Severed Heads Of Praha

The Severed Heads Of Praha

It was a warm October evening and the sun would soon reach the horizon,
but for the time being it contented itself by giving a warm golden tone
to the ancient city of Prague.

I stood on the Charles Bridge, near the Old Town bridge tower, just to
the right of the statue of Saint Dominic, Saint Thomas Aquinas and the
Madonna, and I watched.

I spent many of my free evenings watching the world go by and the
people who tagged along with it. I enjoyed watching the tourists admire
the beautiful architecture, gazing in wonder and delight. Even the most
hard-hearted person could fall in love with this place, this golden
city with its gothic spires reaching for heaven and its little cobbled
passageways following the same paths they had since medieval
times.

At that moment an elderly man and women stood near me to look up at the
castle, known as the Hrad, which in turn looked down upon the Little
Quarter, the River Vltava and the Old Town. The couple, if they were a
couple, looked worn and tired. Years of hard work had caught up with
them at last and for a moment I felt sorry for them. But then the lady
said something in a language I could not understand. The man looked
distraught and snapped something back. They seemed to be having an
argument. My illusion that ancient and beautiful things could create
peace and love was shattered. I didn't want to look at them anymore, so
I turned to face the Vltava and the Hrad and tried to ignore
reality.

Instead I noticed that the sky had become a deeper red. The sun would
soon disappear from the sky.

I had to leave Charles Bridge quickly. Otherwise I would see the
apparitions; the gruesome bloody heads, suspended from the Old Town
bridge tower in iron baskets, I had seen twice before.

I had seen the severed heads for the first time two months ago, from
the very spot I was standing on. I had only been in Prague for a week
then and I had been reading about the legends of the city. My mind was
running wild with stories of ghosts and insane kings so I told myself
that the heads were conjured by my perhaps somewhat warped
subconscious. Even so I had been intrigued and I nervously came back
the next day at the same time to see if my mind would play tricks on me
again.

The second time I noticed more details. I noticed the eyes, the facial
expressions, I felt the terror they had felt when they died. I hated it
and I ran.

After that, I never stood on Charles Bridge long enough to find out if
I would see the heads again. I was too scared what a third sighting
might bring. But I was still drawn to the spot. Every evening I would
wait until the night began to infuse the day, openly challenging the
heads to appear when dusk came, teasing them with my presence. But I
never stayed. As soon as the sky reddened I would leave, neither
looking up at the tower, nor looking back.

Today was different. Dusk had almost arrived and I had no intention of
leaving when I usually did. My heart began to beat faster. I felt sick
with nerves. And I am sure a bead of sweat trickled down my face. And
still I did not leave. My waiting felt dangerous. But I also felt
excited.

When I looked up they were there, caged in their iron baskets, fresh.
Blood dripped to land on the ground below. I noticed that three of the
heads had right hands nailed to them, and a fourth had what looked like
a tongue nailed to it. I tried hard not to retch.

I didn't notice the person who had slowly moved to stand beside me. I
was only made aware of his presence when he spoke.
'You can see them too?' he said in English, but with an undetectable
accent.
Shocked, I stopped, turned my head to look at the person and just
stared. A young man, not much older than me, with blue eyes, blond hair
and pale skin, had spoken to me. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a
light blue fleece. There was something about him that I was attracted
to, but I couldn't decide what it was.
'You can see them too?' he asked again.
'What? Sorry?'
My mind could not quite process what was happening.
'You can see them. The heads. You can see them, can't you? Oh. I've
just made myself out to be an insane idiot. I'm so sorry. I thought you
could'.
He turned to go across the bridge in the direction of the Hrad.
'No wait', I said quickly. 'I can. I can see the heads too'.
I didn't want him to leave. I liked him.
'I was right', he said, more to himself than to me. He gave a small
smile.
'How did you know?' I asked.
He shrugged.
'It was the way you were looking up there'.
He turned to point to the apparitions.
'Oh', I said.
'Can you hear them?' he asked.
I looked at the heads. I saw them mouthing words but I couldn't hear
them.
'No', I replied. 'Can you?'
'No'
I wiped my forehead with my jumper. The sleeves were too long for my
arms. I realised that I had been very tense. My muscles ached.
'How long have you been seeing them?' I asked him.
'I'm on holiday', he said. 'I've been here a week but I've seen them
every evening. I hope you don't mind me saying, but I've noticed you
standing here and then leaving before dusk. I didn't quite make the
connection until tonight though'.

