath is called the bed the upper one's called the inscriber

and here in the middle, this moving part is called the harrow. The harrow, the traveller asked. He'd not been listening with full attention. The sun was excessively strong, trapped in the shallowest valley, and one could hardly collect one's thoughts. So the officer appeared to him all the more admirable in his tight tunic, weighed down with epaulets and festooned with grey,

ready to go and prayed, as he explained the matter so eagerly and, while he was talking, adjusted screws here and there with the screwdriver. The soldier appeared to be an estate similar to the traveller. He'd wound the condemned man's chain around both his wrists and was supporting himself with his hand on his weapon, letting his head hang backward, not bothering about anything. The traveller wasn't surprised at that,

for the officer spoke French, and clearly neither the soldier nor the condemned man understood the language. So it was all the more striking that the condemned man, in spite of that, did what he could to follow the officer's explanation. With a sort of sleepy persistence, he kept directing his gaze to the place where the officer had just pointed. When the question from the traveller interrupted the officer, the condemned man looked at the traveller too, just as the officer was doing. Yes, sir, the harrow, said the officer.

The name fits. The needles are arranged in a harrow, and the whole thing is driven like a harrow, although it stays in one place and is in principle much more artistic. You'll understand in a moment. The condemned is laid out here on the bed. First I'll describe the apparatus, and only then let the procedure go to work. That way you'll be able to follow it better. Also a sprogate in the inscriber is excessively worn.

It really squeaks. When it's in motion, one can hardly make oneself understood. Unfortunately, replacement parts are difficult to come by in this place. So, here's the bed, as I said. The whole thing's completely covered with a layer of cotton wall, the purpose of which you'll find out in a moment. The condemned man's laid out on his stomach on the cotton wall, naked, of course. There are straps for the hands here, for the feet here, and for the throat here,

to tie him in securely. At the head of the bed here, where the man, as I've mentioned, first lies face down, is this small protruding lump of felt, which can easily be adjusted so it presses right into the man's arm's side. mouth. His purpose is to prevent him screaming and biting his tongue into pieces. Well, of course, the man has to let the felt in his mouth. Otherwise, the straps around his throat would break his neck. That's Cottonwall, asked the traveller, and bent down. Yes, it is, said the officer smiling. Feel it for yourself. He took the traveller's hand and led him over to the bed.

It's a specially prepared cotton wall. That's why it looks so unrecognisable. I'll get around to mention its purpose in a moment. The traveller was already being won over a little to the apparatus. With his hand over his eyes to protect them from the sun, he looked at the apparatus in the hole. It was a massive construction. The bed and the inscriber were the same size and looked like two dark chests.

The inscriber was set about two metres above the bed, and the two were joined together at the corners by four brass rods, which almost reflected the sun. The harrow hung between the chests on a band of steel. The officer had hardly noticed the earlier indifference of the traveller, but he did have a sense now of how the latter's interest was being aroused for the first time. So he paused in his explanation in order to allow the traveller time to observe the apparatus undisturbed. The condemned man imitated the traveller, but since he couldn't put his hands over his eyes,

he blinked upward with his eyes uncovered. So, um, now the man's line. lying down, said the traveller. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. Yes, said the officer, pushing his cat back a little and running his hand over his hot face. Now, listen, both the bed and the inscriber have their own electric batteries. The bed needs them for itself and the inscriber for the harrow. As soon as the man strapped in securely, the bed set in motion. It quivers with tiny, very rapid oscillations from side to side and up and down simultaneously. Well, you'll have seen similar devices in mental hospitals, only with our bed all movements are precisely calibrated, for they must be meticulously coordinated with the movements of the

harrow. But it's the harrow which has the job of actually carrying out the sentence. What is the sentence? The traveller asked. You don't even know that? Asked the officer in astonishment and bit his lip. Forgive me if my explanations are perhaps confused. I really do beg your pardon.

Well, previously it was a commandant's habit to provide such explanations, but the new commandant has excused himself from this honourable duty. The fact that with such an eminent visitor, the traveller tried to deflect the honour with both hands, but the officer insisted on the expression that with such an eminent visitor, he didn't even once make him aware of the form of our sentencing is yet again something new which.

He had a curse on his lips but controlled himself and said merely, Well, I was not informed about it. It's not my fault. In any case, I'm certainly the person best able to explain our style of sentencing. For here I am carrying, he patted his breast pocket. The irrelevant diagrams drawn by the previous commandant. Diagrams made by the commandant himself, asked the traveller. Then, was he, in his own person, a combination of everything?

Was he a soldier-judge, engineer, chemist and draftsman? "'He was indeed,' said the officer, nodding his head with a fixed and thoughtful expression. Then he looked at his hands, examining them. They didn't seem to him clean enough to handle the diagrams, so he went to the bucket and washed them again. And he poured out a small leather folder and said, "'Our sentence does not sound severe. A law which a condemned man is violated is inscribed on his body with the harrow. This condemned man, for example, and the officer pointed to him.

the man will have inscribed on his body, honour your superiors. The traveller had a quick look at the man. When the officer was pointing at him, the man kept his head down and appeared to be directing all his energy into listening in order to learn something. The movements of his thick, pouting lips show clearly that he was incapable of understanding anything. The traveller wanted to raise various questions, but after looking at the condemned man, he merely asked, does he, um, know his sentence. No, said the officer. He wished to get on with his explanation right away, but the traveller interrupted him. He doesn't know his own sentence. No, said the officer once more. He then paused for a moment, as if he was asking the traveller for a more detailed

reason for his question, and said, it would be useless to give him that information. He experiences it on his own body. The traveller wanted to keep quiet at this point. but he felt how the condemned man was gazing at him. He seemed to be asking whether he could approve of the process the officer had described. So the traveller, who had up to this point been leaning back, bent forward again and kept up his questions. But does he nonetheless have some general idea that he's being condemned? Not that either, said the officer, and he smiled at the traveller, as if he was still waiting for some strange revelations from him.

