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Mother Moon: Das erste Abenteuer von Alex Müller¹

A warm breeze glided through Neuer Platz as Alex sat waiting for the bus. It felt good, especially on this unseasonably warm day. In three minutes the bus should be arriving, at least that is if nothing else strange were to happen today. Alex reflected on the unimaginable events of the day. Could it be only six-teen hours ago that he was walking down Ginskiegaße² in the bright Austrian sun? This morning at seven Alex was a normal, ordinary student, studying abroad at the Universität Klagenfurt³ for the summer and fall terms. How things had changed. Alex would never be normal again.

Chapter One: The Ginskiegaße Bus Stop

“Guten Morgen, Radio Oberösterreich. Es ist sechs Uhr. Das Wetter für heute…“⁴

Alex flipped off his new radio alarm. “Six o’clock already,” he thought. It felt as if he had just lain down.

The night before, Friday, had been a late one. After class Alex had taken the bus downtown for the yearly Kärntner Volksfest.⁵ What an experience that had been; the streets filled with the sights and sounds of southern Austria. Local artists displayed their craft: painters sculpted their coloured paste into moving representations of life and happiness, musicians filled the air with the heavenly sounds of Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven; lifting the spirits of all those within ear upwards towards the sky, and carpenters carved wood into masterful sculptures of the Jungfrau Maria, Sankt Paul, and other religious icons.

After the Fest⁶ Alex had met up with a few friends he’d met eating lunch at the Uni Mense⁷ his first week in Klagenfurt. (Had it only been four weeks ago?) They’d invited him to watch their band Freude der Welt⁸ play at a small bar two streets down from Alter Platz, the centre square of old Klagenfurt featuring the large statue of the Carinthian dragon.

Freude der Welt’s concert wasn’t over until well after the busses end their runs; one maybe two in the morning. Alex had to walk the twenty or so minutes from downtown to his dorm room at the Mozartheim; usually not a bad walk, but this evening, or rather morning, it was excruciating. Alex was physically and mentally exhausted; he wasn’t sure if his mind could take another word of German without shutting down. He just wanted to get home, or at least it was here, and go to sleep. As soon as Alex entered his room he immediately collapsed on the bed, he didn’t even remember to put in his retainer, something he always did. Sleep darkened his mind, he was fast asleep.

A bird flew past Alex’s window shaking him from his reflections on the night before. Alex sat up in bed. It was tempting to set the alarm up another two or three hours, but Alex had plans for today; he had to get moving. Slipping on his shorts Alex walked over to the window. The sun was just beginning its daily run up, over, and back through the Austrian hills. Austria had been even more beautiful than he’d imagined. The hills back home would never look as majestic again. The clock showed 6:05; he’d better get into the shower.

Alex’s morning ritual had taken forty-five minutes ever since middle school. In this amount of time Alex could shower, dress, shave, and do all those other hygienic things one does daily. Forty-five minutes from the time he got out of bed, Alex could be ready and out the door to go anywhere.

6:51. Just in time. Alex sat at his desk in front of the large, open window of his room. A crisp breeze of fresh mountain air swept in cleansing the room of its sleepy haze. Alex was up and ready to go. He ate himself a fresh Brötchen⁹ he’d bought at the Spar¹⁰ down the street and washed it down with a cool class of Coke.

He glanced at his watch as he locked the door to his room behind him; five ‘til seven. He should make it to the Ginskiegaße bus stop two or three minutes before the bus would arrive. Alex went off down the stairs, out the front door of the Mozartheim, and started his way down Franz-Luther Straße¹¹ to where it intersected with Ginskiegaße.

As Alex approached the stop he noticed an older man sitting on the bench under the shade of a small tree waiting for the bus. It was definitely strange for someone to be waiting at the stop this early in the morning, but Alex figured the gentleman also had plans. Alex surely wasn’t the only person in Klagenfurt taking advantage of the long days of summer.

The man, who appeared to be in his mid-fifties, was wearing a respectable woven suit jacket with kaki trousers. The gentleman’s features were striking and very masculine: broad shoulders, hazel eyes, and dark brown hair with specks a grey creeping in. It was obvious that in his younger days the man had been quite handsome.

