Psycho Thrill--Girl in the Well (8 page)

“NO! NO, LEAVE ME ALONE!” he hisses. He seems to be fighting something invisible. Just a few more steps.

“Do you know that man? Does he have diabetes?” someone asks as they approach the professor.

“NO!” he shouts unexpectedly, tearing himself away from the two men tending to him. He lurches forward to the green strip between the pedestrian walkway and the river. A dog barks, and the people around him back away in fright.

“No!” Johanna cries out and she and Henning rush forward to stop him.

“GO AWAY!” Professor Ludemann screams, flailing his arms. The momentum spins him around. He looks up at the sky, staggers, stumbles down the short slope, and falls into the river. But before he hits the water, they hear a sound as if someone were slamming his head against a door. Too late! Professor Ludemann is drifting on the river.

“NO!” he shouts again. His battle is not over. Henning jumps into the water and another man follows.

“Mom, Mom, it looks like someone is pulling the man under,” a boy remarks, standing mesmerized on the riverbank. Johanna watches, stunned.
Yes, that’s exactly how it looks,
she thinks. Henning and the other man swim quickly to the drowning man, who is now well aware of his situation.

“Help!” Professor Ludemann cries out, his arms reaching up in the air. And then he disappears. Henning and the other helper search the surface of the water. The people around Johanna gasp. Someone calls the police.

But Professor Ludemann doesn’t resurface. Only Johanna notices the flies that briefly emerge from the river and then fall back into the water.

She is thankful to see Henning return to the shore.

They leave Lubeck that evening, pull over at a rest stop, and drink a coffee in the car. Henning smokes a cigarette. They’ve already described their relationship with Professor Ludemann to the police, and he has still not been found by the police divers. They told the officer about Lukas Falkner and about the case they are working on. They will be contacted as necessary, but the man’s reaction implied that he didn’t take Johanna and Henning seriously.

Sleeplessness has made things more difficult for both of them. Henning can scarcely concentrate on driving. And the professor’s death is taking an even greater toll. It seems unreal, drinking coffee at a rest stop and people-watching travelers just after a man they knew has been killed by a supernatural force.

Henning flicks his cigarette and picks up his coffee with trembling hands.

“This is not an anthropological case anymore, Jo.”

“We told the police everything, Henning. They won’t do anything, they don’t believe us,” she replies irritably.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean that everything isn’t rooted in a supposedly foreign universe of belief, which we’re exploring. I am well versed in voodoo, and in syncretic concepts, but everything here looks more like a … Christian case. Ancient Hebrew, flies, abuse of Christian holidays.”

“And?” Johanna’s eyes linger on a couple she watches distrustfully as they head to the bathrooms.

“We should go confide in a priest or something. Or your friend.” Volker! She had nearly forgotten about him. Johanna races out to get her cell phone from the car

“Shit,” she looks at the display. “He tried calling me several times.” She punches in his number.

“Volker, it’s me, Johanna.” She turns away from the highway to hear better.

“It’s good that you called, Johanna. We need to talk. I will gladly help you, and, after what I’ve translated, I feel an obligation to my faith to get involved.”

Johanna has to laugh. She can’t stop, but also doesn’t know what she finds so funny. A truck driver glares in their direction.

“Johanna?” Volker’s voice calls out from the receiver. She looks at Henning for help; he smirks, grins, and then also starts to laugh. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s the fact that it all seems so surreal. Crazy. It takes a while before she regains control.

“Volker, can you please be at the witch archive in an hour? And please forgive me, but the whole thing … .”

“It’s fine, I’ll be there.”

She hangs up. “Let’s meet with Volker at the archive in an hour. He translated some of the recordings. Maybe he can help us.”

Henning nods. When he gets back in the car, he bumps his head.

September 8, 7:15 p.m., Witch Archive

Jesus Christ, can you smell my cunt? Can you smell my cunt? Can you smell your mother’s cunt? Mary. You carried him. Cunt! I spit on your birth. On this day, the holy mother will come to be. The whore mother! And she will bring forth he who wades through blood. He who crucifies you. Mary! Cunt! Blood!

