The case E-Book

Irene B. Sörensen

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 315

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Laura and Simon, two teenagers, are actually kids like all the others - with a crazy mind and their dreams. But everything changes when a little dark red book full of stories falls into their hands. The strangest thing about it is that it opens by itself, as if the wind had been playing with the pages. They soon realize that they have a puzzle to solve: the symbolism of the numbers from 0 to 10. And so they enter a completely new and strange world into which they are drawn as if by a maelstrom. Unstoppable and ever deeper ...

Leseprobe

Introduction

In the Scottish hills, autumn greets us with fierce winds that carry the cold, lashing rain from the ocean to the mainland. The fog created by the damp cold creeps quietly around the houses, and the foliage, which presents itself in its most beautiful colors, flies through the air and is already piling up everywhere on the sidewalks of the small towns and villages.

In this spooky atmosphere, the inhabitants of a small town in the county of Inverness-shire are eagerly awaiting the arrival of newcomers who were previously unknown to them. The rumor spreads like wildfire in the area that the house on the hill, which has been empty for a long time, is getting new residents.

Mr. Akiak

The elderly Mr. Akiak, who used to live in the house and was originally from northern Canada, came from a small traditional ethnic group that lived from fishing and hunting, so he often took the opportunity to tell the villagers stories about his ancestors. If the locals met him somewhere along the way, they knew that it might take a little longer if Mr. Akiak started to talk about his adventurous past and the history of his family out of habit. However, there were many exciting stories that had been passed down from generation to generation by his ancestors, and the people in the neighborhood often couldn't resist stopping to listen to the old tales for the umpteenth time out of curiosity.

Mr. Akiak liked to talk about a ruler named Gobor, who is said to have lived in the north hundreds of years ago. According to tradition, he was a great adventurer who loved his freedom and enjoyed his popularity with women to the full, and so there were often whispers about his changing companions.

The reason why Mr. Akiak had settled in Scotland was also a popular topic with him and made him particularly cheerful. His stories always began in Greenland, when his father had drifted far out to sea in his kayak while fishing. His father had been rowing behind a school of fish and had not noticed the change in the weather, which suddenly turned the sea into a bubbling maelstrom of ever-increasing waves. While he was desperately trying to get out of this predicament, an unidentified ship suddenly appeared between the high waves.

His father couldn't see where the ship was coming from at first glance, but saw a few sailors waving their arms back and forth to attract his attention. When he reached the vicinity of the ship with difficulty, they indicated that he should join them on deck. After several attempts to get his father out of the water with a rope, the sailors managed to pull him on board, his father told him at the time, just before he disappeared into the waves at the end of his tether. Arriving on deck exhausted, his father looked with relief into the eyes of the seven sailors and a very exhausted captain who, like him, had been fighting the high waves for several hours and were now also at the end of their tether.

The storm soon subsided and his father helped the sailors to navigate the wrecked ship towards the coast. When they had made the last mile through the high waves together and reached their destination, his father invited everyone home and his mother went into the kitchen and cooked a hot meal for everyone. They communicated as best they could using sign language, and the captain asked his father for help to repair his ship. When, after many hurdles and obstacles and a long search for suitable timber and fittings, the ship was finally afloat, the captain thanked his father by leaving him his house, nestled in the hills in the Scottish county of Inverness-shire.

Many years later, when his father was on his deathbed and Mr. Akiak would not leave his side, the moment had come for him to hand over his only possession to his son. The father asked his son to fetch the folded sealskin that he kept in a small secret compartment. Mr. Akiak handed him the bundle, and his father carefully took out the small dark red book and asked him to keep the precious book, which had been in the family for generations, for the rest of his life as carefully as he had done. Mr. Akiak knew of the book's existence and that the little dark red book contained valuable life wisdom because his father had told him about it in his childhood.

Then his father took out a small scrap of brown paper, on which Mr. Akiak could only make out a scribbled note, and he began to tell his son again about his adventures with the Scots and the captain's inheritance.

