An Encounter With Evil
It was deathly quiet on the gently sloping hillside. In the deepening silence I recalled the last words spoken by the tired old man. With a trembling voice he had called to me as I walked away. “Be careful for what you are searching, for you may just find it.” Unexpectedly the hair on the back of my neck tingled as a cold wind blew across the clearing. Where only moments before there had been bright sunlight now dark misty fog covered the landscape. I felt something eerie, a strange nearby presence. A hurried glance up the hill to the edge of the tree line found a standing figure completely encased in a dark cloak. With the stillness of a statue it stood staring toward the shrine. The cloak hood was pulled up obscuring the head and face so that nothing was revealed of the person inside. I cold shiver arched down my spine. Some unknown force compelled me to look back to the shrine. I had been to many so-called supernatural happenings before but they usually turned out to be nothing more than the figment of someone’s overworked imagination. Somehow this one seemed different, more real, for I was unexpectedly overwhelmed with strange sensations. In an instant I recognized the feelings. I was in the presence of evil, pure, pure evil. I couldn’t breathe. I had to force the air into my lungs. What on Earth had made me come here today? Oh yes, my stupid morbid curiosity. *** I had always been curious about the strange or bizarre, the supernatural, the occult, and other mysterious happenings. It had become more than just curiosity; it was now my main hobby. I wasn’t overzealous about it but simply liked to stand at the scene of the sighting to see if I could feel vibrations or other sensations. I would take notes in the journal I carried everywhere. Someday I planned to write a book about my experiences of the unexplained. I was on vacation in southern Germany when I learned about the sightings of someone or something mysteriously wandering the hills of the beautiful Obersalzberg. Was it really him? Some surely believed it was. I was a little skeptical as usual but figured why not check it out. The village of Berchtesgaden wasn’t all that far by train after all. Berchtesgaden is a small quiet beautiful village that had become nefarious during the Second World War. Nazi party bigwigs had appropriated the Obersalzberg, the mountain overlooking the village, and other areas near Berchtesgaden and converted them to a Nazi headquarters and stronghold. The Hotel Platterhof, the people’s hotel, and a model farm were built on the mountain as well as homes for many of the party leaders. The area was heavily bunkered and fortified. After the war, those properties in the area appropriated by the Nazis were taken over by the U.S. Army. The Hotel Platterhof was rebuilt and renamed the General Walker Hotel and opened for guests in 1953. The region that had been infamous for its connection to the Nazis was now to become famous for the warm hospitality extended to the American and other Allied forces. That is, until 1995 when the hotel closed. It was then that the reported sightings started! *** Since my interests also included military history I had stopped by the small village cemetery to view the headstones of the local soldiers killed in the war. There seemed to be a lot for such a small village. The cemetery was beautifully kept up, the graves maintained with meticulous care. An old man that I took to be the caretaker approached and struck up a conversation in heavily accented English. We spoke for some time. After a few minutes I asked the questions that had brought me here. “So, all of it was just a lie?” I quietly spoke to the frail old man in the worn WWII style German Army greatcoat. “He didn’t die in the bunker in Berlin?” “Nein,” he said. “He was not there. He was here at the Berg Hof. I was a guard at the Hotel Platterhof, the local party headquarters and the SS Kaserne, the Army barracks, from December 1944 until the end when Berchtesgaden fell to the Americans. I saw him several times.” He nervously shifted his gaze to the mountain then continued in a quieter voice. “Then, one day he just disappeared. No one knows where he went. Many say that still today he roams these mountains.” “But, I thought the Berg Hof and hotel area was bombed and destroyed by the American Air Corps in early 1945.” “Yes, it was. However, the Burg Hof was not completely destroyed until it was blown up by the West German Government in 1953. This was done so that it would not become a shrine to him. If you wish to see the remains of the house, take the bus to the hotel. Just below the hotel is the location of his Berg Hof. There is a sign that says "Entritt Verboten", no entrance, but this is widely ignored. About 20 to 30 yards along the path you will see some of the retaining walls and part of the foundation.” Curiosity thoroughly aroused, I thanked