Fledermäuse: Sieben Geschichten

Master Leonhard sits motionless in his gothic high‑back chair, the flickering fire casting restless shadows across his weathered robes. Outside, frost‑bitten trees crack under the weight of winter while the moon‑light turns icicles into glittering spears. In this ruined chapel he watches his own life unfold—childhood games beneath a birch, his aged reflection, the ghostly silhouette of his mother—each image hovering like a silent, frozen breath.

A hunch‑backed woman from the distant moor staggers into the doorway, clutching a splintered sled and pausing at a dark, demonic shape on the snow. Her frantic gestures awaken an unseen presence that swirls through the stone, a mother‑like figure whose restless fabric rustles like millions of insect wings. These opening moments set a tone of eerie stillness and lingering memory, hinting at the seven intertwined tales that will explore the thin line between the living and the hauntingly unseen.