Paranormal Anthology With a TWIST (27 page)

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 beginning 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.

Muller slowly turned the little man to face him. His bright blue
eyes filled with fear as he now gazed on what Muller had become. His eight-foot
frame, no longer covered in the black and silver uniform of the Gestapo
General—but almost naked in the freezing, winter night—seemed to
put off heat. Patrice could see Muller’s eyes and he grasped the cross around
his neck. Muller laughed.