Horror Stories from Denmark Box set, Page 2

  I don't answer. I focus on my food and glance at the baby carriage outside. Josephine is still sleeping. I'm thinking about dinner tonight. I'm torn between spaghetti Bolognese or an oven dish with my special sauce. I can't seem to decide.

  "Have you done something with your hair?" my mother asks. "You really should. I have the best new hairdresser. He's in Copenhagen, but I don't mind the drive. He's the best. Did the crown-princess' hair before she married the prince. Oh, he's excellent. Can't you tell?"

  I nod even if I didn't hear half of what she said. My eyes are fixated on a woman and a man sitting in the corner of the café. They're fighting over something. She is crying but tries to hide it so no one will see. They have a child with them. He's fussing, he doesn't like them arguing. He is no more than two, I guess. He wants out of his high chair, his mother helps him, still while arguing with the man. The boy is now on the floor. He takes off. Stumbles across the room and starts to bother people. They all smile. He stops at one table where two women are eating. He puts his fingers in their food throws it across the room. He hits someone in the neck. The parents don't notice. They're still fighting. My mother goes on and on about their trip to Vietnam last month. I pretend to be listening, but can't get my eyes off the child who is now terrorizing another couple. The mother finally notices and rushes after him. She slaps him across the face and everyone in the café gasps. Then she takes him by the hand and drags him crying out of the café. I close my eyes and start counting. My mother's mouth is still moving when I open them again. I put down my fork on the plate. I get up. My mother stops talking.

  "Where are you going?" she asks.

  "I lost my appetite," I say.

  I leave. I grab the baby carriage and run after the couple down the street. They're still fighting and the kid is crying. I walk right behind them. They don't notice me. Still fighting they walk into an alley pushing the child in a stroller in front of them. I follow them. Now they see me and stop and look at me.

  "What do you want?" the man asks.

  "Don't you know it's wrong to hit a child?" I ask. "It's actually illegal in this country."

  The man steps forward with a menacing look. "What did you say?" he asks.

  I stare into his eyes then repeat it. "It's wrong to hit a child."

  He doesn't seem to understand and it annoys me. It troubles me that people that stupid are allowed to even have a child.

  He looks at me like he wants to slap me. I can tell he has been hitting his girlfriend by the look of the bruises on her face.

  "I give you three seconds to get the hell out of here, before I beat the crap out of you," he says.

  I don't move.

  5

  AMALIE IS at home when I get back. Josephine is awake and I place her in the playpen after changing her.

  "You're home early?" I ask when I get out into the kitchen where she is eating her sandwich leaving a mess I know I eventually have to clean up.

  Amalie smiles for the first time in weeks. "Math was cancelled today."

  "Really? How come?"

  Amalie shrugs. "I don't know. I guess Mr. Berendsen was sick or something."

  "But they didn't send a substitute? They usually do?"

  "Yeah," she says while chewing with her mouth open. "It's weird. It was like no one knew he wasn't there. We waited in class for him for twenty minutes, when he still didn't come someone went to the front office to ask what was going on. They said they hadn't heard from him. He only had one class today. Maybe he forgot?"

  I take an apple and wash it before I bite it. It's juicy but firm, just the way I like it. I chew while thinking. "It sure doesn't sound like him," I say.

  Amalie shrugs. "Nah, what do I care. I'm just happy to be off early."

  I smile. "If you're happy, then I am too," I say.

  Amalie leaves and I clean up after her, thinking I should have told her to do it herself, but also know why I didn't. She was finally so happy and we had a nice time together. I didn't want to ruin that.

  "Learn to pick your battles carefully," I mumble to myself, quoting an article in my magazine about disciplining teenagers. I wash her dish and put away the bread. Then I walk to the playpen and pick up Josephine. I play with her on the floor till my husband comes home with Jacob. I put Josephine back in the playpen while I attend to my son and his needs. I kiss him and ask him about his day while finding a healthy snack for him in the kitchen.

  "Did you have fun today in pre-school?" I ask.

  He nods and eats the apple-bites I cut out for him. My husband takes a cup of coffee and loosens his tie.

