Hamburg Curse Stones: Thriller

Von Jonas Herlin

Hamburg Curse Stones: Thriller

by Jonas Herlin

 

 

Visual artist Justus Jannings has been confined to a wheelchair since an accident. With psychic powers, he wants to kill the people he thinks are responsible. Hamburg reporter Sandra Düpree is only supposed to conduct an interview with him, but quickly succumbs to his fascination - until she herself becomes the focus of his revenge.

• Sprache: Deutsch
• Herausgeber: BEKKERpublishing
• Erscheinungsdatum: 19. Jan. 2023
• ISBN: 9798215820742

Buchvorschau

Hamburg Curse Stones: Thriller

by Jonas Herlin

––––––––

Visual artist Justus Jannings has been confined to a wheelchair since an accident. With psychic powers, he wants to kill the people he thinks are responsible. Hamburg reporter Sandra Düpree is only supposed to conduct an interview with him, but quickly succumbs to his fascination - until she herself becomes the focus of his revenge.

Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

COVER A.PANADERO

Jonas Herlin is a pseudonym of Alfred Bekker

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

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1

You're going to die, Mark Paulsen, Justus Jannings whispered softly to himself. He liked the idea that his victim could not defend himself at that moment. He did not even suspect the danger he was in and that his breaths were literally counted...

The powers of black magic are a deadly weapon, thought Jannings. Just the right weapon for a ruthless executioner!

And that's exactly how Jannings saw himself.

In his mind he imagined his victim. The eyes that widened in horror at the moment when the air stopped, the desperate grip on the neck to free himself from the invisible noose that seemed to tighten, and finally the last death rattle. Sweat stood on Jannings' forehead. He had worked like a man possessed for this moment, and now the time had come. He lowered the hammer and chisel.

His gaze fixed on the stone bust in front of him on the table. Then he looked sideways where he had placed the photograph of a gray-haired man about forty years old. It was his template.

Jannings took a deep breath.

The face was perfect. Jannings put the hammer and chisel aside. He had a natural sense of when to stop a job so as not to ruin it. He moved the wheelchair he was sitting in back a bit and then paused for a few moments. His gaze was still fixed on the bust.

A head of cold stone, whose face was so similar to the one in the photo that an observer could almost become eerie.

Jannings' fine-cut, somewhat melancholy face twitched. Images appeared before his inner eye. Images of an accident that had haunted him since that day and ensured that he could hardly find sleep without medication ...

A single moment, Jannings thought, that had changed everything.

Jannings swallowed.

He squinted his eyes and ran his hand over his face. Then he rolled through half the studio. He stopped at a cabinet and retrieved a heavy cast-iron chain and a can of black paint and a fine brush from a drawer. With this he returned to the stone face.

He opened the paint can by prying out the lid with the chisel and applied a series of marks on the forehead of the stone head with the fine brush.

Then he took the chain and wrapped it around the bust's neck. Very tightly he pulled it, as if he wanted to strangle someone with it.

The power of darkness will take your breath away, Mark Paulsen, he muttered, and repeated it right after. He said it again and again, and it became a kind of muffled chant. Jannings' face, which was actually very handsome, contorted into a mask of hatred.

Finally, he broke off abruptly.

There was a flash in his eyes.

Your soul is a prey of Satan, Mark Paulsen! he then groaned and leaned back in his wheelchair. He was silent. It was done.

In the next few days he would carefully study the obituaries in the Hamburg daily newspapers ... For quite a while he just sat there. A silent smile of cold cruelty was on his face. He seemed introverted. Then he saw the blinking light of the speaking device at the other end of the table. He moved there with his wheelchair and pressed one of the buttons.

What's up? he asked sullenly, because he had actually wanted to savor this moment a bit more.

A female voice answered.

There's that young journalist again. Ms. Sandra Düpree from the Hamburg Express Nachrichten is waiting for you, Justus!

Not now!

But you have a date with her now!

I said not now! hissed Jannings. Did you hear me, Bettina?

What should I tell her?

Think of something and reschedule with her, okay?

He did not wait for her answer, but switched off the device and circled the table again. Then he looked at the stone bust of Mark Paulsen with an expression of satisfaction. He felt empty and drained.

And relieved.

2

Good morning, Sandra, Michael T. Schwanemeier, the editor-in-chief of Hamburg Express Nachrichten, greeted me as I entered his office. For a second I was a little irritated, because instead of the rather dour expression that was otherwise so typical of him, today he seemed to be in a good mood.

Good morning, I replied.

He rose and circled his desk, which was covered all over with manuscripts.

I was wondering how far along you are with your coverage of this artist?

Justus Jannings?

Exactly!

I took a deep breath. He seems to have become very eccentric since the accident he had three years ago, I then explained.

Since then, he's been in a wheelchair, hasn't he? Schwanemeier, who declared that he wasn't very interested in modern art, asked. The editor-in-chief shrugged and crossed his arms in front of his chest. After all, his eccentricity is the reason we're running something about him at all. That's how I see it, anyway!

Schwanemeier was right, of course. Justus Jannings was a star on the art market.

His objects and sculptures reached astronomical prices. And that, although the artist was only in his mid-thirties. Not that his youth spoke against his art, but most reached this price range only after they had passed away.

What had really made Jannings prominent was his turn to occultism and magic, which he had carried out since his tragic traffic accident. Some now thought him half-mad, but to others that was precisely what attracted them. It gave Jannings something mysterious, as did the fact that he rarely appeared in public anymore.

The Hamburg Express Nachrichten was the first newspaper in a long time that could even hope to get hold of him. And that was only because one of the editors of the Express Nachrichten obviously had good contacts with Jannings' manager.

So, Schwanemeier repeated. How far along are you, Sandra?

I'm still at the very beginning!, I had to confess, and Schwanemeier frowned. He didn't say it, but I could tell what thoughts were running around in his head: I would have thought you were better than that, Sandra!

You'll have to explain that to me!

He has already canceled appointments with me twice from one minute to the next. It really doesn't seem that easy to get hold of him ... I did research in the archives, but after all, the pages of the Express News shouldn't just say what everyone knows anyway.

Indeed!