Hell Hollow

by Ronald Kelly

  “I have heard about this place,” said a young man with the swarthy complexion and jet black hair of a Gypsy. “It is the Death Camp. The Fuhrer’s damnable machine of extermination.”

  “But what is his purpose for doing such a horrible thing?” asked Chuck.

  The old man laughed bitterly. “The man is evil. He regards us as an ‘impure’ race. A threat to his precious Third Reich. Therefore he has vowed to eliminate us from the population of Europe. From what I have heard, nearly six million of our kind have already died in his infernal concentration camps. Who knows how far it may go!”

  The lock was removed from the boxcar’s door and, abruptly, pale light streamed inside, temporarily blinding them. German soldiers herded them from the cattle car, prodding them with the muzzles of their Mausers. They were divided into groups by sonderkommando – prisoners who aided their captors by escorting unsuspecting arrivals to one of two places; either the work barracks or the somber, morgue-like structure of the crematorium. Chuck was carried by the old Jew and the young Gypsy, held between them inconspicuously enough that it appeared as though he was walking under his own power.

  As they passed through the gate, marching five by five, Chuck spotted a man standing on the balcony of the admissions building. He was a tall, dark-haired gentleman dressed in a crisp black SS uniform and glistening leather boots. Like the Fuhrer, he also held a disturbing resemblance to Augustus Leech.

  “Who is he?” asked Chuck.

  “That is Doctor Mengele,” volunteered one of the sonderkommando.

  Chuck nodded. He had read about the sadistic Nazi doctor who had served under Hitler’s command. Mengele turned Auschwitz into a rare opportunity to perform his horrible experiments and operations with complete impunity, mostly on the children of the death camp. Chuck recalled hideous stories of the medical atrocities he had inflicted; infecting them with agonizing viruses, performing disfiguring surgery, and injecting their eyes with dye to turn their pupils a bright, Aryan blue.

  As they passed the front of the admissions building, Chuck noticed that the long line was being divided. Some were selected for slave labor and sent toward the barracks and workshops. The rest were marched toward the rear of the camp… toward the finality of the gas chamber and crematorium. Family members wailed and wept as they were separated, mournfully aware that they would never see one another alive again.

  “Hold your head tall,” the elderly man told Chuck, taking a firmer grip on his arm. “If they know you are crippled, they will send you to the ovens for sure.”

  “How did you come to lose the use of your legs?” asked the Gypsy. “During the heat of battle?”

  “No, it was an accident,” admitted Chuck, recalling the loud boom of a shotgun on a cool autumn morning. “A stupid, senseless accident.”

  He thought about his father and the awful guilt he carried inside for leaving his son partially paralyzed. Chuck would have liked nothing better than to talk to him at that moment and assure him that he was not to blame for what had taken place during that tragic hunting trip at Willow Lake. But wishing for such a chance was pointless. Chuck was certain that he would never have the opportunity to see either of his parents again.

  Fortunately, the sonderkommando helped them merge with the line of prisoners who were destined for the labor camp. Even though Chuck had escaped the fate of the other line, he felt no relief. The stifling stench of burnt bodies curled in his nostrils, assuring him that, sooner or later, they would all find themselves the victims of the Fuhrer’s gaseous showers and the searing furnaces of the crematorium.

  After they were registered and given badges that classified them as “race violators”, the three found themselves in one of the drafty barracks. The long, narrow building stank of human waste, disease, and lost hope. They were issued baggy, striped uniforms, then assigned bunks. The beds were narrow and cramped, stacked on atop the other, four and five high.

