Too Pretty For The Hills Read online

  She wondered whether by some stroke of luck whoever lived there might have a working phone, so she knocked on the door, but there was no reply. Then, on a whim, she tried the door knob, and the door squealed as it slowly swung inside.

  ''Hello? Is anyone home?''

  The inside was gloomy, the air moist and thick, the walls moldy almost to the point that one could see the spores flying.

  Not being a fan of trespassing, Dora reached in for the knob to pull the door closed, when, to her surprise, she actually spotted a telephone.

  She hesitated for a moment, looking left and right across the meadows, but there was no sign of anyone anywhere.

  She tied Adolf's leash to the doorknob and carefully stepped inside, almost tripping over a shriveled cowskin rug. She picked the receiver up and dialed.

  ''It’s ringing,'' she said, glancing back at the St. Bernard. Sure enough, a few seconds later Dora heard a very familiar voice on the other end of the line.

  ''Yeah?''

  ''Guess who.''

  ''Dora? I was wondering why you hadn't called. I was beginning to worry!''

  ''I’m sorry, Katja, yesterday I was just swamped and today the phone lines in town have been jamed.''

  ''Is everything okay? You sound like something’s wrong.''

  Dora couldn't help but smile. Katja Emner was a caffeine addict and it did no favors to her already overparanoid and jumpy character. Having been raised up by overbearing and hypochondriac parents, she had grown up to be a nervous wreck. She was always reading tense thriller novels and hanging around in quirky conspiracy theory groups with her similarly uber-wired boyfriend.

  ''I’m fine, Katja. Really.''

  ''Are you? Are you, Dora, or are they ... Uh!'' Katja gasped and then her panicky narration shifted into a tense, scared whisper. ''Are they holding you there against your will, making you say what they want? Cough if they are and you can’t say it.''

  There was no joke in this either.

  ''Jesus, Katja, relax, will you? I’m OK. Although there were a few strange things that occured after I arrived.''

  ''Strange? Strange how? Tell me everything!''

  The silence that ensued once Dora’s deposition was at an end made her wonder whether the line was disconnected half way through.

  ''Katja? Are you still there?''

  ''Mmm, sorry, yes. I’m just making myself some coffee. Gypsies, you say? Like real Gypsies?''

  Dora laughed. ''Well they seem pretty real to me.''

  ''Huh. Well I know you won’t want to hear this, Dora love, but I have a bad feeling! If something like that happened to me, I’d pack my bags and head for the hills! In your case, literally. But not before I’d send that old woman flying, zap her good with my tazer! I just got a new one, by the way, and boy is it strong! Wish I’d given you the old one before you left.''

  ''Don’t worry, ever since then I've been packing too, so to speak. I figured some protection wouldn't hurt. Better safe than sorry.''

  ''Packing?'' Katja howled. ''Don’t tell me you’ve actually acquired a gun? Jesus, Dora, guns are so so dangerous! People can easily end up shooting themselves in the head!''

  ''No, Katja,'' Dora sighed, rubbing her eyes. She realized now why she hadn’t called Katja yesterday. Talking to her was always a bit exhausting. ''It's not a gun, it's a screwdriver.''

  ''A screwdriver? Dear God! Well, I suppose it could do the trick. Just mind the blood splattering back on you. They may be infected with something nasty like hepatitis or HIV or this new government-created virus that ...''

  As usual, talking with Katja was deteriorating to that bizarre point where Dora wondered why they were friends in the first place.

  ''Jesus Christ, Katja, that’s enough! I’m not planning to stab anyone. It's just a last resort, and if some big bully actually jumped me, I’d hardly have time to worry about where their blood splattered, now would I?''

  ''Well, it's the little things that get you,'' Katja said. ''The devil is in the details.''

  Dora rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. Katja was the good old lunatic sister she never had. She missed her.

  ''All is well over here. Now what about you?'' she said, trying to change the subject. ''What have you been up to?''

  ''Well, Mathias’ little brother has a recital at his school tonight and he’s invited me as well. But you know how I am with big crowds. They make me super jumpy. Maybe if I call you during the show you can talk some calm into me? You’ve always been good at that. What number can I reach you at?''

