Psycho Thrill--Girl in the Well (6 page)

Saturday, September 5, The Schach Café, Hamburg

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” Johanna greets him.

Volker is sitting under an umbrella in the shadows. A hot September day, though autumn is announcing its presence with the first few cold nights. “Gladly. But tell me, why couldn’t you have just sent the questions by email?”

She laughs. “I think you would’ve thought I was crazy. It’s better this way.”

Volker nods. Glances at the menu and looks at her. “And? More Ancient Hebrew curses?”

“Yes, that sort of thing, but I’m not so well versed in the Bible, so … I’d like to ask you a few questions.” She sips her coffee and takes a deep breath.

“So, first question: In Christian mythology, is there something or someone who is associated with flies? Second question: Can this someone be connected to the Christian holidays? If so, how? Third question: Can the room temperature noticeably and measurably drop if this someone shows up? And finally: Can you keep quiet about all of this?” Johanna exhales, relieved to have gotten it all out. Volker leans back in his chair, and Johanna searches his face for a reaction.

“First, to answer your last question. Yes, I can keep quiet about all of this. But under one condition, Johanna. If there’s danger, you get out of there.” She had been expecting that and nods accordingly. Volker orders a soda, she gets another coffee.

“Regarding your first question. The only thing I can think of to do with
flies
is the Hebrew word
zebub
.
Baal Zebub
is the name of an idol that could drive away the plague. Later Beelzebub, that is, the devil himself, was derived from it. Of course I’m interested in the context, Johanna.”

She shakes her head.

“Not yet, Volker. I still have to meet with an informant, so that I can clarify the details.”

He doesn’t like that answer. His gaze follows a few passersby hurrying to catch a tram.

“Oh well. Second question. And this is only half-knowledge, Johanna. The devil himself and … well, his worshippers, mock the Christian holidays. Usually, they celebrate their holidays the day before. Holy Thursday before Good Friday is probably the most well known of these. It is also called Unholy Thursday, the day on which the followers of Satan hold all their services.” Johanna had suspected this and had even heard of it before, in a seminar on the occult.

“Unfortunately,” he shrugs, “I can’t say anything about your third question.”

“Well, thank you. You’ve been a big help already.” She takes out her notebook and scribbles something.

“When will you know more?” Volker asks.

“I’m meeting with someone on Monday.” She pauses. “Do you have time Monday evening? Then I can tell you more.”

Sunday, September 6, evening, somewhere in Hamburg

Her cell phone rings. Henning.

“Henning?”

“Jo, come to the institute. I have to show you something!” She has been walking aimlessly through the streets for the past hour. Paula is sleeping at her boyfriend’s place again. She doesn’t want to admit it, but she is afraid of the night.

“All right. I’m on my way.”

When she leaves the Hallerstrasse subway station, it’s already dark. She walks faster than usual; she is nearly running on the unlit path to the side entrance of the Museum of Ethnology.

“Johanna?” she hears Henning calling down from the witch archive as she opens the door to the stairs.

“Yes, it’s me.” It smells like coffee and reeks of cigarette smoke. Henning is sitting at his computer near an open window. He looks pale and she probably does too. She sits.

“You’re working overtime?” she says, and smiles.

“Hmpf,” he snorts.

“Ready?”

“I don’t know.”

He points to the screen. With a mouse click, he opens a file that fills the entire screen. Black and white. At first, she can’t make out anything. It looks like a sonogram of a pregnant woman, only grainier. Then the puzzle pieces come together. The shaft of the well, bricks, and increasingly heavy darkness. And a … face. Nearly impossible to make out, but Johanna gasps in shock. Henning nods.

“I didn’t get it with the usual programs, but a friend gave me a few tips on fixing the contrast so that you can see it. And now … brace yourself, Jo.” Another mouse click and the face is clearer. A girl. It’s difficult to estimate her age. Long, black hair and the tops of her shoulders can be seen. She is wearing a dress. CLICK. Johanna can’t breathe.

“She’s … climbing up the shaft,” she whispers.

“How do you think I felt when I saw that, Jo. I was paralyzed.” CLICK. In this frame, the girl has almost reached the edge of the well, and Henning visibly flinches at that moment. A white or beige dress, which children used to wear at the turn of the century.

