It was two weeks after the death of Robert Landau that the existence of a cannibal serial killer in Germany’s biggest harbor town made the news.

Simon Bleicher was sitting on his large couch in the oversized apartment his Dad had rented for him, watching an expert compare the case to the Cannibal of Rothenburg, Germany’s most famous cannibal to date. Simon sighed as they missed the chance to go for a more fitting comparison. Karl Denke had killed some homeless and eaten them in the early 19th century. Simon had looked him up online when the case broke into the news.

Simon was only half listening. The young student was sitting in his underwear and searching the internet.

MONSTER + HAMBURG

He typed in the words and the results were shockingly irrelevant. A job platform called Monster appeared and then a monster party ad followed. A monster truck and a monster drink and an article about a “monster of a growth program” someone had started to look good in photos.

He tried something else.

MONSTER + HAMBURG + SIGHTING

Again, there was nothing. The same links plus some party picture website. How could there be nothing?

The explanation was as simple as it was obvious. There was no monster. All that he had seen was a figment of his imagination, a sign of deteriorating mental health, the product of some hallucinogenic drug that had been mixed into his drink, or perhaps even a combination of factors.

Well, he probably wasn’t drugged, only a little drunk. So, he ruled out number 3 for now. Plus, he wasn’t the only one who saw it.

He didn’t have that vivid of an imagination. Never had fictional friends as a child, and never was a big daydreamer or anything like that.

Now, this left the explanation that he was insane. He had tried to self-diagnose. It was shocking how many tests you could find online. They had all been negative so far. He had also read a book on hallucinations and found that most were the result of bipolar disorder or schizophrenia. He had no indicators of any of the two. Well, except that he was unable to diagnose his illness himself because his broken mind kept him from doing it. He had considered seeing a therapist. He had imagined how the session would go.

“Have any traumatic events happened in your life lately?”

“My girlfriend broke up with me. Oh, and just before that we saw a monster.”

“Let us talk about the break-up.”

There was a fourth possible answer and he felt more uncomfortable with that than with any of the others.

Maybe there was a monster, and that only he and Sandra had seen it. Or it was there, but no one else had reported the sighting. Maybe the monster was no longer in the harbor town and had moved on. He tried the neighboring cities a week ago and nothing had shown, but that didn’t mean anything if it moved fast and was undetected. And, besides, this was a harbor town. He had assumed it must have been brought in through the harbor, but it was also a valid assumption that it had been there and left through the harbor. Then it could be anywhere.

He tried another search.

SANDRA FOLKERT

Nothing. A bunch of ladies.

Sandra Folkert, Horse Trainer, Stuttgart.

Sandra Folkert, Life Coach, Mannheim.

Sandra Folkert, Student, Kiel.

Nowhere to be found was Sandra Folkert, Heartbreaker, Hamburg.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He had to find something. This was the internet. So, he opened another tab and started looking for Hafenklang pictures. The old traditional punk music location near the harbor had always been her favorite. He went through pictures as he had done a thousand times before, looking for signs of her. How could she not be in any of them? It almost seemed as if she never wanted to be pictured.

Behind him, he heard the barefooted steps of Alex getting out of bed. He quickly closed the tab and opened some news sites. Alex came walking into the living room and he turned and smiled at her. She was gorgeous to look at in her tank top and string tanga. She usually didn’t care much about what she wore around him, which she could absolutely afford to do with her body. It was perfect. The result of years of training, a strict diet and an iron will, he assumed. He sometimes wondered what a woman like this wanted with a guy like him. Also, sometimes he wondered what a woman like her wanted with a guy who was so obviously in love with someone else. She could have anyone. So why had she picked up him?

“Still looking for your Ex?” Alex asked and smiled at him. He felt how he blushed.

“No, no, just going through the news. That cannibal thing is a nasty story. They believe he's killed seven homeless men and devoured them. Right here in our city.” Simon turned to the TV. Alex smiled again. It was a cold smile. If there was something not perfect about her, it was the coldness of her character. No matter how much she tried, she could never entirely hide the distance between her and everyone else.

