The House Next Door

One of my friends' neighbours was found dead in his flat this week (read the full story here). While I'm sure this is not uncommon, especially in a city like London, it's still a strange experience, I would think, to be confronted with death so immediately. Poor Little Potato. So much bad luck in a single week!
It also reminded me of the good old next-door-neighbour horror stories, most of them set in suburban America. So until I can think of a better one to suit her story here's my version of a classic:

It happened next door. Generally, a lot of things happen next door. Some of best creepy stories happen next door. Some other ones do too but those normally belong into the realm of teenage dreams. This one is one of the former kind.
He was a very quiet neighbour. A model citizen you might even say. Mowed the lawn regularly and kept it at a length of approximately three centimetres. Also walked the dog three times a day. Drove to work at half past eight every weekday and normally returned at six or six thirty every night. A very punctual man. Very tidy. Wore a freshly washed and ironed shirt every day. He was always very polite to the neighbours, too. Never failed to wish everybody he met a good morning or afternoon and sometimes he would briefly stop to chat. The only thing about him was that he was very reserved - almost shy. Had a beautiful wife and two lovely daughters, too. He carried pictures of them in his wallet and loved showing them off to people. Spoke very fondly of them. Nobody was too worried that they never saw them. The daughters go to boarding school, he would say. And the wife gets up very early in the morning and comes back late. Works very hard, he said. Then one hot summer he left for a few days. On business he said. He didn't expect the electricity to go down for several days (bad thunderstorm tore down the lines). He also didn't expect that it would blow the fuse in his house. After two or so days people started noticing the smell. It was coming from his house. His cellar. When he returned people had already called the police. The officers check the entire house and the cellar. Nobody was prepared for what they found. Nobody had suspected that this quiet, pleasant man's family had been in the house all that time. With the same precision with which he mowed his lawn, ironed his shirts and went to work he had sawed his wife and two daughters into 10-centimeter slices and frozen them in a large freezer in the basement. The only parts left intact were their heads. They had been neatly arranged in a row on top of the rest staring, mouths gaping, teeth bared and skin stretching tight, eyes empty at anybody that cared to lift the lid. When the officers arrived and checked the basement some parts had already disintegrated into a stinking pulp covered in green mold. The skin on their dead faces had started drooping revealing rotting flesh and bone. But their empty eyes still stared. They had been dead for at least five years. And so, this soft-spoken, introverted family man had lived in that house for five years with his wife and two daughters. And every evening before going to bed he would go down to the basement to kiss them good night.

More of Tobe E, Private Eye

As it turned out the story of Tobe E, Private Eye, goes on. I just forgot to write it down in a timely fashion. Here it is:

