Ghost Train of Treblinka

by Hubert L. Mullins

  “How did Addey’s dad know that he was chasing the . . . what did they call it? The Special Train?” asked Bill.

  “Sonderzüge,” Edmund said. “He must have told them before he left. Addey probably planned to be gone for a few days.” Then, Edmund’s mind changed gears and he thought of the video. “He was so frantic when he was chasing the train. Why? If any of us saw a ghost, we wouldn’t be screaming at it, running headlong toward it. At best, we’d observe it quietly, and film, hoping we weren’t noticed.”

  “Maybe he was excited,” said Sophie. “Ghost hunters live for that sort of thing, right?”

  Edmund nodded. “We do. But he wasn’t excited. He sounded . . . I don’t know. Almost sad. Pleading, like he saw something else, someone—”

  “Like someone he knew,” said Bill. “Shit, Ed, what was he saying in the video. Pull it up?”

  Addey wasn’t good at making smart passwords, and although Edmund knew he was violating his friend’s personal data, it was justified because it might net clues as to why Addey was currently in a clinic.

  On screen, Addey was running through the woods again. Sophie turned the radio off so the whole car would be filled with the nonsensical man as he chased after the train. Dziadek babcia! Dziadek babcia! he said as he neared the top of the hill. Sophie slid Bill her phone so that he could translate while she kept her eyes on the road.

  Edmund kept repeating the video so that Bill could more accurately type. It was an odd word, and probably didn’t sound anything that resembled its spelling. Bill found a spot in the recording where Addey’s words weren’t drowned out by the rushing wind, his breath, or the train, and held Sophie’s phone up so that the microphone could directly hear.

  “Ah, it starts with a D,” said Bill, seeing Sophie’s phone magically type the text onto the screen.

  “What’s it mean?’ asked Sophie.

  “It means grandpa, grandma. He’s calling out for his grandparents over and over.”

  “Addey went back to Poland during high school because of his grandparents,” said Edmund. “I never got the full story. But something had happened to them.”

  Sophie and Bill looked at each other, then he stared back at Edmund and said, “Could it be that they went missing?”

  Edmund just dropped his head to his lap and shook it, not knowing. “It’s possible.”

  Edmund had just finished telling them about his odd run-in with the British private investigators when their Fiat pulled into a city called Wyszków—the very home of the two missing people as told by the current polish newspapers.

  Wyszków was a large city, from what they saw on the EarthTrotter app, but they were skirting the southern edge of it as they headed east. They had a late lunch in a small diner filled with working-class people—farmers and the like—and watched out the window as two men swept the steps leading up to a synagogue.

  “I read a story about this place,” said Edmund, meaning Wyszków. “Did you know that when the Germans rolled through here during the war, they bulldozed all the Jewish graveyards, and then used the headstones to pave some of the paths in the death camps?”

  “What?” asked Sophie, turning her nose up at the idea. “No way that happened. Where did you hear that?”

  “From Addey. What the Germans did here is quite engrained in all the people.”

  Bill looked at his girlfriend with thoughtful eyes. “You live in such a bubble, babe. The world has always been a cold, cold place.”

  “Yeah,” she said, conceding the point. “I suppose it has.”

  “The key, Edmund,” said Bill. “That’s where Addey stayed, right?”

  Edmund nodded. “It’s where we’re going to stay tonight, too, as long as they’re still offering rooms.”

  The beauty—and curse—of running a bed and breakfast was that days of operation could be lucrative, so a BnB that was open one day, might decide to close down for a week, with no warning or reasons given. One of the last things Addey had mentioned when the ghost hunting was still on their to-do list was stay at a BnB that was close to Treblinka.

  As the sun began to set behind them, a chill ran through their cramped car as it headed toward the eastern edge of Poland. They followed the rail line, both new and old, the highway set up close to mimic the same pathways. Unlike the rest of the world, this place hadn’t grown up much since the fledgling days of the railway. Much of Poland was encompassed by wide, open fields and thick clusters of forest, with the occasional road cutting a swath across the countryside.

