Witches of the Fasnet Festival (M+F+/F; F/F)

[TamatoaShiny123]

The cobblestones of Offenburg’s little old town vibrated with drums and cowbells. Lanterns cast warm light in the winter dusk as the Narrensprung parade wound through the streets on the first night of the week-long festival, a tide of fools, jesters, and witches, their carved masks grinning in firelight.

Ana Keller, a tourist from America who had been backpacking across Germany for the past several months, had been told that Baden-Württemberg’s Fastnacht was a different animal than the big city carnivals; more raw and personal. She had to see it for herself and arrived in time to witness the opening parade on Friday.

The Hexenzunft witches were everywhere: black skirts swirling, wooden masks painted with leering sneers, and horsehair spilling from cloth kerchiefs knotted under their masks. They darted into the crowd, sweeping broom bristles at boots to make those wearing them jump back, snatching hats and tossing them deeper into the crowd, and tugging scarves loose to collect them like trophies. Bells clattered on their belts with each pounce.

Spectating from the crowd, Ana was properly bundled up for the chilly winter evening. Over a burgundy sweater, she wore a green wool coat. The bottoms of her blue jeans were tucked into her brown hiking boots. She wore a knitted cream-white hat over her autumn-brown hair and a matching scarf bought the previous week at a shopping booth. She laughed as one witch hoisted a young man over her shoulder and carried him toward a barrel of sawdust. With a satisfying rustled thump, he was dumped headfirst into the barrel, his limbs flailed as he tried to pull himself free. But her laugh faltered when a group of them eyed her.

“Warm feet! Warm feet!” one called in rough Swabian dialect, pointing at Ana’s boots.

Ana was taken by surprise as two of them stalked behind her, the crowd near her helpfully clearing some space for the witches.

Before she could escape, gloved hands with long plastic fingernails wrapped around her waist. A broom swept at her knees as the arms around her waist gently pulled her to the ground in a sitting position while pinning her arms to her sides.

As Ana squirmed around, trying to form words of protest, her boots were tugged off and tossed into a wicker basket brimming with stolen footwear. Then her thick white wool socks were peeled away, leaving her bare toes curling against the sting of cold stone.

The witch who grabbed the socks tossed one onto the cart and balled up the other. “No-” Ana got out before the sock was pushed between her lips. She had only put on the socks an hour before to see the parade, so they weren’t that dirty or used. But the warm taste of wool in her mouth wasn’t any less pleasant. She gave a mortified look to that witch, briefly noticing the yellow ‘18’ sewn into that witch’s kerchief, meant to keep track of who was in which costume by the parade organizers.

Another witch produced a bright red ribbon and tied it over Ana’s mouth to keep the sock in. Her wrists were pulled behind her as another ribbon tied them together. Another ribbon bound her ankles together.

“Bring her up! Treat her feet!” a witch shouted.

Ana was abruptly pulled up and carried over a witch’s shoulder like a sack of laundry. She tried to squirm loose, but their grip was too firm. Besides, where was she going to go, bound and gagged as she was?

The crowd roared as Ana was unceremoniously plopped onto a small platform beside the cart. Her hat was ripped off her head, and confetti snowed down onto her hair while broom bristles were raked over her wrinkled soles in slow, deliberate, and taunting sweeps. Ana laughed into her gag, tears leaking from her eyes.

Then came the green powder, first sprinkled over the tips of her toes by the 18-wearing witch and then spread down her foot with more broom sweeps by their fellow masked witches. Ana twisted and whined with laughter, as the crowd cheered and the bells on her captors chimed with every motion, as if the bells themselves were also laughing at Ana’s ordeal.

After what felt like an eternity (in reality, only two minutes), they undid the ribbons with exaggerated motions, pulling them loose as if ripping off a curtain in a magic trick. One boot was returned to Ana (albeit without its laces) while the other was hung by its laces on a clothesline hanging between two houses. Ana grabbed her hat and scampered back to her hostel, her bare and powdered feet dancing on the cold stone roads. She could still hear their cackles rise above the music.

oOo

Ana spent the rest of the night by the fire, her cheeks still beet-red with embarrassment from the ordeal. She knew it was all in good fun, but part of her still wanted some revenge on her tormentors for humiliating her in front of the crowd.

Two days later, a smaller Sunday night procession wound through Offenburg’s medieval streets, torchlight flickering across the façades. The troupe of Hexenzunfts was at it again, sweeping at feet, collecting shoes, and hauling squealing captives into the parade. Ana watched from an alleyway this time, careful to stay far away from the main procession and not be made a target again.

