2 - Villa
2
Villa
On his way down the stairs, Robert checked the route on his phone. Estimated time of arrival at your destination: 7:49 p.m. Looks like I might even still manage to grab some beers on the way.
He had made it down to the second floor when a skeleton in a full-body black spandex suit, which had been busy decorating its apartment door with plastic spiders, blocked his path.
"Ah, Mr. Terwin!" the costumed neighbor rejoiced. "I've been looking for you. Are you coming to our little party tonight? We haven't received your confirmation yet."
"Unfortunately, no," Robert replied, looking for a way to push past. "I already committed elsewhere."
"Too bad," the skeleton said, glancing at his hiking backpack. "Is this part of your costume? May I ask what you are dressing as?"
"Witch hunter," Robert snapped before his brain could stop him.
The neighbor scratched his head. "Does that mean crosses, wooden stakes – stuff like that?"
"Duct tape, zip ties, trash bags," Robert replied. "I'm keeping up with the times."
The neighbor chuckled awkwardly, followed by a heavy silence.
I guess no more future invites for me.
"Well, I'll have to get going," Robert said.
"Yes," the skeleton announced with relief. "Me too. So... Have fun hunting witches."
"Thanks. Will do." Not, he thought as he proceeded rushing down the stairs. He was not exactly expecting a fun evening after what Alois had written in his letters.
He passed by the mailboxes and pushed open the front door. A gust of damp leaves blew into the hallway.
"Careful!" Hilde's voice came from the stairwell, who must have been lurking behind her apartment door. "I just swept down there!"
The door slammed shut behind him.
7:14 p.m.
After a quick inner struggle, he decided to hurry toward the kiosk just a few meters down the road, even though it lay in the opposite direction of his subway station. A night in a horror house is bad enough.A night in a horror house without some cold beers was more horror than he could stomach.
With a few quick steps, he reached the glowing windows of the kiosk and peered inside. A scuffed sticker read: "Please ring for assistance." But Walther, the owner, had removed the bell's wire ages ago because the ringing annoyed him.
Robert pounded on the glass between the clear plastic boxes full of candy. Surely Walther was in the back room, glued to the TV with the sound cranked all the way up.
Robert knocked louder. As he waited impatiently, his gaze grazed the headline of one of the tabloids displayed in showcases.
Two more young "witches" missing: What happened to Wiccan-enthusiasts Aileen (18) and Daniela (19)?
"Great," Robert grumbled to himself. Now everyone is obsessed with witches. Looks like the entire city has gone mad.
After a few moments, Walther came waddling from the doorway in the back, wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, and pulled open the sales window.
"Tach. What's up?" he asked.
"Moin, Walther," Robert replied. "No time to talk, I'm in a hurry. Two beers. Wait – make it three. It's gonna be a long night."
"Coming right up." Walther pulled three bottles from the refrigerator with a clinking sound and slid them through the window.
"Thanks," Robert huffed, stuffing them in his backpack. "Put it on my tab, okay?"
"Again? Hey! It's about time for you to show up with some money."
"I will," Robert called back over his shoulder. "In just a few days, money won't be an issue for me any more."
"That's what you've been telling me the last few times!" grunted Walther before pulling the window shut with a snap.
But this time it's true, Robert thought as he hurried through the drizzle, weaving his way through a group of trick-or-treaters in costumes with plastic bags in their hands.
He hurried down the steps to the subway station, let out a pained grunt as he watched the train speed away and checked his watch.
7:25 p.m. This will be a close call.
Restlessly pacing up and down, he checked Alois' address in the map app of his cell phone. Berlin-Zehlendorf. An area with lavish villas from the turn of the century, inhabited by people who were not much younger than their houses. Old West Berlin money, as they said. This seems too good to be true. I'll only believe it when I see the place with my own eyes.
After several minutes that felt like an eternity, the next train rattled into the station. The doors flew open and spat out crowds of people. Robert squeezed in, tugged his backpack off his shoulders and found a seat next to a group of dressed-up thirty-somethings who were passing around a champagne bottle.
7:31 p.m.
He closed his eyes to distract himself from obsessively checking his watch. Still, he couldn't stop his boots from pattering nervously against the floor.
A sigh of relief escaped him as the train reached his stop.
7:48 p.m. From here it's just a five minute walk. Everything will be fine.
