Too Pretty For The Hills Read online

  The discovery was downright grisly - none of the people in those photos was a member of the family she had been living with. Thomas and Emil, Anne, Errol ... The deployment was right, but the characters weren't; there were differences, mainly when it came to the faces. In fact, only Adolf seemed to be himself.

  Dora’s shock was so great that she wasn’t able to toss the plastic bag back inside the closet and hide when she heard Greta in the hallway. She was paralyzed by a ghastly emotion she hadn't even known existed until now. Something dreadful was going on, and she realised she had found herself right in the middle of it.

  Greta didn’t come in though - Dora heard her go down to the cellar.

  At last she snapped out of it, tied the bag back together, closed the closet door, and sneaked back upstairs in a bizarre, trance-like state that made her feel as if she were merely a spectator, looking at her body move and perform actions without her conscious intent.

  When she returned to the children, she heard them saying something to her. They were laughing and pointing at her. She was terrified.

  It wasn't the little Gypsy boy, nor the old neighbor, nor even whoever had been chasing her yesterday in the forest. It was these photos. They were the straw that broke the camel’s back. The rest she could somehow deal with, shrug off. But this was simply too much.

  ''Are you all right, honey? You seem kind of faint.''

  She had no idea when Greta had shown up.

  ''Yes, I’m fine,'' Dora said, trying to sound normal. ''Is the phone working?''

  ''No, not yet. I don’t know what’s taking them so long. Must really be quite a nasty problem somewhere. This reminds me of that time we ...''

  Greta kept talking, but Dora didn’t hear anything she said. Were the phone lines really down? Or were the Dietrichs somehow sabotaging them, preventing her from using the phone? But phone service had been out all over town, hadn’t it?

  She remembered the green plastic bag she had seen at the Zieglers’, similar to the one in Greta’s closet, and a scary idea formed in her head, the scariest one yet. What if the whole place was in on something terrible and she was trapped here? What if everyone was involved: the Gypsies, the local residents, everyone?

  No. She couldn't let this happen. She wasn’t going to just sit passively and wait for the final act of this psychotic drama to transpire.

  ''Sweety? Did you hear what I said?''

  ''I’m going outside for a bit,'' Dora said. ''I need some air and want to stretch my legs.''

  ''But it’s pouring outside.''

  ''I know.''

  They stood silent for a moment, the kids laughing and playing by their side - Anne was using her right hand in abundance again.

  ''Well I was actually hoping you'd help me with something downstairs first. Won't take a minute. How about we do that and then you go out? Honey?''

  She wanted to scream at Greta to stop calling her ‘honey’, but instead only nodded with a blank expression on her face.

  She followed Greta downstairs like a moth follows a midnight lamp, not even looking at the kids, who could have been playing Russian roulette for all she cared, before leaving their room.

  ''This right here,'' Greta said, pointing at the rug in the living room. ''These smudges are driving me insane. I don’t know exactly how they got here, but it looks like dog piss. Anyway, it’s a two-girl job, wouldn’t you agree?''

  She left Dora with a spray bottle of chemical cleaner and a scouring pad, promising to be right back with some throw rugs. Was Greta purposely detaining her under the pretense of helping with this minute task? Dora herself certainly didn’t see any smudges.

  As soon as she heard Greta enter the bathroom, she ran to the vestibule on her tiptoes and snatched her shoes. She didn’t have time to go grab any of her things from her bag, but then she didn’t really need her wallet right now. She just wanted to leave, immediately.

  ''Phew-we! Looks like Errol unleashed another stinker in here!'' she heard Greta exclaim from the bathroom.

  Dora hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the most intimidating knife she could find, slid it in her front pocket, and hurried out the back door. Stepping out into the pouring rain, she knew she had no intention of ever returning to the Dietrichs’ house.

  16

  By the time Dora reached the end of the street, her hair and clothes were already soaking wet. As she turned the corner, she heard shouting. She was sure it was Greta, so she quickened her step.

  At first she figured she’d just run for the bus station, but then she realized she was also going toward the Zieglers' house. Again, she remembered the other green plastic bag. And she wanted - no, she needed - to know.

