"Karlsson is dead!"

Beratrice jumped up from her chair and rushed towards the door, but the stranger gripped her arm with a hand which was as cold as the hand of a corpse.

She thought she was doomed, but she didn't intend to die without an immense struggle. She decided to fight the murderer with all her strength, even if this was the last thing she did before her own funeral.

"Let me go you swine!"

"Dear Beatrice, calm yourself down. I only want to talk to you a little."


She wondered how he could know her name.

If he is a necrophile I don't want to live any longer, she thought to herself.

In that case of course, she wouldn't be allowed to live any longer.

Beatrice was frozen with an intense fear, which seemed to have lowered her temperature so much that she was ready for the graveyard.

"You don't know my name. We don't know each other," she said.

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