Wish Me Dead

by Helen Grant

  Fear welled up in me, threatening to split me open like ice in a pipe. It took all of my fraying self-control not to run away from the door, barricade myself in my room. But I thought that hiding in there without knowing whether it was my imagination running wild or there really was someone standing silently outside the flat, waiting to make her move, would send me mad. I bit my lip, screwing up the shreds of my courage, and reached for the key which was still in the lock.

  One quick sharp turn and I was able to fling the door open.

  Oh, my God, please don’t let there be –

  The little landing was empty.

  I waited for my heart rate and breathing to steady themselves, until I felt as though I could move again without gasping like a fish out of water. I gazed down the stairs. In the light spilling from the flat I could see that there was nobody there. Emboldened, I started to go down the stairs, treading as softly as I could.

  I had just reached the second-to-bottom step when I heard that slapping sound again. I froze. I thought I heard something else too, a scratching or skittering, as though something were scuttling away to hide. Then silence once more.

  When I reached the door to the kitchen I realized my mistake: the key was still upstairs in the flat. I tried the door but, as expected, it was locked. For a moment I stood there irresolutely. There was no sound of anything moving in the kitchen.

  In the morning, I said to myself. I pushed at the door again, but it held fast. I’ll check in the morning.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The next morning I awoke late, the first time in years on a weekday. I felt disorientated and a little guilty sitting in the sunny kitchen eating breakfast, while downstairs the bakery was as silent and still as a funeral parlour. I should have been at college that morning. Instead I phoned the secretariat and told them my father was ill and that I wouldn’t be coming in. Later I would go to the Eschweiler Tal with Max to see whether the unseen power that had brought money to me and death to Klara Klein could bring health back to my father. First, however, I had something else to do.

  After breakfast I went downstairs and unlocked the door to the kitchen. It was broad daylight now, but still I felt a faint echo of the fear that had infected me the night before as I pushed the door open. The kitchen was dim without the fluorescent lighting switched on and unusually cool since the ovens were not fired up. I looked at the stainless-steel surfaces gleaming in the cold light from the little windows and thought of a mortuary. I stepped over the threshold and looked about me.

  Nothing, I thought. I went cautiously towards the middle of the room and stopped. Leaned to the right; twisted to look behind me. No sign of anyone and no sign of anything having been disturbed. A whisk was lying on one of the metal surfaces; perhaps it had fallen from the hook above. Was that the metallic sound I had heard in the night? I went over and picked it up, replaced it on its hook. Then I resumed my silent inspection of the kitchen.

  I paused at the door to the cold store. As usual, it was tightly closed. There was no reason to think that it had been disturbed in any way. Who’s going to steal fifty uncooked bread rolls? All the same, I thought I should check inside. The cold store was big enough to walk right into, easily big enough for someone to hide in, assuming they could stand the low temperature.

  I curled my fingers around the heavy door handle, pushed down and pulled the door towards me. It released with a visible puff of freezing air. I peered inside. Everything seemed to be in order, with the shelves neatly stacked and the rolling rack of uncooked dough neatly pushed against the back wall. All the same, I had the strangest feeling that someone had been in here. Was it my imagination or was the store a little colder than normal?

  I backed out and looked at the dial on the wall outside. Yes. The cold store was always kept at the same temperature, close to zero. Over time the front of the dial had become discoloured and I could see a faint pale triangle where the tip of the pointer always was. Now it was pointing a few degrees lower than normal.

  Funny.

  I moved the pointer back to its accustomed place. Had someone been playing around with the temperature control? It was hard to see why. Perhaps Achim had turned it down, though I couldn’t think of a good reason for that either.

  I closed the cold store door with a prickle of unease and glanced around the kitchen again. There was really nothing out of place and yet I felt deeply uncomfortable, as though I was treading on hostile territory. Yet this was the bakery, the familiar, dull, stultifying environment in which I had passed so many of my days.

  I went to the back of the kitchen and tried the door. It was locked fast. Then I went to the window. It was closed too and I was turning away when I heard a very faint sound, a tap or a click. I turned back.

  There was wind outside, and I watched as the window moved almost imperceptibly back and forth in its frame. The catch was undone.

  Didn’t I check this window? I thought I had, but I had been in a state of nervous anxiety. I might have missed something. From a distance it was difficult to tell whether the catch was properly done up, or simply lying against the wood. I fumbled with the catch with trembling fingers, forcing it shut. Then I pushed at the window, testing it. It was absolutely shut fast now.

  That’s probably what you heard, I told myself. The window banging. Nothing else. Nobody’s been in here.

  I backed away from the window. If someone had been in the kitchens, wouldn’t they have done something – stolen something or thrown a few things around if they couldn’t find anything to steal? It didn’t make any sense, someone just climbing in to look around.

  Rote Gertrud, I thought, and a chill went through me. But that didn’t make any sense either, even assuming you expected there to be any logic in a world where long-dead witches could prowl through the town, hunting out their victims. If Red Gertrud were abroad, there had been such a breach of natural law that the presence of a barrier such as a window or a door would hardly be sufficient to keep her out, and its being open would hardly be necessary to let her in.