“But her face …”

“It looks like pure evil, doesn’t it?” The girl’s features are twisted into a grimace. Johanna and Henning lean forward to get a closer look. The eyes. Although they’re barely visible, the eyes feel threatening.

“But she wasn’t there, right? Not really?” Johanna’s voice trembles a little.

“No. Otherwise she would have come out somehow.”

“And you set up the thermometer here?” She glances at the thermometer on his desk. Henning sighs, leans back, and folds his arms behind his head.

“I don’t go anywhere without this thermometer now. At night, I wake up and check the temperature, Jo. Really, I think I’m going crazy.” She knows the feeling.

“Is there any more?” she asks.

“No, those were the last photos. Everything I shot afterward was lost.”

“Want to go out for a drink tonight?” He has to think about it briefly before agreeing. Johanna gets up, Henning shuts down the computer. With his last glance at the screen, he almost gets the impression that the girl could come crawling out of the monitor.

Monday, September 7, 1:00 p.m., Lubeck

A tall man is waiting under the archway of the Holsten Gate. She had envisioned him in a suit, but he’s wearing jeans and a yellow sweater.

“Ms. Ebeling?” He takes a step toward her and puts out his hand. As usual, when she talks to psychologists, she puts up a facade. She can’t help it.

“Professor Ludemann.” She greets him a little louder, in order to be heard over the noise of the traffic that is flowing around the Holsten Gate.

“Come on. We’ll go along the Trave River a little ways. I always spend my break there. It’s quieter. It’s a better place to talk or think.”

They walk down a cobblestoned street past historic red brick houses along the Trave. Professor Ludemann slows down his steps.

“How do you know the boy, Ms. Ebeling?” He turns to her curiously, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I work at the witch archive. A research project that looks into supernatural phenomena and tries to find scientific answers.” In most cases, the listener reacts with surprise, but Professor Ludemann retains his interested facial expression.
He’s probably already heard some pretty unusual things
, Johanna thinks.

“Mrs. Falkner called us a little over a month ago and then visited us unannounced. That’s how we came into contact. I only know of Lukas Falkner from what I’ve been told.” They back away to let a cyclist through.

“And what did Mrs. Falkner come to you with?” Exactly what she had been hoping to avoid — being asked this question.

“She was looking for help because she thought that she was evil.”

“Mhm. And? Is she? Evil.” He smiles. Johanna shrugs.

“To be honest, I don’t have an answer to that. She is certainly not evil in the sense that she’s an evil person. Rather, something evil outside of her has her in its grip. Something that follows her.”

“Can you prove it?”

“We’re working on it.”

“We?”

“My colleague and I.”

“Why didn’t you bring your colleague along?”

“He’s trying to find Mrs. Falkner. Since our visit with her ended … very dramatically … we’ve been concerned about her.”

“I see.” They walk quietly for a bit, side by side. The air is fresh, but pleasantly warm.

“We have no medical explanation for the patient. During normal waking hours, he is a bright boy and very worried about himself and his family. He is suffering. He knows what he did to his brother, but can’t explain it.”

“And in the not-so-normal hours?” He looks at her for a long time before answering.

“At those other times, he’s a real devil. He spits, bites, scratches, urinates. He develops an almost superhuman strength and is very aggressive towards himself and others. The problem is that continuous medication neither lessens nor inhibits these phases. They take place with the usual ferocity, but the severity of these outbursts increases. We often have to tie him down as a last resort. And we still haven’t even been able to find a trigger for these attacks. Neither endogenous nor exogenous. It comes out of nowhere and stops again the same way. And now I’ve actually already told you too much.” He heads toward a bench with a view of the Trave River. From the distance, the sounds of traffic hang over them like a blanket of white noise, interrupted by the sounds of a pedestrian zone. Cyclists, couples, and walkers are leisurely passing to and fro. The waters of the Trave are rippling. They sit down.

“I think we’re both interested in the family’s welfare,” Johanna says.

“That’s why we’re sitting here. How do you know that the boy speaks Ancient Hebrew and recites biblical verses? Did his mother tell you?” Johanna considers her response.