Volker puts his notes aside, takes a sip of water. Reading it aloud was hard on him. Cut him to the core.

“You know what I mean, Johanna?” Both Johanna and Henning nod.

“We wanted to get you involved today anyway,” she answers. “We can’t get any further using our methods.”

Henning lights a cigarette, while Johanna recounts their experience with Sabine Falkner. She doesn’t leave out a single detail. Occasionally, Henning glances back at the thermometer. Afterwards, a silence spreads throughout the room until Volker clears his throat and furrows his brow.

“I … .” He’s still at a loss for words, he collects himself, and tries again. “I have no idea where to begin. I think you are dealing with a threatening phenomenon … well … we should actually say you’re dealing with a demon.
We’re
dealing with a demon.” Johanna and Henning already suspected it, but it’s nevertheless shocking to hear it from an outsider.

“Maybe even the most powerful demon in all of Christendom,” Volker whispers, and they hear fear in his voice.

“The most powerful demon?” Henning asks softly.

“The devil,” Volker replies and crosses himself. A gesture that he had always considered excessive before, but which now seems very appropriate.

“The devil,” Henning repeats.

“Exactly. Baal Zebub. The lord of the flies. We know him as Beelzebub or as the devil,” Volker explains, and continues. “He likes to appear to his followers on or directly before Christian holidays. He can also — though it’s rather unusual — enter a human body and take possession of it.”

“Why is that unusual?” Johanna asks.

“Because … he is the devil himself. There are many lesser demons that do that more often. But the devil himself?”

“Do you believe in that?” Henning asks. Volker considers, sighs.

“Up until now, I didn’t believe it, no. But this … is different. And I have to admit that it overwhelms and scares me.”

“Can this demon be awoken by anything in particular?” Johanna asks.

“As I said, I am not very familiar with all that, with exorcisms and stuff. I’d interpreted the Christian teachings differently and more metaphorically up until now, but I never believed in the devil’s existence. But now? Yes, it’s possible. According to this, the devil can be summoned, can enter into a pact with people.”

“But I’m pretty sure that none of the Falkners summoned him,” Henning argues.

“Then he was awoken at the farm. Something there has been dormant all these years and was awoken. Apparently, it has possessed the … boy …”

“Lukas,” Johanna helps out.

“…… and has been preparing for something ever since.”

Johanna and Henning stop short. “Preparing for something?”

Volker nods. “Yes, I think so. And today it will come to pass. Or has already come to pass. The professor was just a blood sacrifice.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Today is the eighth of September. The day when Mary was born. On the seventh of September, the Devil wants to get married. Both days are among the most important days of the year for occultists. In addition to Holy Thursday, which I …” Johanna jumps up from her chair.

“We have to go!” Henning understands, immediately throws on a jacket, and reaches for the car keys on the desk.

“What? Where are you going?” Volker asks.

“We’re going to the Kreuziger Farm. And you’re coming along.”

September 8, 9:23 p.m., Kreuziger Farm

Once again, Henning parks at the edge of the narrow country road. The Kreuziger Farm is unlit and lies like a deep black shadow behind the dark outlines of the trees that keep it hidden from sight.

It’s cloudy and windy, and occasionally the light of the moon throws a pale dagger through the fast-moving clouds.

And crickets. There’s a cacophony of chirps.. Maybe they are aware of their approaching deaths and celebrating their remaining time to the fullest.

“There’s no one there,” Henning whispers, as they enter the farm.

“Or she’s sleeping,” Johanna says. Volker follows them, a bit uncertain. They go to the front door. Johanna takes a deep breath and then rings the bell. The sound breaks the silence and makes them shudder. Now, standing directly in front of the house, it feels even more threatening than a few days earlier. Nothing happens. She rings again.