The next morning his father died in his arms, and Mr. Akiak was left alone, his mother having succumbed to her serious injuries a few years earlier after an accident with the dog sled.

After the loss of his father, he became very reflective and started to think about his life and what he should do next. So far he had had no luck in finding a life partner and the time had come for him to leave for Scotland to see the house he had inherited. Mr. Akiak set off on the long journey across the Atlantic in a sturdy boat with the scrap of brown paper, a compass in his pocket and the small dark red book. During the long, adventurous journey across the sea, he had to battle the rough weather and high waves several times. He was particularly fond of writing about this because it made him a hero.

When Mr. Akiak finally arrived in Scotland after his long and dangerous journey across the sea and, after an energetic search, found the abandoned house, he was astonished by the beautiful nature and the good condition of the house and became a resident surprisingly quickly.

Mr. Akiak then lived for many years until his death in the house that his father had adventurously inherited from a Scottish captain.

Laura

I pause and sit down thoughtfully on the top landing. I'm in the process of packing all my clothes, shoes and favorite books because I'm moving to Inverness-shire with my mother.

It makes me sad that my parents no longer got on well and that my father moved out of the apartment they shared. My thoughts suddenly wander back to the time when I was little and I often romped around with my father, laughed a lot and felt safe. When the weather was nice, the three of us often went on picnics in the park and I like to remember how happy I was when my father was there. I sometimes asked him questions about life, and he was always very patient and liked to answer with: "You know, Laura, I've found that my view of some things has changed over the course of my life."

"Laura," my mother calls from the kitchen. "Have you finished packing?"

"I need another suitcase for my winter clothes and fur boots," I reply.

Once again, I am lost in my thoughts about the past years and remember when my father was promoted three years ago. It was a big deal at first, and my mother said to me, he's finally done it, and from now on we can allow ourselves to travel somewhere special every year. At first I was thrilled with the idea of traveling to faraway places and spending my vacations on beautiful sandy beaches, strolling through the cities with their busy markets and tasting exotic food. But when it turned out that I hardly ever got to see my father, I slowly realized how high the price was.

During this time, my mother often went to Café Royal with her friend Rebecca, where they both regularly ordered a gin and tonic. The first drink often turned into a second, after which the two friends began to flirt with the gentlemen present. She met Jacob on one of these evenings; he was extremely charming and had a well-groomed beard. He was quick to win over women, had a sense of humor and exaggerated excessively about everything he had achieved in his life.

My mother was fascinated by the charming bon vivant and met him a few times for cocktails at the Café Royal. They became friends and it was quickly rumored that they were having an affair. This rumor eventually found its way to my father, who couldn't believe it at first and therefore pretended that nothing had happened. But friends started to whisper about it openly and my father finally approached my mother about it.

From that day on, nothing was the same, the mood changed and tensions were constantly in the air. There was no longer any trust, and so the conversations between them turned into mutual accusations and hurt.

My mother was desperate, she couldn't convince my father that nothing had happened between her and Jacob, except that they had met a few times.

My father had been working a lot of overtime during this time and this situation, which he couldn't change, really bothered him; he knew that it wasn't good for the relationship. It was increasingly weighing on him and he was annoyed about it.

My mother suffered from his bad mood and knew that she had to change something very quickly and started to browse the newspaper in the morning for a job.

I often saw her sitting on the corner bench in the kitchen with her large green-painted coffee cup, which she had probably already filled with her favorite coffee for the third time, and studying the advertisements with her round, blue reading glasses, which had slipped a little lower on her nose each time and gave her face a rarely beautiful glow due to the incidence of light from the window.

Not much time passed before my mother became aware of an advertisement that was strikingly colorful and humorous, offering a job in a small bank branch in the Scottish Highlands in the city of Inverness. She felt immediately drawn to it and said it must be providence, and suddenly she could imagine living up there.

My mother and I had a lot of conversations about this possible move and I was already imagining the craziest scenarios of what life in the Highlands could be like. I knew that Loch Ness was in the area and the story of the monster Nessie fascinated me because it was not proven that it really existed. Stories about the monster kept circulating, and I find this fantasy of a creature that is not of this world very exciting.

