„Kurzgeschichte „The Grief of Another“: Ein Blick in den inneren Horror“

Eine Besonderheit unter den Gewinnertexten der diesjährigen Horrornacht am Deutschen Gymnasium Nordschleswig ist „The Grief of Another“: Die einzige englischsprachige Kurzgeschichte des Wettbewerbs erzählt von einem jungen Mann, der nach dem Tod seiner Großmutter in eine Spirale aus Trauer, Selbstzweifeln und übernatürlichen Erscheinungen gerät. 

Elina Inga Vilp setzt dabei weniger auf klassische Genreeffekte als auf psychologischen Horror – und entfaltet so eine leise, aber eindringliche Geschichte, die sich von einem inneren Monolog zu einem beklemmenden Absturz steigert.

The Grief of Another

von Elina Inga Vilp

November 16th. A day so unforgettable that it has burned itself into the depths of my memories. I was never one to pride myself on being strong when it came to deep feelings and emotions. Always distant, never affected by anything. That was until the death of my beloved grandmother arrived. She was a kind woman to others, but never to me. I could never seem to connect the pieces, why her hatred towards me was so prominent. I can still remember how I stood by her deathbed, listening to her last words, which tore me up from the inside out. "You have exactly his eyes... his voice... everything. You're just like him... just. Like. him!"

I knew it was in vain, trying to argue against her relentless words that were not only directed to me, but also to my old man, who always came home drunk and cursed her out, whenever given the chance. A terror, one would like to avoid. I couldn’t blame her for hating the grandson she had to raise, which also resembled exactly the person who destroyed her life. She was the last one by my side until she passed. I could never be mad at her. It’s him! The pain in her eyes told more horrific stories than words could ever describe. Being compared to him is the last thing I wanted. I will make sure that I won’t be like him. 

It had been a month since my grandmother passed. I had spent the past weeks sorting through her house, a place still filled with the remnants of her ornaments and furniture. By now I managed to afford myself a small apartment, due to the high costs of keeping the house she once lived in. The apartment itself wasn’t well kept, just the bare minimum of what I could afford. The carpet was filthy and ragged, while the walls were stained with greyish-yellow smears, which I assumed to be from former smokers that had lived here. I set my travel suitcase down beside my bed, before slumping down onto the mattress. Its old springs creaked in protest, as I sat down. My gaze fell onto the floor as I lost myself in my thoughts. The last words of my grandmother replaying again, even if only for a moment, before I pushed them to the back of my mind. "I’m not like him… am I?", I thought silently to myself. The emotions that had welled up from everything that had happened. All the feelings I bottled up, came flooding up to the surface. And there it was, before I knew it. Warm streams of tears ran down my cheeks. It was all too much in the moment to process any lingering thoughts that had gathered in my mind. "Pull yourself together, moron… you must pick yourself up", I muttered to myself. With great efforts, I managed to wipe the tears that stained my once dry skin away, picking up my laptop and turning it on. The dim light being the only thing illuminating the dark room, reflecting my pale complexion. After a few minutes of searching, I managed to find a place to work at, which was even close by. I applicated myself right away.

A few days had passed, and I finally attended to my first day at my new job. It was simple, manageable and got me a bit of money, even if it wasn’t too much. Things seemed to turn for the better, or so I thought. The management was poor work. The local supermarket I worked in, providing little to no proper communication with coworkers and customers. The day was hell. Being pushed around like I’m some machine to be used as nothing more than a money-maker and ordered around without a care for the human behind the job. The day dragged itself as I mopped the last remnants of the tiled floor. The shift finally nearing its end. 

