A Dark Place_Thriller Read online

  Patricia Hart

  A Dark Place

  A novel

  Something is wrong with the house Christian Shaffner is moving to. His new neighbors conceal a terrible secret, in which everybody seems to be entrapped. But what is it they are hiding?

  A house at the outskirts of a nameless city becomes the scene of a family drama. Love and jealousy, revenge and violence control the daily life of the tenants.

  Before long, Christian regrets that he have moved there. More and more he gets involved in a seemingly impenetrable net of lies and secrets.

  Copyright Patricia Hart, 2017

  www.patriciahartwriter.com

  [email protected]

  Cover: Tressie Davis/Christian Mueller/shutterstock

  Translated form the German by Bronwyn Steck

  Original title: Das Dunkle Haus

  This book is protected by copyright laws. Its distribution – including excerpts – without the permission of the copyright holder is prohibited and will be punished.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Patricia Hart

  c/o AutorenServices.de

  König-Konrad-Str. 22

  36039 Fulda

  Germany

  Patricia Hart is a writer of crime fiction and horror novels. “A Dark Place” is here debut. News about Patricia Hart are published through her website www.patriciahartwriter.com. You can also follow her Twitter account @writingHartUS.

  Contents

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  Part Four

  Part Five

  Part Six

  Part Seven

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Extract from a police interrogation protocol. Witness: Christian Shaffner

  I entered this Dark Place for the first time, when I went to view my new apartment. At the time, I did not know that, one day, I would call it a Dark Place. But anyone would come up with that name after just one look at the place: It’s a terrible house. Gray, both inside and out. The stairs are of old wood, the walls are lime-washed in gray. The people who live there seem to have taken on the color of the walls. But, I call it ta Dark Place for a particular reason.

  It’s hard to settle down in that house. Whoever moves in, notices it immediately. What I’m trying to point out, is that the only reason that the house was built, was to offer people a roof over their heads. There is not a single apartment there, where one can come back after a day at work, to relax and feel at home. There is an ever-present gloominess that makes it difficult, strenuous, to live there. It is sometimes torture being there.

  I didn’t have a job. I was unemployed like many others, and I was no longer able to pay for my apartment. I needed a cheaper place to stay. I searched in the paper and found an ad for an empty apartment. I made an appointment with the realtor, and we met.

  Christian Shaffner couldn’t find a parking space in front of the house at 22 Meadow Road. He parked several streets away and walked back along the street, because there was no sidewalk. There was a silver Mercedes in front of the house. Probably the realtor’s.

  The neighborhood in which the house was situated wasn’t a nice one. It was on the outskirts of an industrial area. The soot from the chimneys and the emissions from the trucks had settled on the walls of the house, and the formerly white façade had taken on an unhealthy gray color.

  A chilly wind was blowing, and Christian wrapped his scarf more tightly around his neck. He asked himself whether he’d locked his car. Yes! He was sure he had. Then he rang the bell, beside which the name of the previous tenants still stood: H and S Carstens. The realtor told him that they had moved out more than a year ago. He’d arranged to wait for Christian inside the apartment. The intercom at the door crackled when the microphone was switched on from the inside.

  “Yes?” a muffled voice responded.

  “Shaffner here. I have an appointment to view the apartment.”

  “Great that you made it. Come in.”

  He heard the buzzing of the lock, pushed the door open and went in. A sudden draft pulled the door closed, locking it behind him.

  Chapter 2

  It was dark. The hallway was only dimly lit, and Christian had to feel his way along the clammy wall. At last, he found a switch, which, when he flicked it, exuded a dim light that illuminated the stairwell weakly. As he ascended the worn wooded steps of the staircase, he heard that it had begun to rain outside. Inside the building, there was hardly a sound. Only the constant creaking of the stairs bore witness of his presence to the other people in the house.

  As he passed by, Christian briefly read the names of the residents on their doors: Paul Flakers, Angelica, Sebastian and (something had been stuck over the name tag just there) Kline. And there was another tag on the door, which bore the name, Derek Dagger.

  There were other name tags, but Christian couldn’t make them out in the dim light. Finally, he arrived on the third floor where his apartment should be. One of the doors was half-open and he saw a shadow moving about in the hallway. He was about to knock on the door, and stopped abruptly when he saw the name tag. H. and S. Car… The rest of the name tag had been torn off. Then he knocked.

  The realtor greeted him enthusiastically, as though he was about to view a 2000-dollar penthouse. But this apartment was anything but! It was no more than a one-bedroomed apartment with a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom. The windows were filthy. In the room, which was intended as the living room, he opened a window and looked outside. The view of the courtyard, with its almost idyllic garden, was spoilt by the presence of a rotary clothes line in the middle of the lawn.