  "How was your day?" I ask.

  He shrugs, while drinking his coffee. "Okay, I guess. Like most days. Trying to land the Boyesen account, but it's harder than expected."

  "Well it will be yours, I'm certain," I say and cut up more apples for my son.

  "I'm not so sure anymore," my husband says.

  "What? How come?"

  "Well I've been gone a lot lately so I'm afraid Martin will give it to Gert instead."

  "He wouldn't!"

  Christian shrugs again, then sips his coffee while slurping.

  "Don't do that," I say.

  He looks at me.

  "Don't slurp the coffee, please."

  Christian sighs then takes his cup and walks into the living room. I hear the TV turned on. I close my eyes and count to ten again. I debate within myself if I should go in there and tell him that the rule is no TV in the afternoon, but I restrain myself, repeating the sentence from my article: "Pick your battles carefully."

  Jacob looks at me and smiles. I smile back. My husband returns to the kitchen and takes another cup of coffee and takes a bag of licorice out of the cupboard. I count to ten again, then speak anyway.

  "Don't eat candy right before dinner," I say. "You know those salty things are bad for your blood-pressure and it'll ruin your appetite."

  My husband opens the bag with a grin anyway, eats a handful, chewing them with his mouth wide open, smacking his lips.

  I calm myself down.

  "What's that?" my husband asks and points at my shirt. I look down and see a big red spot on my new white silk shirt.

  "Blood," I say and try to wipe it off with a paper towel.

  My husband laughs showing the black half-eaten licorice in his mouth. "Good one," he says. "Looks more like fruit-juice."

  I take it off and throw it in the washer.

  6

  I SERVE frikadeller, Danish meatballs for dinner. They all look like they enjoy it. I have no appetite. I push a potato around with my fork. The silence gets on my nerves. I can hear my husband chew. The clock on the wall ticks too damn loud.

  "Did you watch the news today?" Amalie asks.

  Her father shakes his head. "No, what's new?"

  "Someone was killed here in Karrebaeksminde."

  My husband swallows loudly, then picks up his glass of wine I told him not to have on a weeknight, then gulps it down. "Really?"

  "Yes a couple. They were stabbed in an alley in town. They think it was drug-related. They guy apparently owed a lot of money to some bad guys or something. But listen to this. They had a two-year-old with them when it happened, and apparently whoever did this dropped the child off at a day-care not far from there."

  "Then they must have seen who it was?" Christian asked and drank again.

  "No, apparently they didn't. They said he was left in a stroller outside the door and then whoever brought him there rang the doorbell of the day-care and then ran off. Weird, huh?"

  My husband nods slowly while chewing. "That is very strange."

  "A killer with a conscience, that's nice," I say and smile.

  "They say the kid was full of old bruises on his body once the doctors examined him."

  I clench the fork in my hand till my knuckles turn white. Then I drop it on the plate. "Anyone in the mood for seconds?" I ask smiling.

  I watch the news with my husband after all the children are in bed, but
soon I get bored and go to bed too. I sleep for a few hours before Josephine wakes me up by crying. I go to her and sit with her for a couple of hours to calm her down. I feed her and rock her until she falls asleep in my arms. I stay with her all night, afraid to wake her up if I get up from the chair. I fall asleep with her in my arms. She wakes me up at dawn and I change her diaper before anyone else is up.

  I change her clothes and bring her downstairs where I let her lie on a blanket while I prepare breakfast for the entire family and pack the kid's lunches. Jacob looks sad when he comes down.

  "What's wrong buddy?" I ask while serving him his oatmeal.

  "I don't want to go to pre-school today," he says.

  "Why not? You know you have to go if you want to be a big boy and go to kindergarten next year like all the other kids."

  "I just don't want to."

  "What's wrong? Did something happen yesterday?"

  Jacob is not eating. He just scoops the spoon around in the porridge.

  "You can tell me Jacob. You can tell me anything."

  "It's just Oliver. He is so mean."

  "Oliver Bille?"

