What are you, Kay E-Book

Tanja Mooswald

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

Seitenzahl: 439

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Paul is thirteen and moves to the city with his grandmother. His parents have died and his grandmother is all he has. When they drive down the street to his new home for the first time, he is suddenly overwhelmed by memories. He knows where the kiosk is and recognizes their side street. Even stranger: the neighbor downstairs seems to know him. But Grandma remains stubbornly silent, so he doesn't ask any more questions. The horror begins when Paul suddenly hears a voice coming from his closet. A thin voice. And there is a strange smell in the air. The smell of fire. "Kaja, Kaja!" she calls from afar. A thin child's voice! A quiet sob followed and then the same thing again: "Kaja, Kaja, I want hiel laus!"

Leseprobe

Dedication

Dedicated to the victims

of the major fire in the shopping center

"Winter cherry" in 2018.

The move to a new life

The old bus drove along the endless country road. To the left and right, the wasteland passed by the dusty windows: the yellow straw stubble of the cornfields, the black rectangles of the freshly harvested cornfields, the gabled roofs of the villages and the occasional long strips of rust-colored forest did not offer the eye too much variety. Only very rarely, like a glimmer of hope on the horizon, did a pond or lake appear briefly in the distance.

A similar atmosphere prevailed on the bus itself: the passengers stared boredly out of the windows at the monotonous landscape or, absorbed in their own thoughts, simply stared ahead. Some of them tried to read the local newspaper, but had to give up quickly when the next pothole made the lines dance before their eyes. Judging by their clothes, most of them were simple village folk heading into town to do some boring paperwork or commuters who had jobs in nearby towns.

Paul didn't like the sleepy atmosphere on the bus at all. The sleepiness of the passengers and the monotonous landscape behind his window bored him to death. He sat on pins and needles, turned around in his seat and looked uncomprehendingly at his grandmother, who was sitting next to him. She had dozed off during the long journey and slumped forward in her seat. Her head was resting on a large bundle lying on her lap, which she was clutching tightly with both arms to prevent it from slipping onto the floor. She didn't seem to mind that the bus kept bouncing on the bad country road and that all the passengers bounced up in their seats. The knot of her headscarf had loosened, the scarf itself slipped to the side and her ashen hair was revealed. Paul couldn't remember what color Grandma's hair actually was. As long as he had been in the world, for almost fourteen years, he had only seen her with gray hair. Almost all the photos in her old photo album were black and white and gave no real idea of Grandma's hair color. In these photos, she was often seen with Grandpa - a scrawny, stern-looking man who hardly ever smiled. His agonized expression in some of the last photos hinted at a serious illness from which he eventually died before Paul was born. His grandmother, on the other hand, had always been corpulent and Paul smiled every time he saw her massive body next to his grandfather's slight figure in the photos.

Now she was slumbering on her bundle as if she had dozed off in her old armchair in the living room. How could she doze so peacefully when they were both facing something as exciting as moving to a city apartment! Paul couldn't stand the boredom any longer. What's more, the situation was becoming increasingly embarrassing for him: A passenger on their left occasionally threw amused glances over. "Grandma, wake up! You're snoring!" he whispered in her ear. "Hey, what, how? Oh, sorry, Paschenka, must have dozed off. What does it say up there, which stop?" The grandmother lifted her head with her headscarf out of place and blinked sleepily. "First Oberringen, Grandma," said Paul with relief. "Don't go back to sleep, it's embarrassing," he added in a whisper. "All right, all right, I won't ..." Her head tilted forward and her tired eyes closed again. "It's hopeless," Paul thought with a sigh and turned to the view beyond his window. But the withering, monotonous panorama couldn't quell his inner turmoil either. Part of the route ran parallel to the railroad. The tracks began to vibrate, a metallic hiss shattered the clear autumn silence and a freight train jumped out from behind the dark green coniferous forest. It looked small - even smaller than the train from Paul's old toy box. Thanks to the considerable distance, it seemed slower and for a while the two vehicles kept pace with each other. Meanwhile, Paul eyed the train's light grey carriages, which were painted with colorful graffiti by self-proclaimed artists. Finally, the train overtook and disappeared into the distance with a triumphant roar. The bus continued along its boring route at a snail's pace. After this welcome little distraction, nothing caught Paul's attention until the first large buildings of the suburb and the wide streets with their busy traffic appeared. Paul watched curiously as the colored traffic lights reflected in the puddles and the many colorfully dressed people crossed the streets or hurried past each other on the sidewalks. They carried pretty little leather bags or small suitcases with wheels and not baskets or sacks, as was customary in the village. Some of them had children with them, whom they held by the hand. All of this, the multi-storey houses, the many people on the sidewalks and cars on the streets, had an effect on Paul, who had spent his life in the countryside. It was disconcerting and fascinating at the same time. Because of the heavy traffic, the bus slowed down and this increased Paul's impatience. His grandmother woke up and rubbed her eyes, which were swollen from sleep, with the back of her hand. "Almost there, my child, almost there. What a crowd, look at that!" she said to Paul, shaking her head and pointing to the many people on the sidewalks.