  Chuck managed to end up in one of the bottom bunks. Exhausted from the long train ride into Poland, he laid back, unable to believe that his glorious dream of war had turned so black and dismal. His brave mission behind enemy lines was forgotten. All that occupied his mind now was the death sentence he had been subjected to. There was no possibility of escape there in Auschwitz and little chance for survival. From what he had read about the death camp, he knew that there were only two ways he would be leaving its imprisonment. Either he would die of malnutrition after days of agonizing labor, or he would perish within the murderous jaws of the Fuhrer’s abominable death machine, where millions had been led like cattle to a slaughterhouse.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “Well, here it is,” said Jasper. He stood at the edge of the slope that led down into the dark valley of Hell Hollow. “Are ya’ll ready?”

  Susan McLeod, Joe Adkins, and Tom Sutton stared into the pit of the wooded hollow. Each had heard the superstitions and ghost stories that surrounded the black heart of the South Woods, branding it a forbidden place that was never to be approached, even in broad daylight. An unsettling feeling crept through them, as well as a peculiar chill that totally transcended the muggy warmth of the summer morning. But they all knew they could not let their fear get the better of them. Their loved ones were at stake and there was a good chance that the one responsible was somewhere down there, hidden from view by thick underbrush and the wild foliage of tall cedar trees.

  One by one, they nodded. “Okay,” replied Jasper. “Then let’s go. But be careful. It looks mighty steep.”

  Carefully, the four started down the embankment, holding onto weeds and strings of leafy kudzu to prevent them from tumbling the rest of the way down. As he led the way, Jasper felt the temperature drop even more, causing the flesh of his arms to prickle with goose bumps. A distant memory returned to him; a memory of a band of horsemen descending that same slope in the pitch blackness of an autumn night, searching for the wreckage of a medicine show wagon that had careened over the edge mere moments before.

  When they reached the floor of the hollow, Joe held up his hand. “Hey!” he whispered. “Listen!”

  The others stood deathly still and listened. From several yards away drifted the sound of a banjo. They attempted to identify the tune that was being played on it, but it eluded them. All except Tom, that was.

  “Sympathy for the Devil,” said the teenager.

  “Huh?” asked Jasper.

  “That’s what he’s playing,” Tom explained. “It’s a Stones tune.”

  The four looked at one another, the sensation of uneasiness increasing. “Maybe you were right after all, Papa,” said Susan, peering into the stand of dense woods that stretched ahead of them. “Maybe he is here.”

  “Well, let’s go and find out for sure,” replied the old man. He started forward, stepping high to prevent the kudzu from tripping him up. The others followed quietly. Their faces were pale, but determined.

  A moment later, they discovered that Jasper’s suspicions had been correct all along. Parked in the center of the cedar grove was a brightly-painted cabin wagon on four blood-red wheels. Tethered to the iron tongue of the front axle were two black horses who snorted in contempt at their approach. Jasper was almost sure they were Amos Hadley’s prized breeders. Amos was the kind who kept to himself for days at a time, so no one in town had seen him for a while. Jasper had an uneasy feeling that something bad had happened to the old horse trader, perhaps at the hands of the one they had come there to see.

  As he grew nearer, Jasper could tell there were disturbing differences between these two beasts and the good-natured animals that romped in Amos’s south pasture. The horses secured to the medicine show wagon were physically threatening, almost dangerous in demeanor. And they possessed a strange red cast to their eyes. If Jasper hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn that they glowed from an unholy inner light.

  As they drew nearer, they turned their attention to the banjo-player who sat on a stump before a small campfire. He was tall and l
anky, dressed in a clashing outfit of tan work boots, jeans, a Grateful Dead t-shirt, a black frock coat, and a dusty top hat. When the man stopped his picking and looked up at them, Jasper’s breath caught in his throat. The man’s gaunt, whiskered face was not precisely the one he recalled from his dream. But it was Augustus Leech, nevertheless. Jasper could detect the dark soul of that murderous showman just beneath the surface of skin and bone.

  “Is it him?” asked Susan in a low voice.

  “If not in flesh,” replied her father-in-law, “then certainly in spirit.”

  The tall man’s eyes sparkled darkly as he set his banjo aside and clasped his hands before him. “Given the circumstances, I half-expected someone to show up this morning,” he said. “But I certainly didn’t expect such a big turnout.”