I have just turned 17 and love to immerse myself in reading about exotic cultures and peoples. And when I delve into the history of a people's past and the origins of their culture, I repeatedly discover that tales of mysterious phenomena and mystical legends are almost always part of it. These mysteries in every foreign culture fascinate me more and more, and that is exactly why my mother persuaded me to move to this captivating region.

Last but not least, years ago my father read to me from our family chronicle and I learned that the Hansen family had its roots in Denmark. As a result, their roots could be traced back to the Vikings, who had also spent long periods in Scotland on their rather adventurous journeys, and now our paths were to cross in this way.

I'm a blonde, mostly cheerful girl with little freckles on my nose that sometimes change color when I flash my shy smile. With this smile I have already been able to cast a spell over a few people - this may well have something to do with my inner light-heartedness. I like to make jokes here and there and am happy when I can make others laugh.

Nevertheless, I often like to retreat to my room to immerse myself in a parallel world, and while reading in my favorite armchair I became so deeply absorbed in my books that my blossoming imagination drew me into the world of the protagonists.

Until a year ago, I shared this adventure with my best friend Oskar; we often sat in my room after school and philosophized for hours about telepathy and ghostly apparitions. Oskar told me about an experience he had years before: when he had spent a few days with his grandparents in their old house by the sea north of London, he had heard strange noises on the first night. The second night he got up and followed the noise down to the cellar until he realized he was standing in the dark, shivering in fear, when suddenly a mysterious shadow scurried past him. He could almost hear, but more importantly feel, his heart racing and he jumped up the stairs, knocked the door aside and then stood in the kitchen again, where his grandmother in her nightgown looked at him in surprise and questioning. Oskar explained to her what had happened and why he had gone into the cellar, she smiled and told him about her house ghost, who had been visiting her regularly at night for years.

From that moment on, Oskar was fascinated by this level of spirits and began to explore the subject through specialist literature and exciting conversations. We laughed together a lot and often, and I was all the sadder when I found out that he was moving to America, it suddenly happened very quickly, he stopped by to say goodbye and then jumped into the car outside to take the whole family to the airport. His father had been transferred to Boston at short notice due to restructuring in the company where he had been working for years, so he and his family had to leave their home in London and move to Boston at the drop of a hat.

I was very sad about this loss and liked to bury myself in my room afterwards to deal with my pain alone. At first I called Oskar on days like this, but he was so busy with his new school and settling into his new surroundings that he couldn't find time for me. I sulked to myself and was disappointed with the whole world, it didn't feel good and it seemed like life was conspiring against me at the moment.

It's raining cats and dogs and I watch the raindrops roll down the window for a while and I gradually immerse myself in my fantasy world again, where I feel happy. In this plane, I am the director and enjoy the ease with which I can move around without limits.

After these two painful experiences, I became increasingly withdrawn and sometimes brooded about the past late into the night. I liked to dwell on the beautiful experiences that had sustained me so much and made me happy every day, but now I was afraid of the future and didn't know what to expect.

It's the beginning of fall and we've already been on the road for hours as I drive through the beautiful countryside with my mother and we quickly agree that we don't regret leaving London.

We drive through small villages that look as if time stood still hundreds of years ago: The sheep graze on the green meadows in their usual serenity, and only the sound of our car's engine breaks the silence. I suddenly spot a shy deer scurrying out of the forest and crossing the field in a flash as it catches sight of the car.

The road leads us past a few castles with thick, old walls that look as if a knight on horseback might come galloping along at any moment, and the inhabitants are busy with everyday life in their simple clothes, some of which barely cover their bodies. The children play with stones or pieces of wood, which they use with great imagination for various games to pass the time happily.

It's getting late as we drive up the road that leads to our new home. The sun is low and turns the sky orange; I've only seen something so harmonious once before. The nature that spreads out before us is of a thrilling beauty and reminds me exactly of this experience. It was on a trip in the middle of summer many years ago, when I went to Wales with my parents. The glow of the sun was very different that day and I discovered beauty in this way for the first time, feeling carefree and happy. We went up a hill in the evening, from where we had a special view and experienced an incomparably beautiful sunset, and that day is therefore etched in my memory in a special way.

