by Vincent Voss
“You can call any time, Jo. I won’t be able to sleep anyway. I’ll probably just drink a beer and watch a movie.”
“Let’s go to the archive,” Johanna says flatly.
“What?”
“Let’s do the audio from the last DVDs and the video from today. Volker is usually in his office around nine o’clock. I’ll go see him.”
Henning groans. “No beer?” He can’t even pull off this little joke convincingly.
“Sure! We’ll go to the gas station first,” Johanna decides. Henning starts the engine.
Volker shows up at the Theological Department at ten past nine. Johanna is already waiting for him in the hall.
“Johanna!” He is surprised.
“It’s important, Volker. That’s why I’m here.” They hug briefly.
“You look wiped out. And you smell of beer!” Volker opens his office and they sit at his desk.
“Don’t worry, everything’s fine. I have some recordings now. Can you start on the translation today? Can you manage it?”
“Today? Johanna, this afternoon I have to … .”
“Volker, please!” She pushes a USB stick across the desk to him. He hesitates, but the pleading in Johanna’s eyes softens him and he takes it.
“Johanna, can you tell me what you’re working on here?”
“Just listen to it, Volker. When can you get it done?”
“I don’t even know how much … .” he looks at her. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Volker!” she gets up.
“You’re leaving again?”
“I still have a lot to do today.” She closes the door behind her. She wants to meet Henning soon, so they can visit Mrs. Falkner.
*
September 8, 10:45 a.m., Outside Johanna’s Apartment
Johanna throws her backpack on the back seat and gets into the car with Henning.
“They come out of his mouth, Jo!” Henning greets her, excitedly. She is too tired to understand right away. Henning hits the gas.
“Who comes … .”
“The flies. They come out when he exhales and then fall next to his face.” Johanna feels this sentence gnawing away at her.
“But you can’t see anything on the camera,” she objects and tries to escape with a technical discussion. It helps.
“I ran it through two image editing programs. It’s blurry, but you can make it out.” Henning hits the brakes, having nearly struck a cyclist while turning.
“Shit!” he curses, rubbing his cheeks.
“What does that mean to us? For the case, I mean?” Johanna asks.
“I’m not sure. At first, I thought that the flies were just there. In the archive, at the Kreuziger Farm. But that would now mean … .”
“Sorry, just a minute.” Johanna’s cell phone vibrates. It’s Volker.
“Volker?” she asks. The connection is bad.
“I don’t have any reception right now, Volker. I’ll call you back. Henning, pull over, please.”
He parks at a bus stop a little further along. Johanna rushes out of the car and dials Volker’s number. The people waiting for the bus stare at her.
“Johanna, listen!” The connection is much better now.
“I just gave the first recording a quick listen and I don’t really know what to make of it.” Volker waits. Johanna goes silent.
“Johanna, I need to know if what was said is from a recent conversation. Or is it just a recording from previous ethnological fieldwork and the date is just … .”
“It’s a recent conversation, Volker. It took place just a few hours ago.” She hears Volker take a deep breath on the other end.
“Are you the one the speaker is addressing?”
“No.”
“Do you know the speaker and addressee?”
“Yes.”
“Johanna, I don’t know how seriously I should take what was said. Seriously enough at least to warn you. Translated, the speaker is saying and repeating numerous, homophobic insults: ‘Scholar,’ — his tone is sarcastic — ‘today I will drown you like a witch or a whore. I will drown you in your river. You will be the gift of the upcoming flesh. The gift of evil.’”
“Thank you, Volker, I have to hang up and warn the person in question.”
Johanna calls the Children’s Psychiatric Clinic and asks for Professor Ludemann.
She is told that the professor has taken his break earlier today in order to take his mind off things. She runs to the car and throws open the door.
“We have to go to Lubeck, Henning. Right away!” she shouts, slamming the door behind her.
Henning takes the first opportunity to turn onto the street. On the way there, Johanna tells him the news.
“Drive up there, Henning!”
“I can’t go there, it’s a one-way street!” The car behind them honks. They are in the middle of traffic at Holsten Gate.
“You have to! The Trave River is right there — he always walks along it!” Another honk. Johanna turns around, a man is glaring at her through the windshield wipers.
“Go!” Henning hits the gas, turns into the oncoming one-way street.
“Fuck!” He accelerates between the vehicles parked to the left and right. The asphalt changes to cobblestones. On the right, the Trave River is flowing, and a footpath winds its way leisurely alongside the river, before joining up with the sidewalk next to the road. Professor Ludemann is nowhere to be seen.
“Keep going! He’s not there!”
“Okay, okay!” Henning swerves around a car that wants to turn onto the road. It honks and they are given the finger. The bench where she sat with the professor has to be somewhere at the end of the street. Trees and parked vehicles block their view.
“I have to turn off here, Jo. I can’t get through.” In front of them, the street turns into a pedestrian zone and they have to turn left into the old part of town.
“Just park here, we’ll go on foot!” Johanna throws open the door, jumps out and runs off. Henning leaves the car with the emergency lights on and runs after her.
The Trave River. The red and yellow leaves drifting on the water show that’s autumn. It’s a sunny day, drawing many walkers and people on their lunch breaks to the riverbank.
The bench is behind the docks. Johanna remembers it. And then? If they still don’t find him there? She doesn’t know.
They hear cries from behind the docks and see a small commotion break out in front of them — people standing around something, parents dragging their children away. Johanna is too short to see over them.
“Professor Ludemann!” Henning gasps beside her. The tall man staggers along the sidewalk by the river, he is waving his arms around and passersby are trying to calm him down.
“Keep going Henning! Don’t slow down.” They’re a few hundred feet away from the professor. They keep running. They keep an eye on him. He screams, but they can’t understand what. He is flailing his arms around, as if to drive away something in the air.
“Professor Ludemann!” she calls out, halfway there. Passersby turn to her with concern in their eyes.
“Professor Ludemann!” The circle around the professor opens up in her direction. Two men are trying to subdue him, trying to hold him down. He is unresponsive. His long body is jerking back and forth, up and down. His face is covered in sweat.
“NO! NO, LEAVE ME ALONE!” he hisses. He seems to be fighting something invisible. Just a few more steps.
“Do you know that man? Does he have diabetes?” someone asks as they approach the professor.
“NO!” he shouts unexpectedly, tearing himself away from the two men tending to him. He lurches forward to the green strip between the pedestrian walkway and the river. A dog barks, and the people around him back away in fright.
“No!” Johanna cries out and she and Henning rush forward to stop him.
“GO AWAY!” Professor Ludemann screams, flailing his arms. The momentum spins him around. He looks up at the sky,
staggers, stumbles down the short slope, and falls into the river. But before he hits the water, they hear a sound as if someone were slamming his head against a door. Too late! Professor Ludemann is drifting on the river.
“NO!” he shouts again. His battle is not over. Henning jumps into the water and another man follows.
“Mom, Mom, it looks like someone is pulling the man under,” a boy remarks, standing mesmerized on the riverbank. Johanna watches, stunned. Yes, that’s exactly how it looks, she thinks. Henning and the other man swim quickly to the drowning man, who is now well aware of his situation.
“Help!” Professor Ludemann cries out, his arms reaching up in the air. And then he disappears. Henning and the other helper search the surface of the water. The people around Johanna gasp. Someone calls the police.
But Professor Ludemann doesn’t resurface. Only Johanna notices the flies that briefly emerge from the river and then fall back into the water.
She is thankful to see Henning return to the shore.
They leave Lubeck that evening, pull over at a rest stop, and drink a coffee in the car. Henning smokes a cigarette. They’ve already described their relationship with Professor Ludemann to the police, and he has still not been found by the police divers. They told the officer about Lukas Falkner and about the case they are working on. They will be contacted as necessary, but the man’s reaction implied that he didn’t take Johanna and Henning seriously.
Sleeplessness has made things more difficult for both of them. Henning can scarcely concentrate on driving. And the professor’s death is taking an even greater toll. It seems unreal, drinking coffee at a rest stop and people-watching travelers just after a man they knew has been killed by a supernatural force.
Henning flicks his cigarette and picks up his coffee with trembling hands.
“This is not an anthropological case anymore, Jo.”
“We told the police everything, Henning. They won’t do anything, they don’t believe us,” she replies irritably.
“That’s not what I meant. I mean that everything isn’t rooted in a supposedly foreign universe of belief, which we’re exploring. I am well versed in voodoo, and in syncretic concepts, but everything here looks more like a … Christian case. Ancient Hebrew, flies, abuse of Christian holidays.”
“And?” Johanna’s eyes linger on a couple she watches distrustfully as they head to the bathrooms.
“We should go confide in a priest or something. Or your friend.” Volker! She had nearly forgotten about him. Johanna races out to get her cell phone from the car
“Shit,” she looks at the display. “He tried calling me several times.” She punches in his number.
“Volker, it’s me, Johanna.” She turns away from the highway to hear better.
“It’s good that you called, Johanna. We need to talk. I will gladly help you, and, after what I’ve translated, I feel an obligation to my faith to get involved.”
Johanna has to laugh. She can’t stop, but also doesn’t know what she finds so funny. A truck driver glares in their direction.
“Johanna?” Volker’s voice calls out from the receiver. She looks at Henning for help; he smirks, grins, and then also starts to laugh. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s the fact that it all seems so surreal. Crazy. It takes a while before she regains control.
“Volker, can you please be at the witch archive in an hour? And please forgive me, but the whole thing … .”
“It’s fine, I’ll be there.”
She hangs up. “Let’s meet with Volker at the archive in an hour. He translated some of the recordings. Maybe he can help us.”
Henning nods. When he gets back in the car, he bumps his head.
September 8, 7:15 p.m., Witch Archive
Jesus Christ, can you smell my cunt? Can you smell my cunt? Can you smell your mother’s cunt? Mary. You carried him. Cunt! I spit on your birth. On this day, the holy mother will come to be. The whore mother! And she will bring forth he who wades through blood. He who crucifies you. Mary! Cunt! Blood!
Volker puts his notes aside, takes a sip of water. Reading it aloud was hard on him. Cut him to the core.
“You know what I mean, Johanna?” Both Johanna and Henning nod.
“We wanted to get you involved today anyway,” she answers. “We can’t get any further using our methods.”
Henning lights a cigarette, while Johanna recounts their experience with Sabine Falkner. She doesn’t leave out a single detail. Occasionally, Henning glances back at the thermometer. Afterwards, a silence spreads throughout the room until Volker clears his throat and furrows his brow.
“I … .” He’s still at a loss for words, he collects himself, and tries again. “I have no idea where to begin. I think you are dealing with a threatening phenomenon … well … we should actually say you’re dealing with a demon. We’re dealing with a demon.” Johanna and Henning already suspected it, but it’s nevertheless shocking to hear it from an outsider.
“Maybe even the most powerful demon in all of Christendom,” Volker whispers, and they hear fear in his voice.
“The most powerful demon?” Henning asks softly.
“The devil,” Volker replies and crosses himself. A gesture that he had always considered excessive before, but which now seems very appropriate.
“The devil,” Henning repeats.
“Exactly. Baal Zebub. The lord of the flies. We know him as Beelzebub or as the devil,” Volker explains, and continues. “He likes to appear to his followers on or directly before Christian holidays. He can also — though it’s rather unusual — enter a human body and take possession of it.”
“Why is that unusual?” Johanna asks.
“Because … he is the devil himself. There are many lesser demons that do that more often. But the devil himself?”
“Do you believe in that?” Henning asks. Volker considers, sighs.
“Up until now, I didn’t believe it, no. But this … is different. And I have to admit that it overwhelms and scares me.”
“Can this demon be awoken by anything in particular?” Johanna asks.
“As I said, I am not very familiar with all that, with exorcisms and stuff. I’d interpreted the Christian teachings differently and more metaphorically up until now, but I never believed in the devil’s existence. But now? Yes, it’s possible. According to this, the devil can be summoned, can enter into a pact with people.”
“But I’m pretty sure that none of the Falkners summoned him,” Henning argues.
“Then he was awoken at the farm. Something there has been dormant all these years and was awoken. Apparently, it has possessed the … boy …”
“Lukas,” Johanna helps out.
“…… and has been preparing for something ever since.”
Johanna and Henning stop short. “Preparing for something?”
Volker nods. “Yes, I think so. And today it will come to pass. Or has already come to pass. The professor was just a blood sacrifice.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Today is the eighth of September. The day when Mary was born. On the seventh of September, the Devil wants to get married. Both days are among the most important days of the year for occultists. In addition to Holy Thursday, which I …” Johanna jumps up from her chair.
“We have to go!” Henning understands, immediately throws on a jacket, and reaches for the car keys on the desk.
“What? Where are you going?” Volker asks.
“We’re going to the Kreuziger Farm. And you’re coming along.”
*
September 8, 9:23 p.m., Kreuziger Farm
Once again, Henning parks at the edge of the narrow country road. The Kreuziger Farm is unlit and lies like a deep black shadow behind the dark outlines of the trees that keep it hidden from sight.
It’s cloudy and windy, and occasionally the light of the moon throws a pale dagger through the fast-moving clouds.
And crickets. There’s a cacophony of chirps..
Maybe they are aware of their approaching deaths and celebrating their remaining time to the fullest.
“There’s no one there,” Henning whispers, as they enter the farm.
“Or she’s sleeping,” Johanna says. Volker follows them, a bit uncertain. They go to the front door. Johanna takes a deep breath and then rings the bell. The sound breaks the silence and makes them shudder. Now, standing directly in front of the house, it feels even more threatening than a few days earlier. Nothing happens. She rings again.
“And now?” Volker asks. Henning bends down and pulls a fist-sized stone from the wall of the flowerbed.
“What …?”
“We have to do this, Volker,” Henning says resolutely, and throws it through the narrow window beside the door. The clattering makes them flinch and even the crickets stop for a moment. Johanna reaches through the newly formed hole and opens the door. Then she flips the light switch. Nothing.
“Shit, the light doesn’t work,” she hisses.
“What is that?” Henning asks. “It smells weird.” They focus on the smell in the house.
“Blood. It smells like a slaughterhouse,” Johanna speculates, remembering it all too well from her field research on different forms of slaughter.
“I’ll grab a flashlight from the car.” Henning runs back. They hear him open and close the car. Volker doesn’t say a word until Henning returns.
Johanna pushes open the door and thinks she can hear flies buzzing. Henning turns on the flashlight, illuminating the large hallway.
“There!” Johanna points to the floor tiles. There are dark spots or streaks leading from where they’re standing to the front door. They can also see the spots on the stone path from the landing. Johanna crouches, Henning shines the light on one spot.
“It’s blood!” she whispers, as her stomach clenches.
“We have to call the police, Johanna,” Volker practically pleads. Henning and Johanna look at him and shake their heads.