The 4 in the shadows: The Suitcase on Platform 17 E-Book

Leonie Breitner

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The 4 in the Shadows: The Suitcase on Platform 17 Four teenagers discover a mysterious suitcase in an abandoned train station – and stumble upon the missing girl Jana W., who officially emigrated to Canada without a trace in 1995. But the deeper they dig, the clearer it becomes: something has been covered up. A web of silence, fear, and lies runs through their school's past. What they uncover changes not only their city – but also themselves. A gripping youth mystery about courage, truth, and the right to be heard.

Leseprobe

Title:The 4 in the shadows:

The Suitcase on Platform 17

Author:Leonie Breitner

Biography:

Leonie Breitner, born in 1991 and raised in Germany, discovered her passion for stories and characters at an early age. As an avid storyteller, her books combine exciting plots with the challenges of everyday life. Her stories are about friendship, secrets, and the adventures that life has to offer.

With her flair for lively dialogues and authentic emotions, Leonie Breitner particularly appeals to young readers.

When she is not writing, she enjoys spending time in nature or searching for inspiration in her new surroundings.

Chapter 1 – The Discovery

"Can someone please tell me why I'm standing in a stinking, pigeon-shit-infested train station basement on a Saturday morning while other people my age are just waking up and having breakfast?" Max's voice echoed through the damp walls. His forehead was wet with sweat, even though he was barely moving. He was leaning with his arms crossed against a greenish-stained wall on which someone had scrawled a heart and the word "LOVR" with a permanent marker.

"Because you promised. And because Mr. Brunner threatened to transfer you if you didn't participate in the city project," Sophie replied dryly. She balanced a bucket of white paint in one hand and held a worn brush in the other, the bristles of which looked like Grandma's old broom.

"And because you would have annoyed us forever, that you need a big apology if you"You're crazy at math," Emma added without looking up. She stood on a wobbly stool, painting over graffiti that clearly had no artistic intent. "Besides, the city promised there'll be pizza. Later."

"Pizza," Max snorted. "For a morning in Hades. Great."

Lukas, who had remained silent until now, crouched a few meters away in front of a rusty iron door, half-obscured by a broken advertising poster for a circus festival. "There's a draft back here," he murmured. "And look at that lock. It's not from around here. There's something wrong with it."

"Not another one of your sleuthing moments," Max said, but his voice wasn't quite as sarcastic anymore. When Lukas sounded like that, he was often right. And that usually meant trouble.

Sophie stepped next to him. "The castle is really old. Maybe an old storage room? Or a connecting cellar?"

Lukas knocked against the metal. A dull, heavy knock. "No one's been in here for a long time."

Emma carefully stepped off the stool, joined the others, and narrowed her eyes. The room they were working in was one of the lowest maintenance rooms at Eichenfeld Station. Disused for over ten years. They were only supposed to collect trash and paint walls. Not investigate hidden doors.

"There's something hanging there," she murmured. "A label?" She pulled on a half-rotted leather loop and revealed a dusty metal tag:Platform 17 – Technical Room.

"Platform 17 doesn't even exist anymore," Sophie said quietly. "It used to be a maintenance track, right? Twenty years ago or so?"

"It was shut down after the renovation," Lukas added. "No access anymore. It was never officially dismantled."

Max took a step closer. "Well then, detectives – how do we get this thingon?"

Lukas pulled his toolbox out of his backpack. No one asked why he had it with him. It was just Lukas. After three minutes of concentrated work, the lock clicked, as if it were just bored.

The door creaked as it opened, as if it were resisting. Cold air hit them. And the smell—a mixture of dust, old metal, and a hint of... something else. Something no one could quite identify. “Smells like an attic where someone died,” muttered Max.

"Charming," Emma said. She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. The beam slid over rusty shelves, empty paint cans, crumbling boxes—and then, in the far corner, onto an object that wasn't rusty. Instead, it was made of sturdy, almost elegant leather.

A suitcase.

It was tied with two straps, with worn corners, but overallamazingly well preserved.

“Why is there a suitcase here?” whispered Sophie.

"Maybe forgotten," said Max. "Whoever this was once."

"Forgotten? In a locked room under a disused railway track? Sure. Maybe someone accidentally left their vacation documents in a bunker," Lukas countered.

Emma stepped closer. "There's a nameplate on it." She carefully wiped the small, brass-colored plate on the side. The engraving was faint but still legible:JW – 1995.

"1995..." Sophie repeated. "That was almost thirty years ago."

"Could be someone from our town. Shall we take a look?" Max asked, stepping closer.

"It could also belong to someone who... doesn't want us to look inside," Lukas interjected. But no one backed away.

Max leaned forward and pulled on the leather straps – surprisingly easily. The buckles clicked open, and the lid opened.

The smell of old paper, dust, and something musty and sweet rose up. Emma held the lamp directly into it. The first things visible were an old school backpack with a tattered "Take That" patch, a notebook with a purple elastic band, a T-shirt with the inscription"Life's a Beach", a cassette, a crumpled cinema ticket from 1995 – and at the very bottom: a small photo album.

Sophie took the notebook. "This is a diary." Her voice was almost reverent. "The first entry is from... January 17, 1995. 'Today, Mr. M. asked me those questions again. I don't like it. But I can't tell anyone. Only S. knows.'"

The others remained silent.

“Who is S.? And who is Mr. M.?” Max finally asked.

Emma flipped through the photo album. "Here... a photo of a girl. Maybe 13 or 14. Shoulder-length brown hair. Her eyes look kind of... sad."