"'No,' said the traveller, wiping his forehead. "'And does the man also not yet know his defence was received?' "'Oh, he's had no opportunity to defend himself,' said the officer, and looked away, "'as if he was talking to himself and wished not to embarrass the traveller with an explanation of matters so self-evident to him. "'But he must have had a chance to defend himself,' said the traveller, and stood up from his chair. The officer recognised that he was in danger of having his explanation of the apparatus held up for a long time. So he went to the traveller, took him by the arm, pointed with his hand at the condemned man, who stood there stiffly now that the attention was so clearly directed at him.

The soldier was also pulling on his chain, and he said, The matter stands like this. Here in the penal colony, I have been appointed judge, well, in spite of my youth, for I stood at the side of our old commandant in all matters of punishment, and I also know the most about the apparatus. The basic principle I use for my decisions is this. Guilt is always beyond a doubt. Other courts could not follow this principle, for they're made up of many heads, and in addition, have even higher courts above them. But that's not the case here, or at least it wasn't that way with the previous commandant. It's true the new commandant has already

shown a desire to get mixed up in my court, but I have succeeded so far in fending him off, and I'll continue to be successful. You want this case explained? It's simple, just like all of them. This morning a captain laid a charge that this man, who is assigned to him as a servant and who sleeps before his door, had been sleeping on duty. For his task is to stand up every time the clock strikes the hour and salute in front of the captain's door. It's certainly not a difficult duty and it's necessary since he's supposed to remain fresh both for guarding and for service. Yesterday night the captain wanted to check whether his servant was fulfilling his duty. He opened the door on the stroke of two and found him curled up asleep.

He got his horse whip and hit him across the face. Now instead of standing up and begging for forgiveness, the man grabbed his master by the legs, shook him and cried out. Throw away that whip, I'll eat you up. well those are the facts the captain came to me an hour ago i wrote up his statement and right after that the sentence then i had the man chained up it was all very simple if i'd first summon the man and interrogated him the result would have been confusion me would have lied and if i had been successful in refuting his lies he would have replaced them with new lies and so forth but now i

have him and i won't release him again now does that close clarify everything. Time is passing. We should be starting the execution, and I haven't finished explaining the apparatus yet. He urged the traveller to sit down in his chair, move to the apparatus again and start it. Now, as you see, the shape of the harrow corresponds to the shape of a man. This is the harrow for the upper body, and here are the harrows for the legs. A small cutter is the only one designated for the head. Is that clear to you? He leaned forward to the traveller in a friendly way, ready to give the most comprehensive explanation. The traveller looked at the harrow with a wrinkled frown.

The information about the judicial procedures had not satisfied him. He had to tell himself that here it was a matter of a penal colony, but in this place special regulations were necessary, and that one had to give precedence to military measures right down to the last detail. Beyond that, however, he had some hopes in the new Commandarves, obviously, although slowly, was intending to introduce a new procedure which the limited understanding of this officer could not cope with. Following this trainer thought, the traveller asked, will the commandant be present at the execution?

That is not certain, said the officer, embarrassingly affected by the sudden question, and his friendly expression made a grimace. That's why we need to hurry up. As much as I regret the fact, I'll have to make my explanation even shorter. But tomorrow, once the apparatus is clean again, the fact that it gets so very dirty is its only fault, I could add a detailed explanation. So now, only the most important things. When the man's lying on the bed and it starts quivering,

the harrow sinks into the body. It positions itself automatically in such a way that it touches the body only lightly with the needle tips. Once the machine is set in this position, the steel cable tightens up into a rot and now the performance begins. Someone who is not an initiate sees no external difference among the punishments. The harrow seems to do its work uniformly. As it quivers, it sticks the tips of its needles into the body,

which is also vibrating from the movement of the bed. Now, to enable someone to check on how the sentence is being carried out, the harrow is made of glass. That gave rise to certain technical difficulties with fastening the needle securely, but after several attempts we were successful. We didn't spare any efforts, and now as the inscription is made on the body, everyone can see through the glass. Don't you want to come closer and see the needles for yourself?

The traveller stood slowly, moved up and bent over the harrow. You see, the officer said, two sorts of needles in a multiple arrangement. Each long needle has a short one next to it. The long one inscribes, and the short one squirts water out to wash away the blood and keep the inscription always clear. The bloody water is then channeled here in small grooves, and finally flows into these main gutters,

and the outlet pipe takes it to the pit. The officer pointed with his finger to the exact path which the bloody water had to take. As he began to demonstrate with both hands at the mouth, of the outlet pipe in order to make his account as clear as possible the traveler raised his head and feeling behind him with his hand wanted to return to his chair and then he saw to his horror that the condemned man had also like him accepted the officer's invitation to inspect the arrangement of the harrow up close he'd bought the sleeping soldier holding the chain a little forward and was also bending over the glass one could see how with a confused

gaze, he also was looking for what the two gentlemen had just observed, but how he didn't succeed because he lacked the explanation. He leaned forward this way and that. He kept running his eyes over the glass again and again. The traveller wanted to push him back, but what he was doing was probably punishable. But the officer held the traveller firmly with one hand, and with the other, he took a lump of earth from the wall and threw it at the soldier. The latter opened his eyes with the start, saw what the condemned man had dared to do, let his weapon fall, braced his heels in the earth, and pulled the condemned man back, so that he immediately collapsed. The soldier looked down at him as he writhed around, making his chain clink.