  In spite of the cool emptiness of the kitchen, I was beginning to feel a stifling sense of oppression. I went hastily out of the kitchen, not forgetting to lock the door behind me, and into the cafe.

  It had a forlorn air, with the blinds down and the glass-fronted cabinet standing empty. Normally the air would have been fragrant with the smell of baking and freshly made filter coffee. Today I could smell the underlying scent of the citrus surface cleaner that Bianca Müller had used on the tables and counter. It was a depressing reminder of the bakery’s moribund condition; it made me think of a bed in a hospital room, the sheets and blankets removed, the mattress clean and blank where a few hours before someone had lain. Then I thought of my father and my stomach tightened.

  I had heard nothing from my mother and I supposed that was good news. If my father had taken a turn for the worse (I avoided thinking about what that meant) she would have phoned. I looked around me, at the tables spread out like an archipelago through which I threaded my way every day of my working life. I have promised to stay here, I said to myself.

  I went to the front door, meaning to look out at the street, as though it might offer some small promise of freedom. I was about to step on to the doormat when I realized there was something lying on it.

  It was an envelope – an utterly nondescript envelope, but one in a style that I recognized. Plain white, with a typed address label on the front and no return details. Steffi Nett, said the direction. The envelope was fat, as though tightly stuffed.

  I stooped and picked it up. Suddenly my heart was racing. Until that moment I had hardly given another thought to the second wish we had made, Hanna and I, the day I cursed Achim Zimmer. Money, enough of it to cover the bakery’s immediate losses. Of course I hadn’t wished for enough to last forever; if it worked there would be an unending supply anyway. I had wished for ten thousand and cast the wish out like bait. Since then I had been preoccupied with other things, but now I fou
nd myself wondering whether it could possibly have come true. If there were really ten thousand euros in that envelope, I thought it would prove irrevocably and forever that it was not one of my friends messing around. None of them had ten thousand to give me – probably not even Max had ever seen that much cash.

  I turned the envelope over in my hands, strangely reluctant to open it. It was going to clear things up either way, wasn’t it? Either there would be ten thousand euros packed into it or there would be a heap of useless paper and a note reading, Ha ha, fooled you, followed by a name.

  Open it, I urged myself, and tugged at the tightly sealed flap. I tugged a little too hard and the envelope tore. I had most of the envelope in my left hand and a ragged scrap in my right, but I was not looking at either of them. I was looking at the banknotes which were fluttering to the tiled floor, which were bulging out of the rip in the envelope. I didn’t need to count the money to know.

  Ten thousand euros.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  I was still standing there, open-mouthed, looking down at the banknotes which were falling like autumn leaves on to my shoes, when the bakery telephone rang. It sounded unnaturally loud in the still and empty cafe area, and I actually jumped.

  I glanced at the door and windows. There was nobody about, no nosy passers-by getting too close to the glass. I picked up as many of the notes as I could in one hand and went for the phone with the other. It was surreal, standing there with the receiver in my hand and the greater part of ten thousand euros in banknotes in the other – I felt a slightly hysterical urge to laugh.

  ‘Nett?’

  ‘Steffi?’ It was Hanna.

  It occurred to me that the caller could have been my mother, with unwelcome news, and suddenly the situation felt less hilarious.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Max told me … you know … about your father,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. We all are.’

  I couldn’t think of much to say. ‘Thanks,’ I settled on lamely, rubbing my forehead with the back of a hand that was gripping a great wad of banknotes.

  ‘Max says … ’ Hanna paused. ‘He says you want to go up to Gertrud’s house. To wish your father better.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and I thought, It’s worked again. Another wish granted. The only one which hadn’t been was the one about Achim Zimmer, but that might be only a matter of time. I could cure my father, I thought with a sudden exhilarating sense of power. I could really do it.

  ‘Max has called everyone,’ said Hanna’s voice in my ear. ‘Izabela can’t get away, but the rest of us are coming. Jochen told his boss he had diarrhoea.’

  She was trying to make me laugh, lighten my mood, but the moment she mentioned Jochen and the others I felt apprehension fasten on to me again like a leech.

  ‘Hanna … ’ I began, but she swept on.

  ‘We’re coming round as soon as Max has picked everyone up, OK? The bakery is shut, right? So you don’t have to be there or anything?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But Hanna –’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said, as though I had thanked her. ‘See you in maybe half an hour.’ And she rang off.

  I held the lifeless receiver in my hand and grimaced at it. I thought about ringing her back and saying I couldn’t go, that I had to go to the hospital instead. In fact, my mother would be expecting me. I should be getting my things together and catching the bus, not chasing off to the Eschweiler Tal with Max and the others.

  This might be Dad’s best chance.

  That was the thing: I could decide between visiting my father, who probably hadn’t even known I was there the day before, and going to Rote Gertrud’s house to do something I now believed would save him. I thought about it for a while, but the decision had already been made.