And now I can once again experience this special atmosphere of the sunset, where the glow has turned into a warm golden hue, giving it a rapturous appearance.

The house, which my mother says will be our new home for a few years, is surrounded by a large garden with lots of old trees and shrubs, which together form a small overgrown park that blocks most of the view of the house.

I move forward slowly as I stretch my legs after the long ride and I have to be careful not to trip over overgrown roots or fallen branches until I suddenly find myself standing on a rustic veranda. On the veranda, I discover an old wooden bench that is showing its age and looks like it might even collapse under my few pounds, and as I don't want to take any risks, I decide to stay put. The autumn leaves are already curling and some are dancing in circles with the wind, others are lying all over the slabs and in the corners. And in the many old and broken pots, I can still spot a few wilted flowers, which may soon be surprised by the first snow and then say goodbye for good. The view from up there offers a captivating sight through the many different shades of color of the autumn leaves.

The village in the middle of this idyllic landscape looks almost unreal. When I enter the house shortly afterwards, the first thing I see are our moving boxes, but it is immediately clear to us when our eyes cross that my mother and I have nothing to clear out after the long journey and are very happy that everything is ready and we want to go straight to bed. I undress quickly afterwards, fall onto my bed like a stone and fall asleep immediately.

In the middle of the night, I am suddenly awakened from my deep sleep by a strange noise and sit up in my bed, rubbing my eyes because a light in my room is blinding me, but by the time I realize what it is, it has already gone dark again and I am too tired to get to the bottom of it and quickly fall asleep again.

When I slowly wake up the next morning, the first thing I notice is the silence. All I can hear is my mother in the kitchen and my stomach growling loudly with hunger. This silence is completely alien to me because I was constantly exposed to an avalanche of noise in London, which I no longer perceived as such and only realize here because of the absolute silence.

Unpacking after breakfast is very difficult for me and I keep getting distracted because there are so many new things to discover. Because of the special atmosphere, I chose a large corner room on the top floor, which certainly attracted my attention partly because of the fantastic view and the special incidence of light. I immediately fell in love with the large mirror with the golden frame, where golden angels adorn the top edge. The mirror fascinates me, and I stand there looking at myself in the mirror for a while, then that light from the previous night comes back to me, and once again I feel this inexplicable aura spreading through the room.

As I open the lid of my suitcase containing my clothes, I notice one that I haven't worn for a long time and spontaneously walk over to the large mirror. While I'm standing there thinking about whether I still like the dress and want to keep it, I discover that there's a small door behind the mirror.

My curiosity is piqued and I carefully push the mirror aside and take a good look at the door first, then I push the handle down and luckily it's not locked. The door is jammed and I have to push my whole body against it to open it a crack. Behind it is a staircase, and it seems to me that it leads up to the attic.

I carefully walk up the dusty and partly broken stairs and enter the attic. In the semi-darkness, I see that there are many different utensils scattered around on the floor, probably forgotten by a previous tenant. My interest has been piqued and I continue my journey of discovery. My gaze sweeps over the objects lying scattered rather untidily on the floor, but I don't recognize anything of value straight away, so I decide to descend the creaky stairs.

While I'm unpacking, I can't help thinking about the utensils in the attic and can't resist going back up there to take another look. On closer inspection, I discover an old chest of drawers with three large drawers with small golden handles. All three drawers are pulled halfway out and offer a little insight. The wood has become very brittle over the years and a thick layer of dust has formed on it. I first notice the many yellowed and dusty magazines in the top drawer. But when I touch some of them and push them to the side, I suddenly have to scream out loud at the sight of a big fat spider crawling towards my hand and immediately throw everything back and run back down to my room.

