A random silver chain is hanging from the sky - seemingly anchored in thin air...
Would you pull it?
A new short story I wrote after recent travels overseas. Berlin is an old city, and full of mystery... Please share - for more stories follow me on Steemit, and go to Red Tailed Black
Verstopfen
by Mitchell Reese
The stairs stretched up above her, disappearing into the heart of the building. An old wooden banister ran along the steps, the carpet worn bare in places with the passage of many years.
Greta wrinkled her nose – the musty air was damp, mixing with cooking smells and chatter through the walls. The girl wrapped her small hand tightly around her suitcase, and started lugging it up the steps. One, two, three, four – her little arms ached, balancing her bag on the edge of a step. Five…. Six…
Footsteps clattered down the stairs, and a man appeared at the top.
“Greta!” Her father said. “You’re so strong!”
Coming down the stairs, Greta’s dad picked up her suitcase and started back up top again.
“Come on honey – we’re almost there!”
The steps creaked as the girl followed her father, flaming red hair bobbing around her face. As she ran her hands along the smooth wood next to her, the banister wobbled in places. Greta was careful not to push on it too hard. She climbed to the top of the landing, turned the corner – and found another flight of stairs waiting for her.
“Come on sweetheart!” her father called “Just a few more steps.”
Greta creaked her way up the second flight, then a third, then a fourth. All the doors she passed on the landings were closed. On the fifth flight a door stood ajar at the top, light spilling into the hallway. Her mother’s voice came from inside, with her father’s laughter woven around it. Greta took another breath then walked up the last few steps.
“Ah, Greta!” said her father. “There you are.”
He stooped down low, lifting her off the ground. In front of her father stood a sour little man, with a perpetual frown etched on his face. Her mother stood with an arm around him, trying to smile and look like she was happy to see him. Greta instinctively curled away, burying her face in her father’s neck.
“Greta,” scolded her father. “Say hello to your Onkel Wolfric.” Her father swiveled his body so Greta could see her uncle, but she didn’t want to look.
“Sorry Wolfric,” said her father. “It’s been a long flight and Greta is very shy when she’s tired.”
“Eh.” Grunted Wolfric, turning without a word and walking into his apartment. Greta’s father and mother exchanged a look, then followed him inside.
The apartment was large – at least to a 5 year old who’d never been in Berlin before. Polished floorboards met with cream walls and large windows – most of them open, with a warm breeze drifting in from across the city.
A balcony jutted out from one wall, large ornate doors standing open to the summer breeze. Boxes of flowers and herbs lined the railings, splashing their color and scent across the view. Greta was entranced, lifting her head and straining to see over the balcony.
Wolfric sat at a large table, picked up a book, grunted, and promptly ignored them. Greta’s parents exchanged another look, then set about unpacking and making food.
Left to herself, Greta began to explore. A tattered rug covered one corner of the room, old patterns woven into something which once would have been colorful. Books lined another wall – none of them with covers a 5 year old would recognise. Greta ran her fingers along the wall of books, stopping when she reached the leg of a table. Staring up, there was her Onkel Wolfric looking down at her.
“Eh.” he grunted, lowering his book enough to see her. “I don’t like children.” He said, English spoken with a thick German burr. Raising his book, the sour face went back to its reading.
Greta wrinkled her nose, sniffed once, and went on with her explorations.
That night, strange sounds met Greta. Her parents put her to bed while it was still light, and the girl lay for some time listening to the city. Sirens wailed in the distance, only to be cut short and replaced with the laughter of voices far below. Traffic roared up and down the street, with the occasional voice lifted in slurred song.
A mosquito buzzed around her. She slapped it and was still again. Greta had just drifted off to sleep when a door slam lifted her awake again. Footsteps sounded on the stairs – one of the other apartments sending people into the night. As voices faded and the soft night air crept through the window, Greta’s eyes closed once more.
The next morning bright light spilled in early through the window. Greta’s parents where fast asleep, and the little girl was keen to explore. She crept out from the big bed they shared, and made her way to their door. Creaking it open, Greta began her surveying of the apartment again.
She walked through a large doorway into the small kitchen. An oven and stovetop stood cold in one corner, next to the old fridge humming with a frosty tone. Floorboards creaked as she walked over them, whispering mysteries about the closed cupboards along the walls.