  The Bug River snaked sloppily out their left-side windows, the steam coming off the water making Edmund shiver. They passed through several, unremarkable and nearly indistinguishable towns on their trip eastward. None of them could make sense of the names, but Edmund had been following his phone’s GPS to a town named Ozelki, a tiny hamlet just west of Poniatowo. And from there, less than a mile south to Treblinka.

  “I thought the town was to the north of Poniatowo,” said Bill, looking at his own phone. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  Edmund shook his head. “The camp was named after the town, which was close by. The actual camp is a few miles south of it. Remember, the Nazis were hiding their crimes. They didn’t build the camp in a town. They built it in the woods, away from people.”

  “How did they get trains into the woods?” asked Sophie.

  Edmund said, “They built spur lines off the main track.” He pointed out the window, to where the Bug River ran alongside the train tracks cutting a silvery line east to west. “See that? That’s part of the original line. That’s the very route the trains from Warsaw took when they came to Treblinka. They left heading east just like us, stopped at a station to the north of us, and then headed south.

  “Can you imagine it?” Edmund continued, thinking back to a more horrible time. “Loading up in the middle of the night in the ghetto, maybe your family goes into the same car as you and maybe they don’t. The ride took about four days. No food, no water. Half of them feverish with typhus.”

  “How could people do that?” Sophie asked, shaking her head. “I don’t mean the Nazis. How could the people willingly get into those trains knowing what awaited them?”

  “They didn’t know,” said Bill.

  “That’s right,” Edmund said. “They were promised things. They were told they were being relocated, to better conditions and opportunities, to places where they could work and earn money. Families loaded up with all their belongings because they were fed a lie.”

  “Why did the trip take four days?” Bill asked. “Trains are fast, right? We made this trip in one evening.”

  Edmund shook his head. “Because they had to bypass other, legitimate trains. There was a lot of waiting, stalling on the tracks so that real trains could pass. And then, when it was clear, they left the main line and headed right down the spur and into the hidden camp.”

  “Is the spur still there?” asked Sophie.

  “Nope. All train tracks leading to death camps were dismantled. At the Treblinka Memorial there are symbolic rail ties of stone where the spur used to—hey, turn here!” He’d been following the GPS and off a wide, dirt road sat the sleepy town of Ozelki.

  The streets were lined with white-roofed cottages and telephone poles tipped with weird glass insulators. Each time they ventured further into the wilds of Poland it was like taking a step back in time. Edmund checked his phone—it barely had service, although he was certain their BnB would offer Wi-Fi, as did every place in the world these days.

  A large, Catholic church dominated the western part of the town, sitting slightly elevated on a blanket of dead grass and dandelion stems. The only way the passing car saw it was because of the numerous flickering tealights along the steps and in the windowsills.

  “Not many people out,” said Sophie, leaning forward to see the road now that most of the streetlights were out.

  “Everyone here is in the farming trade,” said Bill, coincidentally as they passed a wagon laden with bal
es of hay. “Early to bed, early to rise, and all that jazz . . .”

  He was right about all of that, thought Edmund, but it still didn’t alleviate the feeling that they were in a world that felt removed. Edmund was used to cities, even smaller ones like Salisbury and Lynchburg, and the absolute lack of people was foreign and alien to him. This isolation made a slight panic well up inside him, for how easily was it to get emergency services way out here? He didn’t like to think of having a heart attack, flipping the car, or anything worse than that, so far from civilization.

  “That’s it,” said Edmund pushing through to the front seat. He pointed to the structure up on a hill overlooking Ozelki. “Krakus House.”

  The Fiat pulled up to a spacious, yet empty lot. Krakus House looked very much out of place in Poland, although the three young adults didn’t realize it. Krakus House was modeled after the stave churches wherever Norsemen built. It was wide, made of thick, indelible wood so sturdy that a bomb wouldn’t move the structure one inch. There were three floors, the windows wide enough to drive their car right through. On the top, a sharply pointed roof that looked more show than function.