“It's okay.” She sighed, then turned around and went into the kitchen. She returned with a glass of apple juice with two blocks of ice in it. Sitting down next to him she gave him a smirk.

“What? Me looking for my Ex online?” Simon laughed, “Does being an online stalker turn you on?” She returned his laugh.

“Totally!” She leaned back, stretching her long legs to rest on his. “Every girl’s dream.” He nodded and stroked her legs. He knew next to nothing about her, except that she had a press passport. And, of course, that she was very experienced in bed and well aware of the sexual power she had over him. This was something he found almost disturbing. She was extremely sure of how attractive she was.

“You're no stalker; you're just still in love with her.” She took a sip of her apple juice.

“Which doesn’t bother you at all?” He asked.

“Oh well, for me this is mostly physical. We serve each other’s needs. Fine by me,” She said. Simon felt this strange feeling that his liberal, young wild soul denied so badly. In a way this felt wrong to him. She seemed to almost read his mind and leaned forward, slinging her arms around him with her legs still resting on his. “Listen, it does bother me a little. But I'm a pragmatist. You fuck me and love her. Would I really prefer it the other way around?” She grinned.

“Probably not,” Simon smiled as he felt her body against his.

“Probably not.” Alex stroked her black hair out of her face. “So maybe you should give yourself a little break. Or maybe you should call her.”

“Tried that. She blocked me,” Simon said. He could not believe he was discussing this with her.

“Got a burner phone. Using it for drug deals,” she said.

“Really?” Simon was surprised. She laughed at him.

“No, stupid! But I got the phone. Wanna borrow it?” she asked.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind,” he said. She shook her head and got up, leaving him sitting on the couch.

“Not at all,” she said as her long legs carried her to the bedroom to collect her clothes.

****

“Hello?” Her voice was still very girlish. He smiled as he heard her.

“Hey, it's me. Please, don’t hang up!” Simon quickly said. “Please. Just give me one minute, for all that's been between us.” He hated to beg, but he was ready to humiliate himself if he only got a few answers for it.

“Simon, I told you I don't want to talk to you. Please, just forget about me.” She was close to tears. Why? She had been the one to kick him out of the flat and block him on all channels.

“Okay. I got that. Just, it would make my part easier if I knew why? Did I do anything wrong? Why should I ever forget you?” He wanted to say he loved her but bit his lip instead.

“I just got something to do that’s leaving me no room for a relationship right now. I am so sorry,” she said.

“Something? Like, painting or writing a book or a world travel or fucking around with guys, something like that?” He wished he had left out the jealous part.

“Something I’ve got to do,” she said. There was silence. “I’m hanging up now. Don’t call me again. It'll be over soon,” she said.

“Wait! Wait please,” he said.

“It will be over soon, Simon.” She sounded so sad. She tried to hide it, but Simon knew when the woman he loved was sad.

“Listen, I ... maybe we can meet for a coffee once it’s over then?” He hated himself for begging like this.

“I’m making no plans for the afterwards,” Sandra replied.

That sounded like an apology. Why couldn’t she just say what it had been? Did he not have enough muscles or money or . . . No he knew in his heart that it wasn’t that.

“You did see it too, didn’t you?” The question burst from him. “Just tell me I'm not going mad, because I think I am.” He fought with tears.

“No, you’re not. I saw it too. It is real,” she answered. There was a knock at her door. Simon could hear it.

“Who is that?” he asked her.

“Brockmann,” Sandra said.

“Who is Brockmann. You . . . Like him?” he asked. She didn’t answer for a moment until the person knocked again.

“Never met him,” she replied. “Gotta hang up now. Have an amazing life, Simon.” She hung up and Simon was left with the burner phone in his hand. He could not believe this was real. But she had seen the monster too. There were monsters and Sandra had wished him an amazing life. There was a finality in her voice that hurt. He tried not to let it settle into his mind. Instead, he thought about the monster. The Monster.

****

“Okay, the name is trying a bit too hard, but I love the guitar. That guy was crazy!” Sandra laughed. They were taking the stairs up from the Hafenklang while the birds began to sing, and the sun was going up. “Should we go to the Fish Market?” she asked with big eyes.