Under the table were several holes where the wall met the floor – she wondered if a mouse lived in one. Looking inside showed her blackness however, even when she lay down to get a better look. She poked a finger inside, feeling something sharp prick it. A nail?
She’d just gotten up when she noticed the door. Small, it was something an adult would have to stoop through. The handle turned easily, but the door seemed stuck. With a big yank she pulled it open, tumbling backwards onto the floor. Inside was a tiny bathroom, complete with a sink, toilet, and shower.
With the door wide open, Greta stepped inside. It was damp, with water from a past shower wetting the floor. Tiptoeing in, Greta noticed something flashing by the metal pipes under the sink. It was a long, silver chain, dangling over the edge of the basin and almost touching the floor. Greta grinned, and lifted one hand to tug the chain.
One tug – two – three… nothing happened. Greta grabbed the chain with both hands, and pulled as hard as she could. The sucking sound gurgled from the sink above, with water slipping through the pipes around her. A satisfied smile crept across her face.
“Nein!” yelled a voice from the door. Greta jumped, spinning around as her Onkel stormed in.
“Dummes Mädchen!” he growled. “Don’t you know you should never pull plugs like that?”
Onkel Wolfric snatched the chain from her hands, dumping it angrily back into the sink. Then he paused, bending down low to her. His breath stank – a mix of coffee and cigarettes with something yellow staining his teeth.
Grinning nastily, he whispered very slowly, “What if – the whole world got sucked down the drain?”
Greta’s eyes got very big. As the water sloshed and gurgled it’s way through the pipes, she darted around her uncle and ran to her parents room. Crawling under the covers, she sobbed quietly until her parents woke. Greta didn’t like her Onkel Wolfric.
As it turned out, her parents didn’t either. The next three days passed in stony silence – except when Wolfric grinned nastily at her. Some uncle’s love playing games with their nieces. Onkel Wolfric loved making gurgling sounds, seeing his terrified niece’s eyes get very wide, and laughing like a hyena. Other than his irregular grunts and thick English, those were the only sounds she heard from him.
On the third day her mother and Wolfric had an argument. Greta didn’t understand it, but soon after her parents packed their things, and she was ushered towards the door. Looking back, her Onkel Wolfric had the same sour frown on his face. Seeing her watching him, it turned into a broad grin.
“Boo!” he said, grinning fiercer as Greta scampered away. Her face once more buried in her father’s neck, Wolfric’s laughter followed them down the stairs.
The rest of their time in Berlin passed quickly. After booking into a hotel down the street, the next day Greta and her parents caught a train from Schoenberg to Teirgarten – a large park in the middle of the city. Bicycles, trees, garden paths and large fields of lawn were a delight to Greta, who tumbled and ran the whole time. When she tired her father picked her up to perch on his shoulders. She loved being up so high, and spent the rest of their walk watching sunbathers, walkers, bicycles, and birds before gently nodding off to sleep.
Years passed. Greta left Germany, and Berlin continued on. Traffic, voices, sirens and bicycles all wove their magic, ageing the city as the years trundled by. Wolfric moved away – a young couple took his place. The carpet over the stairs grew thinner – mice continued their dark mysteries within them.
One day a woman came to the train station in Schoenberg. Fresh faced and young, her flaming red hair tumbled over a pack on her shoulders. With eyes exploring the station she stepped off the train. Cobblestones and odd sounds blended with strange language and unfamiliar words. In a glint of excitement, the girl made her way to the street.
4 blocks later she stood in front of a tall building. 5 stories up and dotted with windows, her eyes scanned the main door for the buzzer. Pressing number 10, she stepped back and waited.
“Allo?”
“Oh hi, it’s Greta here, I booked an Airbnb on – ”
“Ah, ya. Come in. Key in box. Ciao!”
The door clicked, and Greta pulled. Digging into her pocket she pulled out her phone, then scrolled through until she found the code. The keybox hung from the wall in front of her. A few clicks later and a tarnished silver key was in her hand.
Walking ahead, she stood in a courtyard, surrounded by buildings on 4 sides. After looking at her phone again, Greta took the passage on her right. The smell hit her as soon as she opened the door.
Greta’s nose wrinkled – the musty air was damp, mixing with cooking smells and chatter through the walls. A flight of stairs stretched up above her, disappearing into the heart of the building. An old wooden banister ran along the steps, the carpet worn bare in places with the passage of many years.