  Edmund was the first out of the car, gazing up at the place with wide, wonderous eyes. Even in a land he’d never been, this BnB was something to behold. Clearly, it had been around for ages, most likely the ancestral home passed on and on, like the businesses back home.

  “It doesn’t look like anything around here,” said Bill, likewise taking in the grandeur. “Ed, how expensive is this place?”

  He shook his head, broken from the reverie. “Not too expensive if Addey stayed here. This was going to be our base of operations for the ghost hunt.”

  Sophie and Bill just looked at each other and Edmund, for the first time, wondered just how long they were going to allow him to hijack their vacation. A part of him still felt bad, but he wanted answers. After all, Sophie was the one who suggested they continue the ghost hunt. Once Edmund had enough answers to clear his head, they’d leave this cold place and do what they could to stay in touch with Addey’s nursing home.

  As they stepped upon the wide, wrap around porch, the snow began to gently fall. The windshield of the car was already gathering a dusting when Edmund looked above the door and read, what he assumed was Krakus House, in Polish. Above that was the wooden relief depicting a rather valiant looking man who reminded Edmund of Lancelot from the Arthurian legends. This knight held a sword above his head, as if ready to strike down a ferocious beast. Sophie and Bill, both chilled to the bone, paid it little mind and entered the foyer.

  The floorplan was large and open and reminded Edmund of some medieval mead hall. The tables and chairs were made of thick wood to compliment the structure. Long, rectangular chandeliers hung low enough to light the candles. Two fireplaces raged in opposite corners, although contemporary heating must have kept the place so warm. A massive staircase climbed straight up the middle, tapering off at the sides to become a landing across the whole room. Above that, a third-floor balcony encircled the foyer. It was eerily quiet, but a shuffling over by the counter drew their attention the moment they entered through the door.

  In true mead hall fashion, there was a long bar that ran the length of the common room. And just like the rest of Krakus House, the wood looked as if it had been lifted into place by giants. A thin, pale girl with long blond hair pulled into a braid put her hands on the counter and surveyed the three newcomers with warm, but curious eyes. If Edmund had to guess, he figured she was about their age, but he couldn’t be sure. Something about how Europeans dressed and wore their clothes made him very disoriented to such things.

  “Hi,” said Edmund approaching the girl. “Could you tell us if a guy stayed here about a month ago by the name of Adlai Chobot?”

  She just stared at him for a moment, as if not comprehending. But then again, that had been the case all over Poland thus far. Edmund had pulled up the photos app on his phone and was swiping through to find one of his dear friend when the girl spoke.

  “I remember him,” she said with only the slightest pinch of a Polish accent. The girl subtly looked over her shoulder, and that was the first time they noticed the old woman sitting in a wheelchair, watching a small television on the counter. A thick, wool blanket was wrapped tightly around her shoulders and Edmund couldn’t tell if she were sleeping or held the rigidity of a stroke survivor.

  The girl continued. “He stayed for two days. Went out the third night, and he didn’t come back.”

  “Did he leave anything?” asked Sophie.

  The girl nodded, once again looking back at the oblivious woman. “He had a few changes of clothes, but nothing valuable. It’s our policy to give to Caritis Charity after two weeks if it’s not claimed. By then, we didn’t know that he’d gone missing. That he’d gone up—”

  “Lena?” called the coarse voice of the woman in the wheelchair. Edmund looked past the girl at the counter to the old lady to see her turned in the direction of the voices, head looking unstable atop her shoulders.

  Lena looked back to the old woman and the two shared a conversation in Polish. Edmund had no idea what they were talking about, but the younger girl seemed somewhat perturbed. As the old woman seemed to give Lena a zinger to end the conversation, she turned back to the television, eyes heavy.

  “Sorry,” said Lena. “Do you need a room?”

