Being conscious is a torment, the more we learn the less we know. Every answer contains a new quest, a quest to non-existence, a journey with no end.
-Mark Jansen, Epica.
Chapter 1 – LONG, COLD NIGHT
Somewhere in the Winter Frost of East Europe 1939
My heart thudded hard in my chest erupting a pounding into my ear drums. An acute adrenaline throbbed through my veins as I struggled with my petrified family to remain as still and silent as possible while we all huddled, shivering in the freezing cold in the roof of our small Albanian home. I feared immensely, like the other frightened faces that stared back at me, that if we moved, even an inch, dust would unsettle from underneath us and drift its way down onto the dinner plates of the Nazi soldiers that feasted in the room below. We would then be certainly discovered and the fate that awaited us would be agony from the deepest savagery of this cruel war. My family and I were not the lucky ones in this conflict; we didn't have blonde hair and blue eyes – we had the exact opposite; stark black hair and distinct black features that contrasted even against our slightly tanned, weathered complexion.
Smutty talking, vulgar chortles and the clinking of metal knives scraping porcelain plates muffled from below while my loved ones and I sat closely together quivering from the harsh cold; vapor ghostly hovering from our short, quiet breaths. An old large wooden chest sat a few yards away from me. A piercing ray of moonlight illuminated the comfort that sat atop the old chest – a thick woolen blanket. It seemed to beckon to me. Looking at my Grandma who was suffering from the cold with her fragile body, my hand waved slowly to signal to my father opposite me; he turned to face me, fear dominating his eyes.
He silently moved his lips and mouthed "what?".
Signalling at the warmth that sat on top of the wooden case, I kept my eyes locked on my Father's. He shook his head from side to side slowly; his lips moved silently but I could make out that he was saying "no, no, no"
The noise from the Nazi soldiers below seemed to get louder and I could only dread that they'd found my Father's cache of spirits in one of the kitchen cupboards and they were quickly becoming grossly intoxicated - I knew all too well the ill effects drunkenness could bring: Luckily my father was a happy drunk, but my uncle was very much the opposite; it felt as though he prayed on me at times, often staring at me with a sinister look, waiting for an opportunity to get me alone. Thankfully my father soon became aware of this and banished him from ever coming back to our home.
God I pray that they drink themselves into a coma so we can escape. The thought gave me a small glimmer of hope.
"Look at Grandma Father, she's freezing..." my daring whisper broke the long held silence. "...she won't make it the night, it's too cold... Father, please we have to help her"
My Father looked sympathetically at Grandma who was now struggling to keep her eyes open and was shaking visibly more than the other frightened, cold members of the family. He then turned to my Mother, who gave a weak nod of agreement before kissing my little Brother lightly on his head, who sat huddled into a ball on my Mother's lap.
Gazing toward the moonlit window, my Father paused in thought briefly before turning back to me with desperate eyes, whispering "Okay but be careful."
Leaning forward I gently placed my hands on the cold dusty wooden floorboards and pushed myself up slowly, my muscles ached from lack of movement. Pins and needles surged into my legs as I stood up and as my legs began to collapse under my petite structure, I instinctively cast my eyes up and caught sight of a rafter beam. Throwing my hands up at speed, I managed to grasp them around the beam; the house gave out a little groaning creak as they absorbed my weight. Looking down at my family with widened eyes, I waited as still as humanly possible...
Thankfully, the soldiers on the floor below didn't seem to notice my near slip. Biting my lower lip, I endured the pain of blood rushing back into my legs and after a couple of minutes the discomfort had dissipated and their strength had returned. Lowering my arms to my sides, my body now supported by my legs, I prepared myself for what seemed like a significant feat ahead.
One foot in front of the other and… balance, and tiny steps.
With my family watching in suspense, I took a small step towards the wooden chest and waited, my ears tuned to any changes in the Nazi's talking, meters beneath me. I took another step, then another. Now standing within arms reach of the blanket, I cautiously grabbed hold of it and lifted it slowly off the chest, trying to disturb as little dust as possible. The blanket felt heavy and stiff under my tired arms as I lightly tip toed back to my anxiously awaiting family. Walking only the absolute necessary steps I sneaked behind Grandma and wrapped the blanket around her, covering up her frail looking posture.
Sitting down next to Grandma, I glanced at Mother who looked at me with a small smile of hope. "Thank you" she whispered softly.
Struggling to stay awake, my heavy head bobbed downwards and my eyes stung from the tiredness. Peering through the dimly lit room, I could see my little brother dozing lightly cradled in our mums' arms. The shouts and banter from the men below remained constant but seemed to go on forever.
We might just make it through the night, then they might just leave...
Loud crashing and banging suddenly erupted from the Nazi's directly below.
God, they've started smashing all our belongings – what animals!
The fear and adrenaline I was experiencing tonight was now was laced with anger.
Grandma now lay helpless on the floor; the side of her face pressed against the floorboards and she shivered continuously underneath the woolen blanket.
"...my ...dear" she whispered hoarsely.
"Yes Gran?" I quietly replied as I came closer to Grandma's face in an attempt to hear her better.
"Dear... Oh my dear... I'm sorry" Grandma's voice whispered aguishly, her lips scraping against the dust on the floor.