I think wistfully of my father, who has stayed behind in London, and call him straight away. Unfortunately, as is almost always the case, he doesn't have time to talk and I hang up the phone again shortly afterwards, disappointed and sad. I love my father and often think of him, then I dig out my secret notebook from its hiding place in the side pocket of my favorite armchair, which I was lucky enough to take with me, and write down everything that particularly moves me emotionally. The loss of no longer being able to talk to my father every day hurts, so I write down what I would like to say to him and this helps me to get over the pain.

My start of school in Inverness is getting closer and closer, and over the last few days I've been thinking a lot about what lessons will be like here in Scotland. As I get ready for school in the morning, I find myself running over to my closet for the third time to pull out another dress. Quickly pulling it over my head, I take a quick look in the mirror and am not at all happy with it, but I have to hurry.

My mother senses my nervousness and has made me a banana shake, which I like so much, and she says over breakfast to reassure me: "People are very friendly and relaxed here."

I reply: "It's exactly what I need."

With a packed lunch and a new school bag, I set off with a queasy feeling in my stomach, even though my mother's words have eased my uncertainty. When I stop briefly at the street corner to check my watch, I realize that I'm much too early and, distracted as I sometimes am, I've let the hectic pace tempt me into not looking properly again.

Simon

I immediately shift down a gear when I catch sight of the letter carrier distributing the letters and parcels to the villagers. My eyes linger on his slightly too short pants and completely buttoned-up red shirt. His colorful Mickey Mouse socks catch my attention shortly afterwards, with his coarse black leather lace-up shoes completing the picture. Our eyes meet as he senses my interest and turns to me, smiling sheepishly. At that moment, I realize how cute he looks.

I greet him in a friendly manner and say: "My name is Laura," and he replies charmingly: "I'm Simon."

I feel the blood rush to my head and notice how he returns my shyness with a smile. I immediately relax and feel myself at ease in his company.

Then he asks: "Are you new here in the village?"

I reply: "Yes, my mother and I recently moved here from London and live in the old house on the hill."

Simon replies: "The house that hasn't been lived in for many years?"

I reply: "Correct."

Simon says: "An elderly gentleman from Canada lived in the house for many years, and people talk about strange noises coming from the house here and there after his death."

I immediately jumped on it and said: "I'm interested in this topic, I've been dealing with mystical phenomena for some time."

Simon nods kindly: "Then you've come to the right place."

Engrossed in conversation with Simon, I completely forget that I'm on my way to school and suddenly stop: "I have to go to school, but we can meet in the park afterwards, I'm sure you can tell me some exciting stories."

Simon replies: "Yes, I know a lot about the people here and I look forward to seeing you again in the afternoon on the park bench under the big oak tree."

Suddenly I have to hurry so that I'm not late for my first day of school and I run down the street.

Elizabeth

As I then enter the school, out of breath, a girl who also arrives at the last moment comes towards me in the corridor and I can no longer avoid her and we collide. The girl looks at me puzzled and says: "You're new here."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you, but I'm late," I say, still out of breath.

Then the girl replies: "Nothing happened, my name is Elizabeth or Liza, who are you?" And I reply as she continues walking: "My name is Laura, and Elizabeth is a very pretty name, by the way."

As we both hurry into the classroom, I notice that Elizabeth is limping and struggling to keep up with me. But first we are happy to be in the same class and I sit down right next to Elizabeth.

I receive a very warm welcome and quickly realize that my mother was right when she said that there is a very relaxed atmosphere here and I am very relieved. What's more, on the first day I'm lucky enough to sit next to a very nice classmate.

During class, I observe the other students and my gaze lingers on a boy with brown pants, a green shirt and colorful suspenders. His hair is cut short and he has brown glasses with very thick lenses on his nose. I can't help but smile and get the impression that this is a very intelligent young man.

The teacher struggles with her lock of hair again and regularly tosses it back, it seems to be a quirk of hers, and she has a funny dialect that I don't understand well.

My eyes linger on a girl rummaging through her school folder who obviously can't find what she's looking for and turns pale in the face when she realizes it.

During the first break, I make contact with Elizabeth and we quickly strike up a conversation, and I simply ask her: "What happened to your foot?"

