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The Dark side of Winter

Chapter 5

I ́d just put away my toothbrush when the doorbell abruptly calls out. It is 21:37 pm and I ́m on my way to bed. Who on Earth is visiting people this late at night? Jehovah’s Witnesses, perhaps? Or the Mormons? I hope it ́s not the last dude from He was a quite boring, but a very pushy and stubborn guy who would not give it up. He has just like the Pineconeman found my correct email address and still sends me a lot of mails, not to mention all the SMS he ́s been sending me. However, I have blocked him on my cellphone. I didn’t even know this was possible, but Evy showed me this wonderful function and it is absolutely amazing! So I’ve blocked him and three other ́s that I don’t know who is and from whom I have never heard anything. I’ve also taken screenshots of all the text messages he has sent me. Evy thought I should do so, as proof if something should happen to me, if I was raped and cut into pieces or something like that. She ́s clever at joking, though all the rough jokes she sends me at this moment, is not funny at all. After I registered on she has sent a lot of perverse jokes that makes me more disgusted than they make me laugh – because knowing how many creepy dudes there ́s actually out there, I look a little different on those jokes of hers.

The bell sounds loud again, and I ́m standing completely quiet in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. I’m waiting for the one outside to disappear, to leave my home and never return. The doorbell is calling out once again, quite aggressively and I ́m wondering if I have to tell him or her that I’m not home! I really don’t want to have visitors from Jehovah’s Witnesses or something like that at this moment, while standing here in my little, black nightdress made of silk, and with my blue and yellow rag socks from my grandmother on my feet. Really not! Suddenly someone is knocking pretty hard on my door. I splurge and shiver so that my skin bounces in fear. It ́s not often that someone knocks on my door this late at evening. Usually they disappear after two or three attempt on my doorbell downstairs when I pretend I’m not home, but not this one. Somehow he got inside of the building downstairs, and now he ́s right outside my apartment door. It has to be something really important. I quietly move over to my door and gently glow out the small peep hole. I see a tall man standing there, and he doesn’t look healthy to me. It looks like he hasn’t slept in 30 years, he almost seems a little drunk and is over all quite unflattering. Still, there is something very familiar to him, but I don’t know what. Anyway, he ́s definitely not someone you want to open the door to at 21:41 on a Thursday night, when almost naked and just before getting to bed. Alone! I lower myself down behind the door, but this time to sneak invisible and inaudible away from him.

I’m not at home!
Get that fact into your big nut!
– I see you, I suddenly hear from the outside. The voice from outside is dark and quite rusty.

A little hoarse, I think – and maybe a little sexy? Just a bit? I ́m holding my breath, thinking that would make him believe his wrong. I ́m not home! But suddenly it knocks again, and I imagine that if I don’t breathe or move anymore, he’ll think he ́s completely wrong. That no one is home. Not even me!

– I saw you in the peephole and I still see you. The shadow under the door crack reveals you. So the question is, is your name Miss Invisible or Lotte-Marie Ellingsen?

It gets quiet outside. I’m also quiet, but I dare to look once more through the revealing peephole. I thought it was such a one-way thing, but it sure is the light, or some microscopic changes in it which expose people who do not want to be exposed. People like me. The man is still out there, not unexpectedly – with both his hands behind his back, staring at the bottom part of my door where microlights from the hallway obviously is giving him all the information that he needs. The coat, or the hip-side brown jacket he wears, appears to be made of leather. It looks both tired and old-fashioned, and actually looks a bit like my great-grandfather’s old leather jacket, the one he used as a whaler about a 100 years ago, the exactly one I stole from my grandmother and used to wear when I was pretty young and quite cool. The man outside my door is everything but cool, but I do like his coat. As these thoughts runs hastedly through my mind, the stranger outside suddenly raises his gaze, then quickly leans forward putting his eye close to the peephole, about five inches away from mine. Damn it!

– Hi there! He says in a harsh tone. In pure indignation I ́m left with a large and wide open eye pasted to the peephole pretty close to his, not able to do anything but to gaze back at him like a brainless moron.

– Hi, I reply softly with large pupils.
– Don’t want to open the door, he asks gently.
– Who are you, I ask quickly while my softness is fading away.
– Sorry! Of course, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Barry Hole, he replies, still with a gently voice.
– Barry who? I ask as I think of Barry Gibb in The Bee Gees. I love Barry Gibb. He is so pretty and clean, so immaculate and sexy. The stranger outside my door is the complete opposite, a bit sloppy and far from sexy.

– Hole, he repeats, – my name is Barry Hole! There is something very acquainted about both his character and his name, but I still don’t remember from where I have seen him, but simply because he seems familiar, almost a little like family and the fact that I like his coat, I open the door gently. But the security chain I let hang as is. He smiles and nods at me as if he wants to communicate that I ́m a clever girl that opened up for him, but not to much, just a bit.