He jogged up the stairs. A fresh breeze welcomed him outside the station, where the rain had subsided. The coolness had a pleasantly invigorating effect.
Following his navigational app, Robert turned around the station's railing and marched across the damp, shiny sidewalk. Green arched lanterns with ornate decorations illuminated his path. Aged sycamores swayed in the wind. On both sides, sprawling estates sat behind vast lawns like crouching giants. The contrast to his home district of Berlin-Mitte could not have been more striking.
A sudden flapping of wings in the bushes made him jump.
"Robert?"
He spun around, nearly knocking over a young woman with his backpack.
"Whoops!"
The stranger laughed and flipped back the hood of her coat. "Robert – is that you?"
"Kathy!"
A jolt went through Robert's body at the sight of her.
His secret crush from junior high smiled and banished a free-spirited strand of her black ponytail behind her ear. She looked stunning, as usual, with her dark blue eyes and dimples.
"Well, what a coincidence," she said. "What are you doing around here?"
"I'm... visiting someone," he replied. "A relative. He needs help with his house."
"I see," she said. "Nice of you to help him out."
Kathy flashed him another smile, which Robert nervously returned. Kathy from the seventh grade. Kathy, whom he had fallen for the moment he first laid eyes on her. As if by some strange joke of the universe, they had even picked the same undergraduate politics program at Humboldt University.
"What about you?" he inquired, trying to break the silence. "What brings you here?"
"Oh," she replied, nonchalantly. "I'm just going for a walk. Sometimes I like to check out neighborhoods I've never been to. Helps me get to know my city better."
"Good idea," he said. "I should also do that more often."
Another pause followed.
"So… What else?" asked Kathy. "How are you spending your semester break?"
"Oh, I'm not getting bored, always got something to do," Robert lied. "Gaming, meeting friends… and, of course, 'planning my career'. My parents are spending a two-week vacation at the Baltic Sea, but my dad keeps pestering me about it. He even talked me into starting a list of possible places to apply to so we can 'discuss' my weekly progress! I don't get why it's his life mission to see me in 'secure' employment. 'Get a job, something solid'. You know how parents can be."
"Ha, yeah," Kathy answered. Her gaze wandered to the left, where a raven croaked behind some bushes.
"Uh," he said, glancing at his watch.
7:53 p.m.
"Hey, it was really cool to run into you here," he pressed on. "It's just... I have to be at my relative's house by eight. And I still have to find it."
"Oh, really?" Kathy fixated him with newly-awakened interest. Her eyes wandered over his face, shining with a glow that he had never seen in them before. "I mean… It's funny, isn't it? That we're running into each other like this in the middle of nowhere, don't you think? Is this thing with your relative really that urgent? Maybe we could…"
She pointed down a side street, where the illuminated sign of a bar promised beer, companionship, and warmth.
"How about we grab a drink and chat for a bit?" she asked. "I mean... We've never really talked before, have we?"
"No," he replied with a hoarse voice. "We haven't. Hanging out sounds great. It's just…"
Damn it! Years of dreaming of this exact opportunity and tonight out of all nights she has to ask me.
Robert clenched his jaws. "The thing is… I really have to go. It's very important. My relative – he is not doing well. How about…" He pulled out his cell phone. "Just give me your number and I'll call you, okay? Then we'll find a date."
Kathy screwed up her face. "Actually… I mean, I'll be quite busy these next few weeks. If you don't want to hang out…"
"That's not at all what I mean," Robert burst out. "Any other night, I'd... just not tonight. Come on. We'll find time for this, okay?"
Kathy looked at him skeptically. Again, an expression entered her eyes he couldn't quite read. Her gaze shot to her right, where two well-dressed young men passed them on the sidewalk, chattering loudly.
"I mean… sure," she said unenthusiastically. "Another time then, I guess."
She took his cell phone and typed in her number.
Robert bit his lip. Unbelievable. Tonight of all nights. Is the universe messing with me? I've got beer, movies – a whole house to myself. Maybe I should just...
Do not let anyone in, that line from the document called out.
But…
Really no one, do you understand?
"Well, then," Kathy said, quickly calling herself from his phone, then handing it back to him. "I guess I'll see you around."
"I'll call you," he assured her. "Let's just do this some other time, okay?"