“I’ve heard the voice he uses,” she answers.

“Without having ever seen him? You’ll have to explain in more detail.” He crosses his legs and leans toward her. Johanna has to smile.

“All right, I’ll tell you because I want something from you. But you have to promise to take the matter seriously.”

“You won’t believe the kinds of things I have to take seriously. Tell me.”

“When Mrs. Falkner came to us at the Institute, we interviewed her and recorded it. When we listened to the recording, we heard a voice speaking Ancient Hebrew. It said: Thou shalt not seethe a young goat in its mother’s milk, whore! And then later: I will descend upon your flesh, cunt. But that was in English.” She looks at Professor Ludemann, who seems serious and composed.

“Did you translate what the young boy says to you when he’s in that state?” she asks. He purses his lips.

“Well, it’s a bit tricky, let’s say. No one on our team knows the language and there’s always a lack of time and money. I put in for a translation, since I think it could be useful to the case. But until a decision about the … .”

“Give me the notes or records, I’ll have them translated!” Johanna interrupts. Professor Ludemann breathes in through his teeth.

“It’s very tricky, Ms. Ebeling. Do I have your word that it will remain confidential?”

“You do.”

“Would you mind if I gave you the files personally? Let’s say we meet again in a week or so?”

“That’s too late, Professor Ludemann. It would be best if I could get them today.”

He leans back in surprise. “Today? That’s completely impossible!”

“As soon as possible, then.”

“Give me your number and I’ll call you as soon as I’ve put everything together for you.”

Johanna hands him her business card and writes her cell number on it. “You can call me at any time, Professor Ludemann.”

Tuesday, September 8, 2:12 a.m.

Johanna’s cell phone rings. She is startled awake. Her heart is immediately racing. She reaches for the cell phone and it falls from the nightstand. She only manages to pick up after the fourth ring.

“Ms. Ebeling, it’s Professor Ludemann. You said I could call you at any time. I’m taking advantage of the offer. The boy … .”

“Yes?” She is suddenly wide awake.

“The boy is having a seizure. If you’d like, you can watch it, they’ve been lasting longer lately. Maybe … you have some advice.” Scientific curiosity, fear, and worry for the boy make the answer easy.

“I’m already on my way, Professor.”

“Ask for me at reception. I have to hang up now.”

She calls Henning, who is still awake. He picks her up at her front door ten minutes later and they drive to the psychiatric clinic in Lubeck.

“Do you have everything with you?” she asks Henning.

“Camera, flash, recording device — it’s all in the backpack.”

“And the most important thing?” She grins, asking it as a joke. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out his digital thermometer, and holds it up. His face remains serious.

The building is in the middle of the city, but is surrounded by enough greenery to be protected from prying eyes. The night is cool, the milky-pale light of the facility’s sign is being attacked by countless moths. Johanna and Henning hurry up the few steps, a sliding door opens, and they enter. A woman with glasses looks up and considers them.

“Ebeling. Professor Ludemann is expecting us.” The receptionist nods and reaches for the phone. A scream can be heard from the hallway on the right that leads behind the reception area. It is answered by a high-pitched screech.

“He’ll be here shortly, Ms. Ebeling. There’s a bit of a commotion around here tonight.” She rolls her eyes in the direction of the patient wing.

“Thanks.” Johanna and Henning look at each other. Discomfort is spreading. Henning looks at the thermometer inconspicuously. They hear hurried footsteps coming down the hall. Professor Ludemann. He’s wearing a white doctor’s coat and shakes their hands.

“I’m glad you could both come. Follow me, I will show you why I’ve invited you here.” More screams in the hallway. Someone laughs.

“Is that Lukas?” Johanna asks.

“No. We relocated Lukas Falkner to an observation room yesterday. It’s soundproofed — we can’t hear him here at all. But the last two nights were generally very hectic. Sometimes there are these collective episodes.”

“Soundproofed?” Henning asks.

“Exactly. When patients are unruly and loud, we separate them from the others. The rooms are also monitored with cameras because many of the patients are autoaggressive and we want to keep them from hurting themselves.”