Paranormal Anthology with a TWIST

by Bart Hopkins

  Her mother had been gone for almost six weeks. The soldiers in the black and silver uniforms had taken her away. Mama had made them hide under the floors and told them to not make a sound. The soldiers broke through the door and Sascha remembered hearing the glass as it smashed against the wooden planks above her head. She closed her eyes, the tiny shards slipping through the spaces of the floorboards as they fell against her face. She heard her mother yelling at the soldiers and felt Eduard grasp her hand. Then she heard his voice. Sascha opened her eyes when she heard that voice. It was different from the others. She remembered how it cut into her soul like a knife through a potato. It hurt her. She had felt Eduard’s hand tighten. It must have hurt him too. The soldier argued with her mother and they began to yell. Suddenly, Sascha heard the smack and a great thud above her head. She saw her mother’s eye looking down at her for only a moment before it was yanked away. One of the soldiers had her mother by her hair and she was crying. He was hurting her. Sascha wanted to scream, but then she felt the grip of her brother’s hand grow tighter. She moved her other hand over her mouth so that she wouldn’t betray her promise to her mother. She would be quiet, no matter what. The fresh heat of her tears burned as they rolled down the sides of her face and into her ears. The one with the horrible voice spoke again, but she couldn’t see him. One of them hit her mama. Sascha saw the fresh blood run from her mother’s nostril into her mouth, but her mama said nothing. They hit her again and again and again. Sascha closed her eyes and prayed to God to save her mama, but then she heard the horrible one tell them to take her away. Her mama was yelling as they dragged her out of the apartment and Sascha opened her eyes again. The soldiers stayed as Sascha and Eduard listened to them smash everything they could find. They grabbed bookcases and threw them to the floor, smashed furniture, and ripped paintings from the wall. It seemed to Sascha that the assault went on for hours, but eventually they all left. It was silent—except for an item left dangling that finally gave way and fell to the floor with a gentle chink. The twins stayed hidden until daylight flooded through the crevices in the floorboards. They left their hiding place and stood quietly in the center of what had been their home—debris and broken dreams lay scattered around their feet. They held on to one another’s hands and said nothing.

  Mr. Levine, the butcher from downstairs, found them not long after and took them to his home. From there, they were ushered to the train station and handed off to a man they didn’t know. Mr. Levine said the man would take them to safety. When Eduard had asked about his mother, Mr. Levine smiled a sad smile, patted Eduard’s head, and then left. Subsequently, they found themselves in the French countryside near Aix-En-Provence. They were taken deep into the woods, dense with tall, lush trees. There, in a clearing, stood a small wooden shack. Sascha stared at the little home. There was gray smoke rising from the small chimney and soft violet flowers surrounding the tiny abode. She smiled—despite her sadness and confusion. It was then that they had come to stay with Patrice Ambroise.

  He was a small man with kind eyes, the color of the sky after a big rain—bright and blue. Whenever he smiled, his eyes danced, his great mouth turned upward, creating massive lines in his face, and his laugh was loud and deep. He was teaching them to speak French and to work in the woods. The twins loved their new home, despite the fact that they missed their mother and rarely saw many other people.

  “You think too much.”

  “Sorry, Eduard. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “If I didn’t have to hear you think, I would sleep much better.”

  Eduard rolled over onto his back and stared out the same window as his sister.

  “She’s gone, you know,” he said.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  Eduard slipped his hand around his sister’s and squeezed it lightly. Sascha felt her hand instinctively squeeze back. She let go of the pendant and let it fall against her chest. Together they watched the snow flurries gather against the windowpane and then blow away in the winter wind. It wasn’t long before they both drifted off to sleep.

  š

  “Rise and shine, you two.”

  Patrice Ambroise knocked on the door to their room and slowly opened the door.

  “Good morning…good morning, children. Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good…good… Come along, there is hot food waiting to be eaten.”

  The twins rolled out of their bed and stretched. They were only eight-years-old, but they stood at five feet four. They were growing very quickly for their age and were almost as tall as Patrice. Rubbing their eyes, the children sat at the table and waited for their guardian to join them. The short, white-haired man stood over a pot at the black wood-burning stove, stirring as he hummed a light song to himself.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  The children looked at each other and then back at Monsieur Ambroise.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Patrice looked back at the children with his eyebrows raised, then sighed, lifted the vessel from the burner, and turned to the table. He walked over and set the pot down in the center of the dishes and cups.

  “You know, children, your thoughts are very loud.”

  Their mouths dropped open as the old man sat down at the table.

  “You can hear us, sir?” Eduard asked.

  Patrice lifted a bowl to the pot and began to spoon out the porridge. He then handed the bowl to Eduard.

  “Yes, I can hear your thoughts, my dears,” he said. “You were thinking about your mother, yes?”

  Sascha nodded her head, eyes wide and round.

  “She’s gone, sir…”

  Eduard dropped his head and stared at the center of the table. Patrice spooned more porridge into another bowl and then handed it to Sascha.

  “Yes, your mother is with God now.”