I had never noticed this man before. I was sure that I would have
remembered seeing him.

'Do you know who they were?' He nodded toward the ghosts.
'No'.
'There was a battle near here in 1620 between Catholics and
Protestants. The Protestants lost and 27 of them had their heads
chopped off in the Old Town square'.
'What about the hands?'
'The executioner chopped them off after they were dead', he said.
When he said 'they' I knew he meant the people whose heads hung in the
iron baskets.
'The man who had his tongue cut off was the Rector', he added.
I felt queasy.
'How do you know all this?' I asked.
I was also feeling stupid.
'I read my guide book'.
I still felt stupid.

'There's something different about tonight', I said. 'I can feel it.
Something bad, I don't know&;#8230;.'. My sentence trailed off into
muffled silence.
He looked at me.
'It's something evil. But it's not the apparitions', I said softly.
'It's definitely not them'.

I looked at the severed heads. Their eyes looked at me. Their mouths
moved continuously and my heart raced once more. For a moment I thought
that the heads were trying to tell me something, but I couldn't hear
them and it bothered me.

'Do you want to go and get a drink?' he said to me.
'I don't even know your name', I said.
I felt stunned, in a daze, perhaps slightly muddled.
'I'm so sorry. My name's Nick. Yours?'
'Isla'.
I looked at Nick's eyes and I realised what was wrong. It wasn't the
apparitions and it wasn't myself, it was Nick. His pupils were not
reflecting the lamp light, which on its own was something I could have
shrugged off, but they seemed to absorb it. An aura of darkness
surrounded him.

And I was afraid.

I instinctively stepped back but was stopped by the bridge wall. I made
a small sound of surprise and disappointment, and then, when I thought
that I could not be any more terrified, I heard very faint whispers of
voices.
'Run away, run away'.
I looked to the apparitions, but the warning had come far too
late.
'Don't be so afraid', said Nick. 'Don't listen to them. I won't hurt
you'.
He stepped closer to me. I tried to feel repulsed but I wasn't. Instead
I wondered who, and what, he was. I felt helpless, and drawn to
him.

I was so captivated that I didn't notice the movement behind him. Two
men, dark hair, dark eyes, jeans and jumpers stood with iron bars in
their hands. I didn't know until afterwards but they both hit Nick hard
on his head. Then, while I stood unable to move, they quickly grabbed
his arms and threw him into the River Vltava. There were a couple of
people on Charles Bridge and no one seemed to see this, or hear the
splash. I felt released from something.
'Are you alright?' asked one man. He had a native accent.
'Is he dead?' I asked ignoring his question. Blood began to flow
through my limbs again. The calm, dazed feeling that had made me feel
helpless was disappearing.
'You should hope so', said the other man, also a Czech, 'but he isn't.
He won't ever die'.
'How? How did you know he was here?' I struggled with my words.
'I had a daughter. He did something. I don't know. She's missing and
he's still here. It's always on this bridge', said the first man. 'We
watch for him now, and we've been watching him watching you'.
'Who?' I tried to ask who he was, but luckily the men understood
me.
'I don't know', said the first man. 'But we're trying to find
out'.

I looked up at the apparitions, they were no longer there. I wondered
if I would ever see them again, part of me hoped that I wouldn't, the
other part I tried to ignore. If seeing the apparitions meant that I
would see Nick again then I secretly hoped that I would. But it would
be a long time yet before I would stand on this bridge at sunset
again.