Some time later the dame was back. I can't recall how long exactly - it seemed like an eternity but can't have been more than a couple of weeks. Sure enough, it was her, though. I recognised her easily. Those ruby red lips, milky white skin, hazel brown eyes and that flood of jet black hair. And again that purposeful air about her as she let herself into my office. Again, it was early morning; I was just having my first cup of Java with a cigarette. Her cheque had just arrived in the mail. It was still lying on my desk. I didn't take her being here as a good sign. I was only hoping she hadn't gotten herself into more trouble.
"Mister E, I need your help one more time." The voice sent shivers down my spine. I offered her the chair opposite me and a cigarette. She accepted both.
"Any news on that last case, ma'am?" Keeping it professional I lit her cigarette, then myself another one.
"That's what I came to discuss with you, Mister E. I have thought about the matter and I would like to go ahead with it."
I nearly spilt my coffee.
"You what!?"
Always keep it professional, Larry had said, don't get yourself too involved. You're doing your job, you get paid, you move on. Somehow, though, I just couldn't keep my professional distance here. I had a feeling it was more than the prospect of another paycheque from her. For only a moment my entire professional attitude went out the window.
"Did you read the report I gave you? Did you listen to anything I said? These guys are not to be trusted!"
Her lips, shiny with gloss, were set firmly, defiantly.
"Of course, I did, Mister E. But the decision is still mine."
I was back in control by now. I picked up my cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke pass back out through my nose. I leaned back in my chair.
"Sure thing, lady. Be my guest. But what exactly do you need me for in all that?"
She hesitated. She was obviously approaching a difficult subject.
"It's about your fee, Mister E..." Another pause. I motioned her to continue.
"Well, I was wondering if you had cashed in the cheque yet."
"I've just received it, many thanks. Very punctual. I was going to take it to the bank later at lunch time." I produced the cheque and held it up briefly.
Something in her face told me I wouldn't like what came next. As usual, my intuition was right. After another short pause it all spilt out in front of me.
"I was wondering, Mister E, if you could waive your fee for the time being. I need the money to make the initial payment to my business partners. A friend of mine owes me money. I'm trying to get in contact with him and he will pay you back as soon possible. Would you do that for me?"
After that confession I needed another breath or two of nicotine. Hidden behind my veil of smoke I tried to hide the conflicting feelings going through my head. She was clearly distressed. But this was utter madness. Wagering my rent on a couple of crooks that would make off across the state border with it. How could I break this to her? Professionally, added Larry in my head.
"Look, ma'am, I understand your position. But if you've read my report you know the conclusion I drew after the investigation. There is practically no chance you'll see that money again. You might as well flush it down the toilet."
"I would like to give it a try. This deal will be very lucrative for me if it works out."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could she be so desperate? A woman of her standing! She could have done better than that. Than dealing with these crooks. I had to talk her out of it.
I told her my toughts. That she was dealing with criminals. That an intelligent woman of her caliber could do better. That there were other potential business partners in town, more trustworthy ones. I would even go out of my way and give her some free advice on how to get in touch with them. She hardly seemed to listen, absent-mindedly taking draft after draft on her cigarette. In the end she stamped it out in the ashtray with a resolute gesture.
"Look, Mister E, as I said, I have read your report. I haven't come to you for further advice in this matter. I have decided to pursue it further and take my chances. So, are you going to help me or not?"
That moment something inside me quietly shattered. Larry had been right - as always. She had meant trouble from the first moment on. Now, somehow all the dignity had vanished. She was showing her true face. Obstinate and spoilt - used to getting what she wanted. I had gravely misjudged her.
"You expect me to put this month's rent on the line when I know that it'll be lost?"
"You have nothing to loose. My friend will pay you as soon as I get in contact with him."
Why was her friend not making the payment for her if he had the money? I voiced the question. She frowned at this.
"That is rather personal. But I'll tell you anyway. You see, his bank account is held in a different state. It'll be a lot of hassle transferring the money. He will bring it with him in cash when he comes to visit me. You will receive your payment - don't worry about the details."