"Sure," she replied. "Some other time."
She leaned over to hug him. He caught a pleasant whiff of her shampoo.
"See you around, Robert," she said, turning away and flipping her hood back up.
"See ya soon!" He waved, but she was walking away without looking back.
Dammit! He clenched his hand into a fist. Damn Alois with his will. This house better be a damn palace!
He glanced at his wristwatch and felt his blood rush.
7:56 p.m. Way too close.
Heart pounding, he hurried off and continued to follow the blue line on his phone's screen. To his left, iron fences and trimmed hedges zoomed by. His half-boots splashed through puddles and leaves. From here, it was just one more turn until...
He slowed his steps as the corner lot receded in front of him. Behind it opened a rectangular square, bordered by cobblestone streets. For a few moments he stared, mouth agape. His eyes darted between his screen and the building in the center of the square. Once more, he looked down to make absolutely sure he was in the right place.
"Yesss!" he exclaimed, pushing his fist into the air. "Thanks, Uncle. I think I can forgive you."
Slightly elevated on a hill and in the middle of an overgrown garden stood a three-story wooden villa. Light from the evening's crescent moon reflected on bay windows, turrets and a slanted roof crowned by a weathercock. Judging by the castle-like appearance, an architect with a love for random additions and a hate for straight surfaces had gone wild on the building. The garden had seen better days; behind the iron fence – which was a good three meters high – shiny, damp shrubs and a few towering firs huddled together. A pebble path led from the gate up to the wooden structure. The neighboring properties on the sides of the square surrounded the villa in an almost devout manner. The house seemed old and not in the best condition. But the most important thing: It was huge.
Robert could not help but grin widely. Thailand. Hong Kong. Malibu.If he sold this property, there was nothing he could not afford.
7:58 p.m. Time to hurry up!
He quickened his steps toward the garden gate and tampered with the lock. It took him several tries before he found the right key. The gate slid open silently. He followed the path, the pebbles crunching under his footsteps. On the right, a small shed pressed up against the fence. Under a fir tree in the right-hand corner, a hewn slant of rock, reminiscent of a tombstone, glinted in the moonlight. Grass and weeds had spread everywhere. The light from the street lamps only reached the outskirts of the house. The bushes further in were merely dark shapes. Robert's own breathing, the crunching sounds of his steps and the distant roar of the big city were the only sounds.
He trudged up three wooden steps leading to a covered porch and approached the massive front door, which had a frosted glass pane behind iron bars at eye level. The narrow windows on the sides, hung with curtains, were blocked in the same way. It was without doubt the residence of a cautious man.
This time, Robert found the correct key right away and slid it into the lock without resistance. He pushed and pulled – but the door did not budge. He tried again – nothing. What the...
7:59 p.m., screamed his watch.
Once again, he pushed and pulled the handle. Goosebumps ran down his arms. His heart beat faster. He heard, or rather felt, a tingling alarm – a primal, animalistic instinct, like a warning that a lurking predator was near. Behind him, the bushes swayed. The keys jingled in his hand as he began to poke at the lock in panic.
Come on. Come on!
The tension in his guts turned into panic. Were the bushes rustling louder behind his back? Was there something moving in the darkness of the garden?
"Gah!"
The keys slipped from his hand and fell clattering onto the floor planks, between which age and weathering had driven wide gaps. Only when he straightened up again from picking them up did he notice the second lock, about a hand's width below the first.
Of course!
Once more, he tampered with the door. The first key did not fit. A gust of wind rushed through the garden, causing a shutter to slam against the house.
Open up, you damn...
There it was: a satisfying 'click'. Robert threw himself against the door and almost fell forward onto the black-and-white tiles on the other side when it swung open. Just barely catching himself, he wheeled around, pulled out the keys and slammed the door shut behind him.
Breathing heavily, he leaned against the wood and checked his watch.
8:00 p.m.
He could not help but chuckle.
Last second. Just like the heroes in the movies.
It took him a few moments to regain his composure. What was that fear? What on earth has gotten into me? Probably watching too many horror movies. He tried to give himself a reassuring smile. I'm here, am I not? I made it on time. All is good. Everything under contr…
A shriek escaped him as a strong gust of wind rattled the door. He quickly locked it and pushed an iron bolt in place. With a sigh, he let his backpack slide onto the checkerboard tiles.
