Dear Child: The twisty thriller that starts where others end

by Romy Hausmann

  ‘Jonathan?’

  I nod apprehensively.

  ‘I hurt him very badly.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  I nod again, but now avoid looking at her.

  ‘On the day I escaped from the cabin . . .’

  Jasmin

  By now I was familiar with the restrictions of daily life inside the cabin. I’d found my footing and had fallen into line as far as possible. When your husband kissed me on the lips before going to work that morning, Lena, I didn’t even retch. But then he said, ‘I’m going to bring a test home this evening,’ and beamed.

  Over time I must have merely suppressed the fact that I hadn’t had a period in quite a while. It could have been my body suffering from stress. It could have been my weight loss, which was readily apparent in my shoulders and hips that stuck out sharply. But it hadn’t crossed my mind that I could be pregnant until he said these words. I’m going to bring a test home this evening. Everything collapsed, the ground broke up, gaped open and swallowed me into a huge, jet-black hole. When he was out the door, I summoned the last of my strength to drag myself over to the sofa and on to it.

  I knew from a conversation we’d had earlier that he’d always wanted three children. A little brother or sister for Hannah and Jonathan. We’d even toasted me getting pregnant as soon as possible. Every day I took the vitamin pills he gave me, which were supposed to increase fertility, and I’d nodded in agreement when he thought up names. Matthias if it was a boy, and Sara if it was a girl. Matthias, he explained, meant ‘gift from God’, Sara ‘princess’.

  There was no reason to doubt that he meant all of this seriously. No, he didn’t joke. Now it was all over, everything was black, inside I was dying from the realisation that I would be bearing his third child. And if the test wasn’t positive today, it would be tomorrow, next week, or in a month. It would be my fault that another child had to endure this terror. I would give birth to a prisoner, someone who would be dead as soon as they were born. I cried so bitterly that it felt as if my face was going to burst.

  The children were used to me having bad days, or at least a few bad hours in which my mood would swing violently and I would scream at them or pulverise some of their illusions out of sheer rage. I’d bawled at Hannah when she tried to persuade me to go on a trip which was never going to happen anyway. I’d kicked Fräulein Tinky and hissed at Jonathan, who loved pretending he could fly, that he would never, ever in his life get on a real plane. I’d yelled, ‘I’m not your mama!’ and yelled it even louder when they appeared to ignore me. But my cruel outbursts never lasted much longer. I usually felt ashamed immediately afterwards, or at least terrified that they might tell their father, and so I would apologise.

  Today I wasn’t mean, wasn’t angry – I wasn’t anything anymore. I sat on the sofa, my arms around my torso, rocking back and forth listlessly for hours on end. Both Hannah and Jonathan had made a few attempts to get through to me. They asked when lessons were going to begin. They urged me to join in with exercises at least, reminding me what could happen if you didn’t exercise your muscles regularly. They offered me something to drink and a bit of energy bar. Each of them brought me a picture they’d drawn to try to cheer me up. But I didn’t even look at their pictures, which were just stupid, pointless scribbles. At some point I was distantly aware that Hannah was reading to Jonathan from the big book.

  ‘Depression,’ she read out in the monotone typical of her voice, ‘is a psychological disorder, characterised by despondency, negative thinking and lack of motivation. Joy, productivity, empathy and a general interest in life are often lacking.’

  ‘Does that mean she doesn’t care about us anymore?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Idiot,’ Hannah retorted. ‘It means she doesn’t care about anything.’

  ‘Including us,’ Jonathan noted and started making funny noises. This was probably the only reason I took notice. I’d never heard these noises before, neither from him nor from Hannah. And yet, despite their strangeness, there was also something familiar about them. They reminded me of the pain after my father died, when I locked myself in my room for days on end and cried. They reminded me of the hurtful feeling which engulfed me each time Kirsten insisted she was serious about the end of our friendship and there was no way back.

  Jonathan swallowed.

