The Man in the Attic—and the Woman Who Put Him There

The bizarre and true story of Walburga "Dolly" Oesterreich, who hid her secret lover in her attic for over a decade. That is, until a murder blew the secret wide open.

True Crime | Historical Crime | Stranger Than Fiction

In 1920s Los Angeles, housewife Walburga “Dolly” Oesterreich seemed like a woman with it all—a husband, a lavish home… and a secret lover hidden in the attic.

This isn't just an affair gone wrong. It’s a true crime case so bizarre, it sounds like fiction.

At first glance, Walburga Oesterreich seemed like any other 1920s housewife. She was elegant, sociable, and always impeccably dressed. Her husband, Fred Oesterreich, a wealthy apron manufacturer in Los Angeles, gave her everything—except affection. But Dolly had a secret. And that secret was living in her attic.

This isn’t just a tale of infidelity. It’s a story so bizarre, so deeply twisted, it sounds like something out of Hitchcock’s darkest dreams.

A Passion Begins

Dolly was born Walburga Korschel in Germany and immigrated to the U.S. as a child. By her early twenties, she was married to Fred Oesterreich, a successful, hard-drinking businessman who ran a Milwaukee textile factory. Though financially comfortable, the marriage was emotionally bankrupt. Fred was often cruel, moody, and indifferent.

Sometime around 1913, Dolly, in her early 30s, met Otto Sanhuber—a 17-year-old sewing machine repairman. What started as flirtation turned into a full-blown affair. But this wasn’t your typical tryst in a hotel or apartment. No, Dolly had a different plan.

Otto Moves In… to the Attic

To avoid suspicion, Dolly suggested something unthinkable: Otto should quit his job, sever ties with the outside world, and move into the attic of the Oesterreichs’ home.

And he agreed.

For over ten years, Otto lived like a ghost in the attic—silent, obedient, and utterly dependent on Dolly. He wrote pulp fiction stories by candlelight and read books she brought him. In return, he was her lover, her companion… and eventually, her accomplice.

Murder in Los Angeles

By 1918, the couple relocated to Los Angeles. Dolly, ever the manipulator, ensured their new home had an attic suitable for Otto’s continued isolation.

Then, on August 22, 1922, everything unraveled.

Fred and Dolly got into one of their legendary arguments. This time, Otto—overhearing the fight from above—burst out of the attic with Fred’s own .25 caliber pistol. In the struggle that followed, Fred was shot three times and died.

To cover up the crime, Dolly staged a robbery. Otto returned to his attic crypt, and Dolly locked herself in a closet, tossing the key outside to make it seem like a break-in.

It almost worked.

The Walls Close In

At first, police suspected a robbery gone wrong. But inconsistencies in Dolly’s story raised eyebrows. And over the next few years, gossip swirled.

In a twist worthy of a noir film, Dolly’s second lover—her lawyer, Herman Shapiro—uncovered the bizarre truth. Dolly had given him a watch she claimed was lost in the “robbery” and later asked him to deliver food to a man in her attic. Curious, Herman confronted Otto, who spilled everything.

In 1930, both Otto and Dolly were arrested.

Trial and Aftermath

Otto’s trial was a media circus. The public dubbed him “The Bat Man,” a reclusive creature living in the rafters of a murder house. He claimed he acted out of love, and the jury believed he’d been under Dolly’s spell. The statute of limitations had run out on his crimes. He walked free.

Dolly was tried separately for conspiracy to commit murder, but the jury deadlocked. She, too, was eventually released and lived out her days quietly. Otto faded into obscurity. Some reports say he changed his name, married, and moved to Canada.

Final Thoughts

The story of Walburga Oesterreich is not just true crime—it’s gothic horror. It's about control, obsession, isolation, and the twisted power dynamics that can unfold behind closed doors… or above the ceiling beams.

It’s also a chilling reminder: sometimes, the skeletons in the closet aren’t just metaphors. Sometimes, they’re flesh and blood, lurking right above you.

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