Fur

02 | Horror in Heisenbühl

As we approach the McNamaras' house from the road, Lattie flings off her seatbelt early. Esmerelda—who Lattie calls Nanni and who firmly demanded I call her that as well—should be safe inside.

Nanni's tan Volkswagen is parked in the drive, my black Hummer beside it. I'd worked a late shift at the café last night, and rather than me going home, Nanni had made dinner and insisted I stay since it was so late. When I initially declined her offer, she'd hidden my keys and gone to bed, so I ended up participating in a sleepover after all.

I wheel Lattie's Audi in beside the other two vehicles. The maroon colored front door of the house is closed and the rocking chairs and potted plants on the porch are just as they'd been left. The curtains of the windows are open, though nothing of interest can be seen inside. Nothing is disturbed. It all looks as neat and as polished as every other house in Heisenbühl.

The white and maroon house sits off of the narrow yet two lane road in the middle of a forest—like everything else in the area does. The original settlers of Heisenbühl had only cleared enough trees to place down their village and whatever else they needed, and everyone seceding them has simply followed suit.

Going left from the McNamaras' driveway will take you a short piece to the bridge, and across the bridge to the village of Heisenbühl. Going right will take you down a long stretch of desolate road sandwiched by peaceful forest until you reach the town of Bachweg, and then eventually the much larger city of Reinberg some odd miles away.

Lattie and I had gone right this morning, before Nanni had even woken up. The competing café we visited was in Bachweg. We haven't crossed the bridge yet this morning, which is now declared a crime scene, nor had we seen any yellow tape through the forest where the road bends to give any inclination that leaving Nanni alone could be a bad idea.

We enter the maroon door to be greeted with the noxious scent of sauerkraut: a smell I'll never warm to as long as I live. Although I can't see the food as anything more than fermented cabbage, Nanni loves the stuff.

"Nanni," Lattie calls meekly, treading into the living room as though the floor is made of ice.

"What," a gruff voice barks back, muffled and sounding more like vhut. Nanni comes into the parlor from the kitchen carrying a bowl of pale beige shreds which she's occupied with shoving into her mouth with a fork.

"Sauerkraut?" Lattie stresses, "Nanni, it's only noon. And you're eating it by itself!" The horror on her face is strong enough to wipe away the worry.

Nanni points her fork defensively, as though it were as threatening as a sword. "When I want sauerkraut," she states between periods of her rabbit-like crunching, "I get sauerkraut. Do you see me making coffee in the middle of the night?" She produces an emphatic jab of the fork as she answers her own question. "Nein!"

Lattie closes her mouth, silenced and defeated by her sauerkraut-fork wielding grandmother.

Looking back on it, I'm unsure why we were worried about her at all. Any sensible serial killer would think twice about entering a house with this smell in it—and they would surely run the other way once they caught a whiff of it coming off her breath.

~~~

After Nanni had exorcised herself of her sauerkraut-craving demon, Lattie gave her the rundown of their newest café competition—or lack thereof—and I informed them both of what I'd read in that news article, much to my dismay.