At the bus stop Alex leaned against the signpost detailing the routes of the Klagenfurt Bus System to await the bus’s arrival. He looked down at his watch; seven o’clock on the dot. The bus would arrive in five minutes. The man sitting on the bench coughed slightly, reminding Alex he wasn’t alone. Alex took in his surroundings. Aside from the stranger and the stray cat he saw walking across the brick fence of the house behind him; Ginskiegaße was, as would be expected this early on a Saturday morning, deserted.

7:05. After the bus had come to a complete stop Alex entered the empty bus followed by the gentleman from the bench. Alex took an aisle-seat towards the middle of the bus. The stranger took a seat two rows behind him. “Now, where to first,” thought Alex. He pulled out the tourist map of Klagenfurt he’d picked up at the Volksfest¹² the day before. Luckily they’d even had a few copies in English. Today, he wouldn’t have to deal with German until he absolutely had to; maybe his mind wouldn’t be so exhausted this evening.

Two rows behind Alex the stranger was sitting with a yellow letter grasped firmly in his hands. He was in a near fit with fear and anxiety. “How could this be happening?” he thought. “Why did I neglect the most prominent of Germanic languages? Sure, Norwegian was interesting and it allowed me to study Milvek’s writings on the Visigoths brief colony in the north, but what use does Norwegian do me now? Who can I trust? I must find help!” The stranger glanced two rows in front of him at the student looking at a map. “Stupid American tourist,” he thought. “If only he knew! Then he wouldn’t view this continent as the wonderful land of fairytales and dreams. The old-world. They might have a point there. After this we’ll definitely be pushed back in time.” Then it hit him. “An American! He speaks English! But, can I trust him? I don’t have time; he’ll have to do. I hope he speaks German.” The stranger jumped from his seat and nearly fell onto the student as the bus came to a stop just as he was at the American’s seat.

Chapter Two: The Yellowed Letter

As the bus slowed for the next stop, Alex had decided on his itinerary for the day. He was going to see the historical sights on the outskirts of town this morning and then hit the sights downtown this afternoon. This would allow him to luncheon at the classy restaurant he’d heard about in the bottom floor of the Landeshaus.¹³ After touring downtown Klagenfurt, Alex was going to catch a performance of Mozart’s Die Kleine Zauber Flöte¹⁴ at the Kaiser Franz Joseph Theatre and then head off to Neuer Platz, the central bus dépôt, to catch a bus back to Ginskiegaße. Alex heard the loud shuffling of feet; suddenly, the man from the bus stop just a few minutes before was nearly falling into Alex’s lap.

“Pardon Monsieur, aber sprechen Sie Englisch?”¹⁵

“Yes, I’m an American. Why do you ask?”

“Nein, Monsieur. Ich spreche kein Englisch. Können Sie mir diese Briefe lesen?”¹⁶

“Ich kann probieren. Aber wie ich habe gesagt, ich bin Amerikaner. Mein Deutsch ist nicht perfekt.”¹⁷

“Vielen Dank. Bitte.”¹⁸

The man handed Alex a folded piece of paper. The paper was yellowed with age and smelt as if it had come out of an old trunk stored in a dusty and forgotten attic. Alex carefully opened the letter and quickly began to read its contents to himself. He would have to read it over a few times before he’d even attempt to translate the text into German for the gentleman. Alex could already feel the beginnings of a headache.

26. April 1938

My honourable comrades in the Brotherhood and servants of Mother Moon,

I write this letter in haste as his coming draws near. For me there is no escape. I have been being shadowed for weeks now; I can make no move without his knowledge. O’ that I should live to see these horrible times! That I should live to see the brotherhood compromised!

However, keep faith. All is not lost! That which he seeks shall not be found! Our glorious work will not have been in vain!

Many months ago I sensed that the time was drawing near; my hours were growing short. I saw my honourable brethren falling like many sheep to the slaughter. The high-ones claimed it was mere coincidence. During this time of war many should be expected to die. We did not know the full works of the brotherhood. I did not believe these lies. I saw these events for what they were, signs. Signs that the brotherhood had been compromised. There was a traitor among us! O’ shirk the thought!

