The fear taker E-Book

Christa Homan

• Herausgeber: novum premium Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 202

Beschreibung

Strong men? Weak women? A closer look often reveals surprises. An arc of life: Four-year-old Anna in the dangerous Russian zone in gray post-war Vienna. Aemilia, a loving grandmother who transforms the child's diffuse fears into a radiant courage to face life. This very special strength carries Anna through her eventful life between Vienna and New York high society until her death: love, happiness, friendship, ambition, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns. And this one unanswered question: Were they murders? Or just tragic coincidences? Is the seemingly obvious deceptive?

Leseprobe

The fear taker

A strange crime story

Fantasy meets KI!

1. MAGIC TIME

The smallest of the three antechamber ghosts waved sluggishly after her. His wrinkled round eye twitched.

"Good morning, dear Anna," he creaked amiably. The front door guard. Anna liked him best of all.

Satisfied, he clung to the gnarled last beam of the old, cracked wooden ceiling.

Right next to the front door.

The wide-awake tiny creature had covered its milky white-transparent mass with a light brown color.

"Hello, Giovanni," the child whispered exuberantly. "We're just going for the usual walk."

The yellow and white round ghost eye with the bright green dot winked. If you looked closely, you could have mistaken it for an accidental splash of paint. The little nose stuck up like an accidentally unsanded wooden cartilage.

The scrawny, short waving arm swayed back and forth like a loose branch.

An icy cold breeze shot through the open dark green wooden door.

Now it was rowing wildly, the tiny ghost hand.

"Take good care," whispered Anna. "We'll be back soon."

Grandma was still in the living room.

"Child!" she called out anxiously. "Don't forget your hat!" - "Yes, yes," she heard the thin voice.

Before Anna stormed into the snow-covered front garden, her coarse-meshed woolly hat pulled low over her face, she took a quick look around for her grandmother.

Through the open doors, she recognized the middle salon ghost. He was raging. Whistling as loud as he could. He ruffled the light blue and beige striped satin curtains exuberantly.

He pranced around in the billowing fabric, tangling his scrawny, transparent body in it, tugging, throwing parts up.

The wild dance tore the long rays of sunlight into restlessly flickering short strands.

Bright yellow dots race around aimlessly.

Jumped up to the anteroom wall.

Aemilia closed the drawing room door. "What a wind," she exclaimed, shaking her head.

The last floorboard in front of the entrance door creaked loudly under her crotch. It had to be that way.

A long time ago, the great antechamber ghost had loosened it. As protection against uninvited guests.

Many visitors had already drawn Aemilia's attention to the loose board.

It was never repaired.

A bright sunny winter's day in post-war Vienna.

The grandmother had stepped next to her granddaughter with a smile.

She took the small hand firmly. The boots sank into the snow. The old, slender woman stroked the child's blond hair lightly. "Stay with me for a long time," she murmured.

Russian zone, insecurity, poverty, hunger, hope.

The little girl with the dark blue cloth coat was bouncing happily. She hugged a worn, light brown shaggy teddy bear with a red and white checked shirt.

"Gretl, look!" it called out. "What a beautiful day."

The old bear's left button eye dangled menacingly loose on the thick gray thread.

"Ema," the little girl turned to her grandmother, "look, we mustn't forget to sew on the eye today."

In the park, they raced to draw letters and funny little men in the snow with the tips of their boots. Anna looked up at her grandmother.

That smile!

First the sunlight bounced into the gray-blue, wrinkle-rimmed eyes; swirled over the grooved cheekbones, then back to the bridge of the nose. Finally, it glittered around the pale, thin lips.

The little girl happily squeezed the old hand.

"Your wrinkles, folds and furrows are funny," she thought. "Too bad my face is so boringly smooth," she grumbled aloud. "It'll get better, just wait and see," Aemilia consoled cheerfully. Her voice had a warm, foreign singing sound.

Since the child had been living with his grandmother, he had realized how exciting old age could be.

"The older you get, the more clearly the spirits of protection and entertainment surround you," she had told her granddaughter soon after they had moved into the old family villa, when the little girl had once again been unable to fall asleep. It had been so dark. So lonely in the unfamiliar, large bedroom. And that creaking, whispering, squeaking. "Only children and old people are of ghostly age," Anna had learned back then. Now she also understood why her parents were never able to comfort her from this inexplicable horror that crept up on her every night and clutched her mercilessly in the dark. "Poor things," she thought, "they've just forgotten where all the night noises come from." The explanation was quite simple.