  Sascha stared at the porridge. The small mounds of cream-colored mash reminded her of the clouds. The warmth permeated the wooden bowl and made her fingers tingle. She slowly set the bowl on the table and looked back at the old man, now eating his own bowl of food.

  “How is it you can hear us, sir?”

  Patrice was about to shovel a mound of porridge into his mouth, but instead sighed and set the spoon in the bowl.

  “We have always been able to do so. It is one of the gifts given to our family.”

  Eduard raised his head and looked at Patrice.

  “Our family?”

  The children looked at each other and then back at their benefactor. Patrice smiled—that glorious wide smile that made his face wrinkle everywhere.

  “Yes…our family.”

  “Who are you, sir?” Sascha asked.

  “I am your grandfather,” Patrice replied. “Did your mother ever tell you about me? Or your father?”

  “Mama said her mama had died, but she had a papa, but that we couldn’t see him. She showed us a picture of them when they were young,” said Sascha.

  Patrice chuckled and rose from his chair. He walked across the small room and lifted a large black book off the shelf and carried it to his chair. Sitting down, he beckoned the children to come to him. They rose from their chairs and slowly walked to the old man. He motioned for them to sit on either side of him as he opened the book—a photo album. He pointed to a young girl with pigtails—the resemblance to Sascha was uncanny.

  “That is your mama when she was your age. She was very smart and very pretty.”

  Sascha stared at the picture and the pendant around her mother’s neck.

  “Are those our pendants?”

  “Yes, those pendants you each wear have been passed down from generation to generation. Your grandmother and I gave them to your mama when she was your age. Two pendants. Your grandmother went to be with God when your mama was only a few years older than you. It was a hard time for us, but my Miriam and I, we found our way. It was a good life for us here… When your mama was sixteen, she met a man and fell in love. His nam
e was Azar Engle… he was your father. She loved him, so I gave my blessing and they were married. He said they had to go to Germany.”

  Patrice flipped the pages of the book, the edges worn with time and use, as the children watched their lives pass in front of them on black paper and sepia tones. He pointed to a picture of their mother and a handsome, very tall man.

  “That is your papa. A good man. Very happy. Your mama never told me what happened to him.”

  “You still talked to mama?”

  Patrice laughed again.

  “Yes, it is something our family can do. Your mama and I would talk every night,” Patrice said as he tapped the side of his head lightly before he let his smile fade. “I heard her call to me the night they took her. She told me you would be coming and to be ready.”

  “Why did you not tell us who you were, sir?” Eduard asked.

  “You were so frightened. I wanted you to feel comfortable before I told you about our family—about your mama… about why we may have to leave here. Having said that… you must stop calling me sir… ”

  “Yes,” said Sascha. “I like… Mapapa… You are the papa of our mama, after all.”

  “I like it,” said Eduard, smiling.

  “So be it,” said Patrice. “And in time, I will teach you how to hide your thoughts from one another, from me, and from anyone else like us. We should all have privacy.”

  “Mapapa… Why do we have to leave?” Sascha asked.

  “Because of him… the one who… the one who took your mama.”

  Patrice closed the photo album and laid it gently on his lap, several tears rolled down his cheeks, slipping in the deep wrinkles of his sad face. Sascha leaned over, pressed her face to her grandfather’s, and closed her eyes. Eduard did the same and Patrice felt an overwhelming sense of relief and calm. Warmth spread through him and he was at peace. The hole that had been left by the death of his daughter was gone, filled with a new hope and love. The children released their grandfather and he smiled at them.

  “How did you do that?” asked Patrice.

  Eduard shrugged.

  “Don’t know—just always done it.”

  Sascha smiled and rocked back and forth. Then she stopped and frowned.

  “Mapapa? Why did they take our mama?”

  Patrice took the girl’s hand and ran his fingers gently across the back of her fingers. He forced a smile.

  “The SS Soldier, with the horrible voice… He wants the two of you. Your mama wouldn’t tell him where you were hidden, so he tried to get her to tell him in other ways. That does not matter.”

  “Why does he want us?” asked Sascha.

  “That I don’t know either. Your mama never said why they wanted you. Maybe it’s because of our ability to hear one another’s thoughts. I don’t know.”

  “Can he hear our thoughts, Mapapa?” Eduard asked, fear now visible in his eyes.

  “No, I don’t think he can—otherwise he might have found you by now.”

  Sascha and Eduard clung to their grandfather. Eduard was shaking.

  “Please, Mapapa, please don’t let him get us! His voice hurt me. Like a knife.”

  Patrice held the children.

  “I will never let them get you, my dears… Never.”

  Lt. Fritz Henke walked purposefully to the large wooden doors of General Heinrich Muller’s office. Turning, he stopped in front of them and knocked with the same amount of purpose he had in his stride.

  Within the office, Muller looked up from his paperwork and scowled.

  “Enter!”

  Lt. Henke turned the knob and entered the office with great formality. After crossing the threshold and closing the door, he raised his right arm above his head.

  “Heil, Hitler!”

  Muller raised his hand, only less enthusiastically, and replied.

  “Heil, Hitler.”

  “My General, I believe we have found the children you seek.”

  Muller’s eyes lit up and the corner of his mouth quivered.

