Paranormal Anthology With a TWIST (26 page)

I dedicate this story to my BFF, Janeen, and my Soul Sister, Nat.
Your encouragement, support and love is never ending. You are my muses,
constantly inspiring me to do better and work harder. And to Cynthia, once
again, for putting the contest out there and making me think outside the box.

S. L. Dearing was raised in California and grew up in Arizona.
Shannon attended Cal Poly San Luis Obispo, studying biology, then moved to Los
Angeles where she spent several years studying at Los Angeles City College’s
renowned Television/ Film program. She has worked on several film projects in
many capacities, like First A.D. and Producer. She is a book reviewer for the
Big Blend Magazine and has her own blog where she posts about life and books.
Shannon has been writing since grade school, but over the years she has written
several screenplays, poems and short stories. The Gathering is her first novel.
Shannon currently lives in the No Ho Arts District of the San Fernando Valley
of Southern California.

Website:
www.sldearing.com

Blog:
sldearing1.wordpress.com

Facebook:
www.facebook.com/sldearing

The Gathering:
www.amzn.com/B004DCB5X2

“I didn’t ask you to find just
any
children, Lieutenant Henke! I want
those
children! Idiot!”

The SS officer bowed his head, clicking the heels of his black
boots together.

“My apologies, General. I was led to believe these children would
be taken to Birkenau at Doctor Mengele’s request…for the Twins project.”

The SS General looked at the young lieutenant with disdain. The
fair-haired Aryan youth was rising in the ranks of the SS due only to his
fanatical obsession with the Fuhrer and the influence of his father. The lines
around General Heinrich Muller’s mouth deepened. Idiots…everywhere.

“It is not your concern why I want these children… just find them!
These specific children! And when you do, you will come and tell me and I will
retrieve them! Do you remember the names I gave you?”

“Yes, General! Sascha and Eduard Engel!”

“Good…locate them immediately and then report to me and me only.
Now Go!”

The lieutenant nodded and raised his arm.

“Sieg Heil!”

Muller raised his arm and clicked his heels together.

“Sieg Heil!”

 
Lt. Fritz Henke
lowered his arm and turned, promptly walking towards the giant, black oak
doors. He opened them and exited, then spun around and closed them behind him.

Muller pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. He walked
over to the window and looked out at the dark streets of Berlin, watching the
rain fall hard and fast on the unhappy passersby. The Master’s plan was almost
complete. The Chosen were being eradicated from the planet and the sheep were
following the puppet. The only thing left to do was to find the children. His
face twisted into a grimace, his blood pumping furiously to his brain as he
clenched his hand into a fist. He had been so close before, but that bitch
wouldn’t tell him anything. They had somehow gotten the children to a new location.
He began to sneer. He would find them… and when he did, no one would be able to
save them.

The bright light of the moon shone through the little window above
the bed of Sascha and Eduard Engel, illuminating the tiny room where they
slept. Eduard breathed deeply, lost in the world of sleep as his sister lay
quietly next to him. She stared at the sky through the glass, the tiny flakes
of snow gently falling from heaven. She twirled an oval, bronze pendant in her
fingers and smiled. She remembered her mother. Her mama had always told her
that snow was God’s way of sending little pieces of heaven to his people on
earth so they would remember Him. Sascha missed her.

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 name 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.”