Horror Stories from Denmark Box set

by Rose, Willow

  That poor woman, that poor dog.

  Then she spotted Irene Gyldenfeldt in the backyard. She was walking towards the hedge, fighting her way through the snow in her fur coat and high heels. Emma noticed Irene Gyldenfeldt staring at the snowmen on the hill. Fearing Irene might go too close; Emma began knocking frantically on the window once again.

  "Ms. Gyldenfeldt! Ms. Gyldenfeldt!"

  Emma crawled close to the crack in the window and put her lips as close in as possible, and then she yelled.

  "Stop, Ms. Gyldenfeldt! Don't go to the snowmen. Don't go closer! The snowman is not nice. It's a monster!"

  But Ms. Gyldenfeldt didn't hear her. Full of dread, Emma watched as Irene Gyldenfeldt pushed herself through the hedge and came out on the other side. Then she walked up the hill towards the snowmen.

  "No! No! Don't go there," Emma yelled while hammering on the window. "Don't go up there. The snowmen are bad. They are evil! They'll eat you. Please don't go up there. Pleeeaasse!"

  But nothing helped, Ms. Gyldenfeldt walked slowly through the snow, directly towards the snowmen. Emma grabbed her hair and pulled it. What could she do? There had to be something she could do to prevent this from happening. But what?

  Emma stopped. What would the Powerpuff Girls do? They fought monsters like the snowman all the time. They wouldn't just sit in the windowsill and watch. They would do something!

  Emma jumped down from the windowsill and ran to the closet. She pulled out several teddy bears and summer dresses before she finally found what she was looking for. She pulled out the big red thing that mommy had put in there in case of a fire. The extinguisher, she called it when she instructed Emma what to do in case of a fire and in case everybody else in the house was hurt or dead. The very thought that her parents might get hurt or die had left Emma traumatized for life, but now finally the fire extinguisher could prove to be as useful as she claimed it was.

  It was time for Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup to unite their powers and fight back.

  While screaming out the theme song of her favorite show, Emma now gathered all her supernatural powers and lifted the fire extinguisher and hammered it again and again into the door leaving a huge crack just big enough for her to crawl out of.

  9

  Officer Johansen wasn't superstitious. He didn't believe in God, Buddha or Allah or what-not, he didn't believe in anything supernatural. In fact he wasn't a man who believed in anything he couldn't see our touch or that could be somehow scientifically proven. His experience as an investigator told him that everything had an explanation.

  So when an agitated man came running into his station early in the afternoon with a baby in a carriage telling him that a snowman had eaten the child's mother, he took the news with the utmost calmness. Now Officer Johansen wasn't a man who took reports of a crime lightly or even frowned upon anyone telling him about a possible crime being committed. It wasn't so unusual that someone reporting a crime would claim something supernatural happened to the victim. In fact in most cases that was their first respond when asked what happened. Officer Johansen had numerous cases every year when someone used the excuse that the victim had been abducted by aliens or killed by someone possessed by the devil. It wasn't that unusual. But a snowman? That was a first.

  "You need to come," said the man who Officer Johansen knew very well as the City Hall Press Coordinator. His eyes were wide and flickering. He kept blinking as he spoke in a weird high-pitched tone. His usually very nice hair was messed up and from his expression; the officer knew he was out of it. He had seen it before in people who had committed a crime, but still couldn't believe what they had done. Michael Larsen had clearly lost it. The question left now was if he had in fact hurt the girl or if he just imagined she had been hurt. That was the distinction between someone going to jail and someone going to a mental institution.

  "You need to come," he repeated. "You need to stop it before it kills more people."

  Officer Johansen nodded, looked at the baby, that Michael Larsen had taken out of the carriage and now was holding gently in his arms. Officer Johansen couldn't get the thought out of his mind how natural it looked for Michael Larsen to carry a child. One might even say it became him. Too bad they would have to take it away from him if he had hurt the girl.