– Do you mind letting me in? He asks still with a soft tone of voice. – I’m from the police, but as you can see, I’m not that slim. The guy outside my door is waving a pointed finger towards the chain as he says so. I on the other hand, am hit by an urgent shock when I hear he is from the police. Fuck, he ́s from the Police! In a few seconds my brain is raging on repeat, thinking back at all the times I have been speeding my car, yes, the latest today, not to mention all the times I’ve been driving on a red traffic light and I ́m suddenly thinking about that evening I was close to hitting into a pedestrian twice! Yes, the young man knocked relatively hard at the front of my car after the almost hit number two. A small overreaction if you ask me as it really looked like he was returning to the safe sidewalk after I almost hit him the first time. But he didn’t. I then think of all the times I’ve stolen pens, calculators, envelopes and stapler, three pieces in total from work. Now it’s all over! They got me! Now they ́re here to take me away! To put me to jail. Like a frozen stick I ́m staring at the man in front of me. Barry Hole! They even sent Barry Hole himself to fetch me. This must be pretty damn serious. Deadly serious! I suddenly remember him from the newspapers! He is Norway’s undisputed detective number one; he ́s the one who manages to succeed all the criminals, the mafia and the murderers – those who kills and mutilates people like in the movies. Standing in front of me right now is Barry Hole himself; he who survive bullets and gunpowder, oaths and galls, that are ten times cooler and tougher than Barry Gibb! He who has risen from the dead several times and a lot more than Jesus is here to put me in jail. In fact, this is the man that apparently got more lives than my mother’s cat, which by the way is fifteen, not nine! Barry Hole in fact, is the great terror of all murderers! Now, it’s my turn! He’s going to arrest me. Me! I can feel it – I ́m having a panic attack right now. My feet feels like rubber, my heart is exploding and my head is spinning wild. I ́m thinking that the last stapler I stole might have been the one that made it all tip above. Fuck! I should have left it in the office!

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

– Do you mind if I come in? Hole asks again. – We need to talk about We have reason to believe that a murderer finds his victims at this dating site, and our surveys show that you are one of the women he ́s been chatting the most, Hole says, looking seriously at me. In disbelief I open the door and let him into my hallway. My entrance is bright purple and looks a bit like a brothel. Hole looks quickly around, but does not mind the colour at all. I show him into the living room. It’s bright yellow. He looks around once more, but does not seem to to heed the colour now either. Maybe he’s colour blind?

– Do you mind if I sit down? He asks and I nod my head up and down like in a “yes” meaning I do mind. I don ́t wan ́t him to sit down at all – I want him to leave!

– Maybe you want to sit down as well – or wan ́t to put on some clothes? He asks with his gaze wide open, examining me from my head to my toe, and then looks up again. He quits his gaze with a small smile on his face a little like; “well, fine enough” smile. I must have gotten quite a shock all over again, because I ́m sitting down as well in my easy chair in my black and very short silk neglect, the one with laces over my breasts and where transparent blondes clearly shows two hard buds. It is the tension, the fear, the cold breeze from the hallway and everything else that now gives me revealing bumps here and there. I answer that everything is just fine, that I don ́t mind what I ́m wearing. But in fact nothing is fine. I want to vomit or go to the bathroom and stay there for a long time. Maybe for the rest of my life. Hole stares at me without saying a word, and I suddenly realize what I ́m actually wearing and what I ́m not wearing at all. Namely clothes! I try to push the silk edge a little down towards my knees, but it is exploited. It ́s simply to short, and then it strikes me pretty hard… it ́s to damn sexy. I ́m sitting here right in front of this masculine stranger like I ́m at an exhibition with all my attributes as visible as possible. My breasts rest nicely in the light transparent bust of the nightgown, with both my nipples trying to push through the light fabric. They want to escape the situation just like me, but I can ́t. My bare shoulders are covered by two thin, black straps and my half-length blonde hair and that ́s all. My long legs and thighs is completely undressed. Only my two feet sized 38 are well covered, as they are hiding in the raw knitted socks I got last Christmas from my dear Grandma. They are knitted in the Swedish colors, blue and yellow, and in stripes. Now that I’m suddenly thinking of Grandma and all the socks she has knitted me, I abruptly notice that my new socks stick a little. Damn! What a killer!


If you wan´t to read more about Barry Hole and Lotte-Marie, then you might wan´t to buy the book at Digital Storefronts like these, or at

About the character. Lotte-Marie is a divided person. Lotte is wild, ruthless, rude and uninhibited, while Marie is the pretentious and correct businesswoman, the one who works in the wine industry and is the superseller with the splendid nose. Her two conflicting characters tear her apart, and the art is to balance these, something Lotte-Marie is not very good at. Norway’s funniest books are about being a human being, but first and foremost a woman in a male dominated world – a woman who tends to end up in the most bizarre situations where small margins separate life and death.

The books are read by both women and men with a sense of humor and can easily be read individually.

Read more about the books and the author here.

From the media:

«Better than Bridget Jones.» Budstikka

«Books to Desire.» MAG

«Norway’s best female author.» Dagsavisen

«Fun, fearless female.» Cosmopolitan

«Norway’s first chick-lit author.» Aftenposten

«The Princess of Humor.» Askeravisen

«Summer beach recommendation. Bold stuff for the ladies.» BA

«This is not shy and blushing novel, it´s the opposite.» NTB


Shortly about me/this blog – I am a author, journalist, sommelier, model and traveller that have experienced a lot of beautiful places all over our amazing world. With that, I have been writing articles for several magazines. You can also read about my travels right here.

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Trude Helén Hole 

New Spirit Communication

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Time spent with good books is never wasted. (2)