Too Pretty For The Hills Page 11

  She didn't get very far, though. Exhausted, legs burning, mouth dry despite the high humidity, she went as far as she could without literally collapsing due to exhaustion, at which point she finally gave in and sat against a thick tree trunk.

  Her head was pulsating with pain and she put it between her knees, wheezing and sobbing, mucus dripping from her nose and mouth and her body so hot there was steam coming off of it.

  Suddenly, something emerged from the foliage. It was a bear with dirt-brown fur and one eye missing. The massive beast stopped as soon as it spotted Dora, its one remaining black eye still very much alive and shining with a spark of brutality.

  ''No. No. No,'' Dora repeated under her breath, unable to look away.

  The bear growled, a fine line of steam billowing from its nostrils. And then it began its approach, its big paws trampling the wet grass as it walked.

  She felt like her heart would rip out of her body as the animal’s snout pushed her wet hair back and forth. Its breath was hot and stank of something undefinable.

  Suddenly, the bear raised its massive head, instantly oblivious to Dora and looking straight through her as if it had decided this pitiful little human wasn’t worthy of consideration. In fact, it was listening to the shouting down by the fields.

  It let out a monstrous growl, then turned around and stomped back up into the woods.

  As soon as it was gone, Dora got up and bolted in the opposite direction, fueled by one last surge of adrenaline, staggering down the forest path as if clinging to the desperate thought that staying on this thin borderline between a natural predator and a human one would grant her some sort of immunity.

  In a few minutes, she reached a large pasture and she dragged herself along a fence, whereupon she heard car engines passing by on the road some fifty meters to her left. All she could think of was boarding the shuttle, without delay and at all costs, even if she had to take the driver hostage.

  ''This isn’t happening,'' she kept telling herself. ''It can’t be.'' And yet it was.

  Reaching a more densely populated area, Dora crouched behind a fence, though no-one was anywhere to be seen. What she did manage to spot were some clothes that had apparently been hung out to dry on the wrong day.

  After a few moments of waiting and listening, she seized the opportunity and sneaked over, snatched a woman’s dress and some socks, and pulled them on over her bruised and cut feet. The clothes were soaking wet and very cold on her skin. But they were better than nothing.

  Lurking cautiously among the houses, an occasional dog barked, but that was all. As she proceeded deeper and deeper into the neighbourhood, she suddenly realized she knew exactly where she was - the bus stop actually wasn’t far off, and this burning thought kept her going.

  ''... Stupid girl. Who knew she would be this much trouble?''

  She lunged behind a parked car, nearly breaking her already bandaged arm.

  ''Do you think she ran off, into the woods?''

  ''I sure hope not, that would be a huge pain in the ass, looking for her.''

  She crawled under the car and peeked out to see two men in raincoats walking by. A feeling of agonizing dread crept over her – they had clearly been talking about her.

  Then she spotted three more marauders in raincoats on the other side of the road.

  ''No. God no,'' she whispered.

  It felt as if the whole town were after her, a wicked entourage of assorted misfits that obducted women and did God knows what to them.

  She waited until the rain-coat-brigade were out of sight, then crawled from under the car and headed for a vineyard in the distance.

  ''Dora?''

  She froze.

  ''Dora, is that you?''

  The terrifying voice exposed her and made her feel naked again. As she turned in horror, she glimpsed a familiar face. A girl with wet ginger hair, freckles and an upturned nose, wearing an anorak.

  ''Dora, it’s Rike.''

  Dora remembered all right.

  ''What are you doing out here in the rain? Everything okay?''

  Rike's concern appeared about as real as Sheriff Felix's law enforcement credentials. She was in on it, no doubt, the same as everyone else.

  ''Stay there. Please, Rike, don’t follow me.'' Dora didn’t recognize her own voice, it was so distorted.

  ''I’m just trying to help you, Dora.''

  ''I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. Please ...''

  ''But I’m your friend.''

  Dora broke into a run.

  ''I found her!'' Rike screamed, taking off after her. ''Hey! She’s over here!''

  Rike’s rested feet were quickly gaining ground, and soon others appeared and joined in on the pursuit. Dora now realized the vineyard was no longer an option. Her gas tank was empty.

  Right then someone grabbed her sleeve, and she spun around and collapsed into some flower beds by the side of the road, sliding into the mud and crushing the flowers beneath her; the last thing she saw before slamming her head onto the ground was a small group of people quickly forming around her. Then everything went black.

  20

  Dora woke up with a scream that made her tonsils want to burst like a couple of overcooked kidney beans.

  ''Goodness gracious, don’t scream, honey, please!''

  She sat up and immediately recognized the scene - she was back in the Dietrichs’ attic, the rain pattering on the skylight. And sitting by her on the bed was none other than Greta with an expression on her face that was half compassion and half worry.

  ''You’ll wake the kids,'' she said gently. ''They’re sleeping. When they found out that their nanny just ran off, they ...''

  Dora clambered out of the bed on the other side and crawled to the corner.

  ''Honey ...''

  ''Don’t come anywhere near me! I swear to God, I’ll ...''

  ''Sweety, please, stop shouting.''

  Just then, Errol’s voice was heard from the hallway below.

  ''Is everything allright, Greta?''

  ''Yes, yes, we’re fine, Errol! You go work on dinner, never mind us!''

  Dora grabbed an old transistor radio off the shelf, the closest thing to a weapon within reach.

  ''Oh, sweety. Oh, you poor, poor girl.''

  Greta's exaggerated loving concern made Dora want to smash her nose in.

  ''You had us so worried, honey. You passed out for quite a while. Didn’t even come to when the doctor gave you a tetanus shot.''

  ''What? No! No!''

  Dora lifted up her sleeves and only then noticed she was wearing a long nightgown that looked as if it had been magically pulled through a fissure in time from four centuries ago. She inspected her hands for needle marks, only to find a patch of irritated skin.

  ''What the fuck did you do to me?'' she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  ''Dora ...''

  ''You fucking monsters! All of you!''

  ''Sweetness, It’s for your own good. Better than dying from tetanus, I’m sure you’d agree.''

  Every atom in Dora’s body was shaking.

  ''I know,'' she squeezed out through her clenched teeth.

  ''Know what?''

  ''About the missing women!''

  Greta’s expression didn’t deviate in the slightest from that effusive concern.

  ''Missing women?'' she said in her signature honey-sweet voice, her bulging eyes riveted on Dora like a giant toad eyeing a fly. ''I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, honey.''

  ''You and your depraved compatriots have done something to them! You’ve made them disappear! Wipe that fucking smirk off your face already! I know everything. My friend called me a little while ago after digging up some intel on this quaint little town!''

  ''Ooooh now I get it ... Is that what all of this is about, Dora? Those women that got killed? Is that what scared you off?''

  She was stunned by Greta’s calm reaction. ''Killed?'' she said in a shocked whisper, unable t
o put any air behind the word.

  Greta somewhat sternly brushed the fabric of her starched red skirt and lowered her tone.

  ''I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. It happened last October, if I’m not mistaken. A shuttle visited Graufirst – some sort of retreat for the employees of a car-seat manufacturing company or something like that. It was a group of about thirty employees with one or two executives - mostly women, only a few men. They had booked a tour of Maar Peak, about ten miles to the south. The tour takes a few hours, but it doesn't go all the way to the actual peak. Not that it's that steep a climb, but that area sees a lot of avalanches due to excessive precipitation all year round. The terrain is soggy and porous and gives way easily. And on that particular day there were a few girls - especially ambitious girls, I suspect - that wanted to climb up to the peak.''

  Dora had started shaking her head midway through the story.

  ''And for some reason the tour guide let them talk him into it and he took a few of the girls up there. But, tragically, there was a rock slide and the lot of them were burried underneath a huge pile of stone. Against all odds, the tour guide pulled through with only a couple of broken bones and a concussion, unlike those poor women.'' Greta shrugged. ''And that is the whole story, not just the exciting and spooky aspect of it.''

  Dora snorted. ''I’m not buying it.''

  ''It’s the truth, sweety, honest to God. There's even a memorial statue in their memory made from one of the rocks, with an inscription engraved into it. If you’d like, we can hike up there one day, though not after a heavy rain.''

  Greta stood up and walked to the skylight, peering out into the gray rainy day that was slowly giving way to evening. ''It's still coming down out there.''

  ''No, I ... I don’t buy that for a second! Another woman confirmed that something sinister is going on as I was running from that bastard Nicolaus, who tried to ...'' Dora was starting to feel oddly queasy.

  ''Calm down, honey, please.''

  ''I’m not your honey!'' She shot up and shook her head, attempting to chase the weird sensation away. ''A woman living up there near the corn fields told me that ghastly things have been happening here for quite some time and she added that she wouldn’t allow anyone to do me any harm, either! And she damn sure didn’t mention any avalanche!''

  ''A woman up by the corn fields?'' Greta repeated. ''You mean Inge Eppstein? About this high, hair like a broom, looks like a medieval crazy person? You do realize she’s known around here as ‘looney Eppstein’, right? If she’s not talking to her husband – who's been dead for over twenty years - she’s making up ridiculous conspiracy theories or lurking in the woods at night and howling at the moon.''

  Dora readjusted her grip on the transistor radio as it started to slide. Her cut had apparently been rebandaged.

  ''Oh she ... She do-does, does she?'' she mumbled.

  ''Yes, dear! I just wish you’d come to me before running away. I could have explained everything and avoided all this drama.''

  Greta attempted to approach Dora but she jumped back.

  ''Don’t come anywhere near me! I don’t trust you one bit! What about the pictures I found? The pictures of the real Dietrichs! You can’t just pretend those don’t exist! You all did something horrible to them, I know it!''

  Her shouting was now loud enough to wake up the children, who were napping downstairs.

  ''Dora, please stop. You’re scaring me.''

  ''I'm onto you now!''

  She felt woozy, and her head was spinning.

  Greta stood there for a few moments, appalled. Then she climbed into the ladder and went downstairs without saying a word. Dora jumped over to the hatch and listened intently, but Greta returned immediately, bringing the turquoise green plastic bag with her.

  ''Is this what you were referring to?''

  She put it down on the floor in front of Dora and backed off cautiously, like some native tribe member setting an offering of meat in front of a wild beast. ''You're saying these photos are not of me and my family, is that correct? Can you please show me the exact pictures you’re referring to?''

  ''All of them!''

  ''Please, just show me.''

  Dora grabbed the bottom of the bag and turned it upside down, photos scattering on the wooden floor. She crouched down, picked up one of the framed photos and turned it towards Greta to show her. But Greta only stood there looking confused.

  ''You see?'' Dora exclaimed. ''It’s not you or the kids! You have the same haircuts and similar attire, but the faces are off! Are you listening to me?''

  ''I am listening, yes. And I’m sorry, Dora. But ...'' Greta paused, as if unsure how to continue. ''I think you’re having a mental breakdown.''

  ''Oh you do, do you? Every single one of those photos ...'' She picked each of them up one by one and threw them aside, breaking a few of the frames in the process.

  ''Jesus! Please, Dora, stop!''

  ''The faces are different! They’re different!''

  Suddenly they heard Errol climbing up onto the attic. ''What’s all this shouting, for crying out loud? The kids are scared to death!''

  ''Dora says these old family photos are of someone else,'' Greta replied hollowly, her hand in front of her mouth. ''She says the faces are 'off'.''

  ''What? I don’t understand.'' For once, Errol was not smiling.

  ''I think she’s having a psychotic episode.''

  ''How are the faces off, Dora? In what way?'' Errol asked, as if talking to a small child.

  ''Ha-ha-ha!'' Dora chuckled angrily. ''You’re trying to make me think I’ve lost my mind, is that it? How original! And what, were all those people looking for me out in the rain also a figment of my imagination? Or that son of a bitch Nicolaus trying to inject me with God only knows what? Did I make all of that up too?''

  ''Dora, we sent the entire neighborhood out to look for you. We were worried sick when you just ran off in the rain like that. And what's this about Nicolaus trying to give you an injection? Our tutor, Nico? You must be mistaken.''

  ''He did! It was a tranquilizer! And after that I ran away from him ...'' The radio fell from Dora’s hands and broke on the floor with a loud bang. The scene started to spin in front of her eyes and she stumbled to the wall, nearly fainting.

  ''Dora, are you OK?''

  ''The bear, it nearly ate me. Big brown ... Brown bear! And then it didn’t ... The corn, pushed and ... Left ...'' Sliding down the wall and feeling herself starting to sink once again into the mists, she felt Errol and Greta grab her and carry her over to the bed.

  ''You poor thing,'' Greta said, stroking her hair while Errol covered Dora with the blanket. ''Oh, poor, sweet baby. I promise everything’s going to be okay. You are safe now. No bears or bad people here ... You innocent child you.''

  ''Go home ... It’s - let me go home ...''

  ''Nonsense, honey, you fit in so well here. You just had some bad luck is all.''

  ''Bad luck,'' Errol confirmed, smiling again with his trademark grin.

  ''No, I ... Help is coming ...''

  ''Hush now. Greta will take good care of you, sweety.''

  It didn’t take long for Dora to slip away into unconsciousness again.

  21

  Dora was riding a massive motley bear, a fluffy toy animal with only one eye. She was fully nude and both she and the overstuffed animal were fleeing a mob of local residents in hot pursuit.

  Their screams were like the screeching of crows being slowly dismembered.

  ''Honey! Sweety! You got it all wrong! We all love you!''

  ''Yes, we just want to eat you! Is that too much to ask?''

  Then, everyone burst into a hyena-like guffaw that made even the toy bear bristle.

  Suddenly, Dora and her motley furry companion found themselves at an impasse. The bear had become stuck in a massive anthill and the ants were crawling up its legs and onto Dora.

  ''Move! Move, fluffy fluffy bear, move!'' she shouted. ''Move or I’ll bury y
ou, bury you deep, like they’ll bury me!''

  The bear turned its head around rapidly like an owl. Its mouth was full of short, sharp teeth and its button eye somehow seemed to be seeing straight through her. In a split second, the massive creature threw itself on its back and tried to bite her while crushing her under its surprising weight.

  The mob caught up with them. They put their hands together and were singing solemnly, watching as Dora was being trampled and chewed to death, an army of fire ants crawling into her bloody mouth.

  She didn’t wake up suddenly like you typically do from night terrors, but rather progressively, as if the bad dream were trying to keep her under its spell for as long as it could. And when she finally did wake up fully, she could still feel the bear crushing her collar bone and tearing her flesh with its claws.

  It was dark in the attic at night with the light turned off and the skylight pitch-black. She must have been sleeping for a few hours.

  She sat up slowly, and the attic seemed to wobble as she stumbled onto her aching feet. The gravity had suddenly shifted. An invisible force was pulling her aside, and the more she tried to resist, the stronger it got.

  In the end she gave in and obediently staggered in the direction the force was pulling her.

  Her mind was hazy, her thoughts slow and slimy like snail’s saliva, and she was mumbling something not even she could understand. Still, in the minutes that followed, one clear thought did manage to resonate through the fog of her delirium: Get out!

  She groaned and with immense effort managed to push herself away from the seemingly magnetic wall. As she made her way to the ladder, the normally parallel floor was like a hill, becoming steeper with each step. In the end Dora found herself literally clinging onto the opening as if it were a cliff and swinging down like a chimp from a branch. How she managed this was beyond her, but cautiously, step by step, she proceeded down the ladder, finally reaching the floor and making her way down what seemed to be a swirling, never-ending hallway.

  ''Stop expanding,'' she muttered, drooling. ''Please, stop.''