Suddenly the child couldn't wait to listen to all the exciting noises on his own. The creaking, whispering, whistling and crackling in the old, large bedroom were wonderful.

Every room, every space in our world is home to familiar spirits. Nice, friendly protectors. If you treat them well. They are everywhere. In the drawing room, in the cellar, in the opera, even in the ghost train, she knew from Aemilia.

They usually lie around in boxes, lazy, tiny and transparent. Stick to pipes, suck themselves into carpets. Float around silently. Sometimes they play wild games. Noisily giggling with each other. Milky-white creatures that take on any shape, any color at will. They can expand endlessly to protect people and their homes. They celebrate festivals. Riotous and colorful. Just like us humans, the spirits are also different. "Ema," the child had once asked, "are spirits as powerful as angels?" - "Not at all," her grandmother had replied firmly. "Angels are everywhere. Their power is not bound to any one place." The grandmother was a pious woman.

"When you grow up," Aemilia continued, "the shimmering companionsgraduallyslip away from your perception. They become paler and paler, quieter and quieter."

"But when you're old, they come back to you. Stronger and clearer than ever before. Just wait and see!"

The child was already looking forward to it.

"I'll have fun with my old ghost friends," it thought, "and I'll get some new ones too! I'll discuss all my wishes and worries with them. They will always be happy to listen to me and protect me, especially in the dark," she thought to herself.

"You never have to be afraid of loneliness in life. The ghosts are so entertaining," Aemilia had once said. "Even if your children can't find time for you." With that little sentence, the child had heard a dark undertone in Grandma's voice. But she hadn't given it a second thought. Anna smiled. Now that she knew the truth, everything was easy.

After the park, the two visited a bedridden old woman every day.

Their cramped apartment was permeated by a pungent, sweet, musty smell. They could already hear loud clamoring in the hallway, interspersed with laughter.

"Max, Mäxchen, is it you?" All the hope in the world was in that shrill cry of joy.

"Good morning, dear Luise, it's us." The grandmother's voice sounded almost apologetic.

The tense, emaciated body sitting upright in bed fell back into the pillow, powerless and disappointed.

The pale, yellowed face was almost hidden by the snow-white hair hanging down in a tangle.

The large dark eyes gazed fixedly into the distance.

"Ema, why doesn't Max ever come to visit her?" Anna asked.

"He can't, child, he's already back in heaven."

Anna stared at the photo on the small bedside table.

"That can't be!" she exclaimed in disbelief. "He's still very young." - "He was 18 years old," her grandmother replied gently. "You know, he suddenly lost his strength, as usually only happens to old people. Then he dropped onto the sunbeam rocket, dead tired. He took off into the sky with it. Luise's only grandson." "The good Lord brought him back to his parents. Now he's happy again," she added. Anna pondered doubtfully: "Grandma, isn't it dangerous to shoot up so quickly?" - "Not at all," replied Ema. "The guardian angel always flies with us."

Now the child understood this infinite sadness. But the old woman was scary. Sometimes she waved to the little girl in a friendly manner, then again she sparkled wordlessly with defensive gestures from her piercingly strong eyes.

When the two of them heated up the food they had brought with them in the kitchen, the child often flinched at the alternation of wild cries of fear, mumbling and clattering laughter that could be clearly heard from the bedroom.

"She's complaining to the spirits that she still has to be here. She wants to join her family at last," the grandmother answered the questioning look. "It's good that she's not all alone, it's lucky that the ghosts exist," the child said happily.

The old woman often clawed her fingernails deep into the comforter. She looked so desperate. "She tries to hold on to her thoughts," Aemilia then murmured. "But they run away between her fingers. Like tiny ants. As soon as she catches them, they crawl on again, melt away somewhere." The mind searcher called Anna the old woman. As they stepped out onto the snow-covered street, they breathed in the fresh winter air.

"Tomorrow we'll have to move Luise's bed closer to the window," Anna remarked. "Why should we move it?" - "Ema, don't you notice? The sun never reaches her bed," the child replied worriedly. "We'll move it directly under the big window tomorrow. Then she can easily climb onto the sunbeam rocket," cried the child, beaming. Aemilia nodded with a smile.

Curious, the little girl ran towards a newly hoisted red flag. It was flying over the portal of a white-painted building near the church.

Bright-voiced commotion in the front garden. "Children!" Anna enthusiastically pushed open the garden door as she ran. She suddenly missed the kindergarten and her friends.