“Is there a name there?” asked Lukas.

"Just a signature under the picture: 'For later. Jana.'"

"Jana W.," Sophie murmured. "That's her. The owner."

Lukas nodded slowly. "And this isn't just an old suitcase. It's a time capsule. A story someone wanted to hide."

Max suddenly fell silent. He stared at the tape. "Why would someone hide something like that down here? And then never come back?"

No one answered. The question hung in the air, heavy as lead.

Emma slowly closed the trunk lid. "We're taking him with us. But not to the police. Not yet."

“What then?” asked Lukas.

“We find out who Jana was. Andwhy she hid this suitcase on platform 17."

Chapter 2 – The Contents

"Be careful, Max! It's almost as old as your dad." Emma knelt on the floor of Lukas's shed, holding the cassette between two fingers as if it were an antique treasure. The cassette was transparent, with gray reels, slightly yellowed, and the label bore the words "DO NOT LISTEN!" in scrawled handwriting—three bold exclamation marks. Below them were the initials:JW Max shrugged. "If it says you shouldn't listen to it, then that's almost an invitation."

"Or a warning," Lukas interjected, sitting in the corner, trying to match the date of the movie ticket from the suitcase to a specific screening on his tablet. "Maybe she really didn't want anyone to hear that. Maybe it's something really personal."

"Or she just wanted to create drama," said Sophie, who was leafing through the diary and photographing each page with her phone. "Look– some passages are crossed out, but still legible if you look at them at an angle. She writes about someone named 'S.' and repeatedly mentions 'the sessions'. And then this sentence: 'I recorded it. I had to. Otherwise no one will believe me.'"

"Sobut"Not a mixtape," Max murmured, carefully taking the cassette from Emma. "Then we'll listen to it. Maybe it's important."

"We shouldn't do this through headphones," said Lukas. "If someone goes berserk or there's a noise... you know... something weird... then everyone will hear it."

"What do you think is on there? Demon voices?" Max laughed dryly, put the cassette into the old, gray-brown portable radio, and pressed "Play."

A brief rattling. A quiet rustling. Then: silence.

Then suddenly: a girl's voice.

"Today is Friday. I was with Mr. M again. I didn't want to... but MomHe told me to. That otherwise I'd be admitted again. I don't want to go there anymore." The voice was young, insecure, brittle. "He told me to trust him. That I'd see things others wouldn't. But I don't see anything. Just his hands. And the way he always looks at me."

Silence.

Then a groan. Not a pleasant one. More like exhaustion, bitterness.

"S. says I should stop going there. But then what? Where should I go? I have no one. If I'm not there anymore, no one will notice. That's why... I'm doing this."

A whooshing noise. Then the sound of a chair being moved. Footsteps.

Then... a loud knock. Three times. Like a fist hitting wood.

The tape stopped abruptly.

Emma had crossed her arms in front of her chest as if she were trying to hold herself in place. Sophie stared at the portable radio with wide-open eyes. Max swallowed audibly.Lukas moved, jumped up, and rewound the tape.

"Wait!" Emma cried. "What are you doing?"

"I want to hear that pounding again," Lukas said quietly. "I think... I know that sound."

Max snorted. "Sure. How often do you hear three ominous thumps in the middle of a tape from the nineties?"

But Lukas shook his head. "Not the blows. The room. Something's echoing. It's... like the basement in the train station. Listen carefully."

He rewound the tape, this time to exactly the moment after the voice. Play.

The pounding.

"He's right," Sophie whispered. "It's the same room. The acoustics... I remember."

“She recorded this in the technical room,” said Lukas.

“Maybe she lived there? Hiding?” Emma wondered aloud.

“Or she was… held captive,” Max said quietly.

Silence.

Sophie picked up the diary again. "It says something here about 'the lower door.' She writes: 'If I find the key, I can get through there. But I think he hid it. Maybe in the workbench?'"

"Workbench?" Lukas repeated. "There was no workbench in that room."

"Not anymore," said Max. "Maybe it was moved out. Or in another room."

"There was this walled-up niche," Emma remembered. "Maybe there was something there before. Or there are more rooms we haven't seen."

Lukas was already standing up, shouldering his backpack. "Then we have to go again. Tonight."

"What? Going there again? It was scary enough the first time," Sophie said.

“Then take Max by the hand,” Emma grinned, “then it won’t be half as bad.”

Max nudged her in the side. "The main thing is that you don't run into a cobweb out of fear and scream like a siren again."

“That was abat, you scoundrel!” Despite the grim discovery, a faint hint of laughter hung in the air. It was their way of dealing with the tension.

But when they descended into the station's basement again that evening, the lock open this time, the room silent and empty, it became deathly quiet again. The flashlights cast flickering beams onto the crumbling walls and rusty pipes.

"There," whispered Lukas. "The spot behind the shelf."

Max and he moved the old, half-dilapidated metal shelf aside. Behind it: a thin line in the plaster. And an old crack in the wall, barely visible, but noticeable when youknew what to look for.

"Bricked up," said Lukas. "And here... look." He shone the light over the edges. "Fresh mortar. This isn't from the nineties."

Emma stared at him. "Someone closed it later."

“What if someone doesn’t want you to come in here again?” whispered Sophie.

“Too late,” said Max. “Because wearealready in there.” He ran his finger along the wall. "If we can open this, we might know what Jana saw. Or what was done to her."

Emma clutched the notebook. "And maybe also why she never came back."