  As annoying as the weather was, at least the monsoon kept visibility low. Neighborhood residents would have a hard time spotting her there in the middle of the road. She couldn’t trust anyone, that much was clear.

  When she reached the Ziegler residence some five minutes later, her feet were on fire. She knelt down for a moment and caught her breath.

  No-one seemed to have spotted her. But just as she was trying to figure out some way of breaking into the house unnoticed, she heard the squeaking of the garage door and the sound of a car engine starting.

  She ran to the side of the garage and hid behind a dumpster. In the next moment she saw the Zieglers’ SUV roar off into the rain, apparently in quite a hurry.

  The garage door started whirring again. In a split-second decision, Dora just barely made it under.

  Alone in the darkness of the stuffy garage, she started to feel her way along the stacks of various stored objects, looking for a light switch. At one point, she froze in horror, thinking she had grabbed a person that was just standing there, waiting in the darkness, but it was just that bizarre wooden sculpture of a beaver or zebra or whatever it was.

  Continuing to feel her way around, she bumped into something else that came crashing down in a deafening ruckus that sounded like her soul being smashed into a thousand pieces.

  Then there was a deep silence. Dora didn't know whether both the Zieglers were in that SUV, but she was relieved not to hear anything move upstairs in the interval that followed.

  She managed to find the lightswitch. The turquoise green plastic bag was still sitting where she last saw it, still smelling of fresh plastic. Unable to untie it with her hands, she tore it open with her teeth.

  Her premonitions were confirmed, for this bag too contained a little collection of framed photos and heirlooms, and though Erica Ziegler appeared exactly the same in all the photos, aside from the haircut her husband looked like a completely different man than the one Dora had met. Also, in a few of the pictures there was a baby boy.

  Dora’s heart skipped a beat.

  ''What are you doing here?''

  She screamed and dropped the green plastic bad, stumbling a few feet backwards.

  It was Erica. Dora knew she'd been caught red-handed and fumbled in her mind for any possible excuse for her breaking and entering. But to her amazement, Erica acted as if this sort of thing were perfectly normal.

  ''We were meaning to call to arrange a follow up session, but the phone lines have been down,'' she said calmly.

  ''Stay back!'' Dora shouted, clumsily pulling out the kitchen knife with both hands and cutting her own left palm with it.

  ''Aaaah! Mutherfucker!''

  ''Holy shit!''

  ''Shut the hell up! I don’t know what sick game you all are playing, but it ends right now!''

  ''I don’t know what you’re talking about! And put the knife down, please! Oh God, you’re bleeding!''

  ''Yeah and if you don’t back off, I’ll make sure you do too!''

  Erica Ziegler’s shocked gaze passed over the scattered collection of old vinyl plates on the ground, which Dora had knocked over fumbling for the lights, and finally stopped at the torn plastic bag.

  ''Listen, stay here, okay, Dora? I’ll be right back with the first aid kit. And then we’ll sort this all ou
t. Just don’t do anything crazy, please.''

  Erica turned and ran upstairs, but Dora didn’t plan to wait. She stuck the knife back in her pocket and rushed to the garage door switch, smashing it with her injured hand and leaving a bloody imprint. She crawled frantically under the slowly opening door and ran out again into the rain.

  Suddenly headlights shot through the storm and a brown SUV came to a fast stop in front of her. Before she could run away, a man stepped out.

  ''Dora?''

  It was Nicolaus, the tutor.

  ''What the hell’s going on, why are you ... Holy shit! Is that a cut wound? Who did that to you!''

  She tried to run, but Nicolaus easily caught her and carried her back to the car as if they were a newly wed couple. It was all he could do to get her into the passenger’s seat.

  ''Let me go, you son of a bitch!''

  ''What? What the hell has gotten into y... Sweet fucking Jesus!''

  The knife was out and Dora swung it at him.

  ''Let me go!''

  ''Have you lost it entirely, Dora?''