With these treacherous signs and the knowledge that my time was waning fast I knew I must act quickly. I, the only remaining loyal son of the brotherhood, would have to protect our glorious work. I looked deep into the ways of our people and discovered secrets even the high-ones had no knowledge of. That which he seeks has been hidden, its secrets and its glory lay invisible to those who are not of the way and are not under the consul of our Mother.

Those of the way, the sons of light;

should rejoice and praise their gift of sight;

that which he seeks is hidden well;

it lies in domains where the ancients dwell;

should Mother Moon her guidance give;

find the sought and men shall live;

sixty-five times as Solaris rounds the globe;

has our Lady to wait in her abode;

but if Her command should never come;

then death be all but to the some.

Take heed my brethren; and may Mother Moon’s will be done!

“And Her servants shall be named…”

Signed,

Nigel Henson, Lord of Blein’r Hills

Alex hardly knew what to think. He sat staring blankly at the paper. What had he just read?

“Pardon me, but what sort of letter is this?”

“I cannot be sure until I know of its contents, but from your reaction it is as I thought. I fear the worst. Can you translate it?”

“Yes, I believe I can reasonably translate it.”

“Good. We cannot read it aloud here. Come with me. I know of a safe location. We shall exit the bus at the next stop. That is, if you kindly would. You really must, I can’t explain it to you now, but this letter is of the utmost importance. Lives are at stake.”

“I will go.”

As soon as the words exited Alex’s mouth he regretted them. Why was he following this perfect stranger to a safe location? He didn’t know this man, not even his name, and now he was going to run off to some unknown part of town to read him an old letter? However, it was an odd sort of letter. What could it mean? Lives are at stake? Alex figured he was just going to have to wait and find out. The bus slowly came to a stop. He followed the man out of the bus and onto the street. The stranger turned and faced Alex. His face wrought with worry.

“By the way Monsieur, my name is Dr. L’Stride.”

“Ich heiße Alex. Alex Müller.”¹⁹

“Well, Herr Müller, I can’t thank you enough. Really. This way please.”

Alex followed Dr. L’Stride down the street. As he walked Alex looked down at his watch. It was 7:15; he’d only been up an hour and fifteen minutes. Wasn’t this a very peculiar beginning to the day? Somehow he had the feeling that this was just the beginning.

Chapter Three: The Untold History

Dr. L’Stride looked up from the hunter green wing backed chair he was sitting in. He hadn’t moved nor spoken since over thirty minutes ago; after Alex had finished reading the letter for the third time. Dr. L’Stride had asked Alex if he was positive on his translation of the letter, especially the poem at the end. Alex responded to the affirmative; he was positive of his translation. He would put his life on it. Finally, he spoke.

“Alex, before I can reconcile your curiosities about this letter and the events surrounding it I must ask you this question: can I trust you?”

“With what am I being trusted? I… I don’t understand. Why the urgency; why the worry? Was ist los mit dieser verdamte Briefe?”²⁰

“I’m afraid I cannot disclose such information until you answer my question. Can I trust you? If this letter contained a dark secret, a secret which could change the world; could I trust you to keep this secret? If by disclosing the meaning of this letter I were to involve you in something so horrible and yet so honourable that the world has not seen its likes for no less than seventy years; could I trust you? Alex, I ask you; can I trust that you are who you seem to be; a good, valiant, and kind person who loves his fellow men, a Christian?”

Alex was awestruck. How was he to answer to this question? Could he be trusted? Of course! But, what would the implications of this trust be? What dark secrets could this letter hold? Alex could not answer such a risky question. Right now all he wanted to do was return to the bus stop and continue on his planned itinerary for the day; his safe and calm, non-risky itinerary. He had translated the stupid letter; his headache was proof of that. His work here was done. What more could this stranger ask of him? He’d been dragged off the bus and into this musty old house and for what, an old, smelly, rotting letter? Alex was finished! Then, before Alex’s lips could move to answer Dr. L’Stride’s question, his soul stirred.