  "First, let's make sure the baby is safe," he said and signaled one of his female colleagues. "Just give the baby to Louise here and she will take good care of him." Officer Johansen looked at Michael Larsen with his most empathic look, trying to win his trust, enough for him to hand over the baby. If Michael Larsen had hurt the girl, who knew what he might end up doing to the kid.

  Michael Larsen looked down at the baby. "He's my son," he told Louise. "His name is Jonathan."

  Louise smiled and nodded. "I'll make sure to take good care of Jonathan," she said gently.

  "You did the right thing coming here," Officer Johansen said calmly. "We'll take care of you and the baby."

  "So will you go the forest?" Michael Larsen asked. "Someone needs to stop that snowman before it kills again. It might be a child the next time."

  Officer Johansen nodded while closing his eyes. When he opened them he noticed Michael Larsen's hands were shaking. "Just hand over the baby and then we'll go and take a look at the scene of crime. Can you take us there?" he said. "Maybe you would like to show us?"

  Michael Larsen gasped before answering. He drew in a deep breath while Officer Johansen observed him. He braced himself for what was waiting at the scene. By the look of Michael Larsen's face and the dread in his eyes it was ugly. Officer Johansen thought for a second about asking for the forensic team to stand by and maybe have a couple of colleagues go with them. But looking at Michael Larsen he realized he also risked frightening him and then he might never talk or even show them to the scene of crime. He couldn't risk scaring him off. Michael Larsen didn't seem dangerous now; he was much smaller than Johansen and didn't pose a threat. The crime had probably been committed in the heat of the moment, maybe in jealousy, and the instant of insanity had passed. No it would be better to have his colleagues stand by to step in as soon as he led Officer Johansen to the scene of the alleged murder and then they could arrest him. Yes that would be the plan; he thought as he smiled at Michael Larsen who was now slowly handing over the baby to the female officer who took him in her arms, then walked out of the room.

  "Now let's go and have a look, shall we?" he said.

  10

  Irene Gyldenfeldt was tired of snow. Tired of fighting her way through it, tired of it falling in her face and hair soaking it and making her new one-thousand dollar hairdo made by her hairdresser this morning especially for this event, a complete waste of money.

  "Oh for the love of ..." she exclaimed when a big lock fell and hit her in the face. In the distance she could see the snowman on the hill, had it moved since she saw it first? Or was it her imagination? She wished she had her glasses, but she never wanted to wear them since they made her look old. She didn't want to admit her sight was slipping so she only wore them when absolutely necessary and preferably when no one was looking. She would rather be completely blind than be caught with those things on. She had tried contacts at one point, but couldn't stand poking herself in the eye every morning.

  She was getting closer now and soon she could see the small dog next to the snowman much clearer. Yes it had to be her Herbie, there was no doubt in her mind any longer that it was her sweet little dog sitting there in the cold snow next to the two snowmen. Why he refused to come to her when she called was beyond her. She would have to give him a hard time about that later. Now all she wanted was to get to the top of the hill, grab the dog and bring them both back to the car and drive back home. She could call Agnete from the car and let her know that they had left. That way she didn't have to show her wet face in front of her friends and suffer the humiliation of them realizing that her hair wasn't her own. It was fake, extensions, and you could tell when it wasn't set nicely on top of her head.
Her real hair had fallen off in big lumps since the last chemotherapy and there was hardly anything left to have the extensions hold on to, the hairdresser had said, but damn it if Irene would cave in and begin wearing one of those awful wigs that the rest of the patients at the hospital wore. She was nothing like them, she thought to herself. No, she was the one who was going to make it. She was the one who wouldn't lose all of her hair. She would beat cancer and survive this like she had overcome everything else in this life. Parents who never loved her and a brother who beat her senseless when she was thirteen so she knew her place in the family. A boarding school where the only way to survive was to be the meanest, the cruelest towards others, beating them up, burning them with cigarettes to make sure they obeyed her and never sold her out. Yes the life of aristocracy hadn't always been an easy one, but she survived it, she fought her way through it, step by step, like she was fighting her way through the snow trying to save the life of the only creature in this world Irene Gyldenfeldt ever trusted.