Hands tightening around her pack straps, the girl began to climb.
5 flights later, Greta found herself on a landing with a closed door. Fitting the key in the lock, she took a deep breath, opened the door, and went inside.
The young couple renting Greta their apartment had left it clean and tidy. Shutting the door behind her, she immediately started to explore. Ornate doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the city, with boxes of flowers blending their fragrance with the view. A fireplace stood off to one side, with a more modern heater perched next to it. Shelves lined a whole wall, with cd’s, shells, books, and other assorted oddments staring back at her.
Through the kitchen was a small door – it must lead to the bathroom, she supposed. With a hard tug it opened, spilling light from a window at the far wall onto her face. An inkling of memory began tugging at her thoughts.
Peering at the sink, she looked for a long, silver chain stretching to the floor. It wasn’t there. A small plug perched near the taps, ready to stop the water should she choose. With a small sigh, she crept from the room, and started unpacking her things left in the hallway.
The next day Greta caught the train from Schoenberg to Teirgarten. A large park in the middle of the city, Greta loved the space of it all. Sunbathers, bike riders, children – even an odd man playing the flute caught her eyes as she walked. It was a fine day, and Greta drank it in.
Sitting under a large tree, Greta sighed. This was exactly how she remembered Berlin as a little girl. Greta was content. And then a glimmering caught her eye.
It was hanging about 50 yards away – a silver chain, stretching down from the sky. The breeze shifted it back and forth, refracting light as it swayed. Greta crept closer – nothing was holding it up. Surely a trick of the light, perhaps a fishing line hanging from the branches above?
Looking up, Greta saw empty sky.
Her hand moved above the chain. Nothing happened. Bringing it downwards, the chain dodged to the side, sliding like water past her fingers. She could feel the chain, but not the top of it ending in thin air.
How strange… Greta thought.
A grin crept across her lips. She grabbed the end of the chain, and pulled. Nothing happened. Another tug, then a third. The chain continued to hang, holding close its mysteries.
Greta fished into her bag, taking out her phone to snap a picture. And as if she were dredging up memories from long ago, her Onkel Wolfric’s nasty voice came unbidden back to her.
“Nein! Dummes Mädchen! Don’t you know you should never pull plugs like that?”
With a wicked grin, Greta dropped her phone into the bag. Wrapping both hands around the chain, the girl tugged as hard as she could. It gave way, pulling free with a loud POP. The force holding it was gone, with the chain now hanging limply in her hands. A loud gurgling sound echoed all around her.
Colors spiraled, shifting, turning – like a large pinwheel spinning round and round. The trees, grass, people – everything became a great whirl of color, shrinking to a central point. And then, with a great shucking sound, it was gone.
Greta stood in blackness, her breath coming very fast. That shouldn’t…
“Nein!” Came a voice. “Dummes Mädchen!” From far in the distance, a single pinpoint of light grew brighter.
A strange figure emerged. 8 legs – or arms – scuttling it along. The thing crept closer, peering at Greta out of segmented jet black eyes.
“Don’t you know you never should pull plugs like that?” it growled, a thick voice buzzing like a thousand tiny insects.
Greta was in shock. The chain – a plug? This… thing.
“Ssss – sorry?” she offered.
“Sorry? SORRY!? I’ll be sorry – there’s a whole world to dream!” the thing buzzed.
Around her grew a subtle light, illuminating the space in darkness. A chair, desk, and lamp grew from the blackness. On the desk perched an old book, with an ink pot and quill placed next to it.
“Well girl,” the thing said, “start writing!”
“Ww- what am I writing?” she stammered.
“The world girl, the world!” It cried. “There’s a whole world to dream!”
It scuttled off, muttering to itself, seemingly taking the light with it. A pinprick of brightness fading into the distance – then it was gone.
Greta stood in blackness, only the desk illuminated by the lamp. She stepped into the light, and frowned. Darkness pressed in on her from all sides, a velvety blackness that swallowed sound whole.
“Hhhh – Hello?” she called. No echo returned, only dampened sound and distance.
Greta sat in the chair and opened the book. A green light spilled across her face. The first page of the book was blank. They were all blank. Picking up the quill and dipping it in the ink, Greta started to write.
Thanks for reading! For more stories, follow me on Steemit, and visit my website, Red Tailed Black
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