The déjà vu came out of nowhere, as if a bolt of lightning had struck Paul's brain. He hadn't really realized what had triggered this feeling of having been there before. He stared tensely at the early evening confusion in the streets so as not to miss even the smallest detail: the corners of the houses behind which the narrow alleyways meandered, the metal fences around the tiny gardens, the roofs of the houses, most of which were flat, the mostly gray facades with many balconies on which countless flower pots hung, but nothing confirmed this strange perception. And again: BAM! Like a small explosion inside his head - an old bright pink painted villa at the crossroads looked suspiciously familiar. Unlike other, rather boring townhouses, it had a gabled roof made of crimson tiles and a small wind vane in the shape of a rooster. He must have seen it all before! Paul stared at the rusty rooster on the roof and suddenly heard a distinct clang. The clanging was in his head. "That must be what the wind vane sounds like when it turns in the wind," he thought, confused.

The traffic on the roads was so heavy at this time of day that the bus had to stop every few meters. At a bend in the road, where an old gnarled tree was growing on the sidewalk (what a rarity for a big city!), Paul had the feeling that there must be a small ice cream parlor behind the bend. He waited impatiently for the bus to turn the corner, but then the traffic lights turned red and he cursed under his breath. Paul's heart was pounding and he clenched his sweating hands into fists. He could already see the blue of the kiosk and the cheerful face of the kiosk lady in the small window. Finally, the bus turned the corner and - NOTHING! Just two pigeons pecking something edible off the ground at the edge of a large puddle. "Phew!" Paul breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't understand his own extreme excitement. "It's all just my imagination! I've never been there before," he convinced himself. And when no wide, modern building that he had expected to see appeared a few blocks away, his conviction was only confirmed. Instead, he saw a small, cozy park with lots of young trees and a few benches.

"We're here, Paschenka, we're here." At last! Grandmother sat upright in her seat and put her headscarf on neatly. "Next one is ours!" She pulled the bundle knot tighter and stood up. Paul lifted his school backpack from the floor and followed her to the bus door. The place where they got off was a cozy neighborhood - not exactly in the city center, but not on the outskirts either. The houses weren't too close together and there weren't too many people on the sidewalks. In front of almost every house there was a small playground with a swing and seesaw or a slide. The children playing laughed and talked loudly. For Paul, who had grown up in a small village, there was almost too much action here.

He followed his grandmother, who, piggybacking her heavy bundle, slowly but purposefully headed towards one of the houses. "This is our favorite, Paschenka, this is our home!" she gasped happily. It wasn't a large apartment building, but a neat little four-family house with two entrances on either side. Grandma waddled to the right-hand entrance, climbed five low steps and opened the heavy front door. The warm stairwell air hit Paul, full of foreign smells. The dull lamplight fell on the gray walls, which had once been painted white, and on the surprisingly clean tiled floor. A single small window, located above the next flight of stairs, was a favorite target for the youngsters, who must have repeatedly pelted it with stones out of boredom until one of the homeowners had nailed it shut with a wooden board to make it airtight and lightproof. A few steps led to an apartment door on the left, next to which two people were talking: a skinny old woman in a jogging suit that was disproportionately large for her and hung down from her scrawny body, and a pleasant young girl with dark hair tied up in a ponytail. Next to this old scarecrow, the girl looked particularly young and fresh. "Ah thank you, thank you, my dear!" said the old woman in a loud, deep voice. "What would I do without you!" "Nothing to thank you for!" the girl replied. "And take your prescription back before I forget." The girl handed the old woman a paper slip next to a plastic bag. "The medication will last for a few months. If you need anything else, just give me a call - I'll be home for another week." "Thank you, my angel!" The old woman smiled and the deep wrinkles on her face became more numerous. When the two women noticed the new arrivals, they turned their heads in their direction as if on command. The old woman scrutinized Paul for a few seconds, then her loud cry shook the silent stairwell: "It's Kay! It's really you, boy!" She took three quick steps in his direction and stopped right in front of him. Then she leaned forward so that her face was directly in front of his. Paul, startled and confused by the old woman's strange behavior, involuntarily backed away. He would have liked to hide behind his grandmother's broad back, but he didn't want to look like a coward. He looked anxiously at the old woman's face, wondered at the many purple wrinkles and said nothing.

