The Shadow of Lübeck

Chapter 1: The Night of the Incident

Lübeck, Germany, 1989. The autumn wind howled through the cobblestone streets, carrying with it a sharp chill that bit into the skin of anyone brave enough to be outside. Dr. Heinrich Keller hurried down one such street, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the night. The medieval city was a ghost town at this hour, its ancient buildings casting long, eerie shadows under the dim streetlights.

Keller’s breath misted in the air as he clutched a brown leather briefcase to his chest. It was late, and he should have been home hours ago, but something was gnawing at him, something that wouldn’t let him rest. The contents of the briefcase weighed heavily on his mind—classified documents, medical records, and personal journals, all connected to a case that had taken a hold of him like a vice.

It was the case of a boy, a child of no more than ten years old, found unconscious near the ruins of an old cathedral on the outskirts of Lübeck. The boy had been brought to St. Marien Hospital under mysterious circumstances—no identification, no known relatives, and most disturbingly, no memory of who he was. The authorities had been tight-lipped, handing him over to the hospital without so much as a word about his origins.

The boy’s condition was unlike anything Keller had ever seen. Physically, he appeared healthy—no signs of trauma, no illness that could explain his coma-like state. But the scans told a different story. The boy’s brain activity was off the charts, showing patterns Keller had never encountered before. It was as if his mind was in overdrive, processing information at a rate that was inhuman.

Keller had been drawn into the case immediately, intrigued by the mystery of it all. But as the days passed, that intrigue turned to unease. The boy never woke, never moved, but his presence in the hospital seemed to affect everyone around him. Nurses reported strange occurrences—lights flickering, sudden drops in temperature, and the unsettling feeling of being watched.

As he neared the hospital, Keller quickened his pace. He needed to secure the documents and take another look at the boy before the night was over. There was something about the case that he couldn’t shake, a nagging feeling that he was on the verge of discovering something terrible.

The hospital loomed ahead, its stone façade dark and foreboding against the night sky. Keller entered through a side door, avoiding the main entrance where the night staff might question him. The corridors were dimly lit, the fluorescent lights casting long, distorted shadows on the walls. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional creak of the old building.

He made his way to the boy’s room, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls. As he approached the door, a strange sensation washed over him—a mix of dread and anticipation. He paused outside the door, gathering his thoughts before pushing it open.

The room was small and sterile, furnished with only a bed, a chair, and a small table. The boy lay motionless on the bed, his pale face almost blending in with the white sheets. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and steady, but there was something unnatural about it, as if he were more machine than human.

Keller placed the briefcase on the chair and approached the bed. He studied the boy’s face, looking for any sign of change, but there was none. The boy looked as he always did—peaceful, almost serene, but with an underlying tension that made Keller’s skin crawl.

He reached out and touched the boy’s forehead. It was cold to the touch, much colder than it should have been. Keller frowned, a sense of unease settling over him. He had seen the boy’s medical reports; there was no explanation for this.

Suddenly, the boy’s eyes snapped open. Keller recoiled, his heart pounding in his chest. The boy stared up at him, his eyes wide and unblinking, devoid of any emotion. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper, the boy spoke.

“They’re coming,” he said, his voice raspy and strained.

Keller’s blood ran cold. “Who’s coming?” he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and urgency.

But the boy didn’t respond. His eyes slowly closed again, and he fell back into that unnatural sleep. Keller stepped back, his mind racing. Who was the boy talking about? And what did he mean?

Shaking off his fear, Keller turned his attention to the briefcase. He needed answers, and the documents inside might hold the key. He quickly unlocked it, spreading the contents out on the small table beside the bed. There were medical records, old reports, and notes from a psychologist who had been treating the boy before he was found.

One document caught Keller’s eye—a psychological profile of the boy. It was filled with cryptic references to “the shadow” and “the awakening,” phrases that meant nothing to him but sent a shiver down his spine. The psychologist’s notes were unsettling, describing the boy’s increasingly erratic behavior, his obsession with the idea that something was coming for him.

Keller’s hands shook as he flipped through the pages. There were mentions of strange phenomena occurring around the boy—objects moving on their own, lights flickering, and an overwhelming sense of dread that permeated the room. The last entry in the notes was particularly chilling: He is not alone.

Keller’s heart raced. He knew he was getting close to something, something dark and dangerous. But what? And how was the boy connected to it?

Lost in thought, Keller didn’t notice the change in the room at first. The temperature dropped suddenly, and the lights flickered, casting strange shadows on the walls. He looked up, his breath catching in his throat.

The shadows seemed to move, pulsing with a life of their own. Keller’s blood ran cold as he realized they were converging on a single point—the corner of the room, where the darkness was deepest. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched, frozen in place.

Out of the darkness, a figure emerged—a tall, gaunt figure with eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. The figure’s face was obscured, but Keller could feel its gaze, cold and piercing, as if it were looking straight into his soul.

The room was silent, the air thick with tension. Keller wanted to run, to scream, but he couldn’t move. The figure took a step forward, its presence overwhelming, suffocating.

And then it spoke, its voice low and menacing, echoing in the small room.

“You should not have come here.”

Keller’s breath caught in his throat. His instincts screamed at him to flee, but his legs felt like lead. The figure took another step closer, its eyes locked onto his. The shadows around it seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, growing darker, thicker.

Finally, the paralysis broke. Keller turned and bolted from the room, his heart pounding in his ears. He could hear the figure behind him, its footsteps slow and deliberate, but he didn’t look back. He tore down the hallway, his mind a blur of fear and confusion.

He reached the stairs and stumbled down them, nearly falling in his haste. His only thought was to get away, to escape whatever it was that was following him. He burst through a side door and into the cold night air, his lungs burning as he gasped for breath.

For a moment, he stood there, leaning against the stone wall of the hospital, trying to calm his racing heart. The night was still, the only sound his ragged breathing. He looked back at the hospital, half-expecting to see the figure standing in the doorway, but there was nothing—just the dark, empty corridor.

Keller knew he couldn’t go back, not yet. He needed to understand what was happening, who—or what—the boy was, and what the dark figure wanted. But as he stood there in the cold night, one thing was clear: he had stepped into something far beyond his understanding, something that might cost him everything.

And deep inside, he knew that the boy’s warning was true.

They were coming.