  Bill could tell that Edmund was similarly perturbed by having the questioning take such a turn, so he stepped in and said, “Two rooms, actually.” Edmund fixed him with confused, irritated eyes but Bill just shook his head.

  “Second floor. You can have rooms two and three,” she said, a little more urgently than was probably needed.

  “Someone else staying here?” asked Sophie. “I didn’t see any cars out front.”

  Lena said, “No. We’ve misplaced the key to the first room and just aren’t renting it out right now.” Edmund didn’t know how to tell her that he had the missing room key in his pocket. He’d probably just leave it on the counter when they checked out for good.

  As the three were standing back out in the cold, in the moderate snowfall, Edmund asked his friend why he didn’t let the conversation continue.

  “That old lady didn’t like her talking about it,” said Bill. “You’re going to have to get the girl alone to ask.”

  Edmund just nodded.

  Their rooms were large, most likely used to accommodate families rather than the odd college-aged student who was tramping across Europe. On the second floor, they had bathrooms in both corners, but with only two rooms occupied, that hardly mattered. The darkness and snow afforded little view, but there was life in the town, as evidenced by the scant glow of a light, like demon eyes scattered across the land.

  Later, Lena cooked them all dinner—venison with potatoes prepared with olives in a way Edmund had never seen before. They ate wordlessly because the room was so massive, so reverent, that it seemed almost sacrilegious to break the silence with idle chit-chat. When Edmund took his seat, he noticed that the old woman had moved on, but he couldn’t tell where.

  Lena was about to disappear into the kitchen, but Edmund stood up and approached the bar. The girl looked like a deer caught in headlights, as if she wanted to run off but was too transfixed on the approaching danger instead. Still, she offered a placated smile that was probably rehearsed for potential guests.

  “Can I ask a little more about Addey?”

  “Addey?”

  “Adlai. Chobot. Can you tell me anything else about what happened?”

  She thought for a moment and said, “I told the police everything.”

  “The police were involved? How?”

  “Because he was unresponsive and they expected . . . how do you say it? Foul play? They came here and asked questions, but my grandmother dealt with them. I was working in the cellar.”

  Edmund looked at his friends before he turned to Lena and said, “What can you tell me about the Ghost Train?”


  Her face went pale as she surveyed the Americans. Edmund couldn’t tell if she wanted to yell at them, cry, or ask them to leave. She was fighting some internal battle as she breathed a deep sigh, and then said, “If you’re here to chase the train, please don’t.”

  “What? Why?” Edmund asked.

  “Your friend got lucky,” she said unexpectedly. “He’s alive.”

  “He’s in a coma,” Edmund clarified.

  “But he’s alive. That’s more than can be said about those who went looking for the train.”

  “Please, do you know the spot where my friend was found?” Edmund asked, voice pleading.

  “Go home, American. Please.” She turned and started to walk off.

  “Hey!” he shouted, so loud that Sophie made an audible gasp. Lena quickly whirled back around, green eyes wide. “I have come all the way across the Atlantic to see my friend. He’s in a coma and the only thing I know is that he went looking for his grandparents on that train. His parents were no help and you are most likely the only person left who can keep this from becoming a dead end. So please. If you can help me with any of this, I would be forever grateful. Just tell me where he was found, so I can see the place for myself.”

  Lena looked at him with sad eyes for a moment, and just when they thought she was going to open up, to tell them all of how the man called Addey was found in the woods, she simply shook her head. “I can’t.” And then, she slid back a partition leading into the kitchen and shut it behind her.

  Edmund banged his fist so hard on the counter that the silverware shook. He was angrier than he’d ever been in his life and the irrational part of him wanted to hop the bar and chase after her. Visions of the old woman brandishing a shotgun kept his feet on the floor, and a more rational notion swept over him. He would wait, try again later. How could he leave Poland without answers? His friends looked stoic behind him, Sophie, spearing potatoes quietly with her fork and Bill giving him the pursed lips look that said, You should know better than this, buddy.