  When Max sounded his car horn outside the bakery door thirty minutes later, I ran out without a second glance. As I was locking the door behind me, I heard the phone ringing again in the deserted bakery. I paused for a moment and then let it ring. I pocketed the key and got into the car.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  I found myself sitting next to Hanna, with Timo on the other side of her. He was looking directly at me, the first time he had looked at me with interest since he had taken up with Izabela, though I didn’t think romance had anything to do with it. Both of them were looking at me, in fact, as though I were some celebrity landed among them, as though I were really Max’s wish about Heidi Klum made flesh. If it had not been for the driving desire to wish for my father’s recovery I would have got straight back out of the car again and fled, because the way they were eyeing me made my skin crawl.

  Jochen was in the seat next to Max, I noted with relief. He had flipped down the sunshade and I saw that he was watching me in the vanity mirror. The expression in his eyes was unreadable. I looked away.

  As I settled back in the seat I could feel the bulk of the envelope and the money stuffed inside my jacket. I had not dared leave the money anywhere, so I had decided to carry it with me.

  All the same, I wished I had not had to do so. I was as conscious of it as if I had been carrying a concealed weapon. If the others discovered I had ten thousand euros in cash in my inside pocket there would be a hailstorm of questions, of pleas, of begging. Do this for me now, Steffi. Just do this. Just do this one thing. I rubbed the front of my jacket with my hand, feeling the hidden bulk, but I said nothing.

  I huddled in my corner of the seat, my face turned to the window, and brooded. The outskirts of the town flashed past, then the road which led to the Eschweiler Tal. We left tarmac and began to bounce along the gravel track which led into the heart of the Tal. I said nothing and the others were silent too. I could feel the tension in the way Hanna held herself on the seat next to me.

  We rumbled along until we reached the spot where Max always left the car. While he was applying the handbrake I had already opened the door and was climbing out. I looked at the blue skies, and the flourishing green of the wooded hillside. I did my best not to look at my friends, though I was aware of their gaze on me.

  ‘C’mon,’ I muttered, and made for the trees.

  As we struggled our way uphill through the undergrowth, I could almost hear the others’ thoughts, their unspoken urge to ask me for things, held back only by their respect for my father’s situation. They don’t think of asking Rote Gertrud for anything any more, I realized. I’m the witch now. I wondered what they would say if they knew what I had in my inside pocket.

  The climb uphill was warm work and we were all perspiring by the time we reached the ruined house. Hanna entered first and as I climbed over the stones which littered the entrance I could see she already had the carved box in her hands and was holding it out to me.

  I took it in my own hands and opened the lid. The curse on Achim Zimmer had gone. Of course, I thought. I had spoken to Achim the day before. So far as I knew, nemesis had not fallen upon him and ended his slimy existence, but I supposed that his days were numbered. No way to take back the curse. In spite of all Achim had done, of all I feared he would do, it was still somehow shocking. Self-defence, I told myself. There was no other way.

  Someone pushed a pen and paper into my hands. No one said a word, but I could feel them all hanging over me with expectation as I carefully lettered my wish. There was absolute silence as I finished writing, folded the paper very carefully and placed it in the box, placed the box on the ground.

  Then it all fell apart.

  Max – I should have known it, as Max could never suppress his own impulses for more than about half a minute – was the first. Bringing out another piece of paper, holding out the pen again, wheedling, blustering, his mouth grinning but his eyes serious.

  They must have taken my silence for acceptance because the next moment they were all clustering around me, blurting out their wishes, trying to attract my attention. Still, I might have pushed them away, simply refused, pleading upset over my father’s condition – if Jochen hadn’t lost his head and grabb
ed my jacket.

  I think he only meant to make me listen, but as I pulled away the lining parted and the envelope fell out, scattering banknotes.

  There was a stunned silence. Then: ‘What’s this?’ That was Max, of course. I snatched up the envelope and the loose notes, cramming them back inside my jacket, but it was too late.

  ‘The other wish – it worked,’ said Hanna, and all eyes momentarily turned to her.

  ‘What other wish?’ said Timo incredulously. His eyes were round, his gaze fixed on my hand as it disappeared into my jacket with the money.

  ‘Ten thousand euros,’ said Hanna, and a shockwave ran through the group.

  I heard a collective intake of breath and it was the sharp ebb of the tide that precedes a tsunami. The next instant they were all over me, clamouring, almost shouting in my face in their excitement, hands grabbing at the front of my jacket, at my sleeve: Steffi, you’ve got to – Steffi, please – Steffi – Steffi – Steffi –

  I was suffocating, surrounded by jostling bodies, the faces of my friends turned to gargoyles by avarice and cupidity. I tried to push them away, but they came crowding back. Max was waving a piece of paper at me. Someone else nearly had my eye out with a pen they were flourishing in my face. I began to panic, thinking I would be stifled in the crush, the way that Gertrud Vorn had been stifled all those years ago by the choking smoke of her own burning.

  I gave a hoarse scream, struck out, and then I was stumbling back, turning, out of the ruined house, flinging myself into the undergrowth, running downhill faster than I would ever had dared, had not utter panic lent wings to my feet.

  The others would come after me, I knew – ostensibly to comfort me, to calm me down, but all the while throbbing with the need to get back to the nub of things, which was the overwhelming urgency for me to gratify their desires, to make their wishes for them. And their curses.