  ''The phone lines are down right now - no conspiracy, just a regular malfunction,'' Dora added. ''But I suspect they'll be repaired shortly. You can look in the phonebook. The family’s name is Dietrich and the town is called ‘Graufirst’.''

  ''Grau-first, OK ... Oh, Dora, I already miss you so much! And our little coffee sesions.''

  ''And I you, Katja. But don’t worry, we’ll be in tou...''

  Suddenly a loud bang rang out and in the next moment, the door slammed shut, wrapping the inside of the damp cottage in darkness before bouncing back open.

  Dora screamed and turned, but nothing was there. Then she realized what had happened. Adolf had apparently gone chasing after something and taken the door knob with him.

  ''Shit! Katja, I have to run! The dog's run off. I’ll talk to you later!''

  She slammed the phone down, missing the carriage and running out in a frenzy, leaving both the receiver and Katja dangling.

  ''Dora? Dora, what’s going on over there? Dora!''

  12

  Adolf was nowhere to be seen, but the trail he left through the tall grass and his howling and barking tipped Dora off as to his whereabouts. He had gone straight into the forest.

  ''Adolf! Adolf, come back here this instant!''

  As she reached the edge separating the meadow from the woods, she stopped. Adolf was somewhere deep in the forest. She could hear him.

  ''Adolf!''

  He was quickly getting away, so she let out another cry and ran after him, slipping on dry spruce needles and stumbling over bulging roots.

  The terrain went up and down and then abruptly came to an area with more luxuriant trees, their heavy trunks blocking Dora's sight and their canopies full of dense foliage offering little permeability to the sunlight. It was hot and humid.

  Dora stopped and listened, breathing heavily, her knees shaking. The realization that the howling was now so distant that she could hardly hear it deepened her despair.

  ''Adolf!''

  She went on, cursing under her breath, but her legs turned to jello and she had to stop again. Hearing nothing but her own breathing, she cried out once more.

  ''Adolf!''

  This time, there was no response, only the echo of her final shriek reverberating through the woods. A breeze smelling of wet dirt, was whistling through the treetops.

  She leaned on her knees and tried in vain to catch her breath and give her legs some time to regenerate. She hadn't realized just how out of shape she was until now. As it turned out, a slender body did not necessarily bring stamina.

  ''Adolf, come back, please,'' she moaned. ''I won’t force you into walking ever again, I swear to God ... Heck, I’ll even let you dig up some more flowers. Just come back, you darn mut!''

  Still nothing.

  Just as she was about to go on, she heard something in the thicket behind her, a twig snapping.

  ''Is someone there?''

  There was no response. Dora’s left hand slowly reached for the long screwdriver in her back pocket.

  She took a step back and was immediately met with what sounded like someone taking a step somewhere over in the dense shrubbery.

  ''Hello? This isn’t funny!''

  She held her breath and continued slowly backing up, staring into the bushes.

  ''I’m warning you! I’m armed!''

  She turned round and began sprinting at full throttle.

  Something was running after her, and whoev
er or whatever it was, it was gaining on her.

  She ran through a spider web that wrapped around her head, slowing her down by just a little. And that's when she felt something reach for her. She screamed and swung back with the screwdriver, not hitting anything directly as far as she could tell, but freeing her long enough to flee.

  She jumped over an uprooted tree trunk and stumbled onward, hitting her knee on something, but she didn’t feel anything. All of her senses were focused on the improvised path she was taking and whatever was following behind her, getting closer and closer.

  Then, all of a sudden she came to a dead end. A dense curtain of sun-lit foliage stood blocking her way. There was no obvious way to proceed and with no alternative, Dora let out a cry and leaped in, and was nearly blinded by the low sun as she burst out of the woods and into a clearing.

  She tripped over a long-forgotten rusty prolix electric fence and fell hard, rolling out of control down a steep hill.

  It felt like a blurry jumble, a rollercoaster full of painful bumps fit for a sadomasochist. She rolled all the way down the steep incline and came within a couple of inches of smashing her head on a tree stump.

  Finally, she found herself at the bottom of the clearing, her body pulsating in pain. She got up slowly, her head spinning, and continued her frantic decline down into the thicket.

  Her legs were heavy as she staggered onto a dirt road some two hundred meters below, and she finally stopped, turned and stared into the thicket, no longer able to go on. She raised her hand above her head, confident that it was still clutching the screwdriver which in reality had long ago been dropped somewhere.

  She was panting, her heart overtaxed, her lungs hurting from hyperventilation, her brain buzzing.

  ''Leave me alone!'' she cried out, tears running down her bruised face. ''Please, stop!'' But the rustling of the shrubbery was again closing in.

  And then, divine intervention. A worn-out, red pickup truck rattled up from around the bend and abruptly stopped in front of her. Dora slammed her hands on the hood.

  ''Help! Help me!''

  The driver’s door swung open and a young man stepped out wearing jeans and suspenders with no shirt underneath and messy hair that looked like a bird was going to fly out at any moment. He said nothing, but only stared at Dora as if he had never seen a woman before.

  ''Something is after me!''

  He stood there for a few more moments without speaking. Then he reached into his truck and pulled a shotgun out from the passenger’s seat. He aimed it at the rustling shrubbery, his mouth wide upen, the tip of his tongue licking the top of his upper lip.

  Suddenly a large figure leapt out of the foliage, and the sound of a mighty boom echoed across the woods.

  Dora shrieked, but it was too late. She watched in horror as Adolf barked one last time before collapsing dead onto the dirt road.

  13

  Greta and the kids returned from their trip just in time to find Errol patting down a patch of dirt back by the fence with the shovel.

  ''It’s okay, honey. He’s in doggie heaven now.'' Greta was holding Dora, who was wiping her tears with a long handkerchief. She had showered and switched into fresh clothes, but the guilt persisted. So did the fear.

  This little impromptu funeral, bathing in the waning orange dusk, saw the entire Dietrich family in attendance along with the young man who had driven Dora back from the forest, a local beet farmer’s son with a passion for hunting. The poor fellow, whose name was Jan, kept apologizing, but Errol and Greta were very understanding. They even poured him a glass of brandy. And then another one. And another.

  The only two people who really seemed upset were he and Dora, while the rest of the family seemed like they could not care less. And this indifferent behavior continued well into the evening as they were having dinner.

  ''He was a good dog,'' said Errol in a sort of belated eulogy. ''He had his flaws, but he was a good dog nonetheless. May he rest in peace.''

  ''Amen,'' Greta said, sipping her must. ''Pass me the potatoes, would you?''

  It appeared as though little Anne had come back to her senses. She seemed at peace, and the boys looked quite happy as well, all of them apparently oblivious to the whole notion of death. They were eagerly filling their mouths with the leftovers from the enormous meal their father had prepared earlier in the day.

  ''And let’s look at the bright side of things,'' Errol continued, looking at Greta. ''At least now you won’t have to worry about your flower beds.''

  Greta nodded and smiled, and then the whole family started laughing, as if they had suddenly gotten the punch line of some obtuse joke. Everyone seemed to find great humor in the situation. Everyone but Dora, who seemed unsure whether she should be puzzled, insulted or just horrified. Finally she felt compelled to say something.

  ''Something in the forest was after me,'' she said tensely, trying not to pour too much anger into her words.

  The bizzare laughter quickly died away.

  ''And it wasn’t the dog, either.''

  ''Ow, you don’t need to make excuses, dear,'' Greta said sympathetically. ''We don’t blame you for what happened in the slightest. It was a cruel twist of fate. Could have happened to anyone. Forgive our laughter. Me and Errol are firm believers of not giving in to negativity when times are bad, so we taught our children this same way of le...''

  ''But I’m telling the truth! After chasing Adolf into the woods, I heard something behind me and when I ran, it started chasing after me, unrelentingly. I’m pretty sure it was a person!''

  Greta and Errol looked at each other.