Stand him up, cried the officer. Then he noticed that the condemned man was distracting the traveller too much. The latter was even leaning out away from the harrow, without paying any attention to it, wanting to find out what was happening to the condemned man. Handle him carefully, the officer yelled again. He ran around the apparatus, personally grabbed the condemned man under the armpits, and, with the help of the soldier, stood the man whose feet kept slipping upright. Now I know all about it, said the traveller, as the officer turned back to him again. Well, yeah, except the most important thing, said the latter, "'grabbling the traveller by the arm and pointing up high.

"'There in the inscriber is the mechanism "'which determines the movement of the arrow. "'And this mechanism is arranged according to the diagram "'on which the sentence is set down. "'I still use the diagrams of the previous commandant. "'Here they are.' "'You pulled some pages out of the leather folder. "'Unfortunately, I can't have them to you.

"'The most cherished thing I possess. "'Sit down and I'll show you them from this distance. then you'll be at to see it all well. He showed the first sheet. The traveller would have been happy to say something appreciative, but all he saw was a labyrinthly in series of lines, criss-crossing each other in all sorts of ways. He's covered the paper so thickly,

but only with difficulty could one make out the white spaces in between. Read it, said the officer. I can't, said the traveller. But it's clear, said the officer. It's some very elaborate, said the traveller evasively. I can't decipher it. Yeah, said the officer, smiling and putting the folder back again. It's not calligraphy for schoolchildren.

One has to read it a long time. You two will finally understand it clearly. Of course, it has to be a script that isn't simple. You see, it's not supposed to kill right away. On average, over a period of 12 hours. The turning point is set for the sixth hour. There must also be many, many embellishments surrounding the basic script. The essential script moves around the body only in a narrow belt.

The rest of the body is reserved for decoration. Can you now appreciate the work of the harrow and the whole apparatus? Just look at it. He jumped up, the ladder, turned a wheel and called down. Watch out! Move to the side. Everything started moving. If the wheel hadn't squeaked, it would have been marvellous. The officer threatened the wheel with his fist, as if he was surprised by the disturbance it created.

Then he spread his arms, apologised into the traveller, and quickly he calmed down in order to observe the operation of the apparatus from below. Something was still not working properly, something only he noticed. He clambered up again, reached with both hands into the inside of the inscriber. Then, in order to descend more quickly, instead of using the ladder, he slid down on one of the poles and to make himself understandable through the noise, strained his voice to the limit as he yelled into the traveller's ear. Do you understand the process? The harrow is starting to write.

When it's finished with the first part of the script on the man's back, the layer of cotton wall rolls and turns the body slowly onto its side to give the harrow a new area. Meanwhile, those parts lacerated by the inscription, a line of the wall. on the cotton wall, which, because it's been specially treated, immediately stops the bleeding and prepares the script for a further deepening. Here, as the body continues to rotate, prongs on the edge of the harrow, then pour the cotton wall from the wounds, throw it into the pit, and the harrow goes to work again. In this way, it keeps making the inscription deeper for twelve hours. For the first six hours, the condemned man goes on living almost as before. He suffers nothing but pain.

hours the felt is removed, for at that point the man has no more energy for screaming. Here, at the head of the bed, warm rice pudding is put in this electrically heated bowl. And from this, the man, if he feels like it, can help himself to what he can lap up with his tongue. No one passes up this opportunity. I don't know of a single one, and I've had a lot of experience. He first loses his pleasure in eating around the sixth hour. I usually kneel down at this point and observe the phenomenon.

The man rarely swallows the last bit. He turns it around in his mouth and spits it into the pit. When he does that, I have to lean aside or else he'll get me in the face. Oh, but how quiet the man becomes around the sixth hour. The most stupid of him begin to understand. It starts around the eyes and spreads out from there. A look that could tempt want to lie down under the arrow. Nothing else happened.

The man simply begins to decipher the inscription. He purses his lips as if he's listening. You've seen that it's not easy to figure out the inscription with your eyes, but our man decifers it with his wounds. True takes a lot of work. It requires six hours to complete. But then the arrow spits him right out and throws him into the pit, where he splashes down into the bloody water and cotton wall.

And then the judgment is over. And we, the soldier and us. quickly bury him. The traveller had leaned his ear towards the officer, and with his hands in his coat pockets, was observing the machine at work. The condemned man was also watching, but without understanding.

He bent forward a little and followed the moving needles, as the soldier, after a signal from the officer, cut through his shirt and trousers with a knife from the back so that they fell off the condemned man. He wanted to grab the falling garments to cover his bed, flesh, but the soldier held him up and shook the last rags from him. The officer turned the machine off, and in the silence which then ensued, the condemned man was laid out under the harrow. The chains were taken off and the straps fastened in their place. For the condemned man, it seemed at first

glance to signify almost a relief. And now the harrow sunk down a stage lower, for the condemned was a thin man. As the needle tips touched him, a shudder went over his skin. While the soldier was busy with the right hand, the condemned man stretched out his left, with no sense of its direction. But it was pointing to where the traveller was standing. The officer kept looking at the traveller from the side,

without taking his eyes off him, as if he was trying to read from his face the impression he was getting of the execution, which he had now explained to him, at least superficially. The strap meant to hold the wrist, ripped off. the soldier probably had pulled on it too hard the soldier showed the officer the torn off piece of strap wanting him to help

and so the officer went over to him and said with his face turned towards the traveller this machine is very complicated now and then something has to tear or break one shouldn't let that detract from one's overall opinion anyway we have an immediate replacement for the strap I'll use a chain even though that will affect the sensitivity of the movements for the right arm