  He hesitated for a second, then reached over and locked the door, slamming it in Dora's face and running to the other side of the SUV.

  ''Why did you do that?'' she wailed. ''Do you want to get stabbed?''

  ''I can’t let you go in the state you’re in! Not until you tell me what's got you worked up like this!''

  Dora only stared at him.

  ''For the love of God, what’s going on? Talk to me!''

  ''I think you know full well what’s happened! This whole town, that’s what’s happened! The Gypsies, people following me, the way-too-friendly residents and the perfidious games you all play! I know about the original families, Nicolaus!'' she thundered.

  ''I don’t have the slightest idea what you mean by that!''

  ''Oh, don’t play dumb with me!''

  She waved the knife like a scorpion brandishing its stinger.

  ''Listen to me, Dora. I honestly don't have a clue what you’re talking about. Is this about that old neighbor of yours? What the hell has she done now?''

  ''Don’t lie to me!''

  Then she frantically spoke of what she had turned up, the two plastic bags and their content, the 'Anne episode', the baby in the Zieglers' photos, all the while not dropping her guard - or rather the knife - for a moment.

  ''I swear to God I don’t know what all this is about,'' the bewildered Nicolaus said. ''And I get it, yes, it is spooky when you put it like that. But surely there’s a reasonable explanation here. I mean, I've known both families for pretty much all my life and I can assure you they most certainly weren't substituted.'' Nicolaus paused for a brief moment to stop himself from smirking. ''The photos ... God, well, you obviously couldn’t know that, but the Zieglers had a little boy that died of sunstroke. It was such a devastating tragedy it's no wonder they’re in denial. But the photos you found in the Dietrichs’ house were just really old and that’s why ...''

  ''No! No! The kids were different in the photos too and they looked the same height, age, everything! Everyone - they all looked different!'' Dora wailed, the blood from her hand running down her wrist.

  ‘‘I really don’t know, Dora. Maybe you should just bring this up with the Dietrichs and ask them to explain. Tell you what, we’ll drive back there right now.''

  ''There’s no way in hell I’m going back there! To that house of...of shapeshifters!''

  Nicolaus, who'd initially had to struggle not to laugh, now looked genuinely worried. ''You know what I think?'' he said, choosing his words as carefully as he could so as not to set Dora off again. ''I think this whole Gypsy thing has put you on edge. And you’re obviously a bright girl with a vivid imagination, so ...''

  ''I’m not imagining any of this! Did I imagine someone chasing me in the woods yesterday?''

  ''Did you imagine...what?''

  ''And what about the phones?''

  ''Wait, who was chasing you yesterday?''

  ''Never mind that! The phone lines went down exactly one day after I got here! How do you explain that?''

  The engine was humming and the rain was beating down hard on the roof of the car.

  ''Dora, I'd laugh right now if I wasn’t seriously frightened for your sanity,'' Nicolaus said. ''What conspiracy could there be? This is real life, not some dimestore novel. And by the way, I didn’t even know the phones were down. Mine certainly isn’t. I used it yesterday and today. Must be a problem on your side of town.''

  Dora fell silent for a moment. She knew she was injured, and the thought of it made her feel terribly weak.

  ''Look, here is what I propose,'' Nicolaus said, trying to move her to a point where she could be driven somewhere. ''I’ll drive you back to my place and you can have a nice hot shower, then I’ll lend you some of my sister’s clothes before you catch a cold. Heck, I can give them to you, she only visits twice a year anyway. And you can use my phone to call anyone you need to call, okay? And we definitely need to get that nasty cut bandaged up. How about you put that knife down before you hurt yourself again?''

  Dora looked at him, distrust swirling in her eyes.

  ''I'm not going anywhere with you.''

  ''Dora, I like you. I really do. But boy are you making this hard. I swear I don’t know what the deal with those photos is, but there’s definitely a reasonable explanation here – one that I would also like to hear. Please, listen to me.'' He reached over and very slowly pried the knife from her hand. ''We’ll get to the bottom of this mystery together, I promise.''