  I blinked my tears away. He had in fact started crying and was sobbing so intensely that his little chest rose and sank as if being given electric shocks. I looked at his pale, tender face, distorted by pain, until I could no longer bear the sight of it and I offered him my hand. Rather than take it, the boy dived on me, almost pulling me off the sofa. I was completely rigid in his clutches to begin with. I hadn’t seen either of the children cry before, ever. Maybe I’d assumed by now they weren’t capable of showing emotion, or even feeling it. Yes, there had been that day when the recirculation device had stopped working and we’d lain in the big bed together, me with my arms around both of them. ‘I love you, Mama,’ Hannah had said. ‘For ever and ever and ever.’ And I’d said, ‘I love you both too. Goodnight.’ Now I can see another significance behind it, but at the time I thought she’d only said that because it made the horrific episode slightly more bearable. Mitigated the fear slightly. At least that’s why I’d done it. Sure, I had feelings for the children. But was there ever anything more than pity there? I shuddered at the thought that the children had already started feeling love for me, real love, and I hadn’t noticed or returned this love. That everything I’d ever done for them was merely part of my role. That I’d only done it because I was worried their father would punish me if I didn’t play this role properly.

  I hesitantly placed a hand on Jonathan’s back, and stroked his head with the other, feeling his soft hair. Felt his warm, nervous breathing on my neck and the spasms his body made as he sobbed. I felt his fluttering heartbeat, I felt the same pain which had afflicted me after my father’s death and my break-up with Kirsten. He had the worst pain possible, the pain of love.

  I looked over to Hannah, who was standing beside the shelves, still holding the big book. I was expecting to see her staring at me with those defiant, ice-blue eyes. But she kept her eyes fixed downwards, making her appear embarrassed. This was an emotion I hadn’t come across either. Hannah had never had a problem looking me in the eye when a fresh, unmissable bruise decorated my face following another assault by her father. Sometimes she would even smile and say, ‘It’s not so bad, Mama. It was just a silly accident.’ With her words she wasn’t trying to excuse her father’s violent outburst, but my behaviour. I had done or said something silly by mistake, for which her father had beaten me. A pure consequence of my own stupidity.

  ‘I know!’ Jonathan exclaimed.

  He leaped off my lap and raced out of the room into the hallway. When he came back his face was still red from crying, but he was beaming. He was holding something hidden behind his back.

  ‘I’ve got a present for you,’ he said solemnly and brought it out.

  The snow globe.

  Inside it I could see a tiny house with a brown door, red shutters and a pointed roof. On either side of the house stood two Christmas trees.

  ‘Look, Mama.’ Jonathan shook the globe and thousands of tiny, artificial snowflakes flew up and swirled around, before landing on the roof, the trees, or the ground. ‘Look at the snowflakes dancing! And we’re in here.’ Jonathan smiled, pointing at the tiny house.

  ‘Can I hold it?’

  Jonathan held it out to me.

  ‘But be careful. It’s made of real glass and it’s very heavy.’

  ‘Very heavy,’ I repeated as if in a daze. He was right. The snow globe was really heavy. Fantastically heavy.

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Papa gave it to me. He gave Hannah Fräulein Tinky and me the snow globe. It’s my most precious treasure.’

 
‘Where have you been hiding it?’

  ‘In our bedroom. One of the floorboards in our room is loose and there’s a hole beneath it.’ He grinned. ‘Fräulein Tinky hides in there sometimes too when she’s eaten something.’ He turns to Hannah, but she doesn’t grin back.

  ‘In your room,’ I repeated, still weighing up the snow globe in my hand. The room I’d been into hundreds of times to make the beds or tell goodnight stories.

  ‘Yes,’ Jonathan said, sitting beside me on the sofa. ‘But now I want to give it to you.’

  ‘You want—?’

  ‘Yes, because you’re so sad, Mama.’ He took the globe and shook it again. The snowflakes scattered around the little house. Jonathan smiled dreamily. ‘That’s our cabin. We’re sitting inside, nice and warm.’

  He gave me the globe back.

  ‘Can you see now how nice it is here?’

  ‘Yes, my darling, it’s really nice here.’

  ‘Next time you’re sad you can just shake it.’

  ‘Yes, darling, I’ll do that.’