  Jacob nods. I lean over and kiss his forehead. "What did he do, huh?"

  "He hit me. On the playground. I didn't want to give him the car I was playing with, so he hit me. "

  "And what did you do?"

  "I gave him the car and ran. Later when I was on the swing he came and said he wanted that too, then he pulled me off it so I scraped my knee." Jacob pulls up his pants to show me.

  "How come you didn't show me this yesterday?" I ask startled.

  "I thought you might be mad."

  I caress his cheek gently, then lean over and kiss him again. "Oliver is the one being a bully. Why should I be mad at you, huh?"

  Jacob shrugs and smiles when I tickle his stomach.

  "Now eat," I say and push the bowl of oatmeal closer. "I'll drop you off today."

  I gulp down my morning smoothie made from organic kiwis, honey, beet, ginger, and banana that according to the recipe is guaranteed to keep me satisfied until lunch and to keep me heart-healthy with its richness in polyphenols and vitamin C. Then I change Josephine again and put her in the car next to Jacob.

  In the pre-school the staff greets me with gentle smiles and tells me it's so nice to finally see me again. I sign in Jacob and while I do I spot the boy Oliver saying goodbye to his father. After saying goodbye to Jacob, I decide to approach him. I run after him into the street carrying Josephine by the handle of her infant car seat where she has fallen asleep. He hurries to his car, a huge Mercedes. He is nicely dressed in an Armani suit when I poke his shoulder. He turns and looks at me annoyed.

  "What?" he asks. "I'm kind of in a hurry to get to a meeting."

  I smile, then put my baby down on the ground carefully, making sure she doesn't wake up. "I understand and acknowledge that completely," I say finding my very nice tone of voice. "But I need to talk to you about your son."

  The father sighs, annoyed. Then he puts his arms up in front of him. "As I told you, I have a very busy day and this is not the time for this."

  I grab his arm and hold on to it tight. "I'm sure you're a very, very important man, with many very, very important things to do, maybe even so important you hardly have time to talk to your son or even discipline him. But your son is a bully, and I'm beginning to see where he has got it from. Tell me, Mr. Bille, why are you in such a hurry? Is it because you're late for some big business meeting where you're planning on stepping on some innocent people on your way to the top? Or are you just late for your mistress who is waiting for you in the apartment you rented for your little love affair to take place in secrecy?"

  Mr. Bille blushes and pulls his arm out of my grip. "What is this?" he asks. "Some kind of extortion? Who are you? How dare you to talk to me like this? Do you even know who I am?"

  "No. I have a feeling you would love to tell me, but that's besides the point here."

  Mr. Bille stares into my eyes, then blinks a couple of times, looking confused. "What is it you want?" He asks.

  "What I WANT is for YOU to stop your SON from bullying other children," I say and poke him in the chest while speaking.

  "You're insane," he says, shaking his head.

  I stomp my feet in the pavement. "See that's exactly what I am talking about. You people bully anyone you get in contact with and you get away with it. Uh, I HATE that."

  "Listen to me, woman. I don't know who you are or how you know about my affair, but I tell you to leave it alone, leave me alone now, or I swear I'll call the police."

  I close my eyes and count to ten. The kitchen knife in the pocket of my jacket feels sharp against my thigh.

  Mr. Bille opens the door to his car while mumbling. "Crazy bitch, I don't know why I ..."

  I open my eyes, then pull out the knife and stab him in the lower part of the stomach. The stab hits him midsentence. Startled he stares at me in fear. I'm still holding the handle of the knife in my hand. I pull it out, then lift it and stab Mr. Bille again, this time in the chest. Mr. Bille's eyes look up at me, and then roll back in his head. He tries to scream, but his mouth is full of blood. Besides no one would hear it in the noise from the construction-workers nearby who by the way see nothing. His hands are trying to grab the handle of the knife, but the stab wounds have sapped his strength. His body is shaking now and I step backwards while Mr. Bille's blood is running into the road. Some of it has sprayed onto my jacket, I notice, annoyed. Now I have to stop by the cleaners on my way home. Today of all days!