That stank. To high heaven. In my profession you develop a sixth sense for this sort of thing. Bermuda Triangle they called it: person A wants money from person B. Person C owes person A money but can't hand it over straight away. If person B gives person A the money A can arrange for C to reimburse B. Somewhere in-between it gets so confusing that B can't track anymore who owes him money and A gets it for free. Almost like money laundering and as illegal.
I took a last puff and stamped out my cigarette, as well.
"You know as well as I do that this sort of business never goes as smoothly as you think. And you're talking about my livelihood as if I could afford to just gamble it away. I am sorry. I'm afraid in this matter I am unable to help you."
Her face changed. She wasn't used to people saying "no" to her. The sultry pout became a cold, disappointed stare. With her jaw pushed forward challengingly her face was still beautiful when she was angry. She got up, looking down at me from under her heavy, curved eyelids.
"I have misjudged you, Mister E. I thought you were made of sturdier material. You disappoint me."
From her that was like a knife between the ribs. Still, I kept my professional calm, settling down in my chair I squinted up at her.
"Sorry to hear that, ma'am. Always do my best to keep my clients satisfied. If you have another matter that needs looking into, I'd be glad to be of service again - at my usual rate."
She nodded absently. She was thinking hard and fast.
"Always on the job, huh? Always so professional."
She slowly, puposefully circled my desk, her motions smooth, looking like a cat on the prowl. She sat on the edge of the desk in front of me, her legs crossed underneath her tight skirt. Her dark stockings were shiny. I imagined I caught a whiff of her sweet, heady perfume.
"I wonder what it takes to get into that shell of yours."
One hand played idly with my tie as if that was the most natural thing to do.
"I wonder what could make you understand how serious this matter is to me..." All the sensual smokeyness was back in her voice. She had even cranked it up a notch. My mind was racing. Keep it professional, screamed Larry's voice, don't get involved with a client. It means nothing but trouble. She was loosening my tie. All the while looking me straight in the eyes. Damn, this dame knew what she was doing.
"You know, if you would only understand that I would do what it takes to see this through. Whatever it takes."
It was getting way too hot in here. It had to put a stop to it before things got out of hand. I brushed her hand away, my tie opened, caught in her hand trailed after me as I got up and took a couple of steps away from the desk - and her. Going backwards I almost stumbled - so rash was my movement.
"Ma'am, this going too far. I have a reputation to support."
This brought a wicked smile to her face. With soft steps she followed me. Her hips swayed elegantly. Before I knew it she was undoing to topmost button of my shirt.
"Who would think of such a silly thing to say? I'm not asking that much and what I can offer is worth so much more. See it as me saying 'please' very nicely."
What was she doing to me? I was helpless under her spell. Still, all alarm bells were going off like mad. Finally - she had got to the third or fourth button - I broke out of the trance. I brushed her hands away again, more forcefully this time. With two steps I was clear of her reach again. I had to breathe deeply to regain my composure before I spoke.
"Ma'am, this is enough. I run a reputable business here. I have told you that I will gladly help you with any matters that require my expertise. In this matter I cannot help you. Now, I must ask you to leave. Please."
I opened the door to my office and held it open for her. I tried not to look at her. I could feel her scrutinising me for a moment. Then she nodded almost imperceptibly. She tugged her skirt back down to her knees - I couldn't imagine how it had ridden up that far - and straightened her blouse. Then she picked up her coat. At the door she paused. She peered at me, her head held high, half turned towards me.
"You're a man of strong principles, Mister E. I respect that. I guess, I will have to find somebody else then who will be willing to help me. Just don't expect to hear anymore of me."
She waited. She knew what was going on in my head. She had done this sort of thing before. She knew how much I desired her. But she was right: I had strong principles, too. In my profession you don't survive long without.
"Have a good day, ma'am. I hope you find what you're looking for."
She breezed past me. The scent of her perfume lingered for awhile. Then it was gone, too. I stood there for long time holding the door open for nobody in particular. I laid back my head, closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe deeply. I counted to ten in my head. Then I gave the door a push. It clicked shut. Back at the desk I sat down in my chair and swiveled it round to face the window. I lit another cigarette. That much I deserved after this. I went through all these familiar motions trying not to think too much. After a few drafts I started feeling calmer. If I didn't see any more of her maybe that was for the best. That dame was enough to give a healthy man a heart attack! What a day and it had only just begun!
Larry sure had been good at talking and giving advice. I wonder what he would have done in my place.

