coffee table. His parents on two wide chairs and his sister on the cozy, grass-green couch. Chris was irritated. Usually his mother was strictly against eating in the living room. Besides, she had already set it up in the kitchen, so why?

"Mom?" He asked confused. Both his parents and his sister had their backs to him. Chris padded closer and almost stumbled. Only now could he see more thanks to the moonlight falling through the patio door. Suddenly he was more panicked than during his exam. His mother, father and sister sat slumped. Hanging her head and hiding her arms behind the chair. These were tied to the chair leg with thick ropes."Mom! Dad! Hannah!" Shouted Chris now, seriously worried. He fished a penknife from his pants and cut the rope that tied his mother's hands.

"Mam ..." he wanted to say, but by removing the rope, the woman lost her grip and fell to the ground. Chris knelt and picked his mother up by the shoulders. When he saw his face, he flinched. He raised his head and stared at his sister and father, who were sitting in the same position.
Annoyed, Sebastian dialed Chris' number for the fifth time. "What about him?" Asked Karl in a drunken state. Sebastian covered his left ear with one hand. On the eighth ring, something finally stirred. It was picked up. "Chris finally! I've been trying to reach you for hours! You, we're all waiting for you. Here are mega hot brides and tons of alcohol.", He shouted into the phone. It took a while for Chris to answer.

"You, Sebastian ... I ... I won't be able to come." Said a low voice. Normally Sebastian would have yelled at him, but he could tell from his voice that something must have happened. He heard a pop and called something into the receiver that Chris couldn't understand. He had dropped his hand. He was still in the living room, but this time he was crouched in a corner. Even the moonlight did not reveal anything of his shape. But from his family. Less than ten centimeters in front of Chris there was a crack in the bottom of the package. A reddish liquid ran down this gap. Right past Chris and ended up in a puddle that Chris couldn't possibly have seen as he walked in. It was almost comforting. Like water that dripped down and flowed into a spring. But it wasn't water. It's blood.
Chapter 1

Why seek hell in the hereafter? It is already there in this world, in the heart of the wicked.
Ackermann screamed and the echo answered him. This time not because someone hurt him, but because his skin was rubbed on the tight rope that his hands were attached to the iron pipes. Blood ran down his forearm and dripped onto his bare chest. He no longer wore a shirt. This was about a meter away from him. Close completely and cut up. It had been cut from Ackermann's neck to his waist with a knife. After all, his kidnapper had thrown away scraps. On the first day he had left it at that. Ackermann froze that night. But not from the cold, but from fear. As soon as he came to and hung tied to a heating pipe, he knew how the rest of the process would be. It had all started so harmlessly. His secretary had come up to him and asked how much longer he would need her. Ackermann was a night owl and usually worked deeply into them. She sent his secretary home and studied his forms for another hour.Finally he yawned and left his office. He locked it and took the elevator into the parking garage. There were only a few cars left in the niches and it didn't take Ackermann long to find his. He took out his key and used it to open the electronic lock. He got in, slammed the door and wanted to lean over to put the key in the ignition. Nothing came of it. He suddenly felt a painful pull around his neck. Something constricted him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two hands in coal-black gloves. They were holding something. Ackermann suspected a string. This tied more and more around his neck. Ackermann could hardly breathe and only when his eyes were stretched upwards and he threatened to fade, the cord tied off. Ackermann coughed and gasped for breath pleadingly. But the cord wasn't the only horror that should await him today. One of the black gloves suddenly held something in its hand. An elongated, glass container. A syringe! Ackermann panicked. Anything could be in it. Starting with a harmless sedative, up to heroin and up to a poison. Ackermann knew that he couldn't let it get that far. Once his attacker injected him with some of the contents, it was over. Then he had no more chance. The driver's door wasn't locked and so Ackermann felt desperately for the handle. But his vision was so blurred by the brief lack of oxygen that his hand just floated in the air. It was too late. The black hand went down and drove the needle into Ackermann's neck, just below the carotid artery. The contents emptied and penetrated Ackermann's bloodstream. It didn't even take 20 seconds until Ackermann's pupils turned upwards and he collapsed asleep. Of course, he didn't know what happened next. It was difficult to say whether the attacker had put him in another car or used his own. Ackermann didn't even know how long he slept until he woke up in his dark, dirty dungeon. His legs were tied together with a thick mountaineering rope, as were his hands. While he could move his legs, his hands were completely restricted. An incandescent lamp shone directly above him, illuminating the dungeon. Black, unplastered walls stared at Ackermann. The smell of asbestos and rot penetrated his nostrils. It was in a basement, but which one? It appeared to be quite large, maybe that of a department store or warehouse. That was when he heard the footsteps for the first time. Ackermann didn't know at the time how he came up with it, but it occurred to him that the stranger had to wear boots. He heard the creak and squeak of a heavy door, but he couldn't see it. A little later his kidnapper came around the corner."My wife took everything from me when I got divorced! She won't pay for me!", Ackermann persuaded the kidnapper. This did not react, but continued on his way. Ackermann did not recognize him. Only when the kidnapper stepped under the light bulb could Ackermann no longer suppress an outcry. He was right about the boots. The kidnapper was wearing old, worn clothes. There were traces of a plaid shirt under the coat. He still wore the black gloves. The scary thing was his face. He didn't have one. That was why Ackermann had suffered such a shock. Only on closer inspection did he see more clearly. The kidnapper's face seemed completely overgrown with skin. Like weeds hogging the wall of a house. It covered the mouth, the nose and also the eyes. Ackermann recognized holes revealed by small, piercing eyes. It could only be some kind of mask. This pulled from the chin, over the hair and finally to the back of the head. Except for the holes, his entire head was buried under it.

