by Allan Burd
“What’s the matter, never seen the big bad wolf before?” says Cooper to one of the nervous guards.
“Stand down,” orders Baecker. “You were both warned in advance. He’s a friendly.”
“He’s not that friendly,” I say.
“Tell that to the lady wolf I banged last night,” responds Cooper, offering up his paw to me for a high five I can’t reach.
“Wow, a height diss and the disturbing visual of your sex life all in the same moment,” I say.
“I’m just warming up for our adventure,” says Cooper.
I roll my eyes. We follow Baecker and Miguel into the first tent. The sophisticated electronics within surprise me. Computer equipment and large monitors are aligned and constantly scanning the area. One screen displays a topographical map of Odenwald with a redline surrounding an obscured circular region. Two other displays have repeating oscillating waves pulsing across a flat line. A husky white man sits in a wheelchair monitoring the activity. He’s sporting coke-bottle specs and a full blonde beard even thicker than his fat face. He reminds me of a Viking version of Stephen Hawkings.
“What’s all this?” Miguel asks.
“Station One,” says Baecker.
“I prefer Station Minus One since we’re here to oversee an area which officially doesn’t exist,” says the bearded man as he wheels himself away from the monitors. He takes a long look at Cooper. “Ficken, you’re scary. Rudolph Neustadt,” he says, extending his hand.
“Silas,” I say, shaking it.
“Miguel.”
“Cooper. I’m friendly.”
“Glad to hear it,” says Rudolph, stroking the fur on Cooper’s outstretched hand.
“I’m not that friendly,” snarls Cooper, getting Rudolph to hastily pull back his hand.
“What is all this?” I ask.
Rudolph gets an approