Horror Stories from Denmark Box set

by Rose, Willow

  "They're just doing their job," I answer while the tic in my right eye grows worse. Wait wasn't it in the left eye earlier? I shake my head and drink my tea. I wonder if I have eaten at all today. I can't seem to remember. Have I even read the paper? I can't recall reading Rebekka Franck's latest article. Maybe I already did. Yes, that's it. I already read it. There was a misspelling in the fourth paragraph. Or was it in the third? I don't know. Maybe it doesn't matter. Amalie is still talking. I try and listen in, but so much information is running through my head. Amalie tells me she loves her new math teacher and that she doesn't mind if Mr. Berendsen is gone, but at the same time, she feels bad if anything bad happened to him. I nod and smile, while thinking that I have nothing to serve along with the sausages. You can't just eat sausages alone. I need to go buy potatoes or maybe pasta? Too many carbs. I'll make a salad, I decide.

  "Am I a bad person for thinking this way?" my daughter asks. "In my defense, Mr. Berendsen was really mean to many of the students. I don't think you'll see anyone being sad that he's gone."

  "We all have to die at some point, honey," I say and pat the top of her hand. "Some people just deserve to die earlier."

  Amalie looks at me strangely. "What do you mean, Mom? You think he was killed?"

  "Well there was blood in his house, right?"

  "Yeah, but they haven't found his body or anything. Just his finger." Amalie shivers slightly by saying it. I feel nothing. I'm thinking about Josephine. I don't seem to recall where I put her. Is she sleeping? Yes that has to be it, I think. I get up from the chair and walk to the living room. The playpen is empty. So she must be in her bed, I think and walk upstairs. My daughter follows me to the stairs.

  "Are you alright, Mom?" she asks.

  "I'm fine honey," I say without looking at her.

  I walk into the nursery but find the bed empty. A panic starts to spread. Has something happened to her? Did I forget her somewhere? At the butcher's? At the grocery store? I feel the room spinning around me and I can't seem to make my mind stand still. If only I could remember, if only I could get a picture of where I had her last. I run down the stairs feeling panic rising. Amalie looks at me with concern.

  "Do you want me to call Dad?" she asks.

  "No, no. You mustn't do that," I say. I grab her shoulders and shake her heavily. "Promise me you won't call your dad!"

  "Okay. Okay," she says.

  I let go of her and storm out the door. The baby carriage is gone! It is not in my front yard where I always put it. Someone has taken my baby carriage and my baby! In the street I spot my neighbor. A woman in her thirties who hasn't been able to have a child. Suddenly it strikes me. She has taken mine! I always had a feeling about her, I think as I run towards her. She is walking towards my house and she is ... yes she is pushing my baby carriage in front of her! I run towards her feeling the anger rise. She is smiling and waving.

  "Hi there, neighbor," she yells and waves.

  I approach her while my hands are shaking heavily. I imagine killing her with my bare hands, strangling her while looking into her eyes and letting her know that nobody, nobody takes my baby.

  "I found this in my front yard," she says and points at the blue carriage. "Is it yours?"

  I reach out and push her away from the carriage. Then I slam my fist into her face forcing her to stumble backwards with a shriek.

  I grab the carriage by the handle and start to push it towards my house. Josephine is awake and now she is looking at me. I smile at her while promising her that no one is ever going to take her from me again. As I pick her up and walk inside I'm thinking I'll make potato salad as a side dish.

  12

  I have barely put Josephine down in the playpen before my husband storms through the front door. I look at him startled.

  "What are you doing home this early?" I ask.

  "Are you okay?" he asks.

  I shake my head. "Am I okay? What do you mean by that?"

  "Amalie called and told me you were freaking out."

  "She did what? I told her not to call you. Well I'm fine. As you can see everything is just fine. I've just been stressed out a little lately. You know not enough sleep and all."

  Christian nods and smiles. "I'm relieved that everything is well," he says. "I actually have great news ..."

  "Really?" I ask. Josephine is fussing and I rub her belly gently.

  "Yes. I got the account!"

  I smile from ear to ear. "You got it?"