"Why are you doing that?", Ackermann was now close to tears. If only he had left earlier today or had worked a little longer.

"I really have little money!" He swore. If something moved in the kidnapper's face at that moment, it was impossible for Ackermann to see it. The eyes continued to target him. Now the kidnapper knelt and pulled something out of his coat pocket. Only when Ackermann saw a knife flash did he scream for his life. Several cries for help followed, to which the stranger did not reply. The broad side of the knife brushed Ackermann's chin, which remained stiff. He saw for himself that a move would have been inadvisable. Now the stranger began to untie Ackermann's shirt. He pulled off the rag and threw it away. Ackermann began to sweat and begged the kidnapper to be sensible. This again ran the broad side of the knife over Ackermann's cheeks. First over the left, then the right. Then he got up. Without saying anything, he put his knife back in his pocket and left the cellar at the same pace as he had come. Ackermann wasn't really relieved. Did that mean this psychopath didn't want to kill him? Did he really want ransom? Ackermann prayed for it. And was disappointed. Ackermann lost strength and finally fell asleep. He was awakened again by the heavy door. He tried to orient himself and could have howled when he remembered everything. The kidnapper was standing in front of him again. Nothing had changed in his appearance. He was still wearing the gruesome mask that covered his face. Ackermann could only have said from the figure that it was a human being. This performed his ritual as before. He knelt and drew the knife. Again he stroked Ackermann's chin. He started cutting again."Ahhh.", Ackermann could not suppress a huge outcry. Without warning - not that the psychopath should have given one - the point of the blade penetrated the businessman's skin. Just above the right nipple.

"Please! All right, I have money!", He suddenly changed his mind.

"But not in the country, so it can take a while!" Ackermann gushed out. The stranger pulled the blade diagonally upwards and Ackermann until his teeth together. His hands tighten even more, but remained tied. Now the masked man made a quick cut downwards. Blood oozed and ran to the ground. The masked man had taken something out of his pocket. A glass in which there was something white. He opened the lid and let the contents rattle over Ackermann's upper body. It was salt. Ackermann continued to scream and tried to escape from the real world. The masked man rightly rubbed his work with his glove. The salt had slowed the bleeding, which enabled him to continue. The knife was used again. Two jagged arcs were carved into the left half of Ackermann's torso. And shortly afterwards the salt was used again. Ackermann kept banging his head against the cellar wall, hoping to finally lose consciousness. When he looked at his body, he froze. Thirteen. It was actually thirteen. The psychopath had actually carved the number thirteen on his chest. Ackermann now knew that