  Tears were in my eyes when I gave Jonathan a tight hug. The wonderful little boy who wanted to cheer me up and gave me his greatest possession, his only possession.

  ‘Can we maybe do some lessons now?’ Hannah said grouchily in the background. She’d been astonishingly quiet.

  I kissed Jonathan on the head, said, ‘Thank you,’ glanced at the kitchen clock – almost four in the afternoon – and got up from the sofa.

  ‘All right then, children. Get your books and crayons. Today we’re going to do dictation . . .’

  *

  It was late now, almost eight o’clock. I didn’t think he’d be coming back home today and I was going to send the children to the bathroom to get ready for bed. During our lesson the snow globe had stood on the dining table. My eyes kept wandering to it and I couldn’t resist smiling. Jonathan smiled too when he caught me doing it. Presumably he was a very happy, proud child who felt he’d done something very important. He’d cured his mama of pathological sadness. He had no idea.

  Finally I could hear footsteps outside, heavy footsteps on wood, steps that must lead up to the cabin. The children leaped into position in the middle of the room, clearly visible, holding out their hands. I put the snow globe on the seat of my chair, so he wouldn’t see it the moment he came in, then stood beside the children and held out my hands too. At that moment the key turned in the lock.

  I watched his back as he locked the front door again from the inside, and the movement of his hand as it took the key, which was on a bunch, from the lock and slipped them jangling into his pocket. Everything was as normal. Apart from the fact that my heart was beating all over my body; I was one big pulse as he inspected the cleanliness of my fingernails, coming so close that I could feel the cold that lingered on him from outside. He’d been shopping to cook something delicious for us in honour of the day. And he’d also got hold of a pregnancy test kit, which would provide the reason for our celebration. Even the children were allowed to stay up later this evening, all in honour of this day. He seemed very sure of what the result would be.

  ‘Everything okay with you, Lena?’ he asked as he wandered past me to put the shopping bags down on the work surface.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said hastily, placing myself between him and my chair to shield the snow globe with my body. Today was crunch time. Either I’d be free or I would die; I could feel it, I felt it in every heartbeat. And I was scared, terrifically scared. Fear enveloped my body like cling film, something impervious, constricting me and making me numb.

  From this point everything runs on automatic. I swear I cannot remember exactly when I grabbed the snow globe. Is he emptying the shopping bags? Or poking at the ashes in the stove? I see him before me, his back to me, bent forwards. I step up to him from behind. The globe in my hand weighs a tonne, I can barely hold it and yet I manage to take a big swing.

  Where are the children at this moment? Is it Hannah, less than a metre from me, who screams a warning, which I don’t hear because nothing can get through my cling film? Yes, I can see it’s her from the corner of my eye, but her mouth is closed. Hannah watches silently and idly as I execute the snow globe’s dangerous, wide arc through the air.

  What about Jonathan? Jonathan must be somewhere here, too. I’m sure he hasn’t left the room. Maybe he’s run around the sofa, babbling away with excitement. He’s happy that Papa’s back. Papa will heat the stove and make it nice and warm in the cabin. Papa will cook something delicious for us. What luck that Papa’s back.

  At that moment your husband makes to turn around, but he’s too late, there’s a crack, it goes bam! like when you drop a watermelon on the floor. Does he make a sound? Does he groan in pain or even scream? I don’t hear anything apart from the blood rushing in my ears and the muffled bam! that shakes everything. I’ve struck him, I’ve hit him once, hard, hard enough to make his body double up, as if a puppet’s strings had been cut. That strike was enough, now he’s lying on the floor, but it seems as if I just can’t stop. I hit him and I hit him and I keep hitting him until the glass of the snow globe shatters on his skull. I must be kneeling over him, hitting him again and again, the glass shards shredding his face. Blood, blood must be everywhere now.

  I stagger backwards, the murder weapon in my hand. The children come into my field of view. They stand there as if rooted to the spot. Hannah, her expression unmoved, empty. Jonathan horrified. Tears are running down his cheeks, his mouth is wide open with shock. His arms hang limply either side of his little body. His eyes, his stare. The snow globe was his present to me, the greatest, most important act of his life, his proudest possession. His snow globe has killed his father. He has killed his father because he gave it to me. His lips form a silent ‘Mama’.