And while he put the chain in place, he kept talking. Well, our resources for maintaining the machine are very limited at the moment. Under the previous Commandant, I had free access to a cash box specially set aside for this purpose. There was a storeroom here in which all possible replacement parts were kept. I admit, I made almost extravagant use of it. I mean earlier, not now, as the new Commandant claims. For him, everything serves only as a pretext to fight against the old arrangements. Now he keeps the cashbox from machinery under his own control, and if I ask him for a new strap,

he demands the torn one as a piece of evidence. The new one doesn't arrive for ten days, and it's an inferior brand of not much use to me. But how I'm supposed to get the machine at work in the meantime without a strap, no one's concerned about that. The traveller was thinking, It's always questionable to intervene decisively in strange circumstances. He was neither a citizen of the penal colony nor a citizen of the state to which it belonged. If he wanted to condemn the execution or even hinder it, people could say to him,

you're a foreigner, keep quiet. He would have nothing in response to that, but could only add that he didn't understand what he was doing on this occasion. But the purpose of his travelling was mainly to observe and not to alter people's judicial systems in any. way. True, at this point, the way things were turning out, it was very tempting. The injustice of the process and the inhumanity of the execution were beyond doubt. No one could assume that the traveller was acting out of any sense of his own self-interest, for the condemned man was a stranger to him, not a countryman and not someone who invited sympathy in any way. The traveller himself had letters of reference from high officials and had been welcomed

here with great courtesy. The fact that he'd been invited to this execution even seemed to indicate that people were asking for his judgment on this trial. This was all the more likely since the Commandant, as he had now heard only too clearly, was no supporter of this process, and maintained an almost hostile relationship with the officer. Then the traveller heard a cry of rage from the officer. He just shoved the stub of felt in the condemned man's mouth, not without difficulty, when the traveller heard a cry of rage from the officer. not without difficulty, when the condemned man, overcome by an irresistible nausea, shut his eyes and threw up. The officer quickly yanked him up off the stump and wanted to turn his head aside toward the pit, but it was too late.

The vomit was already flowing down onto the machine. This is all a common dance fault, cried the officer, and mindlessly rattled the brass rods at the front. God, my machine's as filthy as a pig-sty! With trembling hands He showed the traveller what had happened I spent hours trying to make the Commandant understand That a day before the execution There should be no more food served

But the new lenient administration is a different opinion Before the man's led away The Commandant's women crammed sugary things down his throat His whole life he's fed himself on stinking fish And now he has to eat sweets But that would be all right I'd have no objections but why don't they get a new felt

the way I've been asking him for three months now how can anyone take this felt into his mouth without feeling disgusted or something that a hundred men have sucked and bitten on as they were dying. The condemned man laid his head down and appeared peaceful. The soldier was busy cleaning up the machine

with a condemned man's shirt. The officer went up to the traveller who, feeling some premonition, took a step backwards. But the officer grasped him by their hand and pulled him aside. I want to speak a few words to you in confidence, he said. May I do that?

Of course, said the traveller, and listened with his eyes lowered. This process and execution, which you now have an opportunity to admire, have no more open supporters in our colony. I'm its only defender, just as I am the single advocate for the legacy of the old commandant. I can no longer think about a more excellent. extensive organisation of the process. I'm using all my powers to maintain what there is at present. When the old commandant was alive, the colony was full of his supporters. I have something of the old commandant's power of persuasion, but I completely lack his power. As a result, the supporters

have gone into hiding. There are still a lot of them, but no one admits to it. If you go into a tea-house today, that is to say, on a day of execution, and keep your ears open, perhaps you'll hear nothing but ambiguous remarks. They're all supporters, but under the present commandant, considering his present views, they're totally useless to me. Now, I'm asking you, should such a life's work? He pointed to the machine. Come to nothing because of this commandant and the women influencing it. Should people let that happen? Even if one is a foreigner, and only on our island for a couple of days, but there's no time to lose. People are already preparing something against my judicial proceedings. Discussions are already taking place in the

Commandant's headquarters, to which I am not invited. Even your visit today seems to me typical of the whole situation. People are cowed and sent you out for a foreigner. You should have seen the executions in early days. The entire valley was overflowing with people even a day before the execution. They all came merely to watch. Early in the morning the Commandant appeared with his women. Fanfares woke up the entire campsite. I deliver the news that everything was ready. The whole society and every high official had to attend arranged itself around the machine.

The pile of cane chairs is a sorry leftover from that time. The machine was freshly cleaned and glowed for almost every execution I had new replacement parts. In front of hundreds of eyes, the spectators stood on tiptoe right up the hills there. The condemned man was laid down. under the harrow by the commandant himself what nowadays is done by a common soldier was then my work as a senior judge and it was an honor for me and then the execution began no discordant note

disturbed the work of the machine many people did not look any more at all but lay down with closed eyes in the sand they all knew now justice was being carried out in silence in silence people to nothing but the groans of the condemned man, muffled by the felts. These days the machine no longer manages to squeeze a strong groan out of the condemned man, something the felt is not capable of smothering. But back then the needles,

which made the inscription dripped a caustic fluid, which we are not permitted to use any more today. Well, and then came the sixth hour. It was impossible to grant all the request people made to be allowed to watch from up close. the commandant in his wisdom arranged that the children should be taken care of before all the rest

naturally I was always allowed to stand close by because of my official position often I crouched down there with two small children in my arms on my right and my left how we all took in the expression of transfiguration on the martyred face how we held our cheeks

in the glow of this justice finally attained and already passing away Oh, what times we had, my friend. The officer had obviously forgotten who was standing in front of him. He put his arm around the traveller and laid his head on his shoulder. The traveller was extremely embarrassed. Impatiently, he looked away over the officer's head.

The soldier had ended his task of cleaning and had just taken some rice pudding into the bowl from a tin. No sooner had the condemned man, who seemed to have fully recovered already, noticed this and his tongue began to lick at the pudding. The soldier kept pushing him away, for the pudding was probably meant for a later time, but in any case it was not proper for the soldier to reach in and grab some food with his dirty hands and eat it in front of a famished condemned man. The officer quickly collected himself.