  He nods and I jump up and hug him. "I'm so happy for you my love."

  "I can hardly believe it myself," he says and sets down his briefcase. "When the meeting started today Gert never showed up. Can you believe that? Martin was so angry he immediately signed the account over to me."

  "That is wonderful news," I say and kiss Christian on the lips.

  We should celebrate," Christian says.

  "Let's have some sausages!" I exclaim.

  Christian shakes his head. "No. I mean let’s go out. Just the two of us. We'll get a nanny."

  I look at Josephine in the playpen, then shake my head. "I don't ..." Then I pause. I can hardly explain to my husband how I almost lost her today and how I am determined to never let her out of my sight again. Trusting my baby with a stranger isn't something I feel ready for just yet.

  "Come on," he says. "Let's go out for once. It's been far too long."

  I look into his eyes. I wonder if I should give him the blowjob now and maybe that'll make him forget about going out? I'm not sure it's enough.

  "Where will you get a nanny with this short notice?" I ask.

  "One of the new guys at the office, Karl, gave me the number of his nanny, when I told him I was planning on taking you out to celebrate tonight. I can call her right now and see if she's available."

  "I don't know, Christian. I'm worried about this. She doesn't even know the kids."

  Christian picks up the phone and dials a number. "We're doing this," he says. "We need to live a little."

  I look down at Josephine while Christian walks into the kitchen with the phone. I hear him talk to someone. Josephine is cooing happily. My belly rub helped her. I'm sweating anxiously. How am I supposed to leave her home all alone?

  My husband returns looking happy. I feel a panic rise inside of me.

  "Done," he says with a huge grin. "She'll be here at five thirty and you can introduce her to the kids and show her around before we leave. Okay?"

  I force a smile while feeling the desperation plant small chills on my back. What do we even know about this girl? I think. She could be a mass-murderer, she could be a psychopath, part of a pedophile ring that steals small children and sends them to Eastern Europe to raise them on those farms, I saw on TV, where they use them for all kinds of atrocities. Maybe she herself is a pedophile, maybe she'll hurt my little daughter somehow, and exploiting the fact that she cannot tell on her afterwards?

  While my husband whistles and goes into the kitchen to grab himself a beer from the refrigerator I take Josephine into my arms and kiss her cheeks till she starts fussing again. I bring her with me into the kitchen clinging on to her tight.

  "What about all the sausages then?" I ask.

  13

  The nanny turns out to be a sixteen-year-old girl and at first sight she doesn't seem like she could hurt a fly, let alone a child. She tells me she is a student at the local high school, and her parents are out of town this week so it's okay if it gets late even if it is a school night. Then she gives me a list of references to people she has been a nanny for the last couple of years. She knows CPR and is a trained lifeguard in case any of the children should come near water which I tell her they never will and that I will make sure to kill her if they do. She laughs thinking I'm joking and I finally agree to leave the lives of my loved ones in her hands. Josephine is asleep when we leave and I hope she will stay like that until we come back. Just to make sure that the nanny, Lucille is prepared I show her where the changing table is and leave a bott
le of pumped out breast milk in the refrigerator. She seems a little confused at first and I am almost having second thoughts, but my husband calls for me from downstairs and I decide to give him the evening he so dreams off. Maybe I will even give him that blow-job when we come home, I think as I say goodbye to Lucille and let my husband drag me out of the house to the taxi waiting on the street outside. As the door closes behind me I feel a shiver of anxiety and I'm almost about to turn around but Christian's grip on my hand is tight and determined and a few seconds later I find myself in the backseat of the taxi looking back at the house where I have left my babies in the hands of a high school mass-murderer.

  The dinner is good even though I hardly touch it. I'm thinking about Lucille alone with the children and regret that I forgot to tell her about the sausages in the refrigerator that she could give the kids for dinner.

  "You're hardly eating," Christian says and empties his third glass of wine. "You haven't been eating much lately at all," he says.

  "I forgot to tell them about the sausages," I say.

  "Well forget about the sausages. We'll eat them tomorrow. And the day after that. Lord knows there’s enough for a long time, right?"