What a trip. Now I really deserve a beer.
He turned and looked around. Some light fell in through the lattice window in the door. Before him lay a dark entrance hall. To the right, several doorways branched off. To the left, a staircase with elaborate wooden railings led to the second floor. Large oil paintings hung on the walls; the motifs were indiscernible in the semi-darkness. He drew in a sharp inhale when a shadow scurried across the tiles. Something had moved in front of the frosted glass window. He felt for a light switch on the wall. Finally, his fingers made contact with plastic. With a crackling sound, light bulbs flickered in an iron chandelier on the ceiling.
"Wow," he whispered.
The hallway was grand and richly decorated, reminiscent of a nobleman's hunting lodge. Dark, reddish wood covered the interior. Men in old-fashioned robes looked down at him with serious expressions from heavy gold frames. To the right, the iron hooks of a coat rack curved upward, large enough to hang sides of pigs on. Next to it hung a full-length mirror, presumably to check one's plate armor before heading out into battle.
Robert's gaze wandered over to the paintings as the wind made the house's facade creak. The men depicted wore broad hats, long coats, and held a disturbing variety of weapons: old-fashioned rifles, crossbows, and swords. Cautiously, Robert began to move across the hall. His damp soles squeaked on the tiles as he approached the first door on the right and pulled it open. Before him lay a storage closet filled with cleaning and handyman's supplies. Everything appeared old and dusty, but not out of the ordinary. He closed the door and moved on to the next. Behind it was a medium-sized kitchen with a table, two chairs, and a narrow bench under a lattice window on the right. He traced the countertop with his finger. There was no layer of dust worth mentioning.
Uncle Alois can't have been gone long.
Back in the hallway, Robert followed the corridor deeper into the house. To the left, a door below the staircase revealed steps leading to the basement. Further ahead, facing the entrance, he found a door that looked different from the others. The frame and lock were reinforced with steel. Stepping closer, he found the seal from Alois' letter engraved into the wooden paneling: two crossed swords with the omega-symbol nested at their intersection.
Robert tried the latch – the door was locked. He reached for the keys in his pocket, then changed his mind. There'll be plenty of time for exploration later. Alois' will had mentioned further instructions in a study on the upper floor.
He returned to the entryway and peered up the stairs lying in shadows. On the wall next to the entrance, he found another light switch and flipped it. A lamp on the wall flickered briefly before dying with a hiss.
Robert sighed.
Who knows what else needs fixing in this old joint.
He grabbed the flashlight from his backpack and aimed its light upward. At the top of the stairs, behind a small ledge, was an open passageway that...
Brrrrrt, went a rattling sound that startled him into a yelp. He spun around and saw a clapper hammering furiously against an old-fashioned doorbell to the right side of the entrance.
"Jeez!" he groaned, clenching his hand against his chest.
A shadow moved behind the frosted glass window. Robert shook the scare away and reached for the door handle when he remembered: Do not let anyone in!
Next to the light switches was an intercom with a button in a copper socket. He pressed its button and heard a crackle.
"Hello?" he asked hesitantly.
No one answered.
"Hello?" he tried again. "Who's there?"
Nothing, but the rustling of the bushes.
Suddenly, the shadow behind the glass moved. Robert flinched as someone pressed their forehead and hands against the bars.
"Hello?" the distorted voice of an older woman sounded through the intercom. "Who are you? What are you doing in there?"
"I… What are you doing in my garden?"
"This is not your garden!" the voice crackled. "How did you get in there? What are you doing in his house? I'm calling the police."
"There's no need," Robert replied curtly. "I'm visiting. The house belongs to my uncle."
"A nephew?" the woman's voice chimed through the speaker. "He never mentioned anything about a nephew. What happened to that nice Mr. Burmantel?"
"He passed away," Robert explained with forced patience. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."
Silence followed, intermixed with more distorted noise. "How awful," the woman finally said with a weak voice. "My condolences. He was always so nice. He and I were... Young man, why don't you open this door so we can have a proper talk? I don't think it's appropriate to speak about the dead through such a... device."
"I can't do that," Robert replied. "I'm... indisposed. Why don't you come back tomorrow? I'll make us coffee."
"I knew it!" the voice exclaimed. "You're not his nephew at all! You're a lousy burglar. That's it! I'm calling the police!"