"You've grown so much," she continued when she had had her fill of him. As soon as Paul smelled the woman's breath, he wrinkled his nose in disgust - her mouth reeked unbearably of cigarettes. There was also a corrosive perfume smell that made the whole thing even worse. He would have much preferred to get tractor exhaust fumes right in his face. The woman put her wrinkled hand on his shoulder and curled her thin, colorless lips into a friendly smile. "But your eyes are the same as before. Just like your mother! Oh, do you remember when you were ..." "Greetings, Charlott!" Grandmother interrupted her dryly, "I'm very glad to see you again." The old woman let go of Paul's shoulder and straightened up again. Paul breathed a sigh of relief. "Olga! I think I'm crazy! My goodness, how long has it been! Seven years, eight? You're getting old, my dear! Well, I'm not getting any younger either." She winked coquettishly and made the whole stairwell shake again with her deep laughter. "Your tenant has been gone for two months," she continued when she had finished. "Thank goodness for that! A funny guy - never said a word! Always shoo-shoo - quickly past me and shut the door. Like a cockroach! I really disliked him, if you ask me." She pulled a purple face. Then she scrutinized Paul and his grandmother with her sharp, curious gaze. "So you two are moving in with us? How happy I am!" She hummed some cheerful tune for joy. To better express her enthusiasm, she stretched her arms in the air and shook her head so that her short, purple curls fluttered wildly back and forth in front of Paul's nose. All her movements seemed abrupt and jagged, like those of a weasel. "So, my dear Kay, how old are you now?" she turned back to Paul. "His name is Paul," Grandma answered for him, her voice not sounding particularly friendly. The stormy greeting from her old acquaintance was clearly getting on her nerves. "He's thirteen and a half." Charlott's jaw dropped and her thick eyebrows climbed up her forehead in surprise. "Paul?" she asked incredulously. "I only remember a cute little boy called Kay. My memory has never let me down before!" "Please excuse us, Charlott! We have to get going." Grandma shook her heavy bundle demonstratively in front of Charlott's nose. "Oh, how stupid of me!" Charlott apologized. "You're tired after the long journey! Sahra, my dear," she turned to the young girl, who had been standing there in silence during the whole conversation and was stepping sheepishly from one foot to the other. "Will you help Olga with her luggage?" The girl took an unsteady step in Grandmother's direction, but she stopped her with a polite gesture. "No, thank you, my child! It's not as hard as it looks! I can manage," she said kindly but firmly and, with Paul at her heels, began to climb the steps to the next floor. "Ah, I'm so glad, so glad!" sang Charlott in her croaky voice behind them. "She's exaggerating," thought Paul angrily. "Senile old woman!" "Welcome, welcome!" her voice rang out from below. "Thank you, thank you, Charlott, I'll see you later," her grandmother, who was already standing outside her front door rummaging in her bag for the house key, threw over her shoulder. Downstairs, Charlott continued her conversation with the girl. Grandma rummaged and rummaged in vain in her old leather bag, muttering something under her nose in exasperation. Meanwhile, Paul looked at the old, scratched wooden door. He ran his fingers over the scratches and the feeling of the memory hidden deep in his subconscious came back to him.

"What makes the old woman think she knows me?" Paul asked as soon as the door closed behind them. "Eh, you know, she's so old, Charlott," replied Grandma, who was standing against the wall facing a stained, dusty mirror and taking off her coat. "She should be living with her niece by now! She took Charlott in six years ago to look after her. Apparently, she couldn't put up with her for long." The grandmother leaned forward to untie her shoelaces and Paul wondered at the width of her lower back. "And the old people's home is out of the question for Madam, of course!" "Why am I not surprised?" thought Paul to himself. "And when you're that old, you get ... you know," she tapped her forehead with her index finger, "a bit quaint." After these words, she turned to her bundle and the subject was over for her. But not for Paul! On reflection, Charlott didn't seem so demented after all. Paul thought of her bright manner and the sharp look in her eyes. And how genuinely surprised she had been when she found out his real name! What's more, he knew his grandmother inside out and immediately sensed when she was trying to hide something from him. It was the same this time, but there was no point in asking. If Grandma wanted to keep something to herself, then she kept it to herself - she was stubborn enough to do that.