  “You believe?”

  “Yes, my General. When we showed the pictures of the children to those working on the railway, several remembered seeing them. We have had many confirmations that these are the same children you are looking for, but they traveled under forged papers.”

  Muller leaned back and placed his hands on the massive, black oak desk, slowly strumming his fingers as he thought.

  “They are now in France, my General…in the region near Aix-En-Provence,” the young lieutenant said.

  “Aix-En-Provence?! Are you certain?”

  “Yes, my General. They are living with a farmer by the name of Patrice Ambroise.”

  Muller smiled and stopped drumming his fingers against the ebony oak, slamming both hands down as he stood. Henke jumped slightly at the sudden movement.

  “Good! Find me transport—I must get there as soon as possible!”

  Henke frowned slightly and cleared his throat. Muller stared at him and his smile faded.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, my General… there are no flights to France at this time. The Fuhrer has grounded all flights until tomorrow. He is having a meeting. We would have to drive.”

  Muller’s smile from a few moments before became a scowl that darkened the room. Henke felt as if a great cold wind had swept through the office, his skin prickling at the sensation.

  “Fine,” said Muller, through gritted teeth. “Get me transport…now.”

  “Yes, my General. Sieg, Heil!”

  Muller raised his arm and watched the officer leave. Hitler was becoming more problematic than he was worth. Surely the Master wouldn’t mind an early sacrifice. Muller smiled at the thought of slaughtering the arrogant little man who was so suspicious of everyone, yet listened to the occultists. At least he knew to fear the Chosen, pathetic little man. The blasphemer thought he was God. For that alone, he should be tortured and killed, but Muller knew that now was not the time. He smiled. They had the children and soon they would have the keys they needed to bring about his Master’s plan.

  Patrice walked slowly back from his neighbor’s farm. The gray skies of the afternoon proclaimed the imminent arrival of more snow and he didn’t relish having to travel in the cold. He pulled his coat closer around his face. His family had lived on this land for thousands of years, and the thought of leaving physically hurt, but the Nazis were everywhere. Soon they would find the children. They were coming…he knew that. He had to keep them safe. They were all he had left of his precious Miriam.

  The snow from the night before crunched under his feet as he approached the small cabin, then he stopped. He felt the sting of cold hit his face as a tear rolled down his cheek. The home he had shared with his beloved, Marré: where they had loved one another… where she had planted lavender at the gate… where they had raised their child… He sniffed and wiped his face. He had thought his last days would be here in the little home, but he knew they had to leave. He hid his thoughts from the children, striving not to let them see him so consumed with sadness. He shook his head, took a deep breath and smiled, then walked on and into the warmth of his home.

  Muller bounced and jiggled in the back of the Mercedes as the tires fell into holes, causing the car to lurch as it drove along the rural road. He leered at the driver as they hurried down the darkened path. As they rounded a bend, Muller could see a warm glow in the distance and the corners of his mouth curled up in joyous expectation. He could feel them… just as he had the night he took their whore mother.

  “Quietly, driver! I don’t want them to hear us coming. Turn off the lights and the engine.”

  The driver did as he was told and allowed the vehicle to coast within a reasonable distance to the small house in the middle of a clearing. He put the parking brake in the on position and exited the car. Moving to the rear door, he opened it, and then stepped aside for Muller to exit. Muller stepped out of the car and stood up. To the driver, he appeared much taller than he had at the beginni
ng of their journey. Muller then turned and looked at the driver.

  “Thank you… Your services are no longer required.”

  The driver furrowed his brow in confusion, then his eyes grew wide and he shook his head.

  “No, please! No….”

  Muller reached out with one arm, grasped the driver’s throat, and squeezed. The driver’s eyes began to bulge and he slapped at Muller, who stared back with cold, dark scrutiny, grinning wildly. There was a distinctive SNAP as the driver’s neck broke. He dropped the body and turned to the tiny house.

  “Come along, children…time to go,” he muttered excitedly to himself.

  As he approached the dwelling, his body seemed to grow larger and taller—his features more defined and dark. His hair had grown long, dark, and limp. The pupils in his eyes seemed to spread like an oil slick, making his eyes completely black.

  Patrice had heard the car and glanced out the window to see Muller kill the driver. He was too late.

  “Children, quickly, we must go, now! He’s here! Come!”

  Patrice went to the back door and ushered the children through and into the darkness.

  “The trees, my dears, into the trees!”

  Eduard reached out and grabbed Sascha’s hand as they moved quickly through the trees, Patrice following close behind. They tried desperately to avoid the frozen snow and walk only where there was powder, but in the darkness it became increasingly difficult to tell which was which. The occasional crunching noise echoed through the forest. The cold air stung their throats as they breathed deeply. Suddenly they heard the loud smashing of snow and plants behind them.

  “Oh, children…come out, come out, wherever you are…”

  Patrice held his finger to his lips and motioned for the children to run toward the road. The elderly man was having trouble keeping up with the little ones, but when they tried to come back for him, he waved them on and shook his head. At that moment, he felt a hand on his shirt—and the ground disappeared beneath his feet.