And Elizabeth answers: "Last winter, I drove with my father in his new car to my grandparents' house in Edinburgh to celebrate Christmas. As we were driving on a country road, my dad didn't immediately see that the road was icy in places and at some point he skidded and couldn't steer the car. As a result, we ended up in the ditch straight away. His new car was completely demolished and my foot was trapped. We were both in shock, but were relieved that nothing worse had happened to us. My foot did hurt, and it turned out later that it was a compound fracture that could not be fully repaired. I have to live with the handicap, but it could have turned out much worse."

Afterwards, Elizabeth says: "After I graduate, I would like to try my luck in London, I often dream of the big city and the many opportunities it offers."

I immediately reply: "I can understand that, in a metropolis like London you have a good chance of finding a job. If you need my help, I'm sure I can do something for you."

During lessons, my thoughts often revolve around Simon and I look forward to seeing him again after school. And when the time finally comes, I hurry out of the classroom, down the corridor and even stumble over the threshold to the schoolyard in the rush. I quickly straighten up again, hoping that no one has seen me, and hurry to the meeting point in the park under the big oak tree. Simon is already sitting on the bench waiting, and when he sees me, he becomes a little embarrassed, and this emotion makes him even more likeable.

I observe with great euphoria that he can hardly contain himself, and he immediately begins to tell me: "I moved here with my parents when I was 16 because my grandparents could no longer keep their spacious house in good condition due to their age. Back then, my parents didn't hesitate for a moment to come to their aid, as we had always maintained a good family bond. As I often spent my vacations with my grandparents as a child and had made a few friends, it wasn't difficult for me to reconnect here."

I become thoughtful and say: "I am very glad that we met and would like to be friends with you."

Simon is slightly embarrassed again and replies: "I really like you, I can imagine myself with you too."

We continue to have lively and open-hearted discussions about the strange and supernatural phenomena that are said to occur frequently in this area and are widely reported.

I enjoy his company and my interest grows by the minute, and I spontaneously say: "I'd like to know more about your experiences."

Simon replies: "It's true that rare phenomena repeatedly occur here that no one can explain or interpret. Many years ago, when I was walking home with my mother at dusk after a bad storm, something incredible happened. We were walking along a narrow path through a short stretch of forest when suddenly an imposing giant gate, decorated with beautiful ornaments, appeared before us in a bright light. There was a very large key in the keyhole and the number 10 was clearly visible on the key fob. At first we thought that the light was caused by lightning, but the extreme storm had already passed a while earlier. After the giant gate had disappeared, the light was still shining in the darkness, and I rubbed my eyes briefly to make sure it was real, and then we made our way back through the brightly lit streets."

I listened with fascination and plunged back into my fantasy world, simultaneously sensing the phenomenon of the giant gate and remembering my experience on the first night after my arrival.

I then immediately tell Simon in an excited voice about my experience with the bright light, and it makes more sense to me now and feels very good to have met someone who has also experienced something similar.

After saying goodbye to Simon, I hurry home, exhilarated by this encounter, my stomach growling, and suddenly it crosses my mind that my mother might be very worried about where I'm staying.

To our amazement, after just a few weeks we have become so accustomed to our life in the country that we really feel at home in our new home. Only the garden worries us, my mother and I argue about who should clear away the leaves in the garden and around the house, only to realize again and again that neither she nor I can find the time.

I think I already help a lot around the house and my mother moans about not having time for it, so I give in and slip into my green wool coat, put on my warm boots and get the rake out of the tool shed and go leaf hunting.

As I'm talking to myself, I suddenly spot something dark under the leaves and on closer inspection I recognize a cap. I pick it up and, looking at the faded color, I realize that it must have been lying there for a very long time and it looks like one of those caps that the older gentlemen wear. Now I start to speculate about who lived here before and how long ago it was.

The utensils in the attic could have come from this gentleman, and assuming he died here in the house, the items were probably simply forgotten during the clear-out. This find makes me very curious to find out more about this gentleman's past.

