Psycho Thrill--Girl in the Well Page 4

  She pauses, her eyes widen, her glance rests on a vague spot in the kitchen. She listens. A tremble goes through her body; Johanna looks at the thermometer, which is now at 72.1° F. She is not sure if she heard a rumble in the attic.

  “Let’s continue,” Mrs. Falkner pulls herself together. “I find it very difficult to recount what happens next. I hope you can forgive me if I sometimes …”

  “Of course. It’s no problem,” Johanna interrupts. Mrs. Falkner nods. She takes a deep breath.

  “From then on, Lukas kept having … fits. But only in his sleep. Either Ben would come down and tell us about it or we would hear them ourselves. Robert didn’t go into Lukas’s room anymore. I think he was afraid he would hit Lukas. Then I would sit on his bed, stroking his hair until he was himself again. He didn’t curse anymore either, but only spoke in that strange language, as if someone were talking in his sleep.”

  Once again, she takes a deep breath, as if preparing to make it over a hurdle.

  “It was Pentecost. We had wanted to go to the Baltic Sea, but Robert had to help out at short notice. I planned trips with the children, but it rained constantly and they were not excited about visiting a museum. The first two days of the long weekend were harmonious enough. Lukas and Ben played together a lot, and they had constructed an entire city across both rooms with their building blocks. When they ran out of ideas, we just got cozy and watched a movie. But then they fought more and more. Lukas kept teasing Ben and Ben exploded. They fought tooth and nail — they were like cats and dogs. In the afternoon, I had lain down briefly in the living room when I heard screams. Ben! Then a crash. Something fell to the ground.”

  They hear a door slam in the house. Then clattering like shattered glass. The curtains at the kitchen window start moving without any outside force.

  “Jo, below 68° F!” Henning points out.

  Mrs. Falkner stands up. Johanna wants to put the recording device away, but Mrs. Falkner shakes her head and grabs her arm.

  “I heard that strange voice speaking a foreign language again. And I heard Ben, as he cried. And the clattering of furniture being smashed, there was crashing and creaking,” Mrs. Falkner frantically continues.

  There’s more clattering. The whole house is collapsing, Johanna thinks, and grabs the recording device, which is still running. Plaster crumbles from the ceiling, glasses and mugs tip over, house beams creak. Mrs. Falkner jumps and keeps talking. Henning pushes Johanna into the hallway.

  “I ran upstairs as fast as I could, but the door to Lukas’s room — where I had heard the screaming — slammed in my face. Ben kept screaming and all hell had broken out behind the door.”

  Porcelain plates and figurines begin to fall from the display case in the hallway, more doors are opening on their own and slamming shut with a crash. Flies begin to pour in from the second floor, swarming down the stairs toward them.

  “Johanna, come on!” Henning throws open the front door, and Mrs. Falkner continues speaking as if in a trance.

  “Then I was able to open the door, Ms. Ebeling. I saw Lukas asleep on his bed, blood running out of his mouth and nose.”

  The house is breathing, Johanna thinks. Cold surrounds her. The kind of cold one feels in a freezer, that chills to the bone in a split second.

  “What happened with Ben?” she asks, Henning drags her outside and Mrs. Falkner follows with the Mary statue pressed against her chest.

  “He killed Ben! His little neck was broken.” Mrs. Falkner bursts into tears; the kitchen window splits with a loud crack.

  “Go now! Quickly!”

  Johanna and Henning run across the farm.

  “Where is your husband? Where is Lukas?” Johanna cries back towards the woman who continues to clutch the statue.

  “Robert left us,” she calls back, as Johanna and Henning race to the car. “It’s better that way. Lukas … .” She pauses, stepping back inside just as the house door slams with deadly force.

  Something about the Children’s Psychiatric Institute in Lubeck, Johanna hears before they reach the car.

  *

  “We have to call the police!” Henning taps off his cigarette ash through the narrow opening in the window, where the rain is pouring in. Just outside of Hamburg, they run into a thunderstorm, the trees on either side of the highway swaying back and forth in the wind, the taillights of vehicles giving off a surreal glow.

  “And what do you think they’re going to do?” Henning goes silent. The windshield wipers squeak; far ahead, a blue light flashes on the street.

  “Mrs. Falkner is in danger, Jo! Come on, you saw it yourself.”