  Joe stepped forward. “We’re here about – “

  “Yes, I know your reason for coming here, Mr. Adkins,” said Augustus Leech. “You wish to know the whereabouts of your pathetic cripple of a son, don’t you?” He turned amused eyes on the other three. “Just like you desire to learn what became of Keith, Rusty, and Maggie.”

  “That’s right,” said Susan, her round cheeks flushed with anger. “Now, tell us! What have you done to them?”

  Leech laughed softly. “Why, my dear, I haven’t done a thing to them. Where they have ventured to is purely of their own choice. I did nothing to persuade them. I merely provided them the means to go there, that’s all.”

  “Go where?” asked Tom Sutton.

  “Into the realm of their secret dreams,” Leech told them. “They went where they have always wanted to go – far from their dismal homes and their dysfunctional families. And, thanks to me, they have achieved that goal. Only, they had no earthly idea that there was no turning back. That they were destined to stay upon their second journey… with absolutely no chance of returning. Not under their own power, that is.”

  Despite Jasper’s restraining hand, Joe Adkins took a threatening step toward the man in the stovepipe hat. “If that’s the case, they you’re gonna bring them back… right now!”

  A reptilian smile crossed Leech’s whiskered face. “Oh, I certainly could do that… but I’m afraid I must decline. They’ve made their beds, so to speak. Now they must face the consequences and lie in them… no matter how horribly they might suffer.”

  “You son of a bitch!” cussed the mechanic. “If you don’t tell me where the hell my boy is, I’m gonna break your skinny neck!”

  Leech calmly reached into his coat and brought out a slender glass bottle with an aged brown label pasted to the front. He smiled at Jasper. “If you know what’s good for you, McLeod, I would keep that gorilla on a leash. For the sake of your grandsons and the other two.”

  The elderly farmer recognized the bottle, although he hadn’t seen one for nearly nine decades. It was identical to the elixir bottle that his father had purchased at the medicine show; the bottle that had contained the poison that had killed his baby sister. What is he up to? he wondered. What is he going to do with that? But he already knew that whatever Leech’s intentions were, they were far from honorable.

  He tightened his grip on Adkins’ brawny arm. “Just cool down, Joe,” he warned. “It ain’t gonna do no good to – “

  “The hell it ain’t!” snapped Joe, pulling free from Jasper’s hold. “This bastard’s jerked us around long enough. I’m ready for some answers!”

  The mechanic’s bravado affected the high school student. He started forward too, hands clenched into knobby fists. “I’m with you, Texaco Man,” said Tom. “Let’s beat the crap outta this asshole and find out what happened to Maggie and the others!”

  “No, stop!” yelled Jasper, but he knew they were beyond reasoning with.

  Leech laughed and withdrew the cork from the mouth of the bottle. He waited until the two were nearly upon him. “You should have listened to the old man,” he said, then dashed several drops of black elixir into the flames of the campfire.

  Without warning, a billowing cloud of bluish-black smoke began to boil from out of the fire, expanding, engulfing them both. It smelled strangely like county fair cotton candy with the sickening stench of sunbaked roadkill hidden just underneath.

  Joe Adkins coughed and gagged, flailing his arms as he tried to break through the choking mist. When he finally stepped into the open air, he was shocked to find himself not in Hell Hollow, but in a field near Willow Lake. Stunned, Joe looked down to find himself dressed in camouflage clothing and hiking boots, his usual attire for hunting. He heard the cackling laugh of Augustus Leech echo from the direction of the lake and began to climb a barbed wire fence, intending to go after him. But halfway across the barrier, a deafening boom sounded in the cool autumn air. He felt the impact of a shot hit him, lifting him completely off the fence. When he hit the earth, Joe reached around to the small of his back. He moaned in horror when his hand sank into a deep crater just above his pelvis. Warm wetness coated his fingers and the sharpness of splintered vertebrae slashed the flash of his palm. As all sensation drained from his legs, Joe turned his head and stared toward the far side of the fence. Standing on the other side was Chuck, grinning cruelly, holding Joe’s 12-gauge shotgun in his hands.