  ''It must have just been some animal, honey. The woods are full of them.''

  ''No, I’m telling you, someone was chasing me! Whoever it was even tried to grab me by the arm!''

  ''A branch that caught your shirt sleeve, perhaps?''

  ''No!''

  ''It could have been a boar,'' Errol suggested, smiling as usual. ''It's the mating season. I suspect that’s what made the dog run off in the first place, probably picking up the scent of their pheromones.''

  ''That was no boar!'' Dora interjected, growing more outraged with every attempt to comfort her. ''I heard its feet! There were two of them!''

  ''An ostrich. They have two feet, right daddy?'' little Thomas said.

  ''That’s right, son,'' Errol nodded and patted him on the head. ''Or how about this: a boar walking on its hind legs?''

  The family laughed.

  ''Stop joking!'' Dora cried in protest. ''I'm serious! Someone tried to kill me, for God’s sake!''

  ''Look, honey,'' Greta said as her smile faded. ''Whatever it was, your poor frightened mind must have played a trick on you. The woods can be a scary place, especially if you're there alone. And being from the city, you're not used to it, so it’s only natural that you should have been frightened.''

  The indignant Dora was about to counter that she most certainly had visited forests before, but the sound of the door bell interrupted her.

  Errol went to answer and returned moments later accompanied by a tall gentleman in a worn-out leather vest. He had long, tousled grey hair combed behind his ears on each side, about five days' worth of stubble, and melancholic eyes. His walk was slow and deliberate.

  ''Good evening, Greta. Kids.''

  His voice was deep and somehow sardonic, giving the impression that everything he said had a sneer behind it. ''Quite a gathering you have here.''

  Greta stood up to greet the visitor, but he cut her off.

  ''I’ll keep this short and simple,'' he said. ''I came because I heard there was an incident today. Something about a dog getting shot.''

  ''Yes, you’re correct, Sheriff Felix. It was an accident. Our new nanny, Dora, wandered up into the woods and ...''

  ''No offense, Greta, but I’ll have to ask you to hold your comments for the moment. I want to hear her story.''

  The crude and bossy rebuttal was not especially to Greta's taste.

  ''Is that
right?'' she seethed.

  ''So,'' the sheriff said, turning to Dora, ''you’re the newcomer.'' He sat down in Errol’s chair and looked back over at Greta. ''It's past the kids' bedtime, don't you think?''

  Greta only stood there as if cemented to the ground, arms crossed and scowling, so it fell to Errol to take the initiative and hustle the children upstairs.

  ''The name’s Felix,'' the man said, reaching over to shake Dora's hand. ''I’m the sheriff.''

  ''Dora.''

  Greta was becoming annoyed at the dinner-table pleasantries. ''What is this about, Felix?'' she interjected. ''As nice as it is having you butt in uninvited like this, surely you have better things to do than investigate the accidental death of a dog.''

  ''Hmm, well, let me think about it ... No, as a matter of fact I don’t.''

  He put his boots on a nearby seat that Errol was just planning to place himself on and pulled a pipe from the inside of his worn leather jacket.

  ''So what exactly happened out there, Miss Dora?''

  She unleashed an avalanche of words that had been piling up ever since she had returned from the woods.

  ''I went up there with the dog, Adolf, and he broke loose and ran off into the woods. There was howling in the distance and when I went in that direction I heard something making its way through the shrubbery behind me. Someone was there, it had to have been a person. Whoever it was started chasing after me. I fell and rolled down this hill and ended up on a dirt road where I was able to flag down a pickup truck. The driver, a local farmer, shot the dog, thinking it must be whatever was after me. But I know damn well it wasn’t Adolf!''

  The sheriff looked at her and blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling.

  ''So a person was chasing after you, is that what you’re saying?''

  ''Probably a boar,'' Errol piped up. But the sheriff ignored him.

  ''Was it a man or a woman?''

  ''I think it was a man,'' Dora said, thoughtfully gazing at her own reflection in the window. ''But I guess it could also have been a woman.'' She looked at the sheriff. ''Do you believe me?''