  “The garden is only for the janitor,” said the realtor. “Mr. Flakers. He lives right at the bottom, on the ground floor. But perhaps he’ll allow you to use it too. Several years ago, they even had a barbecue there. Come, let me show you the attic. You can hang your washing there to dry. And there’s also a compartment in the basement for you.”

  They left the apartment and went up another flight of stairs, right to the top, where the realtor opened the door to the attic. The drying room was quite spacious, with a few crates standing around, but Christian had the general impression that it was clean enough.

  “Now I’ll show you the basement.”

  Christian followed the realtor, although he wasn’t particularly interested in the basement. He was already quite certain that he would never use it.

  He had always lived a somewhat spartan life, and there would be enough space for all his belongings in the apartment.

  On the stairs, they met a man who didn’t greet them. When he saw the realtor, he disappeared into the Kline’s apartment, almost too quickly. It was an awkward situation, and Christian watched him disappear, somewhat surprised. Then he rushed to catch up with the realtor.

  “Are there any children who live here?” he asked.

  “No. Not that I know of,” replied the realtor as he unlocked the door to the basement staircase. An unusually long stone staircase led deep down into the darkness of the cellar. When they reached the bottom, the realtor showed him his compartment. It was a small room, with an area of about sixty-five square feet, closed off by with a wooden door.

  “Nobody will hear you screaming down here,” said the realtor, in an attempt to be humorous. It was cold and damp in the basement and Christian shivered. Then they moved on to the laundry. The two washers were rigged up with coin slots.

  “One wash cycle costs two coins, which you can get from Paul Flakers. But you need
to supply your own detergent,” said the realtor. Christian looked around the room, grateful that he had his own washer. He wouldn’t have to come down here, to this dark, windowless room, just to do his washing.

  “Well, that’s it,” said the realtor and they left the basement again. When they reached the top of the stairs, he locked the door behind them. “So, what do you think?” he asked. At first, Christian just nodded slowly.

  Then, instead of replying to the question, he said: “I forgot to close the window upstairs.”

  The realtor shrugged disinterestedly.

  “I could run up and close it” Christian offered.

  “If you want to.”

  Christian went up the stairs. So, this was his new life. His new reality. When he got upstairs, he saw that it had already rained in through the window, and the floor was wet. He closed the window and left the apartment. As he pulled the door closed behind him, he suddenly noticed a form in the doorway of the apartment next door. At first, he hadn’t noticed anybody standing there, because it was quite dark in the hall, and he could hardly make out the form of a person against the gray background.

  “Are you interested in the apartment?” she asked, somewhat disinterested, and exhaled her cigarette smoke into the air. She looked sad.

  “Yes,” said Christian, as though he needed to justify his interest in the apartment.

  “Do yourself a favor and find something else. Don’t move into this house.” He was surprised and stared at the woman.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “It would be better for you,” she replied, rather than answering his question directly. She continued after a long pause, just when he thought she wasn’t going to say any more: “You won’t like this place,” He simply shrugged his shoulders and started down the stairs. “Do whatever you want to, moron” he heard her mutter as she retreated into her apartment and closed the door behind her.

  “I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow,” he told the realtor before walking back to his car in the rain.

  Chapter 3

  Extract from a police interrogation protocol. Witness: Christian Shaffner

  Nobody who moves into this Dark Place leaves it again, at least not in a hurry. It isn’t social housing; the people who live in social housing have more opportunities to find something else. But the people who live there have given up. They are imprisoned by their own lives. And by the Dark House. That was quite clear to the residents. So clear that most of them had already forgotten it.

  Christian didn’t sleep well that night, after viewing the apartment. Basically, he already knew that he was going to take it, because the rent was very cheap. Where else would be find anything else as affordable? He thought about what the woman in the hall had said to him, that she had called him an idiot for wanting to move into that apartment.

  “It can’t be that bad,” he thought to himself just before he fell asleep.

  Chapter 4

  He moved in four weeks later. When he arrived with all his furniture, the other residents of the house didn’t show their faces. He only saw the woman who lived next door to him a few times, while he and his friend were carrying boxes from his car to the apartment. Her name was Eileen Evans. He didn’t see any of the other residents. He decided to wait a few days before introducing himself to each of them, in turn.

  As soon as he had settled, he took a closer look at the building. It consisted of four floors, including the ground floor, the basement and the attic. His apartment was on the third floor.

  That first night in his new apartment was a bit creepy. He was woken a few times, by strange noises, which he would probably hear every night now. The sound of the main door closing every time someone entered or left the building, the creaking of the stairs whenever anyone ascended or descended, the footsteps of the various residents, none of whom he had yet met, voices that penetrated into the hallway from behind closed doors, keys turning in locks and the sounds of people above him and below him.

  The Kline’s lived directly under him and Derek Dark lived on the same floor. Paul Flakers, lived alone on the ground floor. Eileen Evans lived on his floor, probably also alone. Sometimes she had visitors, but none of them stayed long.

