The Wolves of Berlin
Horror/ dark fantasy..
Berlin, Germany 1945
What remained of the Third Reich was slipping fast into the dark hours of history. The Allies were massing outside the city, while the streets were littered with the rubble of crumbling buildings as smoke and ash filled the air. The Fuer lay dead inside his bunker from a self-inflicted bullet to the head. And there was little resistance to the coming tide, but a few old men, eager to surrender and the young boys of Hitler's Youth, lugging rifles as long as they were tall.
Within the cellar of a building, once used to store ammunition's, a small platoon of boys, perched on wooden crates, peered out the narrow windows. Their rifles pressed firmly against their shoulders, they waited in dreadful silence for the Russians to barrel through the barricade of torched military trucks and twisted iron that blocked the street into the city. With blind patriotism and false ideals they would defend their city while their seniors planned their escape.
"It's quiet. Are you sure they are out there?" One of the boys asked. "They're out there, alright," the solemn voice of a girl answered from the shadows, "But I wouldn't worry about them, for something else is in the works."
"What?"
"I can't say for sure... I only know that the winds are changing, and my dreams have grown much more vivid now."
"Tell us then," another boy pleaded.
"Alright," she replied, as the boys gathered around the dark silhouette sitting on a box. "There were amber fields thrashing in our wake. The morning sun was rising, as we were running through them. But no one was chasing us... not the Russians, nor the British. We were simply running. There was no fear of war, for it couldn't touch us now... we had somehow changed."
"Into what?"
"I don't know."
Their conversation was interrupted from the sound of footsteps, clunking their way down the stairs. They snapped around as the heavy steel cellar door unlocked and opened. Two S.S. Guards, accompanied by a man caring a doctor's bag walked in. "Boys, this is Doctor Swiltz," one of the guards announced, "There is concern that the Allies may use biological weapons on us. So, Dr. Swilts is here to administer vaccinations."
The doctor promptly set his black leather bag onto a rustic wooden table. "If you will line up in single file, please, we can begin." He stated in a casual tone, while retrieving a large, glass needle from his bag. As the boys reluctantly fell in line, a sinister smile stretched across his aging face. "Don't worry," he murmured, "This won't hurt, but it may itch a while, ya?" One-by-one, starting from youngest (twelve), to the oldest (sixteen), he administered the shots. He began to quickly pack up, when a small voice called out, "Don't I get a shot?"
Swiltz turned and saw a young girl; maybe sixteen standing on a pile of crates. She was dressed in a blue blouse and skirt, with white knee-high stockings. Her hair was dark and molded into thick curly locks. "Who is this girl?" He demanded. "She is Korsheed," one of the boys answered, while itching his arm, "She's helping us." The doctor chuckled, then replied," She's a girl... what good is she here?" "She knows things," another boy added," She can tell when the air raids are coming."
"Nonsense!" One of the guards interjected. However, the boy only grew braver and shouted, "She also knows that the fuer is dead!" The boys gasped, fearful of the repercussions of what he said, however, there was only silence, followed by the slow footsteps of the doctor as he made his way over to Korsheed. His false smile revealed the gritting of his teeth. Cocking his head to one side, while shaking his finger, he began to speak, much slower than before, "You must be the clairvoyant... Ah yes, I remember you... The little Persian girl, we recruited for our spy intelligence."
Now the doctor was standing in front of her. He waved her down off the crates, then leaned in and asked in a low growl, "If you are so clairvoyant, then why did you not foresee this day?" "Just because I didn't say anything, doesn't mean I didn't see it," she answered. Enraged, Swiltz raised his arm as if to backhand her, but then thought better of it. "Alright then, one more shot for the lady." As he plunged the needle into her arm, Korsheed gave a subtle jerk, but maintained her composure.
"Tell me, little girl... what else do you see, that you're not telling?" She replied only with a smirk. Nevertheless, he noticed something peculiar in the pools of her eyes. Something like the glimmering of a silver coin, beneath the murky depths of violent waters. "Do you know what Nietzsche once said?" She remarked," If you stare into the black abyss long enough, it stares back at you..."
Swiltz quickly yanked the needle from her arm. He said nothing more to her as he packed his bag and walked over to the door, where the guards were still standing. He then turned around and clicked his heels. "Hail Hitler!" He shouted, with a brave salute. However, the boys did not return the salute. Instead they itched wildly now, as if they were breaking out in blistering hives. The doctor turned and walked up the stairs. "Lock the door behind you!" He commanded to the guards. Before shutting the door, the one guard observed the boys behavior. He was troubled by what he saw, but complied with the order.