Aemilia's voice rang out from afar. But she paid no attention.

The gate had closed behind her. The little girl walked expectantly towards the group of children.

The hard snowball hit her left cheekbone. Startled, Anna jerked her head upwards.

Only now did she notice the complete silence. A wide semicircle of staring eyes in dark winter coats and fur hats.

No smile. Unexpectedly, a stocky boy approached Anna. He grabbed both her arms hard. She fell. The old shaggy bear flew into the snow. The attacker turned away from her without a word. His boots trampled wildly on the little stuffed animal. "Gretl, no!" she cried helplessly. "Don't, be careful, the poor eye!" Desperate attempts to get up. The sun was blocked by screaming children's faces. Fists threatening just above the face. Suddenly the roaring tangle disappeared. A giant mouth appeared. Two slanted eye slits sparkled angrily. Now even the sky was gone. A yellowish-dark, wide set of teeth, full of holes, hissed, breathing heavily.

Anna lay still. She heard a familiar voice from afar. "Let go! Let go at once!" The giant's mouth snapped shut. The dazed little creature only regained consciousness on the street, in her grandmother's arms. Polyphonic insults rang out after them. Aemilia hurried on quickly and wordlessly. Tears ran down Anna's cheeks. "Why?" she sobbed. She didn't understand, couldn't understand.

Suddenly fierce determination. "Leave me alone, I have to go back! They'll kill Gretl!" All at once, color came into the pale, tear-stained face. She pounded her little fists on the collar of her grandmother's coat. "No, Anna." This tone brooked no argument. "You'll get your Gretl. I promise you that. But not now." She stroked the child's wet hair reassuringly.

Later, at home, Anna heard about the war for the first time. She soon covered her ears defensively. "Let's play Punch and Judy instead, it's more fun," she called out. Aemilia nodded in agreement.

Anna quickly jumped up. As she ran, she tore open the playroom door with a rush. The smallest of the playroom ghosts, who had made himself comfortable on a colorful box of oil pastels on the floor, shrieked.

"Gustavo, forgive me," Anna wailed in dismay. "Did I hurt you?" The little one grinned conciliatory. "No, no, I was just scared," he squeaked. "You know you can't hurt us ghosts."

Relieved, the child ran back into the living room, laden with various papier-mâché figures.

In the meantime, the grandmother had lit wood in the fireplace.

Home-baked cookies lay in a light blue ceramic bowl. The scent of honey candles drifted through the room.

Now snowflake stars were swirling outside. Soft and fluffy, they slowly trickled down the window panes.

"The playroom door hinges need to be oiled. They squeak miserably," Aemilia noted.

Anna smiled approvingly. She adjusted the narrow yellow and white patterned fabric curtains on the wooden frame. She placed the figures on the two armchairs. "There, done," she sighed proudly. Anna snuggled into the dark red, soft velvet fauteuil in anticipation. There was a mug of warm drinking chocolate on a small table next to her. The child's eyes wandered comfortably around the room. It was so cozy at Ema's!

This unique fragrance blend of wood, perfume, spices, pastries!

She could hear faint noises from behind the closed, tiny fabric curtains.

"Are you all right?" the little girl giggled at the scribbled oil pastel men, who were merrily cavorting between flowers, houses and suns. "All drawn by myself," she thought proudly. Anna loved painting walls. Ema had beamed when one day she had discovered a tiny little man scribbled in pencil next to the clothes rack in the entrance hall. She had immediately encouraged her granddaughter to paint the other walls too. More extensively, more clearly. Together they had also gradually made all the theater figures themselves.

Using scraps of fabric, buttons, tin foil, paint and other tools, they had brought the molded papier-mâché to life. It was more than just life, each figure had its own personality.

The always cheerful Kasperl, the stern policeman, Mr. Hurra and Mr. Jawohl.

The beautiful Marie, Mr. Hitler, the Chinese. Also the terrible robber and Mr. Stalin. The grass-green crocodile Ala usually slept in a corner.

Now the curtain went up.

The child sank into his dream world.

But in the evening, tired under the soft, warm blanket, Anna had to cry again.

Even Aemilia's bedtime story, a new experience in the never-ending tale of the good child Wahnfried Lispel and the bad boy Hanswild Zappel, failed to bring a smile to her face today.

"Gretl," she whispered, "my poor Gretl."

"Everything will be fine," Aemilia promised lovingly.

Then she quietly left the room.