The room with the closet

The two of them went into the small, cozy kitchen and Grandma immediately put a pot on the stove to make tea. She loved black tea and drank several cups a day. Paul thought of it as a kind of addiction, but grandmother said that everyone did it in her home country. "At home, Paschenka!" she said contentedly and sat down on a stool next to the kitchen table with its unappetizingly stained surface. The stool groaned under her weight. Paul sat down opposite her and the two of them ate their evening meal, with tea for Grandma and milk for Paul. Afterwards, they walked around the apartment and Grandma showed Paul her new home. There wasn't much to see, however, as the apartment only consisted of two rooms, a kitchen, a narrow, long hallway and a small bathroom. To Paul's disappointment, the bathroom only had a bathtub and no shower cubicle - he hated having to wash in a bath. One room was much larger than the other and his grandmother immediately took it under her wing. She planned to transform it into a cozy living room over the next few days. Paul immediately grabbed the smaller room. He liked it straight away: the large, super-soft bed, the bookshelf on the wall and the small desk in the far right-hand corner. The desk was next to a large window that looked out onto the backyard of the house. But the thing that particularly impressed him was a gigantic closet made of solid oak. Heavy and dark, almost menacing, it stood in the middle of the room and its left side wall, together with the window wall, formed a kind of alcove in which the small desk was almost completely concealed. Paul was particularly taken with this rather cozy alcove. It was simply perfect for the many long hours he had to spend at a desk as a pupil. Paul sat down in this alcove on a trial basis and immediately felt comfortable and hidden away. He already imagined in his head how cool all his stickers would look on the dark brown side wall of the cupboard. He had been collecting stickers since he was a child. They were all, without exception, photos of dogs: Dogs of all breeds and sizes, the bigger the better, of course. Dogs were Paul's greatest passion. He dreamed of having one for as long as he could remember, but was never allowed to have one. "Our money is barely enough for both of us," was his grandmother's verdict. And that was the end of the discussion - as always. But Paul still cherished his dream, never gave up on it and collected a lot of dog pictures over the years, which he now wanted to hang on the side wall of the closet as a way of inaugurating his new room. He carefully took the metal box out of his rucksack in which he kept the stickers. At the top was his favorite picture: a huge sheepdog with its tongue hanging out in the middle of a jump. He carefully took the photo out with two fingers, thought for a while about where he wanted the picture to be, pulled off the thin foil on the back of the picture and finally pressed it with the sticky side against the lacquered, slightly curved surface of the cupboard. As soon as his fingers touched the cool wood, he felt a slight vibration that seemed to come from inside the cupboard. At first it was a rather unconscious perception, as Paul was too absorbed in his own thoughts. But when he placed his whole palm on the picture, he felt more clearly how a new, even stronger wave shook the smooth wooden wall. Startled, he pulled his hand away and stared at the cupboard wall in bewilderment. Nothing happened for a while. "Maybe Grandma moved a heavy piece of furniture next door," he thought. That seemed a good explanation for this strange event and he took the next sticker out of his box: a magnificent rust-colored cocker spaniel playing fetch, his second favorite picture. He pressed it into place and the wall of the cupboard shook again. This time it wasn't a slight vibration, but a violent blow that also shook the rest of the cupboard walls. Numb with shock, Paul took two steps backwards. He stood in the middle of the room and stared at the cupboard, perplexed and afraid. What was that? Has that really happened? He held his breath to listen more closely to the sounds coming from inside the cupboard, but everything remained quiet and still. "Whatever that was, it was really weird!" he thought, slowly approaching the cupboard again. "Could it be that it only happens when I touch it?" he asked himself. There was only one way to test this theory, but it took Paul a few minutes to pluck up enough courage to put his fingers on the dark and cold cupboard wall again. This time he was already prepared and had himself under control. He stretched his hand towards the cupboard, his trembling fingers slowly approaching the polished wood and finally touching it. The blow was so strong that he almost lost his composure despite all his preparation. Although his greatest wish at that moment was to run away, he suppressed his panic and forced himself to leave his hand where it was - pressed firmly against the dark wood of the cupboard.