Simon stopped. “Seriously? Are we tourists?” He laughed.

“I kinda am!” She said and put her hands together in a begging gesture. “Pleeease,” she said. Simon took out his smart phone and had a look. It was 5:30 in the morning on a Tuesday.

“I don’t think it’s open on Tuesday.” He shrugged. “Maybe on the weekend?” She nodded.

“Promise?” she asked.

“Promise,” he said as they began climbing the steep ancient stairs made of red brick stones again. “Radioactive Milk Cookie is a bit much for a band name, yeah.” He said, “I liked that they used some rock elements in their music. That’s more my style.” He would never watch any of those bands or even hang out in a spot like Hafenklang with all those punks if she was not so into it.

“You lied when Ramona asked what you studied,” Sandra said.

“Did I? Well, with all those punks I felt like saying Economics might make me a very lonely man. So, I tried Biology. Funny choice, is it? I don’t know the first thing about biology,” he laughed.

“You should tell people who you are because . . .” She shrugged and grabbed him, giving him a kiss. “Because you are awesome. Simon Bleicher, I love you.”

He smiled and kissed her back. “You need a break, do you? From the stairs.”

She smiled her nasty girlish smile. “Yeah, but I love you anyway.” She began to hum and he smiled. After a few tunes, he began reciting the text.

“Watching my tolerance as it bleeds out and it is bleeding, it is bleeding . . .!” He sang and she grinned.

“Gonna make you a real punk,” she said.

“You’re not a punk, you’re just rebellious,” he said. She nodded.

“Maybe.” They began climbing again. They were both breathing heavily as they arrived at the subway station. It would take another half hour before the first train arrives and takes them to the Schanzenviertel, the part of town where she lived. The part of town where THEY lived. He had to remind himself of the crazy choice he made to move with her into her tiny run-down flat when his Dad had offered him the downtown flat that he had bought a few years back.

“See? Told you they don’t close them around here. We can wait downstairs.” She smiled and found the energy to run down the stairs.

“I’m gonna start doing sports,” he promised himself before stumbling down the stairs. She was standing in front of the larger-than-life poster of a woman in a field of grass. He smiled at her. He knew she didn’t realize it, but she was a hopeless romantic, no matter how often and how badly she dressed up as hardcore punk.

She smiled and ran to the next one, which was some movie advert. “We should steal one of those for our wall in the living room,” she said, “Fuck commercials and all that!”

Simon laughed. “How do you want to transport them? They're huge. Five meters high?”

“Three at best.” She laughed. “We can ask a few of the guys to help us, sell it as an act of left-winged rebellion! C’mon, you gotta do something crazy sometimes!” Simon laughed. He had a punk girlfriend with a mysterious part who tried to convince him to get a tattoo. How crazy did she need him to be? Because this was pretty crazy already.

She looked at him and then it happened. Her features froze. Her eyes widened. Simon saw an emotion in her face he had never seen before. Fear. Slowly, he turned and saw that she was looking into the tube. He turned facing her and then turned back. Then he saw it too. It was half obfuscated by the darkness, standing in the tunnel. A thing that defied description, that looked roughly humanoid, but not remotely human.

They stared at it, and the worst thing was, it stared back at them.

****

He shook his head, forcing the memory out of his mind. They said memory faded over time. He wondered how much time it would be, because now it felt as if it was burned into his mind, imprinted into his very soul. Unforgettable, it was a memory that stuck in there comfortably.

Quickly, he took his mobile and opened a message for Alex to see.

I NEED COMPANY.

He wrote this and saw she was online.

OH, A BOOTY CALL?

He looked at her reply and wanted to write that he simply didn’t want to be alone. But he could not. He had shown his weak side to one woman today. Instead, he breathed in and out and replied.

WHEN CAN YOU BE HERE?

She replied immediately.

SHOWER. BE THERE IN 15.

He smiled because he felt he had to smile. Truth was he didn’t feel like smiling or fucking. He felt like crying.