"Do it then!" Robert released the button and turned away, shaking his head.
How has she even gotten to the door? I must have forgotten to close the garden's gate.
He shouldered his backpack and walked over to the full-length mirror on the right wall. The young man looking back at him, drenched and exhausted, could clearly use some rest.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he noticed a pair of green eyes staring at him from the top left corner of the mirror. Slowly, he turned around and looked up. At the top of the stairs lay a marbled black-and-orange Bengal cat, tail slithering back and forth, and studying him warily.
Robert let out a sigh of relief. Alois had not mentioned anything about a pet. At least a hint would've been nice.
"Kitty, kitty," he said, stomping up the stairs. The creature sniffed at his leg as he reached the top and stepped past it. He pointed his flashlight into a narrow hallway running in both directions. Across it were four closed doors. Another one to the left, at the end of the hallway, was cracked open. Robert walked toward it, his steps muffled by thick dark-green runners, nudged it open with his foot, and shone his flashlight inside. His fingers found a light switch on the wall. A quick flip, and several lamps across the room turned on.
"Aha!" Now we're talking.
A pleasant, warm light filled the study. The old-fashioned term "gentlemen's room" came to his mind. The walls were wood-paneled and the wooden floor was covered with expensive-looking carpets. To the right was an upholstered swivel chair in front of a fold-out secretary desk, on which sat a Japanese Tanto-knife that evidently served as a letter opener. Further back against the right wall was an open fireplace decorated with wrought iron grates. A table lamp with a gold rod and green glass filled the corner with a cozy glow. Files and leather-bound books stood neatly lined up in shelves along the walls. Opposite the entrance was a bay window with heavy green brocade curtains, whose panels opened up to a view of the garden. To the left, the path leading to the house gleamed in the moonlight behind another window front. Display cases, chests of drawers, and armchairs were arranged all around the chamber. This was not your average study. Someone with a select taste for beautiful things had wanted to feel at home in this place.
Robert's eyes turned wide when he spotted a low display case to the right. He got down on one knee and scanned the collection of whiskies, cognacs, and schnapps of all colors behind the interior-lit panes. It would take weeks to drink through all of them.
He straightened up and let his gaze wander. So this is how Alois lived. This does seem like his kind of style.
Looking for a place to make himself comfortable, Robert decided on a heavy upholstered chair with a footstool in the center of the chamber. The cat beat him to it, jumping onto the seat and curling itself into it.
"Hey!" Robert protested. "Pick another place. Shoo! That's my chair."
The cat stared back at him, disinterested in his display of drama.
"Shoo," he repeated. "There are plenty of seats around here. Go find your own."
The cat showed no reaction except for a twinkle in her attentive eyes. For a while, they engaged in a staring contest.
"Bah!" Robert finally conceded. "I could just sit on you, you know that? Luckily for you, I'm in a generous mood today."
He lowered his backpack to the floor, tossed his jacket over a chair, pulled out a beer and settled into another, slightly less swanky piece of furniture.
"Well then: Here's to a pleasant evening. Cheers, cat." He let the crown cap fizz and took a deep swig. "Ah," he announced to the world. "Here's to you, Alois! Whatever I did to deserve this honor."
Robert sank deeper into the cushions and looked around. Just like the hallway, the study also had its fair share of grim oil paintings. Above the chest of drawers with the spirits hung a portrayal of a hunting scene; a group of mounted men in a forest, equipped with horns and shotguns. A pack of hunting dogs stalked ahead of them. Their macabre prey had already been captured. A rope led from a saddle pommel to a gallows noose hanging around the neck of a grisly-faced old woman. Robert made a face in disgust.
Way to ruin a perfectly relaxing room.
It was time to make the atmosphere a little more pleasant. He pulled his laptop out of his backpack, placed it on a dresser next to the bay windows, and clicked through his movie collection. Picking a nearly century-old black-and-white adaptation of 'Frankenstein' and starting it with the sound muted, he gave a satisfied nod.
Much better. I know the plot by heart anyway.
The cat meowed, prompting Robert to follow its gaze to the window. He held his breath when he saw it too: beyond the gravel path and bushes, on the other side of the garden fence, the street lamps illuminated a figure standing on the sidewalk, looking at them: Death, wrapped in a cloak, scythe in hand.