The new blow caused the huge cupboard to shake, and many others followed. Paul now thought he understood where the epicenter of the quake was: about fifty centimeters below the point where his hand touched the cabinet wall. Paul's ears also picked up a slight clapping sound, as if small palms were striking the inside of the cupboard. "It's facing me, face to face!" The thought sent shivers down his spine. Only the thin wooden wall separated him from something unbelievably horrible that was hiding inside the cupboard. Filled with fear, he listened to the sounds coming from the cupboard and thought he heard a thin voice. It seemed very muffled and far away, but he had no doubt that it was actually a voice. Paul concentrated fully on her and even closed his eyes, although it was damn hard for him to do so. "Kaja, Kaja!" she called from the far distance. A thin child's voice! A quiet sob followed and then the same thing again: "Kaja, Kaja, I want hiel laus!" "It wants out now!" Paul shuddered, took four steps backwards and plopped his bottom on the bed. All the noises stopped instantly. "Crap, crap, what a bloody mess!" Paul clenched his soaking wet hands, which were shaking on his lap, into fists. He was drenched in sweat and shaking with excitement. He had never experienced anything so paranormal! He ran into the next room, where his grandmother, bent over a chest, brought a lot of cloths into the light. She spread the sheets out on the worn velvet surface of the old sofa and muttered worriedly under her nose: "Hm, no sheets there. Then they must be over there in the big cupboard. Go and have a look!" She turned to Paul and a worried expression appeared on her round, plump face. "I knew it, didn't I? The bus was as full as a can of sardines. No wonder you're sick now, my dear!" She hurried over to Paul and pressed her soft palm against his forehead. "My God, are you pale! Are you feeling sick?" "No, Grandma, everything's fine," Paul managed with difficulty. How could it be that his grandmother hadn't noticed all the noise in his room? Sure, she wasn't the youngest anymore, but her hearing had been fine until now. "It's the air in the room. It's somehow..." He searched for a suitable word. "Stale?" Grandma helped. She immediately ran into Paul's room and over to the window. "Oh yes, it's stuffy in here!" She opened a casement and the refreshingly cool, damp autumn air flooded in. Paul looked out of the window and was amazed at the many colorful lights shining in the gathering darkness of the evening. "The sheets must be in here," said Grandma and headed straight for the eerie closet. To Paul's horror, she opened the right-hand wardrobe door with a jerk. Paul looked inside fearfully and saw the numerous shelves, most of which were empty. On two of the upper shelves, he saw neatly stacked rows of bed linen. "There they are!" Grandma exclaimed with relief. "Now, my dear, off to bed! We have to be up early tomorrow. I have an appointment with the principal of the local school at eight o'clock and if it goes well, you can start there first thing tomorrow!" "Can I have a quick shower?" Paul still harbored the faint hope that he wouldn't have to stay in his room alone after everything that had happened. "Tomorrow, all tomorrow, my dear! Here, take the sheets and covers. I'll get the pillow and the blanket. Grandma turned to go out. "Eh, Grandma!" Paul stopped her, "and what's in there?" He pointed to the left-hand side of the cupboard, which was closer to his desk. THE side. "Ah here!" Grandma returned to the cupboard and opened the left-hand cupboard door too. There was nothing there except a long rod with numerous empty hangers dangling from it. Their metal hooks glowed faintly in the dull lamplight. When the door was opened, they moved and banged lightly against each other - a gentle tinkling sound was heard. "That's what I must have heard!" thought Paul with joyful relief. The cupboard itself seemed very deep to him, its back corners hidden in the dark. The smells from inside the cupboard reached Paul's nose. It smelled of old clothes and dust. And a bit like smoke. "Grandma, why do we need such a huge wardrobe? Can't we throw it away and get a smaller one instead? It takes up so much space!" Paul complained to Grandma. She was silent for a while. When she answered him, she sounded dejected. "You're right, Paschenka, but I can't just throw it away." She looked at Paul with deeply sad eyes. "Your father bought it once. He was very fond of it, precisely because it was so big. He once joked that you could use it as a garage. He just put everything in it that was in the way! Everything was always full down there. He called it 'tidying my room'." She smiled tenderly at her memories. Paul never talked to her about his parents. He always waited for a suitable time, without knowing what he was supposed to look like. In reality, he dreaded this conversation because it threatened to brutally destroy the perfect image of his parents that he had created in his childhood imagination. Grandma made it easy for him to avoid the subject, as she nipped all of Paul's shy attempts to find out about his parents in the bud. As a result, Paul knew next to nothing about them: neither how they had lived nor how they had died. His knowledge was limited to the bare minimum: he knew that his father had worked as a roofer and had died in a really stupid industrial accident. This realization alone hit him hard because, like every orphan boy, he wanted to believe that his father had been a war pilot who had lost his life in a crash or a scientist who had never returned from a dangerous expedition to one of the Earth's poles. Every memory of her beloved deceased son made Grandma cry and for several days afterwards she was in a state of deep melancholy, in which she cut herself off from the rest of the world and was barely responsive. This was an additional reason for Paul to avoid the subject, as he sincerely hated to see his grandmother cry. He knew even less about his mother's death. As soon as her name came up in conversation with nosy neighbors or acquaintances, Grandma became suspicious and broke off the conversation without further ado. Something really bad must have happened between the two of them for Grandma to react so violently to the sound of her name, and Paul hadn't dared to ask any questions about his mother, who had died young, for a very long time. The bottom line was that all Paul knew was that his parents were dead. It was a fact he had to live with, and he had learned to live with it. At least no one could see his sadness. He felt completely at ease in his little world and that was exactly how he wanted it to stay.

As always after remembering Paul's father, Grandma became silent. After bringing him his bedding, she went out with a quick "Good night" and locked the door. While Paul made up his bed, he was forced to stand with his back to the closet, which gave him a queasy feeling. He made sure that all the wardrobe doors were firmly closed and slipped under the cool comforter, which soon felt warm and cozy. The light switch was within easy reach of his bed, which was mega-practical in itself. He hesitated for a while before turning off the light. It was pitch black in the room - the thick, dusty curtains that Grandma had drawn tightly on the way out didn't let in the slightest glimmer of light from outside. After all the exertions of the day, Paul felt dead tired, but was understandably afraid to close his eyes. After a while, he lost the battle against his tiredness and fell into a restless sleep in which dreams followed one another like the short episodes in a cartoon series. Paul tossed and turned in bed, his warm blanket crumpled at his feet. Caught up in his restless dreams, he didn't notice the left-hand wardrobe door opening silently in the depths of the night. Something pitch black slowly crawled out. The misshapen thing stood on all fours at first, then straightened up with difficulty and began to walk on wobbly legs towards Paul's bed. The presence was half the size of an adult human and so dark that it seemed to absorb the slightest remaining light in the room. It was clearly recognizable as a black silhouette - a true embodiment of darkness! It walked purposefully towards the sleeping Paul with tiny steps, swaying up and down with each step and occasionally losing its balance. Every time it swayed, black sand pattered onto the carpet. As it walked, the creature left a dark, crumbly trail behind it. Finally, it reached the bed and stopped at the headboard.