As I returned into my apartment, I released a heavy and weary sigh, that held the issues of the day. My body felt like it’s been wrung out of every ounce of energy that was left in my bones. The floorboards creaked beneath the heavy steps, as I sauntered over to my bed and flopping down onto it. Everything felt so empty and useless. Like not even one of my efforts would ever mount to anything. A soft growl erupted from my stomach, but even if my body demanded a proper meal to recharge the emptied energy, the thoughts of even trying to eat didn’t occur. I knew that my body was hungry… but I was not. Like an impossible task that couldn’t be accomplished. The stress, grief, emotional baggage and overlooked feelings caught up to me like a wave of consequences, that tore its fangs into my already weak flesh. 

Days passed by, in hope things would change for the better. But instead, I found myself getting worse. I couldn’t sleep, and my lack of proper nutrition was starting to show. The horrible work environment, combined with the emptiness of my home life, had taken a heavy toll on both mentally and physically aspects of my life. Every day, when I would return home, I would find myself weaker, in a state that was rather unfamiliar and unwelcome, especially when remembering how I used to look and behave.

There was only one word that could describe the state I was in. Weak. 

Everything felt like a world slowly falling apart. Clinging desperately onto hope that maybe, somehow, I could find a way to recover from everything I’ve been through. To feel grounded again. Yet there was always something missing. Something I couldn’t quite name but could always feel. An emptiness that refused to leave and wouldn’t go away if dealt with alone.

One night, after another long and exhausting shift, I found myself stumbling into my bathroom and stared blankly at my weary and lanky build. My fingers gracing down the Boney sides and dents that littered my body. Getting the feel of neglect, as it felt like my body is starting to decay more and more. A wave of disgust and shame hitting me all the while as I did so. Gazing back into the mirror, I couldn’t quite recognize the person staring back at me. My reflection stared back at me- no, his reflection. The same hollow eyes, the same crooked frown. My chest tightened as the air grew thick with tension. “No… I- I’m not him”, I managed to whisper out. But the voice in the mirror didn’t move its lips but smiled in a way that would make someone want to throw up right then and there. 

Stumbling back and away from the mirror, my heart still pounded so violently, that it felt like my chest would collapse. The room seemed to no longer hold any Oxygen as I struggled to catch my breath. The stubborn side won over, as I finally managed to steady my breathing, trying to calm down. But then, from behind me, a voice that was soft, familiar and Trembling, appeared.

"You have his eyes… his voice… everything. You’re just like him."

I froze. The words of my grandmother echoed through the room, her tone dripping with the same resentment she carried to her grave. It was almost frightening how real it sounded. Turning around, there she was: Frail, pale, her eyes dull and lifeless, yet burning with fury. "Stop…" I gasped out, as the tears started to stream down my face yet again. "Please, stop this!".

The pain growing deep within my chest, almost unbearable, as my body started to tremble. Everything seemed to close in as I pressed my hands to my face, trying to shut everything out. But the voice wouldn’t stop. Her voice, his face, my face.

"I can’t take this anymore!" I cried out. Before one would even know, I started running out of the apartment in a panic, not realising that I had been running until I was outside, barefoot and blinded by the tears that wouldn’t stop to stream down my cheeks. Everything was blurred, my breathing ragged and broken with the number of sobs that had spilled from my mouth. "Please… I need help… Mom?". It was a desperate plea for comfort. Like a kid begging to be held in the warm arms of their beloved mother. 

The icy night air was like a hit to the face, as I stumbled onto the street. 

In the darkness, the yellow light grew brighter, like a warm, almost comforting embrace. It felt so much like a moment of closure and peace. For the first time in years, I felt something that wasn’t pain. I didn’t notice the street beneath my feet, the world spinning faster and faster, until everything dissolved into white.

Weitere Kurzgeschichten

„Der Nordschleswiger“ hat die drei besten Geschichten, die aus der DGN-„Horror Nacht“ hervorgegangen sind, veröffentlicht. Hier ist der Link zu den anderen beiden Kurzgeschichten:

• „Die Routine“: Ein Abend, der aus dem Ruder läuft
• „Táo mù“: Wenn ein Tempelbesuch zur Prüfung der Geister wird“