I go to my mother with the cap and tell her about my discovery, and she looks at me in surprise.

"When I signed the contract with the estate agent, she told me that an elderly gentleman had lived here for many years, so the cap could be from that time," my mother said about my find.

I replied: "I would like to know more about the former owner of the house."

I often pick up bread rolls for us at the bakery down the street, and the friendly bakery sales assistant likes to slip me something tasty every now and then. When I go into the store again, I ask the nice sales clerk: "Did you know the gentleman who used to live in our house?"

"Yes, he liked to live in seclusion and was very independent, but still always very friendly, and he loved doughnuts," she replies.

I couldn't talk for long, although I would have liked to, but the fine pâté from the delicatessen is usually sold out by this time, so I have to hurry and take a big step over the threshold into the street, where I manage to avoid a fine lady at the last moment. I just manage to get hold of the last pâté in the delicatessen from the nice gentleman with the little round glasses, who is always smiling a lot.

Michael Macleod

When I'm outside again shortly afterwards, I glance over at the second-hand bookshop in the middle of the square. Until now, I hadn't found the courage to enter the store because it exudes a mystical atmosphere and looks as if nothing has been changed for a hundred years. However, it exerts a magical attraction on me, so today I at least dare to go near it.

I stand in front of the entrance for a while and look at the red sign above the entrance door, which is getting on in years and has almost lost its color due to the harsh climate, so that I can't decipher the writing. I carefully take the gilded door handle in my hand, press it down firmly and enter the antiquarian bookshop.

The wooden floor creaks loudly as I step across the old parquet and into the room. The entrance is gloomy, so my eyes first have to adjust to being able to make out anything, and the first thing I see is an old, slightly crooked bookshelf crammed with high-quality, leather-bound books. My gaze then lingers on a dark green book and I head straight for it, not noticing at first the kindly old man walking slowly towards me.

He has already heard about the new residents from London and immediately says: "My name is Michael Macleod."

I also introduce myself: "My name is Laura and I love reading books that tell mystical stories, which is why I was magically drawn to the second-hand bookshop."

His expression immediately changes when he hears this from me, and he starts mentioning certain books and reciting about their contents as he slowly walks along the shelves, finally stopping at the dark green book.

After a short pause, Michael takes another deep breath and begins to talk about the symbolism of numbers and how he accidentally came across the book years ago, which his father had forgotten in a locked drawer. It was only after his father's death that he picked up the book, began to clean it and read it, and only gradually did he start to get to grips with the subject.

Then his features take on a serious expression and he tells us that he took over the house and the business from his parents and that his grandparents have lived in this house all their lives. They have collected valuable books over the years and have amassed a considerable collection, which he has completed over the years with various rare books.

I listen with interest and then say: "I love solving number puzzles, but I know next to nothing about number symbolism."

Michael's eyes light up and he replies: "One day I discovered that numbers as such play a very important role in our lives, and this sparked my passion for number symbolism. Life between humans, animals and nature follows a perfect plan, just as precise as a mathematical formula. Since time immemorial, people have always made connections between life and numbers and assigned meanings to them accordingly," he adds.

As I walk towards the exit a little later, he holds me back for a moment and gives me a small green book. I leaf through the book sheepishly and thank him warmly.

It is the book that first caught my eye when I entered the store. The cover is made of dark green leather and looks very precious.

Full of joy at the gift, I hurry home, where my mother is eagerly awaiting me with the pie for dinner. Over dinner, I tell her about my adventure in the second-hand bookshop and the exciting conversation with Michael, and then I show her the present. She is visibly touched by so much kindness and I can see her eyes getting moist.

I look at her and ask: "Are you still sad about the break-up?"

She replies: "Yes, sometimes emotions come up, but I'm very happy that we've found a good home here."

A few days later, as I'm tidying my room in the afternoon, my gaze suddenly wanders over to the dark green book. I haven't had time to study it closely yet and hold it carefully with both hands, then I glance at the first page and see a short introduction about number symbolism. I make myself comfortable in my favorite wide armchair and start reading the book.