"The Fate of Trompleheim"    Copyright TB98 TB99
Story written and told by Trexter Ziam

Trompleheim was once a non-descript town on the forested hillsides of Fraynar. The dreary day-to-day tasks were methodically carried out by the denizens of Trompleheim.
The milkmaids toted their burdens as the the fisherman scoured the freshwater lake and stream. The shop keepers swept and dusted their over-cleaned wares while teachers harried students to and fro the rickety old schoolhouse.
Nothing had ever happened to put Trompleheim on the map of importance; until one particulary cold and breezey Winter day in which everything seemed to have gone wrong:
12 year old, Breenya Jaren had fallen in a snow-covered ice-fishing hole;
6 year old, Straten Fratep had been found amnesiac and lost in the woods by local woodsmen;
and 9 year old, Triz Grater was locked in a chest in her attic by an undescribable slimey, black horror of some sort.
The new town Mayor Weedletrot lowered the merchant's taxes in exchange for a constant supply of free goods from their stock.
To balance the budget, Mayor Weedletrot raised the taxes on the edges of town where the poorest folk lived, and he ascribed an import duty on all goods brought into the township.
The newly formed Merchant's Guild banned Old Lady Matszen from selling her wares in the town limits; posting conspicuous signs on the gravel road that led to her wooden, shamble shack at the edge of the forest.
In fact, she was even forbidden to bring her wagon within 10km of the town...
and was not allowed entrance by foot with so much as a handbag of herbs.
Few men (if any) regarded the old widow with any sort of respect because an ugly, old woman did not fill their hearts with lust nor their accounts with a profitable trade.
But, Old Lady Matszen was well-known and respected by many of the lower-class townsfolk of Trompleheim, particularly the children and women-folk.
Her deceased husband was a bow-hunter; she an herbalist and green thumb gardener.
Every day after her husband's unfortunate death in the forest; she went to the place where the lumberjack's axe had felled the tree that killed him and placed fresh flowers on his grave.
Mr. Grattenell; the lumberjack, seemed to be genuinely sorry for the accident; though, took no further responsibility than to apologize to the new widow.
Now Old Lady Matszen had become quite self-sufficient in her years of widowhood, and on quite good terms with the huge Oaks and Pines of the mixed forest.
The forest animals seemed to have an affinity with her as well.
In days past and having no children of her own, Old Lady Matszen had managed to
put a meal on the table for townsfolk down on their luck without coinage to buy a loaf of bread from Mr. Brayson the Baker, nor a turnip from old-weezle, green-grocer Mr. Tatelick.
She had carried in cartloads of firewood to sell to pay for her taxes and given firewood away free when situations warranted.
She had healed poor family's children with herbs when they had not the money to pay the town Doctor Freekle.
And she had harbored the battered wives and children until their drunken husbands or fathers sobered up.
NOW!!!  NOW it seemed the charity-trail had been closed...the old women cut-off from her only means of income and delivery...her life and livelihood...And here is where my story begins.

Doctor Freekle's nurse pointed, "Put her down over there."
The grizzled, old fisherman gently laid the young girl's dripping-wet, limp body on a makeshift cot in the corner.
She appeared to be about 12 years old and was very cold, wet and blue. 
"It looks like Ol' Man Jaren's girl", the fisherman stated cooly. "I think her name is Breenya."
"That's right, Breenya Jaren is who she is", quipped the nurse who had a knack with remembering names and faces.
Doc Freekle burst into the room, throwing his coat on a chair and briskly went to work resuscitating the young girl.
After a few minutes the bluish, wet body began to choke, splutter and move a bit.
Breeyna was alive; but, not out of the woods yet. It would take weeks of care to ward off the inevitable pneumonia.
Before dry clothes could be put on the young lady, a tan, young woodsman brought a 6 year old boy into the clinic.
"Close that door", barked the nurse.
"Okay, let's take a look at you", mumbled the Doc as he pointed to the boy. "What's your name son?"
After a long pause with no answer from the boy, the nurse answered for him, "That's Straten Fratep, the wheat-miller's kid."
There was no response from the glassey-eyed boy. The Doc checked the lad's eyes then began to run his hands through the child's filthy hair.
He parted the hair at the back of the boy's head where he had felt a large lump. "Fetch me some ice", he ordered.
"I think there is something in there and we will have to operate", he mumbled to the nurse.
Before the operating instruments could be laid out, an hysterical mother burst into the office with her daughter Triz.
Nine-year-old Triz was sobbing and choking on her tears so bad that she was unable to speak clearly.
She was covered with a black, gooey substance which at first glance did not appear important.
"I found her locked in the attic trunk like this Doc", the mother exclaimed.
"Probably some young boy's prank", the Doc replied sharply. "Take her home and wash her up. She'll be fine."