The first nightmare

"It's stuck, damn it, I can't do it!" A great effort could be heard in Paul's voice. He was squatting on the dirty floor of a garage next to an old bicycle, trying with all his might to loosen the screw that had eaten into the metal holding the wheel in place. The shiny new screwdriver bent in his hand, but the ugly, rusted screw was stuck, as if welded in, and wouldn't move an inch. "Hurry up, man, he could be here any minute!" his friend Sandro whispered to him dramatically, rolling his eyes in annoyance and looking over his shoulder at the garage door, behind which the green meadow and a patch of bright blue sky could be seen. Sandro held the bike while Paul struggled with the screw. The bike and the garage belonged to Paul's neighbor Frank, whom Sandro loved to play various pranks on. Frank kept his old stuff in here, including his mini tractor, which was completely covered in cobwebs. Paul often helped Sandro to realize his ideas, although such a pastime gave him personally much less pleasure than his best buddy. This time, Sandro had come up with the glorious idea of dismantling a wheel from their rebellious neighbor's bike. Frank was practically always out and about in the village on his old bike - whether it was to the village store or the pub. He often followed the two boys on their way to school and shouted the worst insults and sometimes even threats at them. He couldn't stand them and God only knows what he would have done to them if he had got his hands on them. "I can't do it, I can't! You try," Paul gasped as beads of sweat dripped from his forehead with the effort. He was ready to stand up when Sandro's panicked cry made him duck down again. "He's coming! Shit, man!" At that moment, the bike tipped to one side, directly onto Paul's back, knocking him to the ground. His screwdriver slipped out of his hand, landed on the ground with a "Klong!" and rolled away. For a fraction of a second, the garage door darkened slightly, the silhouette of his friend appeared briefly in the blue-green rectangle and disappeared into nowhere. Paul was left alone in the dark garage. He tried to free himself from the weight of the bike lying on top of him and fumbled for his screwdriver at the same time. He scratched his fingers on the rough, uneven surface of the garage floor, but he couldn't get hold of anything other than dirt. Suddenly the garage door darkened again, much more this time, and Paul's neighbor appeared in the doorway. His tall, massive figure no longer let in the carefree sunshine of the glorious summer's day and finally made it out of Paul's reach. Paul remained face to face with the angry man who had been dreaming of getting his hands on him for a filled eternity. Paul crouched on the ground, with no chance of remaining undetected. Frank's little beady eyes rolled around until they spotted Paul under the bike. An uneasy smile appeared on his bearded, full-moon face. He was clearly looking forward to the impending revenge for his longstanding humiliation. Frank's face turned fiery red, his eyes bulged out. His mouth opened wide beneath his equally fiery red moustache - a yawning black hole from which a triumphant laugh could be expected at any second. But to Paul's great surprise, not a sound came out of the man's wide-open mouth. He just stood there and stared stupidly at Paul. There was a dead silence in the garage, even the birdsong from outside could no longer be heard. "Maybe I'll manage to get out from between his legs," Paul thought, but his faint hope died as soon as he realized that he couldn't move, as if a heavy magnet was hidden in the garage floor, pulling him down towards him. His heart hammered wildly in his chest and he felt more miserable than ever before. His neighbor's strange behavior fed his fear. He looked into the silently laughing face as if hypnotized and noticed to his horror how Frank's mouth opened wider and wider. His lower jaw moved further and further down, like an elevator. The red hairs of his short-cropped beard were already reaching his chest and moving further towards his stomach. "The tendons in his jaw joints must have snapped long ago!" the terrible thought flashed through Paul's mind. He could no longer take his eyes off his neighbor's silent scream.

The narrow, elongated opening of his mouth was pitch black and looked like a gateway to hell. Paul stared out of it at the darkness. Frank's chin had now reached the level of his belly button and was moving inexorably towards his knees. A few seconds later, it moved past his calves and the red stubble was already covering Frank's dirty boots. A cry of horror was trapped in Paul's chest, like an animal in a cage. This something standing right in front of him had nothing whatsoever to do with a human being. At best, it was a grotesque caricature of a human being, terrifying and ridiculous at the same time. Suddenly, billows of black smoke came out of the man's horribly disfigured mouth. Within seconds, thick clouds of smoke filled the small room. They enveloped Paul, depriving him of the last sight of the things he might need to save himself, and invaded his lungs. He could no longer breathe, writhing on the dirty garage floor with his hand to his throat, threatening to suffocate at any moment. With his mouth wide open, he sucked in the contaminated air for the last time and said goodbye to consciousness.

