It started outside a bakery in Malmö.
Johan was buying breakfast when the shop suddenly fell silent.
Everyone was staring at the man who had just walked in.
He was impossibly tall, his old raincoat dripping seawater onto the floor despite the clear weather outside. His smile never changed.
He slowly pointed at the tray of fresh wienerbröd.
Then he spoke.
"Brøffel... snørk... flærr... wienerbrøøøød... grumple... klask..."
Nobody understood him.
The baker nervously handed him a wienerbröd anyway.
The stranger took a single bite.
Smiled.
Then walked away without another sound.
As Johan left the bakery a few minutes later, he noticed the Dane waiting across the street.
Watching him.
---
From that day on, Johan couldn't escape him.
The Dane stood on empty train platforms.
Outside his apartment at three in the morning.
In reflections that disappeared the instant Johan turned around.
Always carrying a half-eaten wienerbröd.
Always whispering.
"Brøffel... snask... klump... wienerbrøøød... flump... hrrr..."
The gibberish never changed.
But somehow...
Johan began to understand it.
Not the words.
The feeling behind them.
An endless, impossible hunger.
---
The nightmares began.
Johan dreamed of endless bakeries stretching beneath the sea.
The Dane wandered their aisles without blinking.
Every shelf held fresh wienerbröd.
He picked one up.
Took one bite.
Another appeared.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He never swallowed.
He only chewed.
The sound echoed through the water.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
---
One morning Johan found his apartment filled with pastries.
Every table.
Every chair.
Every windowsill.
Thousands of fresh wienerbröd.
Each one missing exactly one bite.
In the middle of the room lay a handwritten note.
It contained only one line.
"Brøffel... snørk... you are almost ready."
---
Johan fled north.
Deep into the forests.
No bakeries.
No towns.
No people.
On the third night he heard chewing outside the cabin.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
He looked through the window.
The Dane stood among the trees.
Smiling.
Rain poured from his coat onto the forest floor.
He slowly raised another wienerbröd.
Took one bite.
Then whispered.
"Brøffel... klask... snørk... flærr... hrrr..."
The words came from everywhere.
The wind.
The trees.
The walls.
Finally...
From Johan's own mouth.
He covered his lips in horror.
Without meaning to, he whispered back.
"Brøffel... snørk... wienerbrøøød..."
The Dane's smile grew even wider.
For the first time, he spoke in perfect Swedish.
"Now you understand."
He held out the half-eaten pastry.
Johan reached for it before realizing what he was doing.
When search teams found the cabin weeks later, it was empty.
The only evidence anyone had ever been there was a single fresh wienerbröd on the table.
One bite missing.
And, if someone listened very carefully, they could still hear a faint voice drifting through the forest at night.
"Brøffel... snørk... flærr... wienerbrøøøød..."