One witch lingered apart from the others, her back turned. The hooked-nose, snarling mask was familiar. But it was the headscarf that froze Ana in place: 18, stitched in yellow.

That kerchief had been inches from her face on the cart, its wearer dusting her toes in green powder and stuffing her own sock in her mouth. That was who her target would be.

She slipped into the other end of the alleyway, knowing the procession would be heading that way next. In her bag was a pair of zipties, a pair of thick black hiking socks, and a half-full pouch of violet powder she had found discarded on the street the morning after the parade.

A perfect gap formed with festivalgoers on either side of the alleyway, too distracted by the merriment to notice Ana. When the witch walked past them, Ana lunged. She grabbed the witch, pushed her hand over the mask’s mouth, and dragged her into the alley, pinning her against the wall.

“Warm feet,” Ana whispered into the kerchief. “Remember me?”

Using her free hand, Ana flipped the witch around so her face was against the wall, her new captive’s grunts and costume bells drowned out by the procession's loud music. Ana pulled the witch’s hands behind their back and used one zip tie to restrain them. She swiftly knelt and secured the ankles with the other zip tie.

Ana lowered the witch to a sitting position against the wall. She loosened the mask’s chin straps and lifted the mask away. Pale blonde and braided hair spilled out. Grey-blue eyes locked on hers, narrowed in both outrage and begrudging respect for pulling this off.

“Hello there,” Ana grinned, “You and your friends had a lot of fun at my expense the other day. Mind if I return the favor?”

Before the blonde could respond, Ana shoved one of the hiking socks into her mouth. “Unlike you, I’m nice enough to use clean socks,” she muttered before tying the other sock between the blonde’s teeth.

The blonde growled in response, watching as Ana removed her boots and socks.

Ana dipped her hand in the violet powder. She dragged her fingernails up and down the blonde’s bare feet until they looked like they had been dipped in grape wine. The witch kept jolting against the restraints, her sharp laughter muffled by the sock gag.

“You can stay here until someone finds you,” Ana whispered, setting the witch’s mask back crookedly. “If I were you, I’d keep those bells on your costume quiet. If one of the people you and your friends have been tormenting finds you like this, I’m sure they also wouldn’t mind getting some revenge on you.”

With that, Ana hummed as she slipped into the crowd, grinning as she took the blonde’s socks and shoes with her.

oOo

The alley was colder now, the torches from the procession growing dimmer as people followed the route. The blonde kept shifting to avoid her bare feet touching the cold cobblestone road. Despite the padding in her costume and underlayers, she felt the zip ties biting into her. The mask over her head further pushed the gag against her mouth, making her jaw ache even further.

A set of bells clattered closer. Two robed, masked witches appeared. “Klara?” one asked.

The blonde looked at them and uttered a muffled groan, flashing her bound wrists. They hurried over, using a pocketknife to cut the zipties. They also removed her mask and pulled the gag free. “Who did this?” the other witch asked.

“The girl,” Klara coughed once the sock was out of her mouth. “The warm-footed one. Brown hair, green coat. I had her on the cart the other day.”

The witches glanced down at her colored feet. “She got you good.”

Klara pulled herself to her feet, using the adrenaline of the moment to block out the cold surface she was standing on. Her eyes gleamed as she plotted. “She thinks she’s won. She hasn’t. She’ll be at the big Narrensprung on Saturday, thinking we won’t go near her.”

“And you will?”

Klara slid her mask on. “We will.” She brushed a pouch of gold powder in her apron. The bells at her hip rang as she turned. “She’ll lead the procession this year. After that, she’ll be perfect for the frost spirit.”

oOo

Ana spent the next few days attending the procession of the witches and jesters as they continued to parade through the town and torment the spectators. She kept an eye out for the witch with the 18 mark on her kerchief. But she never saw them once. Maybe the blonde had donned a new costume. Or perhaps she had learned her lesson and was cowering in the shadows. In fact, all the costumed witches seemed to avoid Ana each day. Maybe the blonde told her fellow witches to avoid Ana, as she made it clear she wasn’t afraid to dish out some retaliation.

The final Narrensprung parade on Thursday had gathered at the outskirts of the village, with the route set to end at the town square. Costumed witches and jesters began the path, with drums, brass, and cowbells playing a cacophonous backing track. Ana stood near the front of the crowd, wearing a red-and-white sweater under a blue fur parka. Dark grey skinny jeans were tucked into her boots. She wore the same beanie and scarf as she did on the first day of the festival.