  I stay and watch as Mr. Bille falls into the street with a deep groan. His face is pale and blood is running out from the corners of his mouth. He is still alive and tries to speak, probably even to scream, but nothing but a twisted groan springs out of his throat. His fight for survival is pathetic. Makes me want to stab him again, but I decide he's not worth the effort. Will probably just bleed to death within the next five-six minutes. I lean over and pull out the knife from his chest. A river of blood flushes out from the wound. I wipe the knife in his Armani jacket, then put it in my purse. I pick up Josephine and start to walk back to my car.

  There was another grammatical error in Rebekka Franck's article in today's paper about yesterday's killings in an alley downtown. Tonight I'll serve spaghetti and meat sauce.

  7

  "THE POLICE came to the school today," Amalie says during dinner.

  I hardly blink as I speak. "Really? What did they want?" I roll the spaghetti neatly onto my spoon before I put it in my mouth. I'm careful to not eat too much of this food that is so rich in carbs. Tonight I'll give Christian that blowjob, I think while chewing.

  "They were looking for Mr. Berendsen," Amalie says. "He's been missing for two days now."

  "Well that's because I killed him," I say, rolling yet another perfectly shaped roll of spaghetti onto my spoon.

  My daughter rolls her eyes at me. "Ha ha. Very funny, Mom. No, seriously they are really worried that something happened to him. They say they found his finger in the house or something."

  "His finger?" Christian asks.

  "Yeah, apparently the dog was chewing on it. They didn't find the rest of him though. But rumors say that his blood was smeared all over the walls of the kitchen."

  "So they think he was killed?" Christian asks.

  I grab the bowl of salad and pull it closer. I pour a big pile onto my plate.

  "I guess so," Amalie says. "It's kind of creepy."

  "Oh, nonsense," I say. "People are killed every day on this planet. Makes more room for the rest of us, am I right?"

  Amalie chuckles. "You're funny, Mom."

  "He was a bastard anyway," I say and eat my salad. It crunches in my head, sounding like when I chopped through Mr. Berendsen's bones with the axe I found in his garage. "So how do you like the meat?"

  "It's delicious," Christian says. "It has like an extra flavor, I can't really detect. What is it?"

  "The secret's in the sau
ce," I say with a grin quoting one of my favorite movies Fried Green tomatoes.

  "That's so gross, Mom," Amalie says knowing where the quote comes from since I have forced her to watch it with me a million times.

  Then we both laugh. Christian feels left out since he has never seen the movie. Jacob is eating without listening to the conversation as usual, smearing meat sauce all over his face and into his hair. I smile and hand him a napkin thinking it looks like the blood on Mr. Berendsen's walls, blood and chunks of meat.

  I go to bed early after watching the news about a man being stabbed to death in the middle of the street. My husband nods off after three minutes and I sneak upstairs after kissing him gently on the cheek.

  As always Josephine keeps me up most of the night. I sit with her in the rocking chair, giving her my breast while watching the moon outside the window in the nursery. I'm tired but still feel energized. I fall asleep in the rocking chair with Josephine in my arms and don't wake up until Christian comes in. He kneels next to me, then kisses me on the cheek.

  "Sleep in here again tonight?" he asks.

  I nod, careful not to wake up Josephine. Christian's eyes are sad when he looks at me. He strokes my hair, then kisses me again.

  "You'll be late for work," I say.

  He nods without a word, then leaves to get himself ready. I put Josephine in her crib, then turn on the baby-alarm before I wake up Amalie. Jacob is already up and playing with his cars in his room. I find his clothes and help him get dressed. I drink a simple organic orange, apple, kiwi-smoothie, then help everyone get out the door. As the house goes quiet I pick up the paper and read Rebekka Franck's latest article about the man getting killed in the parking lot downtown yesterday. No witnesses have so far come forward which worries the police since the murder was committed in broad daylight and someone must have at least seen something. I find a typo in the second paragraph and call them up to let them know. The lady tells me she'll let them know, as usual. I hang up, get myself ready to go and apply for a passport for Josephine for our trip to France this summer.