“And now?” Volker asks. Henning bends down and pulls a fist-sized stone from the wall of the flowerbed.

“What …?”

“We have to do this, Volker,” Henning says resolutely, and throws it through the narrow window beside the door. The clattering makes them flinch and even the crickets stop for a moment. Johanna reaches through the newly formed hole and opens the door. Then she flips the light switch. Nothing.

“Shit, the light doesn’t work,” she hisses.

“What is that?” Henning asks. “It smells weird.” They focus on the smell in the house.

“Blood. It smells like a slaughterhouse,” Johanna speculates, remembering it all too well from her field research on different forms of slaughter.

“I’ll grab a flashlight from the car.” Henning runs back. They hear him open and close the car. Volker doesn’t say a word until Henning returns.

Johanna pushes open the door and thinks she can hear flies buzzing. Henning turns on the flashlight, illuminating the large hallway.

“There!” Johanna points to the floor tiles. There are dark spots or streaks leading from where they’re standing to the front door. They can also see the spots on the stone path from the landing. Johanna crouches, Henning shines the light on one spot.

“It’s blood!” she whispers, as her stomach clenches.

“We have to call the police, Johanna,” Volker practically pleads. Henning and Johanna look at him and shake their heads.

“Later,” Henning says.

“Mrs. Falkner!” Johanna shouts. Volker winces.

“The temperature inside is the same as it is outside,” Henning ascertains and goes further into the hall, following the dully shining trail that leads into the kitchen. In the light of the flashlight, flies are startled out of the dark spots. The kitchen door is open. No one answers.

“Mrs. Falkner?” Johanna cries a second time. Volker enters the hall, Henning pushes open the kitchen door and shines the light inside.

“Shit!” he hisses and looks over at Johanna. The kitchen is full of humming and buzzing. Startled flies are whizzing through the air. The floor is covered in blood. The table and two chairs are overturned beside it … articles of clothing and towels are also soaked with blood. Hundreds of dead flies cover the floor. The light lingers on a dark lump of flesh. It’s too dark and bloody to recognize it at first. The pounding of their own hearts fills Johanna and Henning’s ears.

“That’s an afterbirth,” Volker whispers. “The placenta.” Volker was present at the births of his sons and can recognize it.

“How …?” Johanna doesn’t understand.

“Mrs. Falkner was pregnant?” Henning is stunned. He hadn’t noticed it.

“That can’t be, Henning. We just saw her a few days ago. She was totally emaciated!” Johanna shakes her head.

“On this day, the holy whore is brought into being. The mother whore!” Volker whispers. “That’s what it said, isn’t it? This is not the normal birth of a child, Johanna. This is something else.”

“This is something else,” Henning repeats weakly. The beam of light wanders through the kitchen and lands on the statue of the Virgin Mary standing on a cabinet. They gasp upon seeing it. The figure of Mary looks as if it has burst from the inside at the middle of the body. She is shimmering with blood and flies are circling around her. And she was previously childless, but now has a child in her hand. A girl. The girl opens her eyes. Johanna, Henning, and Volker run out of the house screaming.

Excerpts from the interviews of 09/10 in Naherfurth

Method: Door to door questioning by Henning Lambertz, Johanna Ebeling, and Volker Strathmann. Basic opening text as follows: Hello, we are researchers at the Ethnological Institute in Hamburg. We are gathering information for a project. Do you know Mrs. Falkner? When did you see her last?

“Mrs. Falkner? She’s from the Kreuziger Farm, right? I saw her on Tuesday evening. On the bus. She was going to Hamburg and had a child with her. A girl, maybe four or five years old. I hadn’t thought anything of it, but you know what? I winked at the child just like this. And when she looked at me I felt uneasy. The child was somehow … tainted and evil. My name won’t be mentioned, right?”

Addendum: Since 09/08, Mrs. Sabine Falkner has been missing.

Since 09/09, Lukas Falkner hasn’t had another seizure.

END

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