"If it's that neighbor's dog again, I'm sure I'm gonna ..."
She never made it further than that. As she fought to get out of the bed and up onto her legs, she watched the door to her bedroom open quietly. Then she gasped.
A face appeared in the darkness.
"Hello, Agnes," the man said.
3
2012
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU inherited a real house, Mommy."
I looked at my seven-year-old son, Victor sitting in the back seat of our old Toyota through the rearview mirror. He was smiling and his small eyes sparkled. He had been so excited ever since we received the phone call telling me that my grandmother, my father's mother had passed away and much to my surprise, since I never knew her, she had left her house to me.
My oldest daughter Maya was less excited to put it mildly. But then again at thirteen not much was exciting, especially if it involved me, her mother or anything remotely grown up and boring.
"Of course she inherited it, you doofus," she said to her younger brother. "She's her only grandchild."
"Well she could have left it to grandpa, her son," I argued while finding my exit from the highway. "That would have been the most normal thing to do. But for some reason she wanted me to have it."
"Why?" Maya said with her lips curled, making her look like she was extremely annoyed.
I shrugged. "I don't know. I have never even known her. Grandpa says I met her once when I was just a small child, but I don't remember it. Maybe I chose to forget because she was too scary," I said and made a funny face.
Maya looked mad. "You're so ... so pathetic."
"Wow. Well thanks."
That seemed to be the end of that conversation. It had been a long ride from Copenhagen to Esbjerg and my children hadn't exactly been talking much. It was getting dark outside the car's windows and would be way past their bedtime by the time we arrived at our new house.
Victor had slept most of the way and Maya seemed to feel it was beneath her dignity to talk to me for more than three minutes at a time. She was pissed because I had made the decision for all of us. I had decided to move there, to my grandmother's house on Fanoe, a small island in the North Sea outside of Esbjerg. I knew it wouldn't be popular to make a decision like that on my children's behalf, but there was no way around it. I was broke and couldn't afford to keep our apartment in Copenhagen. I had been fired from my latest job as a writer for a fishing magazine simply because I had pissed off the chairman of the Danish Fishing Federation, DFF, by asking him about the many bottles of expensive wine that the Federation had deducted on their taxes this year. Needless to say it wasn't that kind of story the magazine was looking for, so they kicked me out. Well, that's just the way things go. I wasn't exactly looking for a long-term career in fishing journalism anyway, but it was a paying job and I brought home enough money for the rent and expenses that my ex had left me with when he decided it was more fun to be with a twenty-five-year old intern at his TV station.
"Are we there soon?" Victor said with a slight whimper.
"Why?" I asked. "You need to go?"
Victor nodded heavily. "Badly."
Maya sighed and rolled her eyes. "You could have gone when we stopped for snacks."
"I did," Victor said.
"But that's only like ten minutes ago. How can you need to go already? We have stopped twenty times for you on this trip." Maya accompanied the last words with a deep annoyed sigh.
"Maya. Your brother ..."
"Has a nervous bladder. I know. There is always something with him, isn't there?"
That shut me up for once. What was I supposed to say? Yes, there is always something wrong with your brother? Yes, he suffers from anxiety attacks, light autism, strange seizures, occasional loss of bladder control and maybe some other stuff that the doctors are just waiting to throw at us? Yes, he hasn't been well ever since his dad just took off and only wanted to see him every six months or whenever it suited him? Yes, I could say all those things, but I didn't. What's the point anyway? She knew. Maya knew Victor hadn't been well and she was suffering too, suffering because every hour of my attention went towards him. She was a big girl, now. She was supposed to be able to handle it.
"What's that smell?" she asked and wrinkled her nose.
"That my friend is the smell of Esbjerg," I said and smiled as I could see the town rise in front of us. "We'll take the boat out to the island from there. It'll be fun once we're on the boat. Just wait and see."
"Yay!" Victor exclaimed. "I love boats."
"It smells like fish," Maya said and held her nose.
I had to admit the smell was pretty bad and opening the window only made it worse. "It is fish," I said trying to sound cheerful. "Fish guts."
4
1977
IT DIDN'T TAKE ASTRID many hours to lose track of time, but she guessed it was getting closer to nighttime, since she was beginning to become tired. She decided to lay down a little bit and closed her eyes and soon she was sound asleep.
It wasn't until the morning the panic erupted inside of her. She woke up and realized she was still trapped in the bunker and now she was beginning to feel hungry. She got up and walked to the door again. Then she started hammering it.
"Help!" she yelled but then felt bad. Her mother always told her not to raise her voice.
"You're always so loud, Astrid. And shrill. You should learn to keep your mouth shut. You don't have a pretty voice and boys like pretty voices, so you stick to what you can do. You cook, alright?"
"Yes, Mom."
Astrid sighed and decided to try again even if she didn't like to be loud. "HEEELP! I'm in here! I'm trapped! Christian? Can you hear me?"
She stopped and listened for footsteps or maybe even voices. But still there was nothing. Nothing but the terror of silence.