“Ja.”²¹

In that moment all of Alex’s doubts and fears melted away. He looked into Dr. L’Stride’s eyes and saw something familiar, a hint of recognition crossed Alex’s mind. He trusted Dr. L’Stride, although he couldn’t put a finger on just why. From this moment on, Alex would follow Dr. L’Stride wherever and whatever this letter had in store for them.

“Vielen Dank, Monsieur. In return you have also gained my trust. I will now disclose to you the meaning of this letter, as far as I know at this point in time.”

The doctor adjusted himself in his seat and stared reflectively into the empty fireplace before them.

“Please, Alex, take a seat. This is going to take awhile. It’s a rather complex and lengthy story that I’m about to relate to you. Parts might seem unbelievable at times, but on your word I have your trust.”

Alex sat down in the old wooden rocking chair sitting across form where Dr. L’Stride sat. He did not know the meaning of this letter, but he prepared for the worst.

“Let me begin my story at the very beginning, when the realisation of the truth had not yet completely come to my attention. My full name is Dr. Jacques L’Stride, born and raised in Paris, France. For the last thirty-five years I have been a professor at the École Normale Supérieure located in the fifth arrondissement of Paris. I specialise in Germanic Studies, especially Germanic cults and religious groups. For the majority of my career I have been fascinated by one Germanic cult in particular: Die Verehrung des Monds.²²

Die Verehrung des Monds traces its beginnings back to the original Germanic tribes of ancient Europe. It is well known that the Germanic tribes of yore worshiped the moon; their lives were practically tied to its movements. The ancient Germans welcomed each new moon with joyous religious ceremonies upon the highest hill in the region, to be closer to their Mother Moon. For centuries scholars had concluded that the ancient religion of the Germans had been lost during the Christianisation of the Germanic people. True, many of their symbols and customs made their way into the new religion, but all in all after Christianisation was complete scholars believed that moon worship was forever gone from the Germanic lands.

Through my research, twenty years ago I disproved this conclusion. While researching in Denmark I discovered what first appeared to be ancient texts. However, upon closer inspection I discovered that the texts were of a more modern origination, possibly from as early as the 1700s. My interest had been peeked. The Danish texts pointed to some specific texts I remembered reading in Berlin. The Berlin texts pointed to München,²³ and so forth and so on. After many trips to public and private libraries all over Europe I had uncovered the last remaining bastion of Germanic moon worshipers.

Prior to the turn of the century die Verehrung des Monds was a peaceful enclave residing in the Prussian countryside. They were mostly farmers and generally kept to themselves, not participating in trade with neighbouring villages in the slightest way or in the politics of the country in which they resided. Die Verehrung kept to itself and in return the world let this enclave remain in isolation.

However, in December of 1898 all of this would change. At this time a new leader, Adolf von Brechburg, took the reigns of die Verehrung. Von Brechburg had claimed of receiving visions from Mother Moon calling him to lead Her people to cleanse the Germanic continent of the Christians, Jews, and other non-believers who did not heed to Her ways. He quickly changed the peaceful tribe within a nation into a radical cult whose mission was the ‘cleansing’ of the European continent. With this change in mission also came a change in name. Die Verehrung des Monds would now be simply known as ‘The Brotherhood’.

With this new mission many left the group, so many in fact that the remaining members of the Brotherhood were forced to leave their homeland and find residence else where. Von Brechburg led the remaining members of the Brotherhood to Linz, Austria where the group went underground.

As luck would have it a young man by the name of Adolf Hitler was living in Linz at this time and thus also attending school there. As detailed in his book ‘Mein Kampf’ young Adolf found a great mentor in his history teacher at the Linz Realschule²⁴ . This teacher, Leopold Poetsch, was a loyal member of the Brotherhood. In January of 1903, when Adolf’s father, Alois Hitler, died young Adolf became even closer to his mentor, eventually, in March of that year, Adolf Hitler joined the Brotherhood.