The child listened intently into the darkness. "Bedroom ghosts, where are you? Nico, Nino, Nolo, wake up!" At last, at last. The floor creaked. Now there was a cracking sound in the box. The blue, red and yellow clown's face laughed down from the wall.

Slowly, a milky white veil spread over the colorful, funny clown's eyes. A blurred, thin, white structure emerged from the wardrobe. Like chewing gum. The great bedroom ghost! Now something cracked on the floor. Near the bed.

Shortly afterwards, a transparent brown mass emerged from a crack. Stretched. Lighter, thinner, increasingly transparent. Like a giant balloon with a skinny neck. A thick red nose emerged, three round eyes! "The middle one of the bedroom ghosts!" exclaimed Anna enthusiastically. And the little one appeared too, lazily clinging to the blue bedside lamp. He giggled exuberantly. Friendly yellow and white speckled eyes smiled at Anna. The right one with a tiny bruise. The waving ghostly arms wrapped protectively around the room.

"I can see you so clearly today," murmured the sleepy child."Help me, please!" - "Anna, Anna!You don't need our help at all," she whispered in many voices.

"Ema has conjured her power into you. Now the whole world is yours. Don't be afraid. You don't have to be afraid of anyone. Fight back, always fight back in your own way. You have the power, never forget that." - "Couldn't you go with me tomorrow?" Anna asked doubtfully. "Anna, we're house spirits," she said. "We only leave the houses very, very rarely. Only when someone we love very much dies. Then we accompany him to his grave. And if a nice person moves, we simply move with them," assured the smallest bedroom ghost. Anna sighed. Suddenly Aemilia stood in front of her. Transparent, radiant. She placed her slender index finger over her mouth. "It will remain our secret forever," she whispered. "Trust your power. You'll see: When you already own everything, you don't need anything else. Or very little in life. You'll be satisfied and never envy anyone."

"At some point, when you're stone old, you'll pass on the magic. To the person you will recognize."

Anna was amazed. She felt light, strong and happy. Fears and doubts had vanished. "The only important thing," she thought, "is that I get my Gretl back." She knew that she hadn't dreamed all this. Because now and again the ghosts also appeared to her in her dreams, but then they only ever spoke in rhyme.

The child knew exactly how to distinguish between dreams and reality.

The next day, the little girl nodded knowingly to Aemilia. "Thank you, Ema," she said solemnly. "Did you have a nice dream, Anna?" - "You know that for a fact," she winked exuberantly. "Of course." The grandmother smiled conspiratorially.

She was relieved that the child had overcome the shock.

Heavy sleet beat against the windows.

Suddenly there was a hard knock on the front door.

Astonished, Aemilia turned around.

Anna noticed that her grandmother's slender body flinched as she looked through the peephole.

"Who's coming to visit us so early today?" the child called out curiously.

"Anna, please," the old woman asked, "go into your playroom for a moment. It's just for me. I'll come and get you soon." The voice sounded deeper than usual.

The child ran up the stairs in amazement.

As he passed by, he heard Ernesto, the middle kitchen ghost, tapping angrily on the water pipes. The unfriendly hissing of the little front room ghost was also audible.

The playroom door remained ajar.

A loud, unpleasant, buzzing male voice rang out.

Anna crept to the doorway. The delicate woman in the gray suit with the elegant white lace blouse disappeared into the salon.

Behind her are two uniformed, imposing figures.

Now the little girl was already crouching at the top of the stairs.

The younger of the two men, lean and tall, barked curtly: "Your papers!"

In German, but with a harsh, foreign sound.

The salon door slammed shut.

Chairs moving, a babble of voices.

The child tripped down the stairs almost silently.

It moved very close to the salon door.

It carefully pushed down the handle.

"Just a tiny crack," it thought. No one had noticed anything. The two men overwhelmingly filled the room.

Next to her stood her grandmother, small, fragile but very straight. Standing at her desk, she rummaged through documents.

Somehow, Anna had an uneasy feeling. "But she's not scared at all," she wondered.

"You know why you were reported?" That unpleasant, barking tone again.

"Please sit down, gentlemen." Grandma's voice sounded calm and friendly.

"Can I perhaps offer you a glass of red wine?" A gesture of refusal from the gaunt man followed.

"Trespassing on Russian territory," it buzzed through the room. "Intentionally," the voice added threateningly.

Anna listened intently. She didn't understand the meaning of the words, only the unfriendly tone.

"Attacking a Russian comrade. A commendable fighter against the imperialist quest for power. Attacking Russian youth."

