Reading Sample The Psychopath by Andy Claus
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Chapter V
Part Five

Sandro awoke because he froze. The first thing he noticed was the heavy pains which bored themselves into his head, the next thing being the darkness which was only interrupted by a dull light which seemed to come from nowhere. He could feel the hard ground and only then did he notice that he was lying on roughly hewn stone in just his underwear. He reached out and made contact with a moist rock face. Where was he and how did he get here?
His peering into the darkness worsened his headache and he closed his eyes again. He slowly moved himself into a sitting position and suddenly noticed the awful smell which made his stomach churn. Nothing could be heard except for the pattering of small feet and a faint squeaking sound. First, he rubbed his temples and then his eyes, which he finally managed to open. He had difficulty in getting used to the poor light but noticed the outlines of a body which was lying close to him. This was where the sounds came from, he noticed dexterous movements and it was then that he realised that he was in a stone cell which he was sharing with rats and a naked person who was lying in a corner, it only being possible for him to see the person's back. The fact that the rodents were not afraid of the person he was sharing the cell with and the horrendous smell did not make it difficult for him to imagine that the other person was dead.
He looked for the light source and noticed that it must come from outside, illuminating the confined room through an iron-barred door. He stood up and banged his head on the ceiling.
"Ouch... damn it!"
His voice echoed so that it heard as if it belonged to someone else. The pains rolled over his entire body from his head to his feet in waves, causing him to freeze so as not to make it any worse. The small, brown shadows were startled and disappeared through the door. He ducked and slowly moved over to the door, making sure not to come into contact with the ceiling. He looked through it and was able to see a narrow path which penetrated the solid rock. A miner's lamp hung on a nail, diagonally opposite the door, a breakthrough being right next to it, he being unable to see into it. What had happened?
He could remember being hit on the back of the head, but that was all. No matter how he tried, he was unable to recall what else had happened. After he was certain that the door could not be opened, as he thought, he slowly turned around. On the one hand, he did not really want to see what was wrong with the person in the corner, but on the other he wanted to know. He took a step towards the bundle. The skin was greenish and appeared to be withered, surface wounds being visible in some places. He preferred not to think about the fact that the rats had been gnawing at the dead body and what they had left behind. The body's long hair was straggly, the arms folded above his head.
It cost Sandro a great effort to get closer to the body and stretch his hand out to it, while the smell almost took his breath away. He pulled the body back by the shoulders, the skin parchment-like under his fingers. He rolled him onto his back and Sandro jumped back. He was now able to see the face of the corpse. It was just as green as the rest of the body, the cheeks hollow, his eyes lying in their lidless sockets like marbles. The lips were pulled back above the teeth so that it looked as if the body was smiling malevolently at Sandro.
He started to tremble and horror cast its blanket over him, causing him to withdraw to the wall opposite. Even that was not far enough. He was unable to take his eyes off the dry, thin limbs, which were at angles in a completely unnatural manner, the pointed joints which seemed to penetrate through the skin which looked as thin as paper and even though he tried, he was unable to scream. Why did he want to see it?
A thought suddenly shot into his head and he realised that it must be the body of the missing Sven. How could that be? He could only have been dead for two or three days, do the dead already look like that? Sandro assumed that the change in appearance was due to the damp, salty climate in the cave.
The knowledge produced two results. Sandro now knew that he was in the hands of the psychopathic killer. He also asked himself what he was doing there ? After all he was not the same as the other victims. He had seen the photos, he was too old, too muscular and the only thing he had in common with the other victims was his long hair.
Why was he still alive and where was this damned cave? Was it close to the Mother House?
There was a change. He did not notice it immediately but the panic was there from one minute to the next as he realised what was happening. The miner's lamp was slowly becoming darker. It would soon go out completely. He shook at the door, but it only opened as far as it was able due to the heavy iron chain and solid lock. He kept pushing against the door, the noises he made eerily resounding through the vault which was being slowly but surely submerged in darkness.
The lamp went out and Sandro was suddenly unable to see beyond the tip of his nose. He and the dead body just a short distance away were completely enveloped in black. The images which he had seen suddenly popped back into his head, having the same effect as the spirits of his fears which had removed themselves out of his control. He sat against the wall with his legs drawn up. His senses played havoc with him. Was something moving in the corner? Had he heard a quiet scratching or was it just his imagination?
He had always considered himself to be a logical thinker. However, he was not getting anywhere being sensible. Even when commons sense tried to tell him that the dead remain dead, his imagination was causing him horror of the worse kind. The surrounding air seemed to get thicker and the hairs on his body were standing up as if someone was standing right next to him. He heavily pushed himself against the sharp-wedged rock face causing it to cut into his back, the pain being the only thing which prevented him from going completely mad at that moment.
He desperately tried to keep quiet and started counting loudly backwards from 100 and jumped at the sound of his own voice. He started to calm down slowly and stopped counting when he reached twenty-six. He was immediately surrounded by the oppressive silence. He stared into the darkness and his eyes became dry from the effort. He was unable to understand that he could not even recognise shadowy figures. It made no difference whether he closed his eyes or kept them open.
Now that the only sense he still had was his hearing, he was easily able to discern a low smacking and buzzing sound. After a while, he realised that it was not his imagination and assumed that it was insects which were enjoying their unexpectedly large meal.
He heard them again. The rats were back. He drew his legs and bare feet closer to his body. Would they nibble at him? Had he not already heard of cases of rats nibbling at small children? He did not know whether these were just old wives´ tales or whether such things really had happened but just the thought did not help him to relax. He felt fell move along his hips and let out a cry. He hit and kicked out, swearing at the rodents with all the words he knew, pouring a torrent of threats over them as to what would happen if they did not leave the cell, until he was completely exhausted. He noticed that his strength was weakening and that he was slowly getting tired. He tried to fight against it for a while but had to capitulate, falling asleep in a sitting position, his back against the wall. It was not a deep sleep however, he waking with a jump after just a short time, heavily shaking himself in order to drive away and prospective parties which might be interested in his flesh.
The cold increased in intensity so that he realised that he must already be evening or night outside. He was shivering, his body damp and stiff. Now and then, he stood up and moved around in a stooped position, ensuring that the corpse lying up against the other wall was always at hand. Although he did not keep still, he was still shaking from the cold. He repeatedly returned to his corner and pulled his body together as close as possible in order to keep as find at least a little warmth.
Ha had just nodded off when he was woken up by a loud noise. He awoke in a startled manner, his brain still enveloped as if in a dense fog. His eyes rested on the corpse's face which was suddenly perfectly illuminated and he jumped back so fast that he hit his head, the blood meandering down from his head, over his neck and further down his back, until it was finally dammed by his top. He stared at the door, the light shining through the passageway situated diagonally opposite. This is where the noises came from. This could only mean that he was no longer alone.
The only other person who could know this place was the killer. Sandro got up onto his feet and went to the iron-barred door. Did he have anything to lose? No! If he was to remain a prisoner here and possibly die, then he at least wanted to know who is responsible.
"Hey you! Who is there?"
No reaction: he shook at the door, the heavy chain with the lock making a clonking sound.
"Damn you, who is there? Come and show yourself, you bastard!"
He heard steps, a shadow being the first thing to reach the corridor, followed by the man who cast it. Sandro stared at him, unable to believe his eyes.
"You?"

© Copyright for translation by Trevor Salisbury/ 2005