  K. Benton, lived directly above him. He had no idea whether Benton was a man or a woman. Morton Gould, who loved to play his cello, particularly at lunch time, lived on the same floor as Benton. Christian didn’t know whether or not he lived alone.

  Before the end of the week, there was an incident, which Christian found out about, quite by coincidence.

  Chapter 5

  Angelica Kline, who lived one floor beneath him, entered the building very late – it was already 8:30 in the evening – with two bulging shopping bags. They were mostly filled with groceries, as far as Christian could make out from the second floor. She had just begun to ascend the stairs slowly, burdened by the heavy bags, when the bottom of one of the bags tore, scuttling the entire contents – tomatoes, baby marrows, packets of pasta and small bottles of beer – down the stairs. With a sigh, she trudged to the top and put the other bag down, then she began to gather everything together again, and stuff it into a third shopping bag, which she pulled out of her jacket pocket.

  Christian went down a few steps, to offer his assistance, but before he could do so, the door to her apartment opened, and Mr. Kline emerged. He helped his wife to gather up the groceries. Christian stood on the stairs, looking down at the two of them. They didn’t appear to have noticed his presence. Then he noticed a third person leaning against the bannister, with his arms folded across his chest. He watched them, but made no attempt to help. “That must be Derek Dagger,” he though.

  Eventually, the Kline’s had gathered everything together again, and gone into their apartment. Christian watched them disappear, then he noticed that there was still something lying on the stairs. He walked down the stairs slowly and picked it up. It was a pair of children’s socks. He put it into his pocket and went back into his apartment.

  The next day, when he went to introduce himself to the janitor at about 5pm, nobody opened the door the first time he rang. The second time, Paul Flakers opened the door. He was probably younger than he looked – Christian estimated him to be in his mid-fifties.

  “Hello! I just wanted to introduce myself. I am Christian Shaffner, your new neighbor,” he said. Flakers nodded silently, and said nothing for a long time.

  At last, he spoke: “Please come in!” he said quietly, with an expression on his face that was hard to decipher. It could have been grief, or simply resignation. But it was clear to Christian, that this man had simply given up on life. His smile revealed two missing teeth.

  The apartment was almost empty. There was a chest of drawers standing alone in the apartment, which was large by comparison. There were no pictures on the walls and the PVC flooring, devoid of carpeting, looked dismal. But Christian noticed a lot of packing boxes standing around, all covered with a layer of dust.

  Flakers fitted into this environment. There was hardly a hair left of his head and there was a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth all the time. They went into the living room, where Christian saw an almost empty bookshelf, a couch and a television. There were no lamps hanging from the ceiling. The only light came from a desk lamp, which stood on the dining room table. Flakers invited him to sit down.

  “So, you actually moved in,” Flakers stated the obvious. Christian nodded.

  “I don’t know why everyone finds that so surprising,” he countered. “Ms. Evans made a similar remark. But this building is just like any other, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course. But on the other hand, not at all.” Christian looked at him, perplexed. “How can I put it?” Flakers retorted, with a barely detectable hint of bitter humor. “There is something rather strange about this house; I’m afraid you’ll discover it for yourself soon enough, but, I’d be happier if you didn’t.”

  Some cigarette ash fell onto the upholstery of the arm chair, bu
t it didn’t seem to bother Flakers. He stared at Christian for a long time, without saying a word. He didn’t know how to react. He felt very uncomfortable.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what it is?” he suggested amiably. “After all, I also live here now.” But Flakers didn’t answer the question. In fact, he pretended that he hadn’t heard it at all. It was raining outside again, the raindrops driving against the windowpane. He seemed to have forgotten that Christian was there. At last, he stood up and said:

  “If you have any trouble that is not of a technical nature, please don’t come to me. And let me give you some advice. Keep away from Derek Dagger if you want to avoid problems and stay out of trouble.”

  He saw Christian to the door, and after a brief farewell, left him standing alone in the hall, closing the door behind him. Christian was confused. Why would he get into trouble by associating with Dagger? He would find out soon enough.

  Chapter 6

  He went up to the next floor and rang the Kline’s doorbell. After the shrill tone faded, he heard sounds of hectic clashing and slamming doors from inside. Finally, the door opened, and a woman stuck her head out, claiming she’d had to lock their dangerous dog away before letting him in, so that he didn’t tear Christian to pieces. But he heard nothing that sounded even remotely like a dog.

  He recognized the woman as Angelica Kline and seeing her close-up for the first time, he shuddered inwardly. She certainly wasn’t an old woman, but the strain of a destiny he knew nothing about had taken its toll. She had thick straw-colored, permed hair that was badly in need of a wash. Her face was creased with wrinkles and her skin was weakened by too much smoking.

  She stood in front of Christian, regarding him suspiciously. He introduced himself:

  “I’m your new neighbor, Christian Shaffner,” he said.