The bad dream was over, but Paul did not fully wake up. The next nightmare had already wrapped itself around his subconscious like an octopus and threatened to drag him into the dark vortex of horror. Paul managed to break this vicious circle and wake up in time, but what he thought was reality was giving him an even bigger nightmare. He felt strange hands fiddling with his face. When he realized it properly, all remnants of the bad dream instantly evaporated from his mind and he became wide awake. All his senses became sharper than they had been for a long time and he could clearly hear Grandma's snoring from the next room. But the smell of smoke from his nightmare was not only still present - it was even a thousand times stronger. Another, much worse smell mingled with it - a sweet, foul one. Paul knew it from the village slaughterhouse. His healthy instinct for self-protection told him to keep his eyes tightly closed to protect his soul and mind from an unbelievably horrible sight. Lying on his back, he was horrified to feel small, slippery fingers feeling all over his face. He flinched when a hand suddenly struck him on the cheek. It left a sticky mark on his skin, like that of a slug. It was indescribably disgusting! One of these hands wandered to his forehead, fumbled around a little and worked its way back to his nose. A half-rotten finger slipped deep into his left nostril and began to inspect it. The sharp edges of the half-loosened fingernail scratched Paul's delicate nasal mucosa. The paralysis with which he woke up had still not completely dissipated and he had to endure this ordeal helplessly. He felt a brief relief when the finger pulled out of his nose, but then the creature seemed to have found a new object to examine: his mouth, which was still wide open after waking up! Paul deeply regretted not having closed it in time, but it was already too late: the creature shamelessly took advantage of this oversight and stuck all five fingers of its hand into Paul's mouth, which immediately went to work on his tongue. "It wants to rip my tongue out!" thought Paul in panic and disgust at the same time. The disgust dissolved his paralysis. He felt his stomach acid rising and his mouth filled with saliva. At the same time, a great rage rose up in him. He grabbed the creature's wrist, but his fingers gripped nothing. A muffled giggle rang out. Paul didn't give in that easily and jerked his head to the side. The pesky fingers slipped out of his mouth and the creature cried out in surprise. Then it began to wail and moan in a high-pitched voice that sounded like the voice of a small child. The little hands sought out Paul's face again and tried to turn it towards them, but Paul made it impossible for them by stiffening his neck muscles. The creature screamed insultingly and demandingly and tugged painfully at Paul's long hair. Paul forced himself to swallow the thick lump in his throat and shouted through clenched teeth: "Fuck off! Get lost, you creep!" As soon as the last word passed his lips, the creature vanished into thin air. Paul no longer felt its presence next to him, but he didn't dare open his eyes for a long time. In time, his tiredness took over and he dozed off again.

Day one: The first school visit

Paul only woke up at seven o'clock when his alarm clock rang. The bright morning light shining directly into his face made him squeeze his eyes shut again. The curtains were wide open, as was his bedroom door. The wardrobe door, on the other hand, was firmly closed - just as Paul had left it the night before. He took a deep breath of air - not a trace of smoke. Just damp sheets and the smell of his own sweat. He wrinkled his nose and stood up. Somewhere in the house, far away from him and behind many closed doors, he heard someone coughing. For Paul, who was not used to sharing his house with other neighbors, it sounded extremely strange. As he took a cold shower in the massive, old-fashioned cast-iron bath, he tried to analyze the events of the previous night and came to the conclusion that the whole thing had been nothing more than a very vivid nightmare. Some of it even seemed rather silly to Paul now, in the bright sunshine of the new day. For example, the story about Frank's bike: his buddy Sandro would never have let him, Paul, down! He would have tried anything to help him out. He decided to keep his dream to himself so as not to upset his superstitious grandmother unnecessarily.

At the breakfast table, Paul had little appetite, which was not at all surprising in view of the events of the previous night. It worried his grandmother a little, but from her point of view, her beloved grandson's lack of appetite was due to the excitement of going to school.

After breakfast, it was straight outside - into the morning hustle and bustle of the city, where the many citizens were hurrying to work. The route to school was not particularly long and Paul was able to remember it quite well. The main road was very busy at this time of day and they had to wait for ages before there was finally a gap in the endless line of vehicles. As soon as Paul saw them, he tried to hurry across the road, but was pulled back onto the sidewalk rather roughly by his grandmother's hood. "No, Pasha, not like that!" she scolded angrily. "You have to watch the traffic lights!" Grandma's voice trembled with fear. "You have to wait until the little red man disappears and the green one comes out!" The people standing around, who were also waiting for the green light, averted their eyes with a grin. Paul felt embarrassed. "I know what a traffic light is," he grumbled and looked down at his shoes.