"Sorry for what Gran?" my forehead strained with concern.
A horrible long quiet moan crept out of Grandma's lips as she started to shake violently; she was going into shock from the hypothermia.
I glanced quickly at Father, not knowing what to do.
Without a moment of delay, Father stood up and paced cautiously to the Grandma and went down on his knees beside her. Gently putting his weight on the frail old lady, in a desperate bid to keep them all from being detected from the Nazi's, he grasped her wrists and interlocked his ankles on her – suppressing her movement.
"Quiet!" a strong voice bellowed out from below.
Oh no! They have heard us!Oh my God, please have mercy on my family.
My face darted frantically around looking at my family's expressions of terror that were fixed on Grandma's convulsions that were now being subdued by Father who lay on top.
A cloud of dust drifted aimlessly above me speckling in the moonlight. A departed silence dawned on the dwelling.
"Sir, look up, I think there is dust coming from up there!" an excited voice shouted from beneath us.
Another moment in weary silence fell, and the dead stillness that now engulfed us felt like it lasted for an eternity, as though fate was trying to make up its mind.
Bang!
A small hole pierced the floor only inches away from my Mother; a column of light strike through the stale attic air, through the ceiling and into the night sky. Letting out a little whimper of fright, my Mother shuffled backwards a couple of feet, kicking up another plume of dust; my brother still sitting in her lap, sobbed quietly.
Crack!
Another bullet was fired from the floor below.
"Argh! Shit!" I cried out in torment as an intense burning sensation ripped through my left shoulder. Never had I felt this kind of agony before. Looking though the torn fabric of my sweatshirt, I saw the tear of flesh on my upper left arm from the bullet graze. I held my hand over the deep wound – blood seeped out from between my dirty fingers and dripped from my nail tips an onto the dust covered ground. Biting hard down on my teeth to prevent a scream, my jaw began aching.
I dared not to glace through the bullet hole that had opened up through the floor boards an inch away from where I sat.
Glancing at Father through my teary eyes, he starred back at me and gave an exhausted smiled; his eyes filled with a dreaded look of distress as sweat dripped down his forehead.
"Come out, come out little wherever you are..." an imposing voice taunted from below "...we just want to... play a little bit..., we won't hurt you, I promise".
A wicked laughter broke out among the Nazi soldiers, but it quickly died down. Then after a brief moment, the trotting thuds of heavy boots began to scatter loudly in the rooms below - they must be searching for the entrance...
"Sir! Over here! I think I found a door behind this closet..." an overly excited soldier shouted from the bottom of the attic's narrow staircase.
Father abruptly let go of Grandma's wrists and swiftly stood up, leaving the helpless old lady shaking uncontrollably on the ground while a dust cloud reformed around her. Father's eyes searched with a new form of focus; Squinting around the dimly lit area, his gaze appeared to have locked onto a cloth covered cabinet that sat half in a shadow in the corner of the room. Reaching on top of it, he pulled out a heavy looking old brass candle stick from the shadow and grasped it tightly as the moon rays reflected off its smooth dull surface.
"They're coming! Grab a weapon, anything is better than nothing!" my father quivered as he welded the candle stick in front of his chest, as though it was a weapon.
My family drowsily stood up.
Crack! Something heavy had pounded against the attic door.
The abrupt noise urged a sense of panic in us and we were suddenly scrambling around the room to find something - anything that we could use to protect ourselves with. Struggling to find anything of use, my hands waved into the shadows. Finally I felt a blunt object.. I pulled it out into the dimness and looked disappointingly at the piece of wood that my hands now clutched shakily.
What good is this piece of wood against their guns and knives?
Crash! The sound of splintering wood rang throughout the attic space as the soldiers pulverized the attic door again. Streaks of penetrating light that shot into the hiding space illuminating patches of the attic ceiling. Fear lumped in my throat as I spun around to face the deafening pounds on the door, my rapid breathing fueled by fear, adrenaline and hint of hate.
Looking around at my family, all of whom stood ready to fight, appeared feebly weak; My poor little brother held a small old vase; Mother had a short length of metal chain; and Father had the candle holder. I knew we would not stand a chance against their maliciousness, but we were not going to keel over and die without a fight.
Several soldiers breached the door and stormed up the passageway, their boots thumping hard against the stairs that protested under their combined weight. Reaching the top, five soldiers stood in front of my weakened and exhausted family. They wore light matte green uniforms and grimacing smiles brandished their faces; their smug expressions were as though they were hunters who have just cornered their prey.
They all stood tall and ready to advance on us, to consume us, but they seemed to be held back by an invisible leash. I dared to look up into one of the eyes of the men and saw an evil, morbid desire in his stare; it as though he was undressing me with his eyes. I shivered to think what he wanted to do to me. Narrowing my eyes with a certain defiance, I glanced at the other wicked men – they all had a similar sickening hunger in their eyes as they all stared back at me. They only looked at me, like I was a prized possession ready to take ownership.
Casting my eyes down, I glanced at my weapon; The useless piece of wood was a joke, even if these men didn't have any weapons, it was of little use against their brawn. I moved it around in my hand anyway finding the best grip as I felt the grisly stares and smirks from the soldiers' burning through my skull.
I braced myself, readying to fight...