  “She was already in danger before. The police won’t be able to help her. They must have already taken on the case with her son Ben and couldn’t do anything anyway.”

  Henning looks over at her angrily, cranks up the window. “And what do you think, what should we do?”

  Johanna looks at the rain running down the windshield. “We listen to the recording. We visit her again. We question all of the residents in that backwoods town behind the Kreuziger Farm. We inquire about her son. Question doctors. Analyze your photos and the new interview. Henning, this haunting has to be explained somehow. Not a hundred percent scientific, not that, but we can get closer to the phenomenon.” She is determined to keep going.

  Henning shakes his head and sighs. “Falling glasses, slamming doors. Have you even thought about how we’re also in danger?”

  “I have, yes. According to Krüger and Grobel, such phenomena are bound to locations and/or people. This phenomenon seems to be both, Henning. We witnessed it when Mrs. Falkner came to see us. And we were even able to measure it when it was more clearly present at the Kreuziger farm. So it can’t just jump onto us, Henning. It’s not possible.”

  “Exactly,” Henning hisses. “In our academic ivory tower, it’s not possible. According to Krüger and Grobel, it’s not possible. But do you think that Krüger and Grobel had half a house flying around them? Do you think that anyone cited ancient Hebrew Bible verses that no one heard during their interviews?”

  “Krüger and Grobel, as well as Singer, have observed over two hundred cases in the southeast African … .”

  “I know all that, Johanna!” He hits the steering wheel, feels misunderstood, and is embarrassed because he’s lost his cool.

  “It’s okay, Henning. You can also get out of the project if you want.” She puts a hand on his forearm. “Stairway to Heaven” is playing on the radio.

  “Okay, I’ll do the interviews, Jo. But we’re going to see Mrs. Falkner together, okay?”

  *

  3:00 a.m.

  The display on her alarm clock has a strong red light. She hears a whisper, turns onto her side, and closes her eyes again. Her roommate, Paula, must have come home and brought a visitor. Paula … suddenly she remembers: Paula was going to spend the night at her boyfriend’s place!

  Johanna opens her eyes, sits on the edge of the bed. She is alone in the apartment. She listens. It is quiet. Back then, they flipped for the room facing the courtyard and she won. The window is open and it is quiet outside. The whisper came from inside the apartment.

  “Paula?” she calls and hopes to hear Paula’s voice. The whispering goes quiet, but no one answers. Burglars, pops into her head. She reaches for her cell phone.

  “Hello?”

  She turns on the light. Nothing. The light shines into the hallway, but there is nothing there. She thinks of rape. Of a runaway sex offender. She storms into the hall and turns the light on there. Throws open Paula’s door. Throws open the kitchen door. The bathroom door. Nothing. She is alone in the apartment. She hears a thud, as if someone had taken off his shoe and dropped it. Then the whispering again.

  A thought shoots through her head. Psychic phenomena are bound to locations and/or people. And if not? If Henning was right to be worried? She listens, concentrates until her head hurts. She can hear the whispering clearly, but she can’t locate it. It’s all aroun
d her. If she were mentally unstable she might assume it was in her head.

  Then she can make something out: Johanna. And she can hear something else. An emphasis that is tantamount to a threat. And a voice that she knows from the interview with Mrs. Falkner.

  “Are bound to locations and/or people,” she gasps and struggles with her surging panic. Her heart races, she is sweating, and a short stream of urine escapes her: She can’t help it.

  What made that noise? Where is the voice coming from? She runs through the apartment and turns on every light. She opens the window and stops in the middle of Paula’s room. Can it force me to do something? She looks at the open window. The passing cars calm her, the view from the fourth floor doesn’t.

  She repeats the phrase like a mantra. Her breathing returns to normal.

  Suddenly, she has an idea. She goes into her room, gets her voice recorder from her desk drawer, and turns it on.

  “Johanna Ebeling, August 29, no, August 30, 3:06 a.m.” STOP.

  Can she actually still hear the voice? Cars from Paula’s window, the wind rustling through the chestnut tree in the courtyard. No voice.

  She doesn’t trust the peacefulness. She keeps listening in the night. 3:11 a.m. She goes through all the rooms, turns out the lights, closes Paula’s window. She pulls on a new pair of underpants and goes to bed. Turns out her light.

