Fort Festung

by Amber Kolodin

Thud thud, thud thud. Max’s heart thundered in his ears, as his one hand clasped over his mouth and nose, the other wrapped tight around a parcel of fabric, stolen from the steps of the first house he stumbled upon, and from under the nose of a maid or wife pruning the front garden.

“It was right here; how could it just disappear?”

From his hiding spot, Max could hear the woman pacing the yard, muttering to herself. He didn’t dare move, nor let the whisper of a breath pass his cracked dry lips. For every time she roamed close, he resisted the urge to shake out of his skin. Every nerve, cell, and fiber, screamed in silence to the heavens, thrusting the words into the ether, begging to be heard. Please, God! Save me! Max’s fingers clutched an item along a crude necklace of twine, once a token of captivity, now a sacred talisman; he prayed that it might carry his words higher. Tucking his head down between his knees, he clenched his eyes shut. But on the back of his eyelids, he could see the twisted barbed wire and herds of pitiful souls; he could even taste the ash in the air. Please, God, hear me.

“I bet it was that boy,” the woman said sharply.

Max’s breath seized. His horrified gaze turned toward her direction.

“Wilhelm!” she bellowed across the manicured yard. There was a ruffling of fabric in such a manner he imagined her hiking up her dress. “You best not be hiding your father’s clothes, or it’s your ears that will get a boxing.” Her voice receded off into the distance, and her presence no longer hovered like a ticking bomb. 

The world was silent.

In that silence, Max finally surfaced from beneath the sea of terror and breathed. He grabbed at his chest over his heart and rubbed, in a manner one might sooth a crying child. But he didn’t have time for comfort or to idle.

Rolling onto the balls of his feet, he placed the parcel along the floor and carefully opened the paper packaging, fearing a rustling too loud would bring attention to his hiding spot. Inside, was a fine wool coat and trousers. Dirty, gaunt fingers brushed along the fabric of the lapel, dredged whispers of memories from a life that seemed more like a dream than reality.

His throat bobbed. He had once owned such fine things…

As quickly as silence would allow, he donned the clothing, making sure every button and fastening was secure. Though the clothing hung on his deplorable state, he could not risk anyone seeing his uniform beneath, nor would the cold autumn night permit him to discard it. He was lucky.

The others would suffer from cold’s biting teeth, while he enjoyed a warmth he hadn’t felt in weeks.

Max peered skyward, noonday sun lingering high above. He would have to wait until night settled over the cottage, and the world was bathed in shadow, to leave his hiding spot. “Courage, Max, courage,” he whispered to himself before tucking into the corner, trying to become as small as one could. Though fear clung like a parasite, it was laced with something that pushed him. Something that drove him to desperation, to throw his life into the hands of God’s mercy.

Hope.

Hope to one day own a coat again, to walk freely down the street, to exist. Wrapping his arms around himself, he closed his eyes, and let the smell of the Autumn air and freshly laundered suit take his mind away, to dream of a better, happier time. To let the smallest of normalcy envelop him. But on the back of every smell, the tainted sweetness seemed to ever linger.

He was still too close. 

The smoke stacks still billowed its plumes of death into the air. Relentless black smoke…day in and day out.

“What are you doing in my tree house?” a small voice demanded.

Max’s head snapped to attention as a wave of cold sweat pricked his skin. Before him, a pair of blue eyes and blond hair stood. A boy, no older than five, stared him down, a wary but determined look etched onto his face.

To Max, it might as well have been the devil himself.

“You’re not supposed to be here; this is my tree house!” the boy said again when Max found himself unable to answer.

“I…I…” Max fumbled, trying to force words past the tightness in his throat.

“Wilhelm! Where are you?” the woman’s voice from before echoed below.

Suddenly, the boy looked just as terrified as Max himself. He scurried to the adjacent corner, knees tucked up to his chest, a near mirror of Max. The small child put a finger to his lips and shushed him, as if his presence alone was too loud. “I don’t want Mrs. Hilda to find me. She wants to box my ears,” the little boy whispered.  

For a brief moment, a truce held them together in company as they both hid from the evil Mrs. Hilda. While the boy feared boxing, Max feared the boy as one might fear being caged with a tiger. A wild array of horrible, atrocious things, played through Max’s mind. He will give me away! He is small… I could choke him…I could twist his neck right here. His life is not more important than mine! I have to get rid of him! I can’t go back! I’ll die there! I want to live…

Max turned his vicious thoughts and eyes on the boy, only to see his little hands pressed together, praying. Something inside of Max crumpled. Tears brimmed his eyes and his hands ran across his shaved head. To even entertain such thoughts… to wish such things upon an innocent child none the less. He would be no better than the monsters that held him.

As the woman’s voice faded, the little boy crawled to his knees to peer out the square cut-out, intended to be a window. “She’s gone.”

Returning to the floor, the boy took Max in curiously. Max could see the vein of fear running under his stern blue eyes, yet held himself with resolve. 

“I should tell my dad you are here. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” the boy said, his eyes darting to the hole called a door.

The cage around Max shrunk down; the tiger’s claws were at his neck. “Wait!” Panic rocked his mind as he scrambled to find something, anything. “D…don’t you know who I am?” 

The boy paused. “No…” The boy’s voice hedged on the edge of curiosity.

“I uh…” Max swallowed hard against the dryness in his throat and grabbed at his chest where his token lay beneath. “I’m on a mission to save lives. You see…I hunt demons.”

“Demons aren’t real.”

