Remember Tauberun

Mila Hoffman never believed in ghosts. Not until Tauberun.

Rumors said it was a lively place, once. The baker always had fresh bread ready in the mornings. The buttery scent of it drifted through town as the courier and milkman crossed paths delivering their goods.

Children rode bicycles over rough cobblestones on their way to the schoolhouse, and the church bells tolled on the hour, keeping time for the town’s few hundred residents.

That Tauberun died out seventy-five years ago.

***

Wrendall was a vibrant city. Neon signs bathed the streets in swaths of red and blue while the night air echoed with drunken laughter from the line of pubs in the Twilight Corridor.

Mila wiped down the counter at her own bar, Mischief on Main. The last few patrons, mostly regulars this late on a Wednesday night, were filtering out as her crew cleaned and restocked in preparation for Thirsty Thursday Trivia the following day. Mila had other plans. Far less happy ones.

The next morning, she found herself crushed in the bustle of the early morning crowd. Three more stops, she told herself as the train announcements filtered through the car.

“Next, Hauptbahnhof.”

She wrenched herself free from her place between a man in a freshly pressed suit and two kids in school uniforms, sliding through the doors just before they closed.

Mila walked slower than she normally would, keeping pace with a large group of tourists taking pictures and pointing at a crinkled map. She didn’t want to get to the hospital. That meant seeing Nana, accepting that this was it. Nana hadn’t been well for a while, but the doctors were confident she only had a few days left.

Mila was raised in Nana’s two-story house in the suburbs of Wrendall, the one Nana lived in until just a year ago when walking got too hard. That stubborn woman didn’t even stop driving until her vision was more spotty than not.

What would Mila do without her? It was a question she hadn’t let herself face head-on. She took more shifts, went to loud, thrashing concerts, anything to drown out the thoughts that filtered in when she was alone. Mila knew that in a few days, she would be really alone.

“Welcome back,” the hospital receptionist said as Mila finally made her way inside. Mila greeted her, then made her way up to the third floor.

God, she hated hospitals. The halls were too white, the air deafening with monitor beeps and squeaky shoes on tile. It was always so cold, despite the oppressive summer heat.

The air was heavy when she stepped out of the elevator. Imposing. It felt like she was trapped in the bottom of an hourglass, drowning as the last dregs of sand rained down on her.

Until now, part of her still expected Nana to beat away the pneumonia like she had taken on disapproving neighbors throughout Mila’s childhood. So many people seemed to look down on her for taking care of her granddaughter as a single woman, like that wasn’t the most badass thing she could ever do.

Nana took it all in stride and taught Mila to do the same. She didn’t think she could, now.

Mila knocked on the door and sauntered in a beat later. “You still breathing, Nana?”

The old woman snorted as Mila threw herself into one of the plastic chairs beside the bed. “Oh, you little brat. You can’t get rid of me just yet.”

“Damn. Here I thought I’d finally get to steal your pudding.”

Nana laughed, wheezed, really. “Not today, you’re not.”

“I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Something more somber settled over her grandmother’s face. “You know you don’t need to come every day.”

“Of course I do. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“The nurses don’t count.”

“That’s not what I mean. Don’t argue with me, Sonnenschein. This is important.”

Mila tried to calm her bouncing leg before Nana could catch it. “I’m listening.”

“You see my bag hanging over there? Grab it, would you? There’s a sheet of paper inside. Yes, that’s the one. Pass it here.”

Mila clutched at her grandmother’s bag as she unfolded the paper with shaking hands. It wasn’t the lined sort or even the stark white printer paper she was used to. It was more like parchment, crisp and yellowed by time.

Nana traced something on the page and spoke without looking away from it. “Do you remember the stories I used to tell you about where I grew up?”

“Tau.. something, right? I remember the pictures. It had those colorful houses with flowerboxes in the windows.” It always reminded Mila of a fantasy world where magic might bubble up through the stone fountain in the center square.

“Tauberun,” Nana said, still smiling down at the paper in her hands. “It’s tucked up all by its lonesome in the Karwendel mountain range.”

“Are you getting nostalgic in your final hours, old woman?”

Nana swatted at her. “I told you this is important. Come look at this.”

Mila scooted her chair so she could see the paper her grandmother held so gently. On it was a list of names, maybe about fifty. “What is this?”

“These are some of the Tauberunian townsfolk.”

“Didn’t you say the town was abandoned?”

“Yes. And no.” Her grandmother sighed, which turned into hacking coughs.

“I’m going to call the doctor. Clearly, your mind is on the fritz,” she joked.

“Mila.” She stilled. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just looking out for my ailing grandmother. Aren’t I wonderful?”

“You are.”

Oh god. Oh no. Was this… sentiment? They didn’t do sentiment. Mila and Nana spoke in sarcasm and barbs. That’s how they always showed affection. She didn’t know how to handle real, genuine feelings.

Nana set the paper down in her lap and took Mila’s hand in hers. “I promise that if you go to Tauberun you won’t have to be alone.”

“I’m not alone. You’re here.”