At a swift pace the doctor hurried to the military truck, that was waiting for them. The guard that had locked the door, raced up to him and asked," What was in the needle?" "Just a little surprise for the allies."
"Shouldn't someone stay behind, to make sure they will be alright?!" The guard pressed on. "You ask too many questions," Swilts grumbled, as he tried to pull himself up into the passenger seat.
Aggravated, the guard grabbed him by his collar and stared him down, "Tell me... What was that shot!"
"Perhaps you're right, someone should stay behind to check on them," the doctor stated, as he ripped the guard's hand from his collar. He then plopped into his seat and ordered the driver to, "Go!" just as the other guard hopped into the back. As the truck made its way further down the street, the doctor leaned out and hollered back, "I certainly hope you don't believe in werewolves."
The guard stood poised, trying to digest what the doctor said. He then heard a faint grown of agony, coming from the building. He thought it best, not to know what was happening, but morbid curiosity drew him in. He wandered back down the cellar stairs, as bombs and gunfire began to echo throughout the streets. When he made it half way down, a bomb-blast, much closer, shook the entire foundation of the building. Flakes of spackle and dust fell from the ceiling.
He knew then that the Russians were advancing. He wanted to flee, but if these children were having some kind of allergic reaction, their captors would surely execute them, for fear that it might be contagious. So he decided to continue. He unlocked the door and let it slowly swing open under its own weight. It was completely dark and still inside the room. "Perhaps the blast knocked out a power line?" He thought to himself. But still, there was the unnerving silence in the room. "It's just me," he called out softly, but there was no answer.
With carefully plotted steps, he crept into the darkness. "Is anyone here?" He asked, but still no answer. He lightly bumped his head on what he discovered to be the light shield. And by what little daylight from the windows he saw that the bulb had been busted out. Then, with a painful groan, the cellar door swung shut. The arrival of his panic was announced by his own nervous pant. He scanned the room as he backed his way to the door, but something snapped its teeth from behind.
He jerked around, and was greeted with a low canine like growl. He stared into an abyss of darkness... and like Korseed had warned... The abyss was staring back. Silver glistening eyes filled the room, while hideous growls bounced off the walls. Then a voice he quickly recognized called out to him. "You shouldn't of returned," she said, "But we're glad to have you back.
All at once, these shapeless monsters lunged, sinking there teeth into his meaty flesh. His screams were only rivaled by the sound of his clothes being torn away, until the air-raid sirens and thrashing bombs consumed the nightmare within.
In the early hours of dawn, the first of the Russian tanks barreled their way through the streets. A small squad of three infantry men scouted the alleys for snipers. When they came across the body of a German soldier, lying dead in the gutter, one of them leaned over the corpse and searched his pockets. "Careful," another said, "He could be booby trapped." But the soldier only looked up at him with a grin across his face. Then from the front pocket of the deceased, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes. He and the other man fussed to light their findings with damp matches, while the more cautious soldier crept on down the dank alley.
As he turned the corner, he thought he saw a large black mass leap across, from one building to the next. But it did not appear to be a person. So he decided to wander closer. After only taking a few steps, several more of them leaped across. He ducked behind a couple of steel drums to avoid being seen. With his teeth, he pulled his one glove off and rubbed his eyes. He feared he might have been hallucinating, for what he saw looked like large black wolves, leaping through the alley. He swung back around with his rifle aimed. He only had to wait a moment before another one appeared. While the wolf was in mid-sprint, the soldier took his shot. The gun kicked as the beast yelped and landed on his side.
The two guards puffing away, heard the shot, and ran down the alley to find there comrade. As they turned the corner they found him standing over the body of a mere boy. A stream of blood ran down into the cracks between the bricks that paved the street. They ran over to him and saw where the boy had been shot. The wound to his stomach was almost two inches wide. They figured he had few moments to live as his pale blue eyes stared up at the sky.
"Why did you shoot an unarmed boy?" They asked. But the man only nervously gibbered some nonsense, before wandering off, acting as if delirious. "Why is the boy breathing like that?" The one asked the other.
"Like what?"
"Like that... In short, rapid burst, as if panting like a dog."
Through the streets, damp and worn, the wolves ran like bulls. They skirted past an old fragile woman, who was trying to fill a pitcher from a leaking pipe. When she turned and saw the wolves, her eyes lit with awe. "Run children, run!" She cheered, "Run from this horrid place of feeble minds and broken hearts. Run, children, and never look back!"
Hearing the ruckus, the old woman's husband ran outside and grabbed her.
"Helen," he cried, "Have you lost your mind?"
"Oh, but can't you hear it?" She bellowed with joyful tears.