  "Von Herbert, you come here!" she yelled not very ladylike through the icy howling wind. "COME HERE!"

  But the dog never moved. Irene growled and pushed herself forward while cursing. Spoiled dog who never listened.

  As she neared the dog and the snowmen, she thought she heard someone call her name and turned to look, but the heavy snow made it almost impossible to see anything at all. She listened once again, but heard nothing, she turned and walked again. Five more big steps and she was there. "Herbie, mommy's coming," she said. "Almost there now."

  The last couple of steps were really hard to take, since the snow had gotten very deep. "Herbie, Mommy's almost there now," she repeated with concern. She didn't quite understand why the dog didn't move at all. It sat by the foot of the chubby snowman, not moving at all. Not even his tail, which always wagged at the sound of Mommy's voice. A dread filled Irene Gyldenfeldt once again. Could he be hurt after all? Was there a reason he wasn't moving?

  "Ms. Gyldenfeldt!" A voice shattered through the snow. Irene Gyldenfeldt turned once again and squinted. She recognized the voice as Agnete's little girl Emma, but she might have been wrong. What would she be doing outside in this weather? Irene wasn't sure, but she thought she saw someone moving across the yard. The voice was yelling her name again.

  Irene Gyldenfeldt snorted. That little ... irresponsible ... she was the reason for all of this. She was to blame. Why was she suddenly running after her? She was only going to cause more trouble.

  "Stop Ms. Gyldenfeldt!" she yelled.

  But Irene didn't stop. She shook her head, then turned and took the last step. Now she was standing in front of the chubby snowman. She stepped to the side and squatted in front of Herbie.

  "Sweetie, Mommy's here now," she said, then felt everything inside of her stop. She studied the dog. This wasn't her Herbie. This wasn't even a dog at all. This was a snow sculpture - one that was very well made, very detailed, indeed, but it sure wasn't her Von Herbert. Irene Gyldenfeldt exhaled, disappointed. Nothing but a cruel joke.

  As she was about to get up again, she heard a growl. She looked at the snowdog. It sounded like it was coming from the snowdog. Could Herbie be behind it? Irene lifted her head and looked. No, no dog there. A thought too strange to even think out loud hit her. Could Herbie be inside of the snow? Was he covered somehow by the snow and couldn't see, couldn't hear?

  Irene reached out her hand to wipe some of it off its face, when the voice screamed behind her.

  "NOOOOO! Don't touch it."

  But it was too late. Irene Gyldenfeldt felt a huge pain as the snowdog bit into her hand. The sound of its teeth going through her flesh and bones was terrifying. Irene stared in horror as she saw the pointy teeth stuck out in her palm. The teeth had gone straight through.

  Irene Gyldenfeldt screamed. The dog pulled its teeth out of her hand. Startled, she stepped back. Blood was running, pulsing out of the holes. Soon it hit the snow and colored it red. Irene Gyldenfeldt was whimpering while staring at her bloody hand. She took another step backwards as the dog began to bark at her, sounding very much like her once beloved Herbert. Irene started crying while staring in terror at the dog.

  "Why?" she barely managed to ask, before the dog jumped through the air and sank its teeth into her throat.

  Irene felt her body hit the snow and wondered why it didn't feel cold against her cheek, why she didn't feel anything at all anymore. Red curtains in her eyes blurred her vision.

  In the distance she heard Agnete's daughter scream her name one last time, before she was flushed away by a rushing red river.

  11

  Officer Johansen had been very patient, he thought as he parked the car between houses in the nice neighborhood situated close to the forest. All the way there he had listened to Michael Larsen tell the story of the allegedly murderous snowman who had eaten the mother of his child. And all the way he had smiled and nodded with a "Yes, yes ... I see ... I understand," even if he really didn't get why Michael Larsen would spend so much energy on making up a story this ludicrous, when it was obvious to any man - investigator or not - that he had been mad at the girl for wanting him to be a dad when he didn't want to, and then killed her in anger. The question now was how he had done it and where was the body. Johansen hoped he was going to get an answer to both of those questions soon.

  "You ready?" he asked, looking at Michael Larsen one last time before they left the car. It was obvious it was difficult for Michael Larsen to return to the scene and Johansen noticed his hands were shaking even worse now. Johansen had been so kind to let him smoke in the car, by an open window even if it meant they were freezing in the car. Michael Larsen was smoking desperately now, rubbing his face nervously. Then he nodded.

  "Okay, let's do it."

  They stepped out of the car and closed the doors. Johansen looked at the huge mansions he with his low paycheck would never be able to afford and felt a pinch of envy in his heart. His wife Anna would certainly have enjoyed living like this, he thought to himself while zipping his police jacket. Maybe, just maybe if he had chosen another profession, one that could have paid enough for him to be able to afford living here, then maybe she would have stayed with him, maybe she wouldn't have left him for that player at work who drove a Mercedes and had a summer cabin on the island of Enoe. Johansen snorted at the thought of them together having sex in the cabin while laughing at Johansen for being out in the cold with crazy people claiming snowmen could come alive and possessed a threat. Well we all had a job to do, didn't we? We all had a calling, something we were good at, something that made us feel good about ourselves. Johansen did feel good about himself when he caught the criminals, when he locked them up and saw justice be done. It was a frustrating but sometimes very fulfilling job and he had so wished that Anna could see that, could see how happy it made him to help the citizens of his town. "Money isn't everything," he had told her.

  "It certainly isn't nothing either," she had replied and that was when he knew they wanted different things in their lives. Johansen was perfectly happy living where he did, doing what he did, but Anna wasn't. Anna wanted the sweet life with trips to Spain and the Riviera; she wanted a boat and apparently a summer cabin.

  "The kids have left home, there really is no reason to keep annoying each other anymore," she said on the day she left.

  "You never annoyed me," he wanted to say. But instead of actually uttering the words he stared at her, not knowing what to say to make her stay. He thought about "I love you, and I don't know how to live without you," but Johansen didn't know how to get the words across his lips. He wasn't a man of many words and especially not a man who expressed his emotions much. He didn't know why that was. It just didn't feel natural to do so. Not to him at least. Anna on the other hand was an expert in saying what she felt, how she felt and when she felt it at any point of the day or at night. It made her so angry that Johansen never shared his feelings, but mostly it was because he didn't have any. He was happy with the way things w
ere and had no desire for it to change. But it did anyway. If there was one thing Johansen had learned in life, it was that things changed, no matter if he wanted them to or not.

  He sighed deeply and let Michael Larsen show the way. After a few steps the air was shattered by a scream so terrifying it made the hairs rise on his back. Not so much the scream itself, but because it belonged to a child.

  12

  Emma was screaming. The terror of watching Ms. Gyldenfeldt killed by the snowdog made her do it and now she couldn't stop. She screamed and screamed only to stop and get her breath every now and then before she could continue.

  She was paralyzed in shock. Ms. Gyldenfeldt was lying in the snow, while the dog gnawed its way through her chest, ripping off the flesh, revealing the ribs underneath. Blood was running like a river into the snow. The dog was growling, making slurping and smacking sounds as it ate its way through her body. Emma wanted to do something, but she couldn't. She couldn't move, and she had no idea what to do, or how to do it. She thought about kicking the dog, but was too afraid. The snowman and snowwoman looked at her while she was screaming and she began to slowly back up, thinking it felt like they were getting ready to take her down as well. But she couldn't just leave Ms. Gyldenfeldt here, could she? She looked like she was dead, Emma thought. Her eyes were still open, but they didn't move, they didn't look at her.

  She heard voices and that made her stop screaming. She turned to see a policeman running towards her between the houses. He was yelling while running. Behind him was the man Emma remembered had run off with the baby carriage.

  "What's going on here?" the policeman asked as soon as he was close enough. "Why are you screaming little girl?"

  "It's ... it ... the ..." she stuttered, realizing her words wouldn't come back soon enough and instead she stepped aside so the nice policeman could see for himself.