“Oh! But they are. Why else would I have this?” Reaching for his token, he pulled it out by its crude twine necklace. Attached was a thin piece of yellow Amber, about the size of a thumb, housing a singular dragonfly wing. Inside his hell, he was responsible for taking new arrivals’ things and sorting them. For months, he sorted all manner of jewelry, yet when this presented itself, it soothed something in him, reminding him of the wonders that existed outside of his barbed wire fence. So he took it.

“What is that?” The little boy crawled onto his hands and knees and hedged closer.

“It’s how I see demons. Inside is a fairy wing, and when I look through it, I can see if people are demons or not.”

The boy’s baby blues shone bright as wonder erupted across his rosie cheeks. “That’s a fairy wing!?”

“Oh yes. In fact, I was hunting and got caught by one of the demons!”

He gasped. “How did you escape?”

The joy and innocence of the child made Max smile. Leaning in, Max quieted his voice, giving a mysterious air. “A fight broke out, and while everyone was busy trying to keep order. I ran right out from under their noses.”

“That’s smart.” The boy nodded in agreement.

“Then I came upon your house, got so frightened by Mrs. Hilda, I ran up this tree and hid! I haven’t looked at her through my fairy wing yet. But she looked like a Demon if I ever saw one.”

“…I knew she was a demon!” His brows furrowed.

“Do you think you could help me? Wilhelm, right?” Max switched gears and began to tread dangerous waters.

Wilhelm nodded attentively. 

“What I do is very dangerous and very secret. If the demons find out that I am here…I’m done for. Can you keep me secret and safe until tonight? Then I can leave and go find the other hunters, to take down the Demons that kidnapped me.”

Wilhelm’s eyes lit up as he stood to attention, clicked his small brown shoes together, and performed a heil.

Max swallowed hard but kept his smile.

“You can stay here, in Fort Festung.”

A genuine smile grew. “What a clever name. Did you come up with that?”

Wilhelm nodded, dimples on display. “Papa thought it was funny too.”

“You are a clever boy. Fort Fort.”

In the small quiet between them, Wilhelm’s exuberance suddenly faded.

“What’s your name?” Wilhelm asked suddenly.

“I’m Max.”

“Max… if demons are real, how can I tell who they are?”

Max looked down at his token in his hand. He ran his thumb over the smooth surface, remembering how it brought such hope, and inspiration, and wonder in these horrific times. “Here.” Max reached out and took the small boy’s hand, laying the token within it. “Let it keep you safe and always bring you wonder, as it has me.”

Wilhelm’s eyes lit up as he held it up to peer at Max. “Not a demon,” he chimed.

With a chuckle, Max sat back against the floor. When he looked back up, Wilhelm’s face had gone cold. An anger surged across it as he stared back at Max.

“LIAR!” His finger jutted out, pointing at Max.

Looking down, the first button of the coat had come undone, revealing his striped uniform and the edge of his yellow star of David. The world fell out from beneath him. “Wilhelm! No! It… It’s not what you think!”

“You are the demon! You are a filthy, lying, Jew!” 

Wilhelm darted to the exit just as Max reached out, the boy slipping through his fingers as he descended the ladder.

“PAPA! PAPA!” The boy ran, voice calling out loud enough for all to hear.

Max collapsed to his knees, a sob tearing through him. “No, no, no, no… Wilhelm, no.” He could feel the darkness descend upon him, the cold ground already kissing his skin. Stop it Max! Get to your feet, run dammit, run! Frantic, Max descended down the ladder—only to freeze half way.

“He is over here Papa! Look!”

“Where!?” A deep voice resonated from around the house.

“There!”

Max didn’t look. He did the only thing he could do as the sound of marching boots rushed upon him. He quickly wrapped his arms and legs around the ladder until his knuckles went white and his muscles screamed. A band of red, bedding a black Swastika filled his view, pulling a scream from the depths of his soul. “Please, God, no!” The tigers had surrounded him, licking their maws with malice in their eyes.

Two Nazi soldiers pried Max off the ladder, dragging him away. Like an animal caged, he flailed. Desperation in every movement as he fought against the inevitable. “I just want to live! I want to live!” Max’s gaze fell upon Wilhelm, who watched with eyes like an owl’s, and when their eyes met, tears wept down Max’s face. “I just want to live.” Max’s voice cracked. One of the Nazi soldiers railed him with the butt of his gun, silencing Max’s plea.

“Take him behind the hedges!” the deep-voiced, third Nazi officer ordered before turning on the boy. “Wilhelm! Get inside right now!”

Wilhelm barely heard his father, his wide blue eyes transfixed upon what was happening before him.

“NOW!” His command became a violent shout, startling the child.

Wilhelm ran. He ran around the house to the door, then hesitated, listening in the silence, his chin trembling. 

A shot rang out.

Wilhelm flinched under the harsh noise and ran inside. 

He stood in the long hallway, with a perfect view of the front door, waiting for his father to return. Even though he did what he was supposed to as a good German boy, his tummy felt funny and he didn’t feel like a good boy, didn’t feel happy, or proud as he was told he should.

Suddenly the door swung open.

His dad passed by him without a word and made a beeline to the sink. He turned on the faucet and washed his hands, the water turning red.

Wilhelm watched, struggling to find words for his feelings. Reaching down into his pocket, he pulled out the magic necklace Max had given him. He turned it in his hand a few times before finally holding it up and peering at his papa through the fairy’s wing.

Wilhelm froze, his blue eyes growing wide. “Demon,” he whispered.