"Hear what?"
"The laughter of children."
THE END...
What remained of the Third Reich was slipping fast into the dark hours of history. The Allies were massing outside the city, while the streets were littered with the rubble of crumbling buildings as smoke and ash filled the air. The Fuer lay dead inside his bunker from a self-inflicted bullet to the head. And there was little resistance to the coming tide, but a few old men, eager to surrender and the young boys of Hitler's Youth, lugging rifles as long as they were tall.
Within the cellar of a building, once used to store ammunition's, a small platoon of boys, perched on wooden crates, peered out the narrow windows. Their rifles pressed firmly against their shoulders, they waited in dreadful silence for the Russians to barrel through the barricade of torched military trucks and twisted iron that blocked the street into the city. With blind patriotism and false ideals they would defend their city while their seniors planned their escape.
"It's quiet. Are you sure they are out there?" One of the boys asked. "They're out there, alright," the solemn voice of a girl answered from the shadows, "But I wouldn't worry about them, for something else is in the works."
"What?"
"I can't say for sure... I only know that the winds are changing, and my dreams have grown much more vivid now."
"Tell us then," another boy pleaded.
"Alright," she replied, as the boys gathered around the dark silhouette sitting on a box. "There were amber fields thrashing in our wake. The morning sun was rising, as we were running through them. But no one was chasing us... not the Russians, nor the British. We were simply running. There was no fear of war, for it couldn't touch us now... we had somehow changed."
"Into what?"
"I don't know."
Their conversation was interrupted from the sound of footsteps, clunking their way down the stairs. They snapped around as the heavy steel cellar door unlocked and opened. Two S.S. Guards, accompanied by a man caring a doctor's bag walked in. "Boys, this is Doctor Swiltz," one of the guards announced, "There is concern that the Allies may use biological weapons on us. So, Dr. Swilts is here to administer vaccinations."
The doctor promptly set his black leather bag onto a rustic wooden table. "If you will line up in single file, please, we can begin." He stated in a casual tone, while retrieving a large, glass needle from his bag. As the boys reluctantly fell in line, a sinister smile stretched across his aging face. "Don't worry," he murmured, "This won't hurt, but it may itch a while, ya?" One-by-one, starting from youngest (twelve), to the oldest (sixteen), he administered the shots. He began to quickly pack up, when a small voice called out, "Don't I get a shot?"
Swiltz turned and saw a young girl; maybe sixteen standing on a pile of crates. She was dressed in a blue blouse and skirt, with white knee-high stockings. Her hair was dark and molded into thick curly locks. "Who is this girl?" He demanded. "She is Korsheed," one of the boys answered, while itching his arm, "She's helping us." The doctor chuckled, then replied," She's a girl... what good is she here?" "She knows things," another boy added," She can tell when the air raids are coming."
"Nonsense!" One of the guards interjected. However, the boy only grew braver and shouted, "She also knows that the fuer is dead!" The boys gasped, fearful of the repercussions of what he said, however, there was only silence, followed by the slow footsteps of the doctor as he made his way over to Korsheed. His false smile revealed the gritting of his teeth. Cocking his head to one side, while shaking his finger, he began to speak, much slower than before, "You must be the clairvoyant... Ah yes, I remember you... The little Persian girl, we recruited for our spy intelligence."
Now the doctor was standing in front of her. He waved her down off the crates, then leaned in and asked in a low growl, "If you are so clairvoyant, then why did you not foresee this day?" "Just because I didn't say anything, doesn't mean I didn't see it," she answered. Enraged, Swiltz raised his arm as if to backhand her, but then thought better of it. "Alright then, one more shot for the lady." As he plunged the needle into her arm, Korsheed gave a subtle jerk, but maintained her composure.
"Tell me, little girl... what else do you see, that you're not telling?" She replied only with a smirk. Nevertheless, he noticed something peculiar in the pools of her eyes. Something like the glimmering of a silver coin, beneath the murky depths of violent waters. "Do you know what Nietzsche once said?" She remarked," If you stare into the black abyss long enough, it stares back at you..."
Swiltz quickly yanked the needle from her arm. He said nothing more to her as he packed his bag and walked over to the door, where the guards were still standing. He then turned around and clicked his heels. "Hail Hitler!" He shouted, with a brave salute. However, the boys did not return the salute. Instead they itched wildly now, as if they were breaking out in blistering hives. The doctor turned and walked up the stairs. "Lock the door behind you!" He commanded to the guards. Before shutting the door, the one guard observed the boys behavior. He was troubled by what he saw, but complied with the order.