She tried again. This time she clenched her fists and hammered with all her strength against the iron door, and continued till they became numb. Then she managed to put her fingers into the small crack and tried to rip the door open, but it was stuck.
"Help!" she yelled while the feeling of utter panic grew.
What if no one hears me? No you stupid fool. Don't think like that.
She tried to scratch the door with her fingernails, but had to stop because it hurt. Astrid sat down on the step and covered her face with her hands. She was so hungry now. She looked up at the ceiling.
Maybe there was another way out? There had to be an air vent somewhere. Astrid got up and went to the end wall with the shelves. She removed some blankets and touched the wall behind it, felt it, scanned it for anything that could indicate that there was some secret passage way or just a small hole that she could get through.
But there was nothing. She went through the stuff on the shelves meticulously in the hope she could find something to break the door open with. But she found nothing but the flashlight. She rose with it in her hand and ran towards the iron door. While taking the last step, she swung it and smashed it against the door, but didn't even make a bump.
She cried as she swung it again and again and destroyed the flashlight, but never harmed the door in any way.
Astrid sobbed and fell to the cold stairs.
You really are no good, aren't you? she heard her mother's voice say. Got yourself into trouble again. I knew you would. He's not going to take care of you. Be a damned fool if he did.
No, no, Dr. Jansen says I'm okay, remember? I'm good and healthy and strong. My man doesn't care about me being smart or anything. He loves me, he said.
You fool. No one loves a retard. No one, I tell you. No one!
Astrid wiped off her tears in disgust. Why did thinking of her mother always do that to her? Why did it always make her feel so bad about herself? No there had to be a way, there had to be. Astrid stared at the canned food on the shelves, then sprang up and pulled one down. Luckily it was one of those you could pull open. She didn't even need a can opener. This was good, she thought to herself as she pull
ed it and the sweet smell of ravioli hit her nostrils and tricked her deep hunger even more. This was very good. Astrid searched everywhere and finally found a bunch of plastic spoons. Relieved she sat down and started eating.
Things always looked better on a full stomach, mother used to say. So as soon as she had finished this can, she would find a way to get out of there.
5
2012.
WE TOOK THE LAST ferry to get to the island. I had to drive past the local police station to pick up the key to the house as soon as we arrived. It was almost midnight as we finally found the right place. Everything was dark now and the wind had picked up in the almost barren trees outside. I walked through a pile of dead leaves someone had gathered with a broom earlier before I entered the small building they apparently called a police station. The kids wanted to stay in the car. Victor was asleep and Maya was listening to music on her iPhone. I was tired now and looking very much forward to finally entering my future home and throw myself on one of the beds. The house was still furnished, I had been told by the lawyer who gave me the deed to the house. I took that as a sign that I could move in right away.
"Are you serious?" Maya had exclaimed when I told her back at the apartment. "Do you really want to live in some dead woman's old furniture?"
"We'll get our own shipped over there eventually, but until then, yes. Plus it's a really big house. We don't have enough furniture to fill it up. I bet my grandmother's was nice. She was loaded, you know."
"Couldn't she just have left us the money instead?" my smart daughter argued. "Then we could build our own house or stay in our own apartment and not have to leave the city for some deserted island where only freaks would live."
"She left her money to grandpa, who's the rightful heir to it being her son. I was just ... I'm sorry we were just lucky that we got this splendid house out of it. I didn't expect to get anything."
"How do you know it was luck? Maybe the house is really her way of getting back at you," Maya said and went to her room.
I stuck my tongue out after her, and then returned to my packing.
The police station looked almost deserted as I entered. There was no one behind the counter.
"Excuse me?" I said and cleared my throat. "Hello?"
"Freeze!" a voice said next to me.
I gasped and jumped. A guy came out of a door pointing his fingers at me making them look like a gun. I raised both arms. He laughed.
"Boy, you scared me," I said and looked at him the way my annoying teenager did to me.
The guy laughed. I hadn't noticed until then, but he was quite handsome. Blond with blue eyes, tall and very masculine. About my age, maybe a little older but it was hard to tell. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't get out much as you can imagine. I don't get to have much fun either. Especially not at night. Boy you should have seen the look on your face."
"That was not funny. My heart is still racing."
The police officer grinned. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I really didn't mean to. It was just so tempting."
"Okay, okay. I get it," I said. "Maybe there is reason they don't let you get out much, huh? Maybe they keep you at the nightshift for a reason?"
The officer tilted his head. "I never thought about it that way. Hmm. Maybe you're right."
"You bet I am."
"I'm Officer Dan," he said and reached out his hand. "Dan Toft."
I smiled and took it. "Emma Frost."
"Nice to meet you, Emma Frost," he said and kept shaking my hand while still grinning.
"Likewise, Officer Dan."
He let go of my hand and went behind the counter. "What can I do for you at this strange hour? Are you visiting our island?"
"No. We're actually moving here. I was supposed to pick up the key here? At least that's what my lawyer told me. I thought it sounded strange but ..."