Lament for the Crocodile Hunter

We interrupt our regular program for this special announcement:
Most people will already know this - you can't miss it if you go anywhere near the news. Steve Irwin, a.k.a. the Crocodile Hunter, crossed the great divide yesterday, pierced through the heart by a stingray off the Australian coast.
Now, of course, I didn't know him personally, I wasn't even a very avid follower of his show (recently, my excuse for that is not owning a TV). Still, Mr. Irwin left a big impression on me and I feel strangely compelled to write a few words of my own, adding them to the flood of sympathy that is breaking loose.
So, why did this man on the other side of the globe leave an impression on me? First of all, being German myself and never having met an Australian, it was his distinctive accent and the liberal use of what seemed to have been his favourite word: "crikey". The next thing that struck me was his unusual approach to making a wildlife documentary: Getting insanely close to the deadliest animals that the Australian wilderness could throw at him. Crocodiles, snakes and spiders were usual customers. A scene I remember was him crouching on the ground, a large constrictor snake curled around his arm. In his usual excited voice he gave the viewer an overview of the animal he was holding and why it was such a successful predator in its environment, all the while ignoring the snake's vain attempts to bite into his arm. Once in a while he would turn to the animal and tell it in a soothing voice to "calm down, old buddy", or similar. In the end he pushed it off his arm and set it on the ground because it's grip was getting painful after all. On another occasion, I remember him trying to get up close and personal with a black mamba, the world's most poisonous land borne snake. The snake would turn and hiss and he would jump back but he would keep trying. At the same time he went on telling the viewer about how deadly this creature in front of him was. My first reaction to this was "he's completely and utterly raving mad. He's putting himself at an unnecessary risk by pissing off this animal. All just for the medium. Serves him right if he gets bitten."
This impression didn't last, though. It didn't take me long to realise that there was much more to this man. The thing that really impressed me was how he radiated this amazing enthusiasm and love for what he was doing, for the animals he was dealing with and for the environment they all lived in. This enthusiasm was not only captivating but also contagious - it was what made the programs so interesting. It conveighed more than anything else that here you had a man who wasn't just doing a job but living his dream, somebody who was genuinely happy doing what he was doing. Furthermore, after watching him for some time it also became clear that wasn't just randomly toying with the animals - he could just pull it off in such a way because he really knew what he was doing. He was highly concentrated and careful and would sometimes call it off if he didn't think he could handle the situation. He just knew the animals' ways so intimately that he could make it look like a game. I would guess the only way to achieve that kind of relationship with the animal kingdom was through a deep love and respect for each of its creatures.
So, the way I see it is that we had here a man who loved the world around him so much that was willing to risk his life to bring the viewer that much closer to it and help us all understand it a bit better. To me he seemed like somebody who had found true happiness in his work and his life - very few people can say that. In the end, he died doing what he enjoyed. Like many good men (and women) he has been taken from us far too early.
My thoughts and sympathies are with his family. Nobody needs to tell them what a great man he was.
Mr. Irwin, I salute you.

Life is not a box of chocolates

After the last post some people asked me what had happened. Initially, I wanted to go into a long rant about how unfairly life (and the people around me) is treating me. About how friends abandon me without any fault on my part. About how it hurts and makes me feel lonely.
However, I've come to realise recently that I've got it wrong. Forest Gump got it all wrong. Life is not a box of chocolates where it is only a matter of taking something out and seeing what it is. It is not all random. What you get out of life is what you put in. Not just in the metaphorical sense that if you work hard you get good results or such like. The world treats you the way you treat it. You hurt somebody - somebody hurts you. You turn your back on somebody - somebody will turn their back on you. Treat people kindly or fairly and they will treat you the same. But lie or cheat and that is what you will get. Break somebody's heart and you can be sure that yours will be broken, too. Not necessarily by the same person. It could seem completely unrelated but somehow your deeds will reflect back to you. Eventually, you reap what you sow. Call it Karma, call it divine retribution, call it good old-fashioned justice.
I have been careless with my deeds. I have been accumulating debt/guilt (interestingly the same word in German: Schuld) for a while now. It is too late to make amends or say that I'm sorry. My account is overdrawn and now it's time to pay up. The further you pull the pendulum in one direction the further it will swing in the other direction before balancing out. The moral is that I have no right to whine or complain or feel sorry for myself. Now that I have learnt this lesson I must act accordingly.