the old man and made for the bus station. The actual distance up the mountain wasn’t long but the trip took some time because of the severe winding of the roadway. The conversation with the old man had been almost an hour earlier. I had since walked down the overgrown path past the no entrance sign to the remains of the Burg Hof, the mountain vacation home of the epitome of evil, one of the greatest monsters of all time, Adolf Hitler. Part of the remaining foundation was still standing and looked to be part of the sub-basement. Beneath the concrete floor a shrine had indeed been erected. The inside back wall was painted with several Swastikas and other symbols. Several slogans had been written in red paint with drippings down the wall, I suppose to give it the look of blood. Remains from several candles were present and two were still burning. I was fascinated by what I saw there. Of course, all that had been before the watcher made its appearance. *** Now just minutes later I was here staring at the unholy shrine with a mysterious specter lurking over my shoulder. Sudden vivid images started flashing into my mind. One after another, images so dramatic and so real that my senses were totally dominated. Flash: I could feel a cold drizzle as massed troops marched past the Arc de Triomphe while French citizens stared, tears of rage, sorrow and fear pouring down their faces. Flash: The sickly sweet smell of death was everywhere as hundreds of Russian men, women and children were forced down into a long ravine where soldiers with the double lighting bolt uniform insignia began to fire and fire and fire oblivious to the screams and moans of the dieing. Flash: The bright sunlight gave off no warmth as citizens of some European city listlessly walked the street with a bright yellow star adorning their clothing while soldiers of the conquering army stared, laughed and jeered. Flash: In the cold morning air I could feel the hard twisted strands of barbed wire and see the menacing guard towers that held thousands of starving scarecrows. Some of the scarecrows were being forced to load the emaciated corpses of the dead into wagons like some much old refuse. Flash: The stench of charred flesh permeated the air as giant smokestacks bellowed great geysers of grey black smoke from massed ovens filled with ash and pieces of bone. I couldn’t take anymore. I fell to my knees and grabbed two hands full of earth in an attempt to bring myself back to reality, something, anything to break the cycle of images! In an instant the flashes stopped. Rising to my feet, I quickly glanced around. Yes, the figure was still there. As it moved back into the shadows for an instant the hood moved revealing the face. Actually it wasn’t a face at all. It was a death’s head mask with its evil toothy grin. How strange, I thought, why would someone wear a mask? Then another thought, what if it wasn’t a mask? Another shudder crossed my body as thousands of goose bumps formed. The figure paused for a time staring in my direction then turned and in an instant disappeared into the mist. I stood in total shock for several seconds. My numbed mind simply would not or could not explain what had just happened to me. What were the flashes I had witnessed? What would compel someone to dress and act that way? Was it some type of sick joke or was it . . . more! After all, the images had been so real! Something, some part of my inner being told me I had to get off this mountain. The little voice in my head suddenly shouted, “Go, Now!” Without a backward glance I rapidly made for the hotel. As I neared the bus stop bright sunlight again shone down on me. As suddenly as it had arrived the misty fog had gone. Securely seated on the bus heading down the winding mountain road I felt a great sense of relief. Rounding a curve I gave one last glance up to where the Berg Hof had once stood. My eyes widened with surprise for I could see at the base of the foundation near the spot where I had earlier knelt now stood a shadow. It was the silhouette of a figure in a long dark cloak! Could it be? As it again turned in my direction we rounded a bend and the ruins were out of sight. Safely back in the village I stood for some time staring toward the beautiful majestic mountain. Had it actually happened? Had I really faced dire circumstances or was it the work of my overactive imagination? No, it had happened all right, of that I was sure. Although maybe a little out of place, a funny thought popped into my mind. Maybe it was time for me to take up a new hobby. Turning to move back to the city center and the train station I felt another cold chill. Whether I got a new hobby or not I realized that this day would forever etched in my memory. No amount of time could erase what had happened here. Yes, I would always remember this day. This was the day I had an encounter with evil. End
Copyright © 2003 P J Lawton |