When Hitler became leader of Germany in 1934 the Brotherhood felt that the time had finally come. With one of their own in power the ‘cleansing’ of Europe could finally begin. The leadership of the Brotherhood, the ‘high-ones’, were in constant consul with Hitler. Hitler resented what he saw as his subordination to the Brotherhood and feared that if he allowed the Brotherhood to have influence over him the high-ones might someday become displeased and then plan a coup against him. Hitler, a very paranoid man who knew the power of the Brotherhood’s vast underground network, could not allow this to happen. He immediately began the assassination of prominent members of the Brotherhood. All the while, the high-ones never suspected him. There was only one member of the Brotherhood who suspected Hitler was behind the killings: an Englishman and relatively new member of the Brotherhood, Nigel Henson.

Nigel Henson was a brilliant scientist; probably the most intelligent person to come out of Britain since Sir Isaac Newton. However, because of his involvement with the beginnings of the Third Reich he has been all but erased from history. Henson had been recruited by the Brotherhood to develop their method for ‘cleansing’ Europe. What this ‘method’ was no-one knows for certain. There have only been two people on the face of this earth who have ever really known what it was Nigel Henson was developing. These two people were Henson himself and Adolf Hitler.

At first Hitler tried to befriend Henson. Hitler wanted Henson’s genius for himself and his Reich.²⁵ This plan of befriendment, however, backfired on Hitler as it allowed Henson to deduct who was behind the killings within the Brotherhood. In February of 1936 Hitler and Henson had a great altercation. Henson demanded that Hitler stop the killings and realign his goals with those of the Brotherhood. Hitler refused. Fearing his life Henson changed his name and went into hiding in Austria.

As you know, by 1937 rumours of Hitler’s eventual annexation of Austria began circulating. This, of course, would frighten Henson who one would assume to still be working on his ‘method’ for the Brotherhood in Austria. On March 12, 1938 the rumours ceased; Austria was now a province of Germany. On April 26 and 27 Hitler visited Klagenfurt; until now presumably to meet with his mentor from Linz, Leopold Poetsch. But, I reason that there was a second motive…

Now, this brings us to the discovery of this letter and its implications. I will attempt to retell this section of the story without getting into boring details. Suffice it to say that through my research I had traced Nigel Henson’s Austrian abode to an apartment in downtown Klagenfurt. I deducted that if any evidence of his work for the Brotherhood still existed it would be hidden here, as from 1936 to his mysterious disappearance, which I now know was murder, in 1938, he had barely been able to leave his apartment.

This letter is proof that my deductions were correct. Its date, April 26, 1938, allows us to deduce that Nigel Henson was murdered by Adolf Hitler on the following day. He was the second reason why Hitler was visiting Klagenfurt.

Now ‘that which he seeks’ can only be the product of Henson’s work. Apparently Henson had finished and was only waiting for an opportunity to announce is work to the Brotherhood. Because of the hit out on Henson’s name by order of der Führer,²⁶ it was impossible for him to reveal his work to the high-ones. Henson was basically under house-arrest.

As I previously stated Hitler knew of Henson’s work and wanted it for himself and would stop at nothing to get it. Henson knew this and presumably according to the date of this letter and the fact that ‘many months ago’ he had sensed Hitler’s grasp on him growing tighter, we can deduct that Henson had hidden his work anywhere from eleven to two months prior to its writing.

Now, as for the cryptic poem at the conclusion of the letter; this can only mean one thing. Henson’s method for cleansing the continent has been hidden and can, according to him, only be found by those of the Brotherhood under guidance of Mother Moon. Henson states that sixty-five years from the time of his having hidden the ‘sought’, unless the ‘sought’ is removed under guidance of Mother Moon, this ‘sought’, which I can only assume is some sort of nuclear or biological bomb, will go off, killing all of those on the continent except the followers of the Brotherhood.

Now, do that math. Sixty-five years from April 1938 would be April 2004, only nine months away. The ‘sought’ was at the earliest hidden in May of 1937 because Henson would have hidden it ‘many moths ago’ when he realised his eventual fate. He hid the ‘sought’ months, not years, before his death. Since today is July 5 and previous to today Europe is still intact we can deduce that the ‘sought’ was not hidden in May or June of 1937. Therefore the ‘sought’ was hidden sometime between July 5, 1937 and February 1938. We have anywhere from a few hours to a few months to find the ‘sought’ before Europe faces a potential tragedy.”

Chapter Four: The Adventure Begins