“Mila, Sonnenschein.”

She’d never heard her grandmother’s voice so gentle. Sobs tore from deep within Mila’s chest. She heaved uneven breaths and threw herself into her grandmother’s arms.

“There’s a map in my room,” she whispered into Mila’s ear. “Instructions, too. I’m leaving you a heck of a lot of money, you brat. Take some time off and go to Tauberun.”

Nana was gone on Friday.

***

Mila had left Germany before. Of course, she had. She went all the way to Poland! That flight was almost two whole hours. Yes, it was with Nana. Sure, it was when Mila was eight. No, she does not remember most of it

That said, the trek up to Tauberun was certainly unorthodox even for the well-traveled. First was a train. Then… another, smaller train. Then, a third, even more rickety train that felt like it might jostle straight off the tracks. Once she was done with the trains, she got on a bus that took her to an outpost at the base of the mountain where a private car was waiting.

Mila had called the company listed in Nana’s documents and told them she wanted to go to Tauberun. They hung up. She called again. They only agreed when she told them she was Frau Hoffman’s granddaughter.

All that was a hassle, but the strangest part was arriving at the drop-off point. Nana’s map and the driver were both very clear about where the trip ended, yet when she got out of the car, there was nothing there.

“I’ll pick you up right back here in three days. Best of luck!”

“Wait! Wha–”

The driver sped off, leaving nothing but kicked-up dust behind.

“This is ridiculous. You better not be pranking me from the beyond, you old bat,” Mila muttered under her breath. She pulled out the instruction sheet. “Trains one, two, and three–check. Bus, car–okay. ‘When you arrive, walk two hundred paces east, down the hill. You will find a forest. Follow the stream,”

Mila griped, but she obeyed. The woods weren’t as thick as she’d expected, but she still couldn’t see through the brush. The stream seems unending, burbling softly for eternity. Mila walked along the bank for nearly an hour before the forest finally opened up to a clearing.

She stepped into it, but the second her leg breached the tree line, it was dragged down by an unknown pressure. She lurched forward, swallowed by the heavy air. There was nothing there to catch herself, so Mila careened to the ground, hands whipping up dry soil. She coughed and sat up on her knees. It took a whole minute for her to open her eyes, though that wasn’t just because of the dirt. Deep down, she knew the second she did, everything would change.

She was right. It was as if the town had been leeched of color. It wasn’t even black and white like the old movies. No, Tauberun was just… gray. The old houses in Nana’s pictures, ones Mila was certain used to be pinks and greens and blues, were shades of dull gray. Even the sky was gray!

Mila looked back at the woods. Green. The trees there were still green. So, it was only Tauberun that God forgot to color in. She let out a long breath, looked back at the paper, and caught sight of her own hand. Gray. Jesus Christ. Mila did not have the mental capacity to deal with that, so she chose to read the instructions instead.

“‘Find the graveyard on the south side of town. and say the words–’ What is this, some sort of Halloween special?”

Mila ambled down the cobblestone paths, past the fountain that was featured in so many of Nana’s photos. She continued onward, past the butcher’s shop and the tall stone church house. It was all surprisingly intact. Despite the eerie silence, the whole town seemed well-maintained. The grounds were trimmed, and gray flowers still bloomed in the window-boxes. There wasn’t even ivy growing up the fireplaces.

When she arrived at the cemetery, it was much the same. The headstones were clear, like someone had cleaned them recently. If that was the case, where were they?

Well, whatever. This day couldn’t get much weirder. Eyes squinting up at the sun, she reads out, “I remember Tauberun.”

In a breath, the silence of the town became a clatter of voices and motion. Mila blinked, and Tauberun came to life. Well, sort of. It was still gray, but it was certainly not empty.

One voice broke through the rest.

“I knew she would come! She's a Hoffman, after all.”

“What.” It wasn’t quite a question, but it was all she could manage.

“Hello, dear. My name is Johanna.” The woman was in a dress with thin vertical stripes of gray and a darker gray. The sleeves ended in a frilly fabric at her elbows. She had dark gray stockings and boots, and a wide-brimmed sunhat with little flowers poking out of a light gray ribbon.

“Ah. Hello,” she said, mainly because it was polite. Her brain was inoperational. Completely useless. Like a down blanket in August.

“I am your great-grandmother. That’s my husband, Paul.” She pointed to a man in a tattered suit with a high-collared light gray shirt underneath. Mila blinked vaguely in his direction.

“Right. Okay.”

Johanna laughed. It was hearty and vibrant, just like Nana’s. “I take it Heide did not warn you.”

She remembered, then. ‘I promise that if you go to Tauberun you won’t have to be alone.’

Mila snorted. “That enigmatic old coot!”

“Well now, if she’s old, I don’t want to know what you think of the rest of us.”

It was a new voice, one that had Mila really taking in just how many people were around. There had to be about thirty, most in the same style of clothes as her… great-grandparents. Jesus.

“I think I need to sit down,” Mila said, already falling. What even was this? Had she hit her head in the woods somewhere along the way? Was this death?

