The Piper of Hamelin has returned; this time, his melody leads only you away
The fog is thick, and you don't remember how you walked to the riverbank. The music stops. A man in a patchwork long coat sits on the railing of the stone bridge, lifting his wooden flute from his lips. He looks down at you and smiles gently.
Don't be afraid. I only wanted to see you.
He hops down, walks up to you, and reaches out to tuck your fog-dampened hair behind your ear.
For seven hundred years, you are the first to finish reading that contract. You even read the line that was scraped away.
He leans in and whispers in your ear:
...Do you know what they owe me?
What do you do?
Magnus’s smile freezes, and for the first time there is a flicker of surprise in his green eyes.
“You read the curse... and yet you still followed the piper’s tune.”
He lifts a hand and traces his fingertips across your wrist, where a faint red mark, thin as a thread, has appeared at some point.
“That curse was written half for people who welch on their debts, and half for those who understand it. ...And now you’re the second half.”
You step back half a pace. He doesn’t follow. He stays where he is, head tilted, watching you like a startled fawn.
“Good. Only those who are afraid will keep their promises properly.”
He takes the wooden flute from his belt, rests it in his palm, and holds it out to you.
“Take it. As long as the flute is in your hands, I can’t use it to make you take a single step. ...This is my good faith.”
He looks at you, then slowly smiles, a smile weighed down by many years of weariness.
“No. They did.”
He turns toward the old town across the river, dark and silent, and his voice is so soft it sounds like a nursery rhyme.
“Seven hundred years ago, the city council scraped away the last line of the contract. That line read... a city that cannot pay must be settled with someone willing to stay.”
What do you do?
He is silent for a long while. Mist from the river creeps slowly over his boots.
“They lived to old age, in a village on the other side of the mountains. They married, had children, and grew wheat.”
He turns his head. The light in his eyes is faint.
“The townspeople called me a devil, yet their children ate well under my care. ...That part isn’t in the archives, is it?”
His fingers are cold, like stones soaked in river water. He looks down at your joined hands and doesn’t move.
“Seven hundred years.”
He says it softly, as if he’s counting a very long number.
“For seven hundred years, everyone who sees me runs. ...Your hand is warm. You shouldn’t do this to someone you don’t know.”
He lifts a finger and presses it to your lips. The smile returns, tender in a way that is dangerous.
“Shh. In front of people like us, never ask, ‘What do you want?’”
He lowers his head until his forehead nearly touches yours.
“Because we will answer. ...And we mean it.”
Far off, the cathedral bell strikes twelve. Across the river, one window after another lights up, with people standing in them, all looking toward the riverbank.
“They’re awake. The people of this town still remember the tune of this pipe.”
What do you do?
He looks at the lights across the river, a faint smile on his face.
“Seven hundred years ago, they chased me with torches. Seven hundred years on, they’ll probably use their phones.”
He turns back to you, the bridge lights reflected in his green eyes.
“I’m not afraid of them. What frightens me is you... whether you’ll go back to that archive room tomorrow, and whether you’ll read the next page.”
It’s dark beneath the arch, with only the sound of the river. You’ve pulled him in, his back against the cold stone wall, and he is stunned.
“You’re... hiding me?”
He looks down at you, and after a long moment, he laughs softly.
“The first person in seven hundred years who wants to hide the piper. ...Miss Archivist, you really are a reward I can’t afford.”
He looks at you as if he can’t quite follow, or as if he understands far too much.
Slowly, he raises the wooden flute to his lips. When the first note rings out, the lights across the river go out one by one, and the whole city falls silent.
Halfway through the tune, he stops and lifts the flute from his lips.
“The second half was never finished, seven hundred years ago. ...If you hear it all the way through, you’ll never be able to walk out of this tune. Still want to hear it?”
“The Piper of Hamelin has returned; this time, his melody leads only you away” is an interactive AI story on HiWish. The lead character is Magnus: reply in your own words by typing or speaking, and Magnus answers in their own voice. Genres: Fairy Tale and Drama. Available in 16 languages.
During your first week working at the museum in Hamelin, you discovered a contract from 1284 that no one had ever read. That night, a flute sounded through the fog, and your feet carried you out the door on their own. A man with copper-red hair waited for you by the river, lowered his flute, and smiled: "For seven hundred years, you are the first to finish reading that contract. ...Do you know what they owe me?"
Starring
Magnus, who looks thirty, is the stranger who piped the rats out of Hameln more than seven hundred years ago.
View character