And then…there she was.

Klara wasn’t there at first. Ana blinked. When she opened her eyes after that split second, a costumed witch was several feet away. The 18 on the kerchief gleamed under the light.

Ana’s eyes widened, her confidence immediately shrinking to nothing. She tried to edge back into the crowd, but only found herself backing into two other witches, who grabbed her arms. The crowd was laughing. Ana was not.

Klara slowly stalked towards Ana. “My turn to return the favor,” she whispered. She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out something Ana immediately recognized with terror: the pair of hiking socks she had used on Klara the last time she saw her. She could only hope that they’d been washed in the intervening days.

“Wait! Don’t! I’m sor-” Ana’s pleas were interrupted by one of the socks being shoved into her mouth, with its partner being tied between her teeth. No, they had not been washed.

Like on the first night of the festival, the two witches gently wrestled Ana to the floor. This time, her wrists were ziptied behind her, with another tie pinning her elbows. Her boots were yanked away, and her socks were yanked off. Ana immediately curled her toes from the cold wind stinging her skin.

“Warm feet,” Klara declared, returning to character. “Perfect for warding off the frost spirit.”

Gold powder spilled over Ana’s soles. The other witches’ brooms rasped along her arches as they spread the powder around, drawing muffled laughter from Ana as the crowd roared with approval.

“Bring her to the town square!” another witch ordered.

Ana was lifted like a sack of potatoes over one of the witches’ shoulders and was dumped into the witches’ cart with her feet sticking out to the side. Klara tied a green ribbon around her big toes and secured the ends to the cart’s metal rail so her feet stretched forward.

“Behold!” Klara cried. “The frost spirit’s sacrifice!”

The cart was wheeled along the parade route, with onlookers following close behind. Brooms of the witches lining the sides of the route swept over her feet, and more powder and confetti were flung onto Ana. Onlookers would occasionally reach out to poke Ana’s feet with a stick or rake a finger down her foot, with each cheer from the crowd and whining from Ana feeding the witches’ glee. The witches also stole socks from people’s feet along the route and tossed them into the cart with Ana, with some landing on her lap and others landing on her head.

Finally, Ana was wheeled into the town square, a powder-and-confetti-covered mess, tears of laughter streaking down her face. “Frost spirit!” Klara shouted to the sky. “We offer you this sacrifice, bound and marked, so that it may appease you until spring’s arrival!”

The witches ritualistically circled the cart, chanting something in an ancient language. One final bucket of gold powder was dumped over Ana’s head and feet. The crowd let out one final cheer as the ceremony was over.

One of the witches cut off the zipties and freed Ana’s feet. Another pulled Ana out of the cart and onto her feet. She looked up and met Klara’s gaze through the mask.

“Favor returned,” Klara murmured, vanishing into the crowd, her bells growing quieter until their noise ceased.

oOo

By the time the freshly showered Ana had emerged from the hostel, the festival was over. Lanterns were taken down, confetti had been swept away, and the witch and jester masks were packed away until next January.

Ana wandered the now-quiet streets, the night’s events replaying in her mind. But not just them; it was that blonde, the witch with the 18-marked kerchief. What happened to Ana was undoubtedly her doing.

Ana walked by a cafe. By chance, she looked in the window and saw Klara sitting at a corner table, her blonde hair loose over a black turtleneck. Their eyes met for several silent moments before Klara beckoned Ana to come inside.

“Didn’t think you’d be brave enough to show your face,” Klara teased as Ana entered.

“Brave?” Ana slid into the chair opposite. “You needed your friends to take me down. I beat you one-on-one.”

“Work smarter, not harder,” Klara shrugged with a smirk.

Ana smirked back and held out her hand as an offering. “Truce?”

Klara nodded and shook Ana’s hand. “Truce…until next year, at least.”

The two girls sat together for the next half-hour, drinking and learning each other’s names. Eventually, the cafe’s staff announced it was closing for the night, and the two girls stepped outside. “Want to meet for breakfast tomorrow?” Ana asked. “I can give you back the socks and boots I took.”

Klara smiled. “I’ll take my boots back, but you can keep the sock. Consider it a souvenir from your travels.”

The two split off from there, having made breakfast plans for the next morning. Perhaps, a tourist and a witch could be friends…for 51 weeks of the year, at least. But there was one week that all bets were off…

[Ovi1]

Great story!
These ladies had a great start to the new year
I half expected Ana to hitch a plan to tie up her tormentor after the costumes were off. But I guess they limit their cruelty.