  "But I was really looking forward to having sausages tonight," I say. "I spent all night preparing them, chopping the meat off the bones."

  Christian smiles and grabs my hand. "It's good to be alone like this," he says. "It's been way too long since we have been just the two of us. I've really missed it. I've missed you."

  I look up from my plate and look into his eyes. He's smiling, dazed by the wine. "I really love you Lisa," he says.

  His eyes are warm, gentle and the light from the candle is reflected in them. I can't stop thinking what his eyeballs would look like if I poked my fork into them. I smile back. He takes my hand and kisses the top of it. I imagine chopping his off by the wrist.

  "Maybe you want a blow-job later?" I ask and finally eat some of my scallops. They're way too salty for my taste. "When we get home?"

  Christian almost chokes on his wine. He spits some of it out on the white tablecloth. It looks like blood sprayed on a white wall. Christian grins and holds a hand to his mouth. "You're really something," he says.

  "I think the sausages needed more nutmeg," I say.

  Christian shakes his head and laughs, then the waiter pours him another glass of wine. We toast and drink some more. The wine seems to calm down my mind, but it leaves me confused and strangely out of control. I feel like the room is spinning and hold onto the table to not fall down.

  "Are you alright?" Christian asks.

  "I'm perfect," I say and let go of the table. I'm getting used to the spinning now and quite enjoying it. It's fun; I think and try to catch things as they fly around me at great speed. Christian is smiling and toasting again. The wine is warm and makes me fuzzy, my sight gets blurry and soon everything goes black.

  I wake up feeling thirsty. I walk down the stairs and get a glass out of the cupboard. I pour water into it and drink while watching the full moon outside my kitchen window. I wonder how we got home. I don't seem to remember anything. My head begins to hurt. I open my eyes widely.

  "Josephine," I say out loud and throw the glass in the sink and run upstairs. I storm into the nursery. I breathe a sigh of relief. Josephine is still sleeping. I look at her in the darkness and smile, then look at the Winnie The Pooh clock on the wall. It's almost two o'clock. About the time she normally wakes up. There is no need to go to bed again, I tell myself and sit in the rocking chair and wait for her to wake up. Again I wonder about the dinner and how we got home. Did we take a taxi? I simply don't remember. I shake my head feeling like a young girl again after a night in town with the girls, not remembering what I have done the next day. Then I remember something. I think I did give Christian that blow-job last night. I clearly remember having it in my mouth. Or maybe it was a sausage. I have no way of knowing.

  Josephine makes a sound and I go to look at her. She is tossing and turning in her sleep. That's when I realize something is wrong. Something is very wrong. My baby is lying on her stomach! And she has a blanket over her body. Terrified by this I pick her up, while my heart is beating fast. I hold her close to me, then breathe relieved once again. I listen to her breaths for a long time, relieved that I noticed this fatal mistake that the nanny had made in time. I can hardly think the thought to an end. The nanny almost killed my baby!

  14

  I can't stop thinking about it. I feed Josephine for at least an hour. I can tell she missed me by the way she clings to my breast and won't let go even if I can tell she is full. Every time I try and pull her away because she's asleep, she wakes up and starts fussing. I let her stay close to me for another half an hour, then put her in the baby carriage and go for a walk in the hope that it will make her fall back to sleep.

  I find myself outside a house. I have a note that I'm clenching in my fist. It's the nanny's address that she gave to me before I left her alone with my children earlier in the evening. I'm sweating even if it is a cold night. Josephine is finally asleep again in the carriage. I'm wearing nothing but a light nightgown. The wind goes right through it, but I'm still not cold.

  The house is dark and the wind is pulling on the big birch in the front yard. Its thin crooked branches are swaying lightly making it look like arms reaching out to grab me.

  I kick down the back door to the house, not caring what kind of noise I'm making. Then I storm inside pushing the carriage in front of me.