  At the same instance, Tom Sutton broke through the smothering blanket of smoke to find himself in upstairs hallway of his house. He stood there, dazed, wondering why he was no longer in the wooded hollow. Unable to move or speak, he stared through the open door of the bathroom at the far end of the hall. His little sister stood at the sink, wrapped in a towel, her hair wet from the shower she had just taken. As she picked up an electric hairdryer and turned it on the highest setting, Tom looked down at the puddle of water that was pooled around her bare feet. Water he had poured there for a practical joke. Tom opened his mouth to scream a warning, but his vocal chords were frozen. He watched in helpless horror as sparks burst from the dryer she held in her hand. Maggie turned rigid, her muscles growing taut as the deadly current seized her, refusing to let go.

  The girl’s eyes rolled up until only the whites showed and her teeth clamped down hard on her lower lip, biting deeply until blood flowed down her chin and spotted the white terrycloth of the bath towel around her. She was being electrocuted… and it was his fault!

  “Are you okay, Tommy?” came the voice of Susan McLeod, faintly at first, then growing in volume.

  The boy coughed, expelling the last of the nasty fumes from his lungs. He found himself kneeling in the kudzu of Hell Hollow, but the image of his dying sister remained foremost in his mind. He glanced over to see Jasper standing over the gas station mechanic. Joe Adkins seemed to have been similarly stricken. He crouched on his hands and knees, his face as pale as lard, tears in his eyes.

  “Now you are aware of what I am capable of,” said Leech, still sitting before the fire. He stuck the cork back into the mouth of the bottle and returned it to the folds of his black coat. “So, if I were you, I would behave like good little boys and girls and not screw around with me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” said Jasper and Susan, both at the same time. Joe and Tom simply nodded mutely, still struggling to overcome the mind-altering fumes of the vapor that had engulfed them.

  “Good,” said Leech with a nod of his head. “Now we can proceed. We can discuss this problem of yours in a civilized manner.”

  Jasper took a step forward, but no threateningly so. “Why, Leech?” he asked. “For God’s sake, why have you done this to them? They’re only children. They’ve done nothing to hurt you.”

  “On the contrary,” said the dark man. “They have come very close to jeopardizing my little ‘homecoming’ here in the fair town of Harmony. That is one reason why I gave them the ability to travel elsewhere. To keep them out of my hair… indefinitely.”

  Susan clasped her hands pleadingly. “You have to bring them back. Please!”

  Leech’s oily grin broadened. In the shadow of his top hat, his eyes twinkled mischievously. “If you want th
em back so very badly, I’m afraid you will have to go after them yourselves.”

  “What do you mean?” demanded Joe, finally able to speak again.

  “You possess the keys to their retrieval,” Leech explained. “The doorways through which they passed from this dismal realm to a decidedly more intriguing one.”

  Jasper didn’t understand what he was talking about at first. Then he remembered the square of pasteboard in his shirt pocket. “The cards!”

  “Yes,” agreed Leech. “To save them – or attempt to – you merely need do as they did last night. Place the card beneath their pillows and fall asleep. The portals of their dreams – or, more precisely, their nightmares – shall be open to you. But I must warn you… your chances of successfully rescuing them are slim at best. If you aren’t careful, you will find yourselves trapped there as well, with absolutely no prospect of returning. Of course, if you are unwilling to take that chance, well, that is entirely up to you…”

  Leech stared into each one’s eyes, his grin curling even more sinisterly. Just as he had expected, all four showed no sign of hesitation. They were prepared to walk through the gates of Hell and back to save their precious loved ones. Which was precisely what they would do, if they took the bait and crossed the threshold of the twelve-year-olds’ individual dreamscapes.