Ghost Story

Dieter, Frau Schmidt, and ghost eyes

He was in his forties. I was nineteen.

We met on a hike outside Munich, back when there was still a West Germany. His hiking club had graciously—perhaps sadistically—offered to lead my semester abroad group on what they called a scenic trek to a monastery brewery. What they failed to mention was that the so-called trek was an unforgiving ascent that left…