The Soldier with the Magic Books

In the tavern of Izegem it fell silent when the soldier pulled out his secret case. He had grown thin from the war, his face grey and weary.

‘Listen, all of you,’ he said with a grim smile. ‘My comrade, a man from Brugge, died in my arms on the battlefield. But before he died, he gave me this.’

He opened the case slowly. In the candlelight, those present saw old books with strange symbols on the covers. The rosary in his pocket felt heavy—like a warning.

The soldier read aloud from one of the books. His voice became deep, echoing, as if it came from somewhere else. Suddenly rats appeared—dozens of them—streaming out of the open fireplace and scurrying across the floor.

The villagers screamed and jumped from their chairs. But that was not all. The soldier planted a beet seed in a bowl of soil. As he brooded over it and whispered words from the book, the seed grew within minutes into a full, ripe beet. He sliced it and ate from it as though it were a daily miracle.

Then he drew out his pocket watch and stared at it. With a clatter and a whisper, he let tiny red figures grow out of the watch. They were no bigger than your thumb—soldiers of red wax, fully equipped with tiny helmets and rifles. These marched back and forth across the table.

The foolish priest of Izegem came to visit him. ‘You will be damned,’ he said sternly. ‘These books are the work of the devil. You must destroy them.’

But the soldier merely laughed. The priest left in despair.

Weeks passed. The soldier became ever stranger, ever more alone. He spoke in his sleep, and things in the tavern began to happen of themselves: doors slammed shut, candles went out, animals sensed his presence and fled.

At last his mother fell ill. On her deathbed, she took his hand. ‘My son,’ she whispered weakly, ‘I beg you—burn these books. Free your soul before it is too late.’

The soldier felt something break in his heart. With tears in his eyes, he took the case to the Mandel river. He read no more spells, no more formulas. He threw the books one by one into the water.

The water began to boil. For three days the river boiled, as though all of hell welled up from below. After that, silence came. The Mandel returned to its natural flow. The soldier stared at the water and knew that his mother could at last rest in peace.