Doctor Freekle put his palm to his head and ducked into a closet to take a swig or two from his flask. Okay, it wasn't really a swig or two...it looked like he emptied the entire flask in one gulp!
It was well known in the town that the Doc had a severe drinking problem, among other things we won't mention here.
The nurse cast a knowing-eye and proceeded to dress the girl in dry clothes, releasing her to her parents who had arrived.
Mrs. Fratep arrived as Breenya left with her family. "My son, my son! Where is he?"
"Over here Mrs. Fratep, he needs an operation but...Doctor Freekle is slighlty incampacitated at the moment."
"Could you bring him back tomorrow?" the nurse asked.
"Whatever...whatever, just give me my son", the harried mother demanded.
The office was emptied and the Doc passed out on the chair. It was only mid-morning; but, his day was over already.
Meanwhile; the plump, newly elected Mayor Weedletrot strolled down Tromplheim's main boulevard with his tall, slender wife.
The contrast between his waddling gait and her arrogant bounce was comical.
Mrs.Weedletrot's long, slender nose was her most obnoxious feature; and was the only thing that kept her from being quite beautiful.
Her fingers were heavily laden with rings, the gems were of enormous size and quite gaudy.
They lived in the mansion on top of the hill at the head of the main boulevard.
A mob of angry peasants approached the Mayor waving their tax notices over-head. The crowd jeered, "This is TOO MUCH!", "We have children to feed!", "We can't afford this!", "We want the right to vote ourselves!"
Brushing the angry crowd aside with his enormous belly, the Mayor and his wife walked through as if they were deaf.
Meanwhile; the newly formed Merchant's Guild of 12 scoured the area posting notices and pounding in new signs.
They were all well-dressed with gold chains securing their black, flowing capes and stylish high boots.
An insignia with 12 red stars surrounding a blackened moon was neatly sewn on all of their lapels; obviously their guild emblem.
Passersby stopped to read the signs and shook their heads. There were a few grumblings; but, all-in-all they seemed more preoccupied with the taxes than with the Merchants Guild's postings.
That night there was a full moon and an awesome meteor shower display of brilliant red lights.
The cold wind howled fiercely as a blizzard swept into the Trompleheim hill region.
It snowed and it snowed. The bitter cold found its way into every crevice and crack.
Nearly 5 foot (1.7 meters) of snow fell before it stopped. The skies cleared again to reveal the still looming full moon and the temperature plummeted like a stone thrown on water.
Smoke billowed from chimneys as residents tried to keep warm and there was little sleep to be had in Trompleheim that night.
When the sun finally rose there were screaming mothers in the streets.
"My baby!", "My son!", "My children!", yelled the mothers. "It was so sudden, so fast. Help us!" they screamed.
Wailing mothers were pulled back inside by their husbands. The town streets were empty that day. Wailing and mourning echoed through the town from many timber home walls.
Doctor Freekle froze to death that night; still passed out on the chair in his clinic.
His nurse dutifully posted a wreathe on the clinic door; loaded his doctor bag in her already packed wagon and drove the horse team and wagon out of the town.
Breeyna did eventually contract pneumonia which spread through the small village like wildfire. It was mostly the children and very elderly or ill who were affected worst.
Breenya did not make it. Many more children lost their lives to the viral menace that Winter.
Straten never had the surgery he required and it soon became evident that the embedded object was nothing earthly or natural at all.
The object was a black goey mass that eventually squeezed out of every orifice, organ and pore in his young 6 year old body.
His ears drained black goo, then his nose and mouth and so on. It was most gruesome when his eyes bulged out like black goldfish eyes then burst in a spray of black gum and eyeball bits.
Eventually the mass swelled to such a size, his young body couldn't handle it anymore.
All those who had touched him or had seen it eventually contracted the horrific malady; swelling from the inside out until they burst in a mass of black gore.
Similiarly, 9 year old Triz was consumed from the outside inward. The black slimey substance was washed off and managed to return each time stronger and more resistant to soap and water.
Her variety of the enigmatic malady was slower to affect a body; but, was just as deadly and contagious.
During the last days of that once viable town, the streets were littered with blackened and disfigured corpses of the townspeople.
The only survivors of the blackened plaque were the Merchant's Guild members, Old Lady Matszen who had been confined outside the edges of town (bless her charitable soul), Mr. Grattenell the lumberjack, and the fat Mayor and his wife Mrs. Weedletrot.
It has been speculated that possibly Mrs. Weedletrot was the blackened moon represented in the emblem of the Merchant's Guild. Whether that is true or not, we will never know.
It IS known that the Merchant's Guild members and Mrs. Weedletrot are still alive today...some 650 years later.
We know this to be a fact; because Trompleheim is where all those black licorice jelly beans you are now eating come from.
Happy Halloween and eat up those black jellybeans!