“Not quite, not for you,” Johanna replied.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“We tend to do that in our family. Drives Paul crazy.”

Mila looked up at Paul, who nodded solemnly from where he leaned against his headstone.

“So. You guys are dead, huh?” She could have said that more eloquently, but also… no. She really couldn’t have.

Johanna cackled. “Long dead. Some of us longer than others, isn’t that right, Otto?” she called over her shoulder to a man with impressive sideburns in an open dress-coat. “He and Gertrud have been around since 1839.”

Mila giggled a little hysterically. “And you’re all still here.”

“Only some of us. About fifty or so.”

Nana’s list of fifty names sat heavy in her backpack. She hadn’t looked at it since the hospital gave it to her with the rest of Nana’s effects. Mila slung her bag across her chest and sifted through her belongings until she found it.

Mila scanned the page. Otto and Gertrud Müller were right near the top. Paul Hoffman was written in a delicate script around the halfway point, with Johanna just one from the bottom. The final name was written in a shakier hand. Heide Hoffman. Nana must have added herself just before she died.

Mila’s throat was tight as her eyes stung.

“There is someone else who would like to see you,” Johanna said, but Mila couldn’t tear her eyes away from Heide Hoffman.

“Well, look, you can listen!”

Mila whipped up at the voice. “Nana?” She leapt to her feet and ran across the graveyard into her grandmother’s arms.

“I told you I wouldn’t be alone,” Nana spoke into her hair. Mila couldn’t feel her breath or warmth, and her usual steady heartbeat was still.

“How is this possible?”

“Tauberun never really leaves you.”

Johanna dropped a soft kiss onto her daughter’s head. It was strange, thinking of Nana as someone’s child. She was always the authority, the protector.

“Let me tell you a story.”

***

Heide Hoffman believed in ghosts. They coexisted with the living in Tauberun: sat at the bars, went to church, and helped keep the town maintained.

Even if it was the only place she’d lived, Heide knew Tauberun wasn’t quite… normal. The books that came in from traveling merchants never talked about spirits the same way she knew them to be.

“We’ve been tasked to protect this land,” her mother told her when she’d asked.

“Why?”

“Tauberun is a sacred place. A Saint lived here long ago, and she made the villagers promise to take care of her home in her stead. That vow is upheld by those who share the blood of those villagers, though some chose to stay and help even in death. Though most of the older spirits were forced to rest when the new generation started dying off.”

“Forced?”

“After a while, they forgot their own names. We didn’t know either. Once you are forgotten, you can’t stay. There’s no one to tie you to the earth.”

“So, Otto, Gertrud, and the others?”

“Once they are forgotten, they’ll go too.”

Heide ran toward her father’s desk and grabbed some parchment. “I’ll write their names down! I’ll remember.”

Not long after, a plague struck Tauberun. Half the town died in the first week. The other half only made it a month. All but one.

“I can’t leave you!” Heidi cried at her mother’s ghost.

“There’s nothing here for the living. Let the dead take care of Tauberun. Just promise you won’t forget us.”

***

“Why is everything gray?” Mila asked, hours later.

Night fell strangely in the gray filter cast over Tauberun’s sky. She still saw the moonlight cast over the old buildings, but it wasn’t a white light. The moon was just a lighter gray.

Johanna answered. “We forgot what color looks like.”

“Do you miss it?”

“There’s a lot of things I miss,” her great-grandmother said. “Beer, buttered potatoes, the spray of the sea. Color, too, but I’ve mostly forgotten now. I can imagine the ocean breeze, I can smell the salt in the air, but I don’t remember that blue.”

“It’s like… hmm.” How do you begin to explain color? “Blue is like that feeling you get right before you fall asleep, peaceful and gentle. It’s refreshing like the first sip of water after a long run in the midday sun.” Mila paused as heat rolled up her face. “Though, I guess you haven’t felt that in a while either.”

“No, but it helps.”

Silence fell, but Mila couldn’t quite settle in it. “What happens now?”

Nana slung an arm around her shoulder.

“Well, you can’t stay. There’s nothing here for the living.” She took Mila’s hand like she had the day before she died. “Visit us again. Visit, and remember.”

***

The days were growing shorter, at least the parts Mila could remember. Ninety-five years wasn’t too shabby. She outlived Nana, at least. She’d have to make fun of her for it when she saw her. It wouldn’t be long.

The ache in her bones was growing stronger, and her breath was getting thinner. Mila’s ears, though, were still good enough to hear her daughter and grandson coming down the hall.

“God, hospitals give me the creeps.” Felix was as lively as she had been at twenty-three, though he managed it with Mila’s uptight daughter nipping at his heels.

“Felix! Enough!” Hannah snapped. Where had she gone wrong with that one? She didn’t have a hint of whimsy in her.

Mila huffed out a tired laugh as they walked through her door. “Best not say that too loud. The ghosts will hear you.”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Felix said, nose pinching up toward his eyes.

Mila smiled and patted her mattress. He slid onto the hospital bed beside her.

“Let me tell you about a town called Tauberun.”