At a swift pace the doctor hurried to the military truck, that was waiting for them. The guard that had locked the door, raced up to him and asked," What was in the needle?" "Just a little surprise for the allies."
"Shouldn't someone stay behind, to make sure they will be alright?!" The guard pressed on. "You ask too many questions," Swilts grumbled, as he tried to pull himself up into the passenger seat.
Aggravated, the guard grabbed him by his collar and stared him down, "Tell me... What was that shot!"
"Perhaps you're right, someone should stay behind to check on them," the doctor stated, as he ripped the guard's hand from his collar. He then plopped into his seat and ordered the driver to, "Go!" just as the other guard hopped into the back. As the truck made its way further down the street, the doctor leaned out and hollered back, "I certainly hope you don't believe in werewolves."
The guard stood poised, trying to digest what the doctor said. He then heard a faint grown of agony, coming from the building. He thought it best, not to know what was happening, but morbid curiosity drew him in. He wandered back down the cellar stairs, as bombs and gunfire began to echo throughout the streets. When he made it half way down, a bomb-blast, much closer, shook the entire foundation of the building. Flakes of spackle and dust fell from the ceiling.
He knew then that the Russians were advancing. He wanted to flee, but if these children were having some kind of allergic reaction, their captors would surely execute them, for fear that it might be contagious. So he decided to continue. He unlocked the door and let it slowly swing open under its own weight. It was completely dark and still inside the room. "Perhaps the blast knocked out a power line?" He thought to himself. But still, there was the unnerving silence in the room. "It's just me," he called out softly, but there was no answer.
With carefully plotted steps, he crept into the darkness. "Is anyone here?" He asked, but still no answer. He lightly bumped his head on what he discovered to be the light shield. And by what little daylight from the windows he saw that the bulb had been busted out. Then, with a painful groan, the cellar door swung shut. The arrival of his panic was announced by his own nervous pant. He scanned the room as he backed his way to the door, but something snapped its teeth from behind.
He jerked around, and was greeted with a low canine like growl. He stared into an abyss of darkness... and like Korseed had warned... The abyss was staring back. Silver glistening eyes filled the room, while hideous growls bounced off the walls. Then a voice he quickly recognized called out to him. "You shouldn't of returned," she said, "But we're glad to have you back.
All at once, these shapeless monsters lunged, sinking there teeth into his meaty flesh. His screams were only rivaled by the sound of his clothes being torn away, until the air-raid sirens and thrashing bombs consumed the nightmare within.
In the early hours of dawn, the first of the Russian tanks barreled their way through the streets. A small squad of three infantry men scouted the alleys for snipers. When they came across the body of a German soldier, lying dead in the gutter, one of them leaned over the corpse and searched his pockets. "Careful," another said, "He could be booby trapped." But the soldier only looked up at him with a grin across his face. Then from the front pocket of the deceased, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes. He and the other man fussed to light their findings with damp matches, while the more cautious soldier crept on down the dank alley.
As he turned the corner, he thought he saw a large black mass leap across, from one building to the next. But it did not appear to be a person. So he decided to wander closer. After only taking a few steps, several more of them leaped across. He ducked behind a couple of steel drums to avoid being seen. With his teeth, he pulled his one glove off and rubbed his eyes. He feared he might have been hallucinating, for what he saw looked like large black wolves, leaping through the alley. He swung back around with his rifle aimed. He only had to wait a moment before another one appeared. While the wolf was in mid-sprint, the soldier took his shot. The gun kicked as the beast yelped and landed on his side.
The two guards puffing away, heard the shot, and ran down the alley to find there comrade. As they turned the corner they found him standing over the body of a mere boy. A stream of blood ran down into the cracks between the bricks that paved the street. They ran over to him and saw where the boy had been shot. The wound to his stomach was almost two inches wide. They figured he had few moments to live as his pale blue eyes stared up at the sky.
"Why did you shoot an unarmed boy?" They asked. But the man only nervously gibbered some nonsense, before wandering off, acting as if delirious. "Why is the boy breathing like that?" The one asked the other.
"Like what?"
"Like that... In short, rapid burst, as if panting like a dog."
Through the streets, damp and worn, the wolves ran like bulls. They skirted past an old fragile woman, who was trying to fill a pitcher from a leaking pipe. When she turned and saw the wolves, her eyes lit with awe. "Run children, run!" She cheered, "Run from this horrid place of feeble minds and broken hearts. Run, children, and never look back!"
Hearing the ruckus, the old woman's husband ran outside and grabbed her.
"Helen," he cried, "Have you lost your mind?"
"Oh, but can't you hear it?" She bellowed with joyful tears.
"Hear what?"
"The laughter of children."
THE END...
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