  “Psychic phenomena are bound to locations and/or people,” she whispers. She lays the voice recorder on her night table like a weapon.

  3:16 a.m.

  Johanna falls asleep.

  Excerpts from the interviews from 08/31-09/02 in Naherfurth

  Method: Door to door questioning by Henning Lambertz. Basic opening text as follows: Hello, my name is Henning Lambertz. I am a researcher at the Ethnological Institute in Hamburg. We are working on a project and need information about the Kreuziger Farm, which is located near your home. Do you know anything about it?

  “I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know anything about that farm. Get out of here!”

  “We haven’t lived here very long, so I can’t say much about it, but one of our kids has a friend over in Wakendorf. The shortest way there would be through the bog, but we won’t let him go that way because he would have to pass the farm. Weird, right? But for some reason, my husband and I just don’t like it.”

  “At the time, the Kreuzigers were newcomers. Note: the Kreuziger family is first mentioned in the parish registry in 1785. They had purchased the land from local farmers, then turned the land into peat. They got richer and richer. And now? All of them gone. And we’re still here!”

  “Here in the newer area, you’ll find hardly anyone who is familiar with the farm. Well, you hear a lot about it, but only from people who have lived here forever. It’s pretty creepy. Once we rode past there on our bikes, after the new family moved in, and then that thing happened with their son … you know about that, right? Anyway, I had a very uneasy feeling there, but there’s not much else I can say about it.”

  “The Kreuziger Farm? It’s haunted, isn’t it?”

  “My grandfather was afraid of old Kreuziger. And my grandfather was a very strong, sensible man. But supposedly that family was … well, you know, my grandfather was a bit superstitious. He always claimed that the Kreuzigers had the sixth and seventh Books of Moses and were in cahoots with the Devil. Once, Old Kreuziger and his wife came over to visit and, afterwards, grandfather scoured the corners of the tablecloths for knots. He said if there were knots, the cows would stop giving milk, and a fork in the doorway meant there would be blood in the milk.”

  “Marie? Yeah, a Marie could have lived here at some point. But that must have been a very, very long time ago.”

  “Marie? Oh god, yes. We always overheard it as children when the older folks would whisper secretively. That must have been over a hundred years ago. The Kreuziger girl probably fell into the well and they didn’t find her right away. I have no idea if she was still alive when she was found. (Note: the husband of the woman being interviewed was speaking from the living room, so a clean transcription isn’t possible) … was she? Well, she was probably actually dead or the village doctor had declared her dead. But then she was brought back to life with a blessing. A miracle. But then the poor thing didn’t get along very well. She was very different, changed, but I don’t know any more. The older folks didn’t want to say anything more about it. (Note: the husband of the woman being interviewed was speaking from the living room, so a clean transcription isn’t possible.) In the well? Yes, exactly. Some said that she came across something in the well, or that she went through something horrible that changed her. After all, she was there for several days and nights. And now something else has happened there, right? That’s what they say, but no one can say what. (Note: the husband of the woman being interviewed was speaking from the living room, so a clean transcription isn’t possible.) Yeah, yeah, I am already keeping quiet.”

  Telephone transcription, Thursday, 09/03, Prof. Ludemann, Head of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry in Lubeck

  “Good afternoon, Professor Ludemann. I am Johanna Ebeling from the Ethnological Institute in Hamburg, and I have a few questions for you.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  “It’s about your patient Lukas Falkner.”

  “Do you have the required parental consent?”

  “No, I don’t have it yet. I think in this case … .”

  “Then, unfortunately, I can’t help you.”

  “Professor Ludemann, it’s been impossible to find the boy’s father for quite some time. We are in close contact with the mother, but after our last meeting … .”

  “I can’t give you any information, Ms. Ebeling. Goodbye.”

  “Does Lukas speak Ancient Hebrew during your sessions? Does he quote Bible verses? Afterwards, can he not remember what happened? Do you have a clear medical diagnosis for it?”

  “....”

  “Is it possible … to give a clear medical explanation for all the phenomena, Professor Ludemann?”

  “We can meet on Monday at 1 o’clock at the Holsten Gate. During my lunch break, I always go for a walk along the Trave River. You can join me. I will wait for you right under the archway.”

  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.