  I drop the globe. In my head it crashes on the floor. In my head it only breaks now. The noise makes its way through my cling film, alarming me. I sink to my knees beside the inert body and fish the bunch of keys from his trouser pocket. Oh God, did he move just then? No, impossible, he’s dead, as the police will corroborate later on. I stagger backwards again. The keys jangle in my hand. I run to the front door; my trembling fingers try key after key in the lock until one finally fits. It fits! The door, open!

  ‘Come on, children!’ I shout. ‘Let’s go!’

  But the children don’t move. They stand frozen beside the motionless body of their father.

  ‘Come now! We’ve got to go!’

  I see Jonathan sink to his knees beside his father as if in slow motion. His torso leans forwards, jerkily. He’s sobbing, quietly, with pain, with love.

  I shake my head in disbelief. Look at Hannah who’s still standing there, frozen, her face devoid of expression.

  I pant. There are no more thoughts in my head, apart from one, maybe: get away from here! My legs start moving. I stumble down wooden steps that lead to a narrow veranda. I’m hit by the darkness and ice-cold air. For a moment I forget to breathe; my lungs seem almost blocked by the strangeness of this air, real, fresh air.

  I run. Across the grassed plot of land that surrounds the house and into the neighbouring woods. Branches scratch my skin, I can barely see anything in the darkness and I hear loud, dry cracking beneath my feet. I flail about, knocking branches to the side, sometimes flailing into thin air too. I stumble and fall, pain. I pick myself up again – go on, keep going, get away from here.

  There, suddenly, behind me. Was that a crack? Has he got up again, is he behind me? Faster, run!

  I run, falter, slip, crash into a tree.

  Keep going, don’t stop!

  That’s a crack behind me.

  Up ahead, some distance away between the trees, is that a light?

  Two lights, only tiny, but they’re there. They’re moving. Car headlights?

  I run towards them. Keep going, just don’t stop! A road, there’s a
road! I hold out my arms and wave. A car, it really is a car coming! I run towards it, wave, the car is close now, closer – and then . . . a deafening crash. Bright colours explode before my eyes. My eyelids flutter. I’m lying on the cold, hard ground. It’s so dreadfully cold. I detect a movement above me. Someone’s there. He bends over me. The driver of the car. His voice doesn’t match his face when he calls out, ‘Frau Grass? Frau Grass! Nice and calm, now, Frau Grass!’

  Matthias

  I’m desperate to fall asleep quickly so it’ll be morning sooner: a new, better day. But I have a very restive night. I can hear Karin beside me, breathing through her nose. She’s unsettled too as she tosses and turns repeatedly. But at least she’s sleeping, lucky woman.

  I’d been expecting a different reaction, of course I had. When Hannah said, ‘But this isn’t my home, Grandad,’ it was as if an invisible axe had split my ribcage and someone was removing my heart while I was fully conscious. And how disappointed she looked. She’d obviously thought I was taking her back to the cabin. While words failed me to begin with, Karin managed to improvise.

  ‘You’re right, Hannah,’ she said calmly. ‘This is our home, mine and your grandfather’s. Your mama lived here with us for a long time. That’s why we thought you’d like to visit us. Would you like to see her old room?’

  ‘Yes.’ Hannah nodded and let Karin take her upstairs by the hand. I trudged behind, keeping my distance.

  To be precise, it’s just a shell of Lena’s old room. The pinewood bed, the wardrobe, the chunky stereo that was a Christmas present when Lena first discovered music for herself, the desk and its accompanying swivel chair are all in their usual places. And the star stickers that glow in the dark are still on the ceiling above the bed, a sentimental relic of Lena’s time at primary school. She’d made her own starry sky. ‘It’s silly that you can only see the stars when you’re outside at night, isn’t it, Papi? It’s much nicer to sleep beneath the stars, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Lenchen, it is,’ I’d agreed, and stuck up the stars on her instructions because she couldn’t reach.