The principal, a short, middle-aged man, greeted them with a friendly smile. A round bald head was already shimmering through the chestnut-brown fuzz on his head. "So you must be Paul," he said after a brief greeting. "And you - the grandma? Please take a seat!" Grandma and Paul sank into the soft leather armchairs while the principal looked at Paul's papers. As he ran his eyes over Paul's certificates, he nodded with satisfaction. The principal's smart office had a depressing effect on Paul and he began to miss his old school sorely. "You're a good student, Paul!" The principal folded up the folder of documents. "I'm sure you'll do just as well with us!" He winked encouragingly at Paul and the tension in the room gradually dissipated. "Mrs. Kappler is your new class teacher. She's been with us at the school for many years and will be a great help to you when you start." The head teacher had already stood up and walked around the desk to shake Paul's hand. Paul, who had been literally sucked into his chair, hurriedly got up. The principal was already standing in front of him with his hand outstretched. "She'll be especially happy about your math grades! After all, math is her main subject." He tilted his head to the side like a sparrow and shook Paul's hand vigorously. Just at that moment, the school bell rang and the sound of children's voices and a loud stamping of feet could be heard from behind the closed door of the office - lessons had started and the last pupils were hurrying to their classes. "There are so many of them!" Paul marveled with a painful tug in his stomach. The idea of appearing in front of a class that was already seated made him feel uneasy. "I wish you a good start!" The principal accompanied Paul and his grandmother to the door and pointed in the direction that led to Paul's class. Then he disappeared back into his office, like a bird in its birdhouse.

As Paul walked along the long, quiet corridor, his knees finally went weak. He was completely confused and couldn't think straight. He backed away from the classroom door. "Let's wait until this lesson is over," he whispered hoarsely to his grandmother. She raised her eyebrows in astonishment. "But that's a whole forty-five minutes!" She took Paul by the shoulders and looked him in the face scrutinizingly. "You're not scared, are you? Or are you?" A broad smile made her face look even rounder. She hugged Paul tightly and he felt her double chin on his head. "They're all children, Paul, just like you. There are some who are good to you, and there are some who are doofuses. But you'll show them!" She shook her fat, clenched fist in front of Paul's nose. After these words, she turned Paul on his axis and gave him a slight push towards the door, behind which a monotonous female voice could be heard - the teacher was just explaining a new topic. Paul raised his fist to knock, then lowered it and raised it again. "Go on!" Grandma cheered him up impatiently behind his back. "It's all right, go now!" Paul whispered tensely to her without turning around. "I'll be back at sixteen to pick you up," she replied with relief and gave him a big kiss on the back of the head from behind. "No need," he said quickly, "I'll find my own way home." "All right," she agreed to his request and quietly moved away. Paul cleared his throat, ran his hand over his shoulder-length blond hair and then knocked. The woman's voice fell silent and he heard quick footsteps approaching the door. His heart slipped into his pants. The door opened and Paul was dazzled by the bright light. Standing in front of him was an older woman with her auburn hair pinned up. She already knew about Paul's arrival and greeted him in a friendly manner. She called him by his first name. All words of greeting vanished from Paul's mind. "Good afternoon," he managed to say after an embarrassing pause that seemed so long to him. "Mr. Headmaster has sent me to you." "Please come in!" The teacher turned to the class. "Children, this is Paul!" she called out loudly. "He's starting with us today." Paul heard an excited whisper. The pupils put their heads up so that they could see him better from their seats. Paul crossed the threshold, took a few mechanical steps forward like a sleepwalker and stopped next to the blackboard. "How do we greet Paul?" the teacher asked emphatically. "Hellooo, Paaaul!" The voices didn't sound very enthusiastic. Paul shivered at all the curious looks. For the first time in his life, he thought about his appearance. He was horrified to see how old and worn his clothes looked and his shoes were a disaster! At the first table to his left, just next to the class entrance, sat a beautiful girl with crystal-clear, expressive eyes, fresh pink cheeks and long blonde hair. Almost an angel's face! "She's certainly wearing make-up," thought Paul contemptuously. He didn't want to stare at the girl any longer, but couldn't take his eyes off this beautiful sight. He could feel his own face turning red with embarrassment. The children, who by now had had their fill of him, began to whisper amusedly amongst themselves. The sarcastic looks that most of them exchanged told him that their judgment was not exactly in his favor. A quiet snort could be heard here and there. Of course, the blonde girl didn't miss Paul's stray glance. She threw her pretty head back and responded with a cheeky smile. Then she squinted her sky-blue eyes, her blonde curls slipping onto the back of the chair like snakes. Her equally pretty dark-haired neighbor at the table leaned close to her ear and whispered the most venomous remarks about Paul's appearance. The two of them giggled. Paul was boiling with rage. "Those cheap mannequins!" He hated them with every fiber of his being. "Please choose your own seat," the teacher asked Paul, making an inviting gesture. "Be sure to tell us more about yourself later." She was in a hurry to get on with the subject and returned to her desk. Paul painstakingly took his eyes off the pretty girl's face and let them wander around the classroom. He saw two empty seats - one next to a girl in the row on the right, right by the window, and one in the middle row, next to a tall and rather corpulent boy. Paul walked to the middle row of tables, the blood pounding in his temples. He decided in favor of the boy, whose broad smile Paul mistakenly thought was friendly. "He must get teased a lot himself, the way he looks," Paul thought secretly, heading for the empty seat. He only realized how bitterly wrong he had been when he reached the boy. Paul dropped his old rucksack on the floor and was ready to sit down on the hard wooden chair when the boy suddenly put his fat leg on the vacant chair. It looked like a pig's trotter that had been stuffed into the leg of a pair of jeans.