I didn't want to upset you in any way, he said. I know it's impossible to make someone understand those days now. Besides, the machine still works and operates on its own. It operates on its own even when it's standing alone in this valley. and at the end the body still keeps falling in that incredibly soft flight into the pit even if hundreds of people are not gathered like flies around the whole the way they used to be about then we had to erect a strong railing around the pit and it was pulled out long ago the traveller wanted to turn his face away from the officer and looked aimlessly around him

the officer thought he was looking at the wasteland of the valley so he grabbed his hands turned him around in order to catch his gaze and asked Do you see the shame of it? But the traveller said nothing. The officer left him alone for a while. With his legs apart and his hands on his hips, the officer stood still and looked at the ground. Then he smiled at the traveller cheerfully and said,

Yesterday I was nearby when the commandant invited you. I heard the invitation. I know the commandant. I understood right away what he intended with his invitation. Although his power might be sufficiently great to take action against me, he doesn't yet dare to, but my guess is that with you he is exposing me to the judgment of a respected foreigner. He calculates things with care. You're now in your second day on the island. You didn't know the old commandant and his way of thinking, and you're trapped in a European way of seeing

things. Perhaps you're fundamentally opposed to the death penalty in general, and to this kind of mechanical style of execution in particular. Moreover, you see how the execution is a sad procedure, without any public participation using a partially damaged machine. Now, if we take all this together, so the Commandant thinks. Surely one could easily imagine that you would not consider my procedure proper. And if you didn't consider it right, you wouldn't keep quiet about it. Well, I'm still speaking the mind of the Commandant, but you no doubt have faith that your tried and true convictions are correct.

It's true that you've seen many peculiar things among many peoples and will learn to respect them. Thus you'll probably not speak out against a procedure with your full power, as you would perhaps in your own homeland, but a commandant doesn't really need that. A casual word, merely a careless remark, is enough. It doesn't have to match your convictions at all, so long as it corresponds to his wishes. Or I'm certain he'll use all his shrewdness to re interrogate you, and his women will still sit in a circle and perk up their ears. You'll say something like, oh, among us, the judicial procedures are different. or with us the accused is questioned before the verdict, or we had torture only in the middle ages.

For you, these observations appear as correct as they are self-evidence, innocent remarks which do not impugn my procedure. But how would a commandant take them? I see him how an excellent commandant, the way he immediately pushes his stool aside and hurries out to the balcony. I see his women how they stream after him. I hear his voice. The women call it a false.

thunder voice. And now he's speaking. Oh, a great Western explorer who has been commissioned to inspect judicial procedures in all countries is just so that our process, based on all customs, is inhuman. After the verdict of such a personality, it is, of course, no longer possible for me to tolerate this procedure. So from this day on, I am ordering, and so on and so forth. Oh, you want to intervene. You didn't say what he's reporting. You didn't call my procedure inhuman. By contrast, in keeping with your deep insight, you consider it most humane and most worthy of human beings. You also admire this machinery, but it's too late. You don't even go on to the balcony, which is already filled with women.

You want to attract attention. You want to cry out, but laid his hands cover in your mouth, and I and the commandant's work are lost. The traveller had to suppress a smile, so the work which he had considered so difficult was easy. He said, evasively, "'You're exaggerating my influence. The commandant has read my letters of recommendation. He knows that I'm no expert in judicial processes. If I were to express an opinion, it would be that of a layperson,

no more significant than the opinion of anyone else. And in any case, far less significant than the opinion of the commandant, who, as I understand it, has very extensive powers in this penal colony. If his views of this procedure are as definite as you think they are, then I'm afraid the time has come for this procedure to end, without any need for my humble opinion. What did the officer understand now? No, he didn't get it yet.

He shook his head vigorously, briefly looked back at the condemned man and the soldier, who both flinched and stopped eating the rice, went up really close to the traveller, without looking into his face, but gazing at parts of his jacket, it and said more gently than before. You don't know at the Commandant.

Where he and all of us are concerned, you are, forgive the expression, to a certain extent, innocent. Your influence, believe me, cannot be overestimated. In fact, I was blissfully happy when I heard that you were to be present at the execution by yourself. This order of the Commandant was aimed at me,

but now I'll turn it to my advantage. Without being distracted by false insinuations and disparaging looks, which could not have been avoided with a greater number of participants at the execution. You have listened to my explanation, looked at the machine, and are now about to view the execution. Your verdict is no doubt already fixed. If some small uncertainties remain, witness in the execution will remove them. And now I'm asking you, help me with the commandant.

The traveller did not let him go on talking. "'How can I do that?' he cried. "'It's totally impossible. "'I can help you as little as I can harm you.' "'You could do it,' said the officer. "'With some apprehension the traveller observed "'that the officer was clenching his fists. "'You could do it,' repeated the officer,

