That night I had been reading: an old copy of Treasure Island that had once belonged to my grandmother. My father was out late. That puzzled me and worried my mother; my father was never out late, especially not since the Nazi's started to take over Germany. My mother was pacing the kitchen, hands clasped behind her back, muttering to no one in particular in German. I remember the fear in her voice and she repeated the same words over and over again, like the words would bring him back to us. "Vorsichtig sein Jeremiah, lassen Sie sie nicht erhalten Sie, nach Hause kommen."
But as the night dragged on, still my father did not come. My puzzled mood giving way to fear. Then we heard the footsteps, the harsh shouting, and I knew they had come for us. I had no idea why, but I knew that I had to get out of there. My mother grabbed me by the hand and dragged me into the hall; I remember her bending down and pulling away the edges of a frayed rug, revealing the rough edged trap door. Hauling it open she pushed me down, she put her fingers to her lips, warning me to be silent, and closed the door leaving me alone and frightened, in the cold, damp, dark cellar.
I heard voices from above shouting in rapid-fire German, my mother asking why they had come and they shouted something about my father that I did not quite catch. I heard them asking about me, wanting to know where I was. My mother first denied my existence, and then claimed I was away, staying with my aunt Marion on her farm. Their footsteps came closer and I prayed I would not be found. The battered wood was hauled open, and a tall scary man in a moustache dragged me out. The terror I felt was unexplainable. He roared at me and my mother and I cowered behind her. There were tears running slowly down my mother's cheeks, and I began to cry as well, mainly because my mother was more than anything else. We were forced, along with some of the other families from our street, towards a place I knew as the train station. I had never actually been on a train before, and a tiny amount of my fear was replaced with excitement. Only a tiny bit and that quickly died down when I noticed just how many people there were. Some were horribly skinny, their eyes glazed over, their heads shaved and numbers painfully tattooed onto their arms. My mother gasped, looking just as horrified as I did. But she must have known a lot more than she let on, because I saw her glance at the old woman in front of her, and the lady nodded in conformation. My mother let out a small, shaky breath and mouthed a single word.
Auschwitz
The may seem rushed and short but it will get better and longer. :)
Shadowfax