  I find the girl in one of the rooms in the back of the house. I realize I don't know if she's an only child or if there could be someone else in the house. I decide I don't care and push the carriage through the door to her room. She wakes up immediately and starts to scream. I slam my baby's toxin-free organic glass bottle into her face. She screams in pain. I move quickly while she is still startled by the sudden attack. I take a couple of diapers out of the bag and stuff them into her throat to drown out the noise. Finally only muffled sounds are coming from her. She's fighting me but I'm too strong, plus she is skinny and I am able to hold her down with the extra weight I gained during my last pregnancy. I tape her arms together with duct tape and her legs as well. She's still fighting, so I hit her with the bottle again, while thinking how amazingly sustainable it is. Her eyes roll back in her head and she is fighting to stay conscious. I hit her again. This time it leaves a big, bloody wound. I get some on my nightgown and sigh annoyed.

  "Now I have to wash this," I mumble.

  Then I swing the bottle again and knock her out. I glance over at Josephine in the carriage. Luckily she didn't wake from all the noise and turmoil. I look at the nanny and shake my head heavily. She is coming back now slowly. I watch her as she opens her eyes and tries to figure out if it was all a dream. Then she realizes it isn't and stares at me with wide-open eyes. I smile and wave at her. New muffled sounds comes from behind the diapers. I have put duct tape across her mouth to force them to stay in. She's choking on them, I can tell. Gagging and trying hard not to throw up. I look at her in contempt.

  "To think I let you alone with my children. So irresponsible," I say. I get agitated just by thinking about what she has done. I am sweating a lot now and try to wipe the drops of sweat off my upper lip with my hand, but it's not enough. I use a blouse I find on the floor. "Messy too, huh?" I say to the girl who has stopped trying to scream and is now staring at me in distrust. "Hasn’t your mother taught you anything?"

  I wipe off my face in the blouse. The white in it turns red and I realize I have her blood all over my face. I wipe my entire face with it, then fold it neatly together and put it into my bag. I'm not so stupid I'm going to leave evidence like that around after me. I look at the girl. Her eyes are fearful. I tilt my head and smile.

  "You know I have to hurt you now, don't you?"

  She utters a muffled sound that I think is a gasp, then nods her head slowly. Her eyes are filled with tears. I don't feel pity for her. After all she almost ki
lled my child. Now she has to pay.

  "I mean I can't let a thing like that go unpunished. You almost killed my BABY," I say and point at the carriage.

  She looks like she doesn't understand. I sigh and try to explain.

  "Don't you know how to put down a baby?" I ask.

  She stares at me like she doesn't know what to do. Then she nods.

  "Well then you should know, that babies MUST NOT SLEEP ON THEIR STOMACHS!"

  As I yell the words I take out the kitchen knife and stab it into her leg. It makes a crunching sound. She moans something. Then I pull it out again. She is crying hard now.

  "Don't you know anything?" I say. "If you put them down on their stomach they will SUFFOCATE." I sigh again, then stab her in the other leg. She groans in pain.

  "I mean it's in all the books, for crying out loud. You can read about it in every magazine there is about babies. SIDS is the most common killer of little babies and they are almost always found lying on their stomachs when they are dead, suffocated. And on top of it, you put her blanket in with her?" I pull out the knife and stab her again, in the thigh this time.

  "A blanket she can get over her head and it can block her breathing! She is so small she can't remove it herself. Don't you KNOW that?" I raise the knife again and stab her in the stomach. "No, blankets," I say when I pull it out and stab her in the chest. "And always ... Always put the baby on its back!"

  On the last word I stab her once again in the chest and warm blood spurts out on my face and all over my nightgown. I keep stabbing her till she hardly moves anymore. Then I try to flay her, to cut off her skin while she is still - barely - alive. But it's more difficult than it sounds and I have to give it up half way. The room is a mess when the girl finally takes her final breath. Blood is on all the walls, pieces of her skin is spread on the bed. I don't know what to do with it all and certainly have no more room in my freezer, nor any desire to make more sausages.

  I decide to burn the house down. I leave the gas-stove open, then light a match and throw it in through the door. The pressure wave from the blast pushes me and the baby-carriage in the back as we walk down the street. I never turn to look back at the explosive fire.