3,096 Days by Natascha Kampusch Read Free Book Online

the sight of the delivery van set off alarm bells inside me: it might have been intuition, although it is likely that any man I had encountered in an unusual situation on the street would have frightened me. Being abducted was, in my childish eyes, something that was a realistic possibility – but deep down inside it was still something that happened only on TV, and certainly not in my neighbourhood.
    When I had come within about two metres of the man on the street, he looked me right in the eye. At that moment my fear vanished. He had blue eyes, and with his almost too-long hair he looked like a university student from one of those old made-for-TV movies from the 1970s. His gaze seemed strangely empty. That is one poor man, I thought, because he gave me the feeling that he was in need of protection; at that very moment I felt the desire to help him. That may sound odd, like a child holding tight at all costs to the naive belief that there is good in everyone. But when he looked at me squarely for the first time that morning, he seemed lost and very vulnerable.
    Yes, I would pass this test. I would walk by him, giving him the berth the narrow pavement afforded. I did not like bumping into people and wanted to move out of his way far enough so that I could avoid touching him.
    Then everything happened so fast.
    The very moment I lowered my eyes and went to walk past the man, he grabbed me by the waist and threw me through the open door into his delivery van. Everything happened in one fell swoop, as if it had been a choreographed scene, as if we had rehearsed it together. A choreography of terror.
    Did I scream? I don’t think so. And yet everything inside me was one single scream. It pushed upwards and became lodged far down in my throat: a silent scream as if one of those nightmares had become reality where you try to scream but no sound comes out; where you try to run but your legs move as if trapped in quicksand.
    Did I fight back? Did I get in the way of his perfect choreography? I must have fought back, because the next day I had a black eye. I can’t remember the pain inflicted by that blow, only the feeling of paralysing helplessness. The kidnapper had an easy time of it with me. He was 1.72 metres tall, while I was only 1.45 metres. I was plump and not particularly quick anyway. Plus, my heavy school bag hindered my mobility. The whole thing had only taken a few seconds.
    The moment the delivery van door closed behind me I was well aware of the fact that I had been kidnapped and that I would probably die. In my mind’s eye I saw the images from Jennifer’s funeral. Jennifer had been molested in a car and killed when she tried to escape. Images of Carla’s parents waiting for word of their daughter. Carla, who had been molested, was found unconscious floating in a pond and died a week later. I had wondered back then what that would be like: dying and what comes after. Whether you felt pain just before, and whether you really see a light.
    These images mixed with the jumble of thoughts that flashed through my mind at the same time.
Is this really happening? To me?
asked one voice.
What a completely off-the-wall idea, kidnapping a child. That never turns out well
, said another.
Why me? I’m short and chubby, I don’t really fit the profile of a typical abduction victim
, pleaded another.
    The kidnapper’s voice brought me back to the present. He ordered me to sit down on the floor at the back of the van and barked at me not to move. If I didn’t do what he said, I would be in for a nasty surprise. Then he climbed over the front seat and drove off.
    Because the cab and the back of the delivery van were not separated, I was able to see him from the back. And I heard him frantically punching numbers into his car phone. But he couldn’t seem to reach anyone.
    In the meantime the questions continued to pound in my head:
Will he blackmail my family for ransom? Who will pay it? Where is he taking me? What kind of car