  ''Okay, I gave you the knife. Now take me to your phone! You promised. I want to call my friend,'' Dora said, intending to use the phone to call the police.

  ''Of course. Right after you show me that wound.''

  He reached behind the passenger’s seat and pulled out a first aid kit. ''This is going to sting a little, but it'll be over quick,'' he said, swabbing the wound with alcohol. ''You’ll be okay, the cut’s not deep. Now let's put a bandage over it and get out of this rain.''

  17

  Dora stared out the car window, but she hardly even saw the silhouettes of the houses passing by.

  At first, Nicolaus tried to get the conversation going, but he soon gave up and turned on the radio.

  His house was in a remote location outside of town, and the only access to it was by a winding road that led through a complex of corn fields.

  It was a large, old house with a dirty-white, crumbling facade in desperate need of re-plastering and wild, thorny weed bushes growing around the yard, which at the moment was a sea of mud. Two old, dilapidated cars were rusting away over by the trees. Apparently Nicolaus liked disassembling old cars.

  ''It’s not much to look at. But bear in mind I don’t have too much free time these days with my work schedule. Wait, let me help you up the stairs. They get slippery in the rain.''

  He could see how tense Dora was from everything she did – her refusal to take his hand, the look of distrust on her face, her nervous glancing around.

  ''For crying out loud, do you really think the whole town is part of some weird conspiracy? Come on, I thought you were smarter than that, Dora. Does it make any sense to you, really?''

  She gazed deeply into his warm hazel brown eyes, and as much as she searched for something menacing or wicked in them, she found nothing. Finally, she took Nicolaus’ hand and stepped up onto the porch.

  The apartment was far from tidy, but it was livable enough, if a bit darkish and gloomy. It clearly needed dusting, and Nicolaus had a habit of leaving dirty plates and empty yogurt cups on display. Some might say it wasn't so bad – it just needed a woman’s touch.

  He went to the small table in the living room and gathered up the papers and assorted odds and ends that were cluttering it.

  ''Well, now this is embarrassing. If I'd known a woman was coming to visit, I would have cleaned up a bit.'' With his lap full of paper and plastic, he also managed to pick up some of the dirty plates and utensils and ca
rry all of this over to what must have been the kitchen.

  ''Are you cold? You look cold,'' he said awkwardly. ''Let’s get you out of those clothes. I mean, let me show you to the bathroom.''

  ''I would like to borrow the phone first, if that’s okay,'' Dora responded rather coldly.

  ''Okay, but you’ll catch a cold if you stay in those clothes long enough.''

  ''I’ll take my chances.''

  He sighed and picked up the newspaper the phone was hiding under.

  ''Let me know when you’re done, I’ll be in the kitchen attending to some dirty dishes,'' he said, collecting a second armload on his way out and humming a boisterous tune.

  She grabbed the receiver and put her finger on the dial, but then she stopped. Her intention had been to call the police, yet now she was starting to wonder if indeed she hadn’t overreacted.

  After all, if something fishy actually were going on, how realistic was it that one of the schemers would allow her to use the phone to call for help? Deciding to put her theory to the test, she dialed the police department, half expecting that Nicolaus was bluffing and the call wouldn't go through. But a voice on the other end asked what her emergency was, and Dora paused.

  ''Hello? Hello?''

  She cleared her throat. ‘‘Oh, I’m sorry,’’ she said. ‘‘A cat turned over the garbage bin behind the house and spooked me, that’s all.’’

  ''Are you sure it was just a cat?''

  ''Yes, ma’am. Sorry to have bothered you.''

  ''Don’t worry about it, ma’am. Stay safe,'' the tired voice on the other end said.

  Now Dora felt really silly. Nicolaus was still humming in the other room, battling it out with the dishes, and there she was, standing with the phone in her hand, soaking wet, her palm bandaged, wondering how to get out of the situation with as much of her dignity intact as possible.

  Sitting down on the sofa, she shook her head and dialed Katja’s number.

  ''Hello?''

  ''Katja, it’s me.''

  ''Oh, I’m sorry, but Katja isn’t in yet. Can I give her a message?''