I never finished the sentence before Officer Dan dangled the keys in front of my face. "These should be the ones. We do all kinds of jobs for the public here on this station. Yesterday I walked Mrs. Olson's puppy since she had fallen and hurt her leg and couldn't walk it herself. Keeping people's house keys is the least of our jobs. It's kind of nice though. We get to know people closely that way."
"Plus it means you don't have much else to do, which means you don't have much crime here on the island. Must be kind of nice, right?" I said and took the keys out of his hand.
"It sure is," he responded.
"Well, thanks," I said and started walking towards the door.
Officer Dan ran in front of me and held it open for me. I chuckled.
"See you around," he said as I walked out.
I caught myself thinking I would really like that.
6
2012
HE WAS WONDERING WHAT kind of mood the old hag was in today as he waited for the garage door to open, before he drove into the driveway. The gravel was loud underneath the wheels of the Mercedes. Why she insisted on still driving this old car when she could easily afford a newer model, Torben didn't understand. But it was her car and her money.
Torben had worked for Mrs. Heinrichsen for as long as he could remember. Drove her around to wherever she needed to be. Did some handiwork around the house whenever it was needed or at least made sure the right people were called to fix it. He was her go-to guy as they said in the movies. Torben didn't mind that. In fact he enjoyed being needed by someone. Ever since his wife had passed away six years ago the old house seemed so empty. The kids had moved away many years ago, off to the mainland, to the big city to lives of their own and soon forgot all about their old father rotting away on the island.
Back in the day when Mr. Heinrichsen was still alive Torben had not liked his job very much. He simply didn't like Mr. Heinrichsen and the way he treated people. Well the old lady wasn't much better herself, and age didn't seem to soften her up, but Torben had known her now for many years now and knew she wasn't so bad once you really got to know her. She would boss him around, yes, but now that Yvonne wasn't alive anymore he quite frankly liked to have someone tell him what to do from time to time. It had that familiar feeling to it. Like he had a purpose.
Torben sighed and fixed his cap and tie to make sure it was on straight. Mrs. Heinrichsen preferred him to look right. She didn't like sloppiness and over the years Torben had learned to appreciate it. You didn't find much of that these days anymore. Discipline, self-control. It was all in the character and Mrs. Heinrichsen had helped Torben build his character. She had made him stronger. Not with loving and caring attitude, no by being harsh and hard on him when he needed it the most. Like when Yvonne died. It had nearly broken him. He was about to slide into a deep depression, when Mrs. Heinrichsen told him to stop feeling sorry for himself.
"Just get over it," she had said.
She had given him a day off to go to the funeral, actually a whole week, but the next day he had shown up at her doorstep, the cap in his hand asking her if she needed him today. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she hadn't any plans, but she had come up with some.
"As a matter of fact you're late," she had said with her well-known snort that Torben had hated so much but suddenly found very comforting, very familiar. "I have to see my hairdresser in ten minutes and with all this traffic it's going to take at least fifteen."
"Then let's get going," he said with a huge smile, then brought the car out. Of course the old lady didn't have an appointment, but the hairdressers found time for her anyway. She had a way like that. She could make people jump for her.
That was when Torben realized the old woman did have a heart. They never talked about the death of Yvonne or Torben's sadness again, but they didn't have to. Somehow they had found each other, a strange sort of friendship in the middle of it all and that was enough for him. He didn't need her pity or her compassion. He needed everything to go back to normal, and so it had. It made coming home to the empty house a lot easier when he knew there was someone needing him in the morning.
&nbs
p; Torben whistled and waited in the driveway for the big old wooden door to open, but minutes passed and nothing happened. Torben wrinkled his nose. In all the thirty years Torben had worked for the lady she had never ever been late once. A feeling of unease was starting to spread in his body as the minutes passed by and shortly after, he couldn't stand it anymore. Mrs. Heinrichsen was supposed to be at her lawyer's office on the mainland at ten and if she didn't come out now, they weren't going to catch the ferry.
Torben knew Mrs. Heinrichsen would be very angry with him for doing this, but something compelled him to walk up the stairs and walk into the big old house.
"Hello?" he said hoping Mrs. Heinrichsen had merely overslept. "Mrs. Heinrichsen? The car is ready for you? The ferry leaves in half an hour."
As he received no answer Torben's heart started racing in his chest. This was not good; he thought and ran up the stairs and down the hallway. He knocked on her bedroom door with the cap in his hand.
"Mrs. Heinrichsen. We're going to be late."
He knocked twice, three times, and when there was no answer after the fifth time, he took in a deep breath and did what he had never done before. He walked into Mrs. Heinrichsen's bedroom.
"I'm sorry to do this but ..."
Torben froze by the sight of the old lady lying on her bed with her empty eyes staring into the ceiling. Then he cried. Not because he was reminded of the time he had come home and found his wife in the same position, dead by a heart attack on the same bed she had given birth to their two sons, not because he was sad that he was now going to be really alone since no one would need his services any longer. No Torben cried because of what had happened to her body. He cried and sobbed because never in his sixty years of living had he been in the presence of such cruelty.