Anna just watched her grandmother. "She's not annoyed," she thought reassuringly. "She gets on well with strangers. Maybe because she's from far away too."

Anna almost laughed out loud.

The young snoring one and the other coarse-faced one with the thick turnip nose, they both looked like puppets, the uniforms and that snoring! "Just like in a Punch and Judy show," the child thought.

Like the two funny gentlemen Hitler and Stalin, who were always so funny. Those crazy important people. Grandma had invented them.

Now the red-faced man handed Ema a note.

Aemilia's voice was friendly and clear. "A misunderstanding. An unfortunate misunderstanding, gentlemen," she said politely. "Oh, you know children. Do you have any of your own?" Icy silence. Then she continued. "My little granddaughter, you must know, saw the children. I'm already old. She was running so fast. I couldn't stop her. It was all quite harmless. She just wanted to play with the children. You understand that, don't you?" she added. Silence.

You could tell that the two of them were thinking.

Close beside her, Anna now noticed Cobo, the large ghost of the front room. For a long time, he had been curled up in Grandma's green woollen scarf, tiny and transparent, on the hat shelf.

He listened curiously. Tall, stretched. Then he whispered in her ear. "Anna, sweet Anna, you are the strongest, the whole world is yours!" He pushed the child exuberantly. Surprised, she stumbled through the open door. Confused, Anna stared at the two soldiers. They had jumped up in shock.

"Anna!" Aemilia shook her head disapprovingly.

Then the little girl resolutely held out her hand to the astonished men and curtseyed politely. Friendly smiles from bright blue children's eyes.

She called into the silence: "The children, the children were really bad. Why didn't they want me? And my Gretl. My poor Gretl! Please! She's hurt. She'll freeze to death in the snow. You are strong. Brave, courageous soldiers. Please, you must free her," she added unperturbed.

The child couldn't interpret the beads of sweat on Grandma's forehead. "It's not that warm here," she thought, looking at the old woman.

The gaunt man looked at the child with helpless incomprehension.

The red-faced man showed a hint of a smile.

"My granddaughter has lost her stuffed bear on your territory," muttered the grandmother. "Not lost," Anna protested loudly. Grandma's look made her fall silent. And silence again.

At last, the young soldier snarled curtly: "Next time, you'll have to expect consequences. Good day."

All the while, Bartolo, the little salon ghost, had been crouched by the chandelier with an attentive expression. The glittering crystal particles clinked softly as he carefully lowered himself on a wafer-thin rope. Slowly spinning down, he gradually transformed into a fat, many-legged black spider. Cursing, the gaunt man wiped the parlor ghost off his neck. The bite had left an ugly, swelling red mark. The black creepy-crawly slapped against the wall. There it melted into a triumphant ghostly grin.

Out of the corner of her eye, Anna had seen the old soldier move quickly. As he stood up, a bottle of red wine slipped into the wide pocket of his military coat in a flash. She hadn't missed her grandmother's approving gesture either.

In the anteroom, Anna tugged the old man's sleeve pleadingly.

He turned around and laughed good-naturedly.

Then he swayed his bald head. As if he were making a promise.

The child looked silently into friendly green eyes.

The grandmother pulled Anna to her.

With a relieved sigh, she closed the front door. Sometime later, Anna whispered: "They were scary, the uniforms." Aemilia replied gently: "Oh, my darling, they're disguises."

"We're all just normal people. You have to get used to seeing through disguises." The child remembered that.

Towards evening they heard a faint knocking.

Aemilia stepped outside the door. But there was no one to be seen.

Something was lying in the snow right next to the stone steps. Small, shaggy, red plaid.

"Gretl," cried Anna triumphantly. Beaming, she grabbed the wet, disheveled bear. She hugged him tightly.

"Look, Ema, the button eye. It's still dangling." Aemilia smiled. Her unique smile.

"You see," she whispered lovingly, "I knew that nothing would happen to Gretl." Anna was overjoyed.

At the age of four, the world lies clearly before you.

Black, white, good, evil.

No nuances, doubts, shades, shadows.

2. SUNBEAM ROCKET

"Marie, Marie! Grab your luck by the scruff of the neck!" thundered Punch from the stage.

The beautiful red-haired Marie nodded resolutely. Her tiny, sparse curls of paper hair rustled in approval.

The child waited for happiness to appear. But it didn't come. Then he remembered that they hadn't made the lucky figure yet.

"Maybe Grandma wants to surprise me," it thought.