Tag Archives: Anton Scheller


Jannah is a petite lady. Now she is 29, back then she was 24. She had just found her new apartment. She had just started her new job. She worked in a large mansion near Forêt.

At 6pm Jannah sat at the bus stop. The first trees began just a few steps to her right. A car stopped. A dark-skinned man got out. He spoke French.

“To the center?” he asked.

Jannah nodded.

“I take you,” he said. Continue reading

They Took My Wife

I was upstairs when the doorbell rang. Sydney was downstairs. I heard her footsteps moving towards the door and my attention shifted back to the screen in front of me.

I heard her say “Hi.” Then she screamed.

Her scream stopped before I had even pushed myself out of the chair. I heard something soft falling on the tiled floor.

My feet flew down the stairs. By the time I reached the front door I saw two men running towards a black van. They threw Sydney’s body in the back. The van started. I ran towards the car, screaming. The van started driving and they jumped inside.

Before the door slammed shut one of them smiled at me.

For a moment I ran after it, then the van turned a corner. It didn’t even have number plates.

I ran back inside to grab my keys and phone. The car started and a moment later I was on the road. Continue reading

“I am sorry mommy.”

Grace rubbed the sole of her right foot against her left.

She forced a smile.

I smiled back.

“You had some rather tough weeks.”

“Tough is an understatement,” she said.

“It is normal that you are not feeling well after losing a child.”

“Not just a child,” she said. Continue reading

Fresh Luck to Its Owner

I last saw it sixteen years ago, still remember every detail of the watch.

I was on a road trip with friends. I don’t remember the city name; we just stopped because the bars looked inviting and, I think, because we saw a group of slightly underdressed girls walking into one of them.

A round of drinks; dance; a round; trying to chat up girls. It was a good night. One of the guys hit it off with a local girl in a short black dress; the rest of us watched from the safety of the bar. A horribly smelling guy walked past us. Somebody bought a round of tequila. I licked the salt; poured the hot and cold liquid down my throat; bit the lime. That’s where my memory ends.

I woke up at the side of a road. The hard sand below me was as dry as my throat. Continue reading

The Slanted Room

On the second floor of my house is a room that I rarely use. Its back wall is slanted and there is not enough space for any bigger items such as a shelf, and barely even enough space to stand. I stack boxes in the room, but I hesitate to call it a storage room because really I could put the boxes anywhere. For me it is just the slanted room.

I suppose it was never really used. None of the previous tenants ever bothered to cover the bare heating pipes on the ceiling or the scratched wallpaper; even the light source is just a bare bulb hanging loosely from the ceiling.

And it is that lamp that bothers me. It bothers me because it doesn’t work when it should and it works when it shouldn’t. When I want to turn the light, on the rare occasions when I enter the room to grab an old sweater from one of the clothes or one of the tools that I store in the room, it always takes me at least a minute to get it to work. I switch the light on and off and on and off and on and off again and only on the fourth, or sometimes the fifth or sometimes the eighth time does it actually, hesitantly, begin to glow in a faint yellowish white. Continue reading

Man Made of Fire (a.k.a. Tonight my house will burn to the ground. Tonight I will die. I just want you to know that it was not your fault.)

YouTuber PsykoSimon kindly provided a narration of this story.

By the time anyone reads this I will likely already be dead. This is not a call for help or attention and this is not a suicide note. This is just a goodbye and, maybe, a warning to others.

If you hear about my ‘suicide’ tomorrow please don’t dig into it. I will share this message with my Facebook friends and maybe some of you will understand what happened – but I still ask you not to dig into it. I just want you to understand that I didn’t want to die and that it wasn’t your fault.

You might have read about the high number of fires we had here in the last two or three years. And maybe you are also one of the few individuals to whom I confessed that I witnessed one of them; that I saw a man in the second floor window. His body was on flames and he seemed to be screaming – and then disappeared in a wall of flames. Continue reading