"'even more emphatically. "'I have a plan which must succeed. "'You think your influence is insufficient. "'I know it will be enough. "'But, assuming you're right, doesn't say from this whole procedure require one to try even those methods which may be inadequate. So, listen to my plan. To carry it out, it's necessary above all for you to keep as quiet as possible today in the colony

about your verdict on this procedure. Unless someone asks you directly, you should not express any view whatsoever. But what you do say must be short and vague. People should notice that it's difficult for you to speak about the subject, that you feel better that, well, if you were to speak openly, you'd have to burst out cursing on the spot. I'm not asking you to lie, not at all. You should only give brief answers something like, yes, I've seen the execution, or yes, I've heard the full explanation. That's all, nothing further. For that will be enough of an indication for people to observe you in a certain bitterness,

even if that's not what the commandant will think. Naturally he will completely misunderstand the issue and interpret it in his own way or my plan is based on that tomorrow a large meeting of all the higher administrative officials takes place at headquarters under the chairmanship of the commandant. He of course understands how to turn such a meeting into a spectacle. The gallery's being built which is always full of spectators. I'm compelled to take part in the discussions

that they fill me with disgust. In any case you'll certainly be invited to the meeting. If you follow my plan today and behave accordingly, the invitation will become an emphatic request. But should you, for some inexplicable reason, still not be invited, you must make sure you request an invitation. Then you'll receive one without question. Now, tomorrow you're sitting with the women in the common dance box. With frequent upward glances, he reassures himself that you're there. After various trivial and ridiculous agenda items designed for the spectators, mostly harbour construction, always harbour construction,

well, the judicial process comes up for discussion. If it's not raised by the commandant himself, or does not occur soon enough, I'll make sure it comes up. I'll stand up and report on today's execution, really briefly, and just a report. Such a report is not really customary, however, I'll do it nonetheless. Well, the commandant thanks me, as always, with a friendly smile. And now he can't restrain himself. He seizes this excellent opportunity. The report of the execution, he will say, or something like that, as just being given. I would like to add to this report only to the fact that this particular execution was attended by the great explorer whose visit confers such extraordinary honor on our colony, as you all know.

Even the significance of our meeting today has been increased by his presence. Should we not ask this great explorer for his appraisal of the execution? based on old customs and of the process which preceded it. Of course there's the noise of applause everywhere, universal agreement, and I'm louder than anyone. The commandant bows before you and says, and in everyone's name, I'm putting the question to you. And now you step up to the railing, place your hands where everyone can see them,

otherwise the ladies will grab them and play with your fingers. Now finally come your remarks. I don't know how bad their attention. him up to then. In your speech you mustn't hold back. Let truth resound. Lean over that railing and shout it out. Yes, yes, roar your opinion at the commandant. Your unshakable opinion. But perhaps you don't want to do that. It doesn't suit your character. Perhaps in your country people behave differently in such situations. That's all right. It's perfectly satisfactory. Don't stand up at all. Just say a couple of words.

Whisper them so that only the officials underneath you can just hear them. That's enough. You don't even have to say anything at all about the lack of attendance at the execution or about the squeaky wheel, the torn strap, the disgusting felt. No, I'll take over all further details and believe me, if my speech doesn't chase him out of the room, it will force him to his knees, so he'll have to admit it. Oh, come and don't, I bow down before you. Yeah, that's my plan. Do you want to help me carry it out? Of course you want to. More than that. have to. When the officer gripped the traveller by both arms and looked at him, breathing heavily into

his face. He'd yelled the last sentences so loudly that even the soldier and the condemned man were paying attention. Although he couldn't understand a thing, they stopped eating and looked over at the traveller, still chewing. From the start the traveller had no doubts about the answer he must give. He had experienced too much in his life to be able to waver here. Basically, he was honest and unerfraid.

Still, with the soldier and the condemned man looking at him, he hesitated a moment. But finally, he said, as he had to, no. The officer's eyes blinked several times, but he didn't take his eyes off the traveller. Would you like an explanation? asked the traveller. The officer nodded dumbly. I am opposed to this procedure. said the traveller, even before you took me into your confidence, and of course I will never abuse your confidence under any circumstances, I was already thinking about whether I was entitled

to intervene against this procedure, and whether my intervention could have the smallest chance of success. And if that was the case, it was clear to me, whom I had to turn to first of all, naturally, to the commandant. You clarified the issue for me even more, but without reinforcing my decision in any way, quite the reverse. I find your conviction genuinely moving, even if it cannot deter me. The officer remained quiet, turned toward the machine, grabbed one of the brass rods, and then leaning back a little, looked up at the inscriber, as if he was checking that everything was in order. The soldier and the condemned man seemed to have made friends with each other. The condemned man was making signs to the soldier, although, given the tight straps on

him this was difficult for him to do the soldier was leaning into him the condemned man whispered something to him and the soldier nodded the traveler went over to the officer and said you don't yet know what i'll do yes i will tell the commandant my opinion of the procedure not in a meeting but in private in addition i won't stay here long enough to be able to get called into some meeting or other early tomorrow morning i leave or at least i go on board ship i didn't look as well as i didn't look as well as i was as if the officer had been listening. So, the process is not convinced you, he said to himself, smiling the way an old man smiles over the silliness of a child, concealing his true thoughts behind that smile.

Well, then, it's time, he said finally, and suddenly looked at the traveller with bright eyes which contained some sort of demand, some appeal for participation. time for what asked the traveller uneasily but there was no answer you are free the officer told the condemned man in his own language at first the man did not believe him you are free now said the officer for the first time the face of the condemned man showed signs of real life was it the truth was it only the officer's mood which could change at the foreign truce traveler brought him a reprieve. What was it? That's what the man's face seemed to be asking. But not for long. Whatever the case might be, if he could, he truly wanted to be free. And he began to shake back and forth, as much as the harrow permitted. Oh, you're tearing my straps, cried the officer. Be still, we'll undo them right away. And giving a signal to the soldier, he set to work with him. The condemned man said nothing and smiled slightly to himself.

He turned his face to the officer and then to the soldier and then back again, without ignoring the traveller. Pull him out, the officer ordered the soldier. This process required a certain amount of care because of the harrow. The condemned man had already had a few small wounds on his back, thanks to his own impatience. From this point on, however, the officer paid him hardly any attention. He went up to the traveller, pulled out the small leather folder once more, leave through it, finally found the sheet he was looking for, and showed it to the traveller. Read that, he said.

I can't, said the traveller. I've already told you I can't read these pages. But take a close look at the page, said the officer, and move right next to the traveller in order to read with him. When that didn't help, he raised his little finger high over the paper, as if the page must not be touched under any circumstances. so that using this he might make the task of reading easier for the travel. The traveller almost made an effort so that at least he could satisfy the officer, but it was impossible for him. Then the officer began to spell out the inscription and read out once again in the joined-up letters.

Be just, it states, he said. Now you can read it. The traveller bent so low over the paper that the officer, afraid that he might touch it, moved it further away. The traveller didn't say anything more, but it was clear that he was still unable to read anything. Be just, it says, the officer remarked once again. That could be, said the traveller.

I do believe what's written here. Good, said the officer, at least partially satisfied. He climbed up the ladder holding the paper. With great care, he set the paper. page in the inscriber and appear to rotate the gear mechanism completely around. This was very tiring work. It must have required him to deal with extremely small wheels. He had to inspect the gears so closely that sometimes his head disappeared completely into the inscriber. The traveller followed this work from below without looking away.

His neck grew stiff and his eyes found the sunlight pouring down from the sky painful. The soldier and the condemned man were keeping each other busy. With the tip of his bayonet, the soldier pulled out the condemned man's shirt and trousers which were lying in the hole. The shirt was horribly dirty, and the condemned man washed it in the bucket of water. When he was putting on his shirt and trousers, the soldier and the condemned man had to laugh out loud, for the pieces of clothing were cut in two up the back. Perhaps the condemned man thought it was his duty to amuse the soldier. In his ripped up clothes, he circled around the soldier, who crouched down on the ground, laughed and slapped.

his knees. But they restrained themselves out of consideration for the two gentlemen present. When the officer was finally finished up on the machine, with a smile, he looked over the whole thing and all its parts one more time, and this time closed the cover of the inscriber, which had been open up to this point. He climbed down, looked into the hole, and then at the condemned man, observed his satisfaction that he pulled out his clothes, and then went to the bucket of water to wash his hands, recognised too late that it was disgustingly dirty, and was upset that now he couldn't wash them. Finally he pushed them into the sand.

This option didn't satisfy him, but he had to do what he could in the circumstances. Then he stood up and began to unbutton the coat of his uniform. As he did this, the two ladies' handkerchiefs, which he pushed into the back of his collar, fell into his hands. Here, you have your handkerchiefs. he said and threw them over to the condemned man and to the traveller he said by way of an explanation a presence from the ladies despite of the obvious speed with which he took off the coat of his uniform and then undressed himself completely he handled each piece of clothing very carefully even running his fingers over the silver braids of his tunic

with special care and shaking a tassel into place but in great contrast to this care as soon as he was finished handling an article of clothing, he immediately flung it angrily into the hole. The last items he had left were his short sword and its harness. He pulled the sword out of its scabbard, broke it in pieces, gathered up everything, the pieces of the sword, the scabbard and the harness, and threw them away so forcefully that they rattled against each other down in the pit. Now he stood there naked. The traveller bit his lip and said nothing, for he was.

was aware what would happen, but he had no right to hinder the officer in any way. If the judicial process to which the officer clung was so close really to the point of being cancelled, perhaps as a result of the intervention of the traveller, something to which he, for his part, felt duty-bound, then the officer was now acting in a completely correct manner. In his place the traveller would not have acted any differently. The soldier and the condemned man at first didn't understand a thing. to begin with they didn't look not even once the condemned man was extremely happy to get the handkerchiefs back

but he couldn't enjoy them for very long for the soldiers snatched them from him with a quick grab which he had not anticipated the condemned man then tried to pull the handkerchiefs out of the soldier's belt where he'd put them for safe keeping but the soldier was too wary so they were fighting half in jest only when the officer was fully naked did they start to pay attention

The condemned man especially seemed to be struck by a premonition of some sort of significant transformation. What had happened to him was now taking place with the officer. Perhaps this time the procedure would play itself out to its conclusion. The foreign traveller had probably given the order. So that was revenge. Without having suffered all the way to the end himself, nonetheless he would be completely revenged. A wide, silent laugh now appears. appeared on his face and did not go away.

The officer, however, had turned towards the machine. If earlier on it had already become clear that he understood the machine thoroughly, one might well get alarmed now at the way he handled it and how it obeyed. He had only had to bring his hand near the harrow for it to rise and sink several times until it had reached the correct position to make room for him. He only had to grasp the bed by the edges, and it had already begun to quiver. The stump of felt moved up to his mouth.

I could see how the officer really didn't want to accept it, but his hesitation was only momentary. He immediately submitted and took it in. Everything was ready, except that the straps still hung down on the sides, but they were clearly unnecessary. The officer did not have to be strapped down. When the condemned man saw the loose,

straps, he thought the execution would be incomplete unless they were fastened. He waved eagerly to the soldier, and they ran over to strap in the officer. The latter had already stuck out his foot to kick the crank designed to set the inscriber in motion, and then he saw the two men coming, so he pulled his foot back and let himself be strapped in. But now he could no longer reach the crank. Neither the soldier nor the condemned man would find it, and the traveler was determined not to touch it. But that was unnecessary. Hardly were the straps attached when the machine already started working. The bed quivered, the needles danced on his skin, and the harrow swung up and down. The traveller had already been staring for some time before he remembered

that a wheel in the inscriber was supposed to squeak, but everything was quiet, without the slightest audible hum. Because of its silent working, the machine did not really attract a attention. The traveller looked over at the soldier and the condemned man. The condemned man was the livelier of the two. Everything in the machine interested him. At times he bent down, at other times he stretched up, all the time pointing with his finger in order to show something to the soldier. For the traveller, it was embarrassing. He was determined to remain here until the end, but he could no longer endure the sight of the two men. Go home, he says. Well, the soldier might have been ready to do that, but the condemned man took the order as a direct punishment.

With his hands folded, he begged and pleaded to be allowed to stay there. When the traveller shook his head and was unwilling to give in, he even knelt down. Seeing that orders were of no help here, the traveller wanted to go over and chase the two away. Then he heard a noise from up in the inscriber. He looked up. So was the gear wheel going out of alignment? But, oh, it was something else. The lid on the inscriber was lifting up slowly.

Then it fell completely open. The teeth of a cogwheel were exposed and lifted up. Soon the entire wheel appeared. It was as if some huge force was compressing the inscriber so that there was no longer sufficient room for this wheel. The wheel rolled all the way to the edge of the inscriber, fell down, rolled up right a bit in the sand, and then fell over and lay still.

But already upon the inscriber another gear wheel was moving upwards, and several others followed, large ones, small ones, one's hard to distinguish. With each of them, the same thing happened. One kept thinking that now the inscriber must surely be empty, but then a new cluster with lots of parts would move up, fall down, rolling the sand and lie still. With all this going on, the condemned man totally forgot the traveller's order. the gear wheels completely delighted him he kept wanting to grab one and at the same time he was urging the soldier to help him but he kept pulling his hand back startled for immediately another wheel followed which at least in its initial rolling surprised him the traveller by contrast was very upset obviously the machine was breaking up his quiet operation had been an illusion He felt as if he had to look after the officer

Now that the latter could no longer look after himself But while the falling gear wheels were claiming all his attention He'd neglected to look at the rest of the machine However when he now bent over the harrow Once the last gear wheel had left the inscriber He had a new even more unpleasant surprise The harrow was not writing but only stabbing And the bed was not rolling the body

But lifting it, quivering, up into the needles. The traveller wanted to reach in to stop the whole thing, if possible. This was not the torture the officer wished to attain. It was murder, pure and simple. He stretched out his hands,

but at that point the harrow was already moving upwards and to the side, with the skewered body, just as it did in the other cases, but only in the 12th hour. Blood flowed out in hundreds of streams, not mixed with water, the water tubes had also failed to work this time. Then one last thing went wrong. The body would not come loose from the

needles. Its blood streamed out, but it hung over the pit without falling. The harrow wanted to move back to its original position, but as if it realized that it could not free itself of its load, it remained over the hole. Help, the traveller yelled out to the soldier and the condemned man and grabbed the officer's feet. He wanted to do. push against the feet himself and have the two others grab the officer's head from the other side so it could be slowly taken off the needles but now the two men could not make up their mind whether to come or not the condemned man turned away at once the traveler had to go over him and drag him to the officer's head by force at this point almost against his will he looked up at the face of the

corpse it was as it had been in his life he could find no sign of the promised transfiguration. What all the others had found in the machine, the officer had knocked. His lips were pressed firmly together. His eyes were open and looked as they had been when he was alive. His gaze was calm and convinced. The tip of a large iron needle had gone through his forehead. As the traveller, with the soldier and the condemned man behind him, came to the first houses in the colony, the soldier pointed to one set. That's the tea house. On the ground floor of one of the houses was a deep low room,

like a cave with smoke-covered walls and ceiling. On the street side, it was open along its full width. Although there was little difference between the tea house and the rest of the houses in the colony, which were all very dilapidated, except for the Commandant's palatial structure, the traveller was stuck by the impression of historical memory, and he felt the power of earlier times.

followed by his companions he walked closer going between the unoccupied tables which stood in the street in front of the tea-house and took a breath of the cool stuffy air which came from inside the old man is buried here said the soldier a place in the cemetery was denied him by the chaplain for a long time people were undecided where they should bury him finally they buried him here of course the officer explained none of the captain for a long time people were undecided where they should bury him finally they buried him here of course the officer explained none of that to you for naturally he was the one most ashamed about it a few times he even tried to dig up the old man at night when he was always chased off where's the grave asked the traveller who could not believe the soldier instantly both men the soldier and the condemned man ran in front of him with outstretched hands pointed to the place where the grave was located They led the traveller to the back wall, where guests were sitting at a few tables. They were, presumably, dock workers, strong men with short, shiny black beards. None of them wore coats, and their shirts were torn. These were poor, oppressed people.

As the traveller came closer, a few got up, leaned against the wall and looked at him. A whisper went up around the traveller. Oh, it's a foreigner. He wants to look at the girl. grave. They pushed one of the tables aside, under which there was a real gravestone. It was a simple stone, low enough for it to remain hidden under the table. It bore an inscription in very small letters. In order to read it, the traveller had to kneel down. It read, here rests the old commandant. His followers, who are now not permitted to have a name, buried him in this grave and erected this stone.

There exists a prophecy that the commentant will rise again after a certain number of years and from this house will lead his followers to a reconquest of the colony. Have faith and wait. When the traveller had read it and got up, he saw the men standing around him and smiling as if they'd read the inscription with him, found it ridiculous, and were asking him to share their opinion. The traveller acted as if he hadn't noticed, distributed some coins among them, waited until the table was pushed back over the grave, left the tea house and went to the harbour. In the tea house a soldier and the condemned man had come across some people they knew who detained them.

However they must have broken free of them soon because by the time the traveller found himself in the middle of a long staircase which led to the boats, they were already running after him. They probably wanted to force the traveller at the last minute to take them with him. While the traveller was haggling at the bottom of the stairs with the sailor about his passage out, to the steamer, the two men were racing down the steps in silence, for they didn't dare cry out. But as they reached the bottom, the traveller was already in the boat, and the sailor had once cast off from the shore. They could still have jumped into the boat, but the traveller picked up a heavy knotted road from the bow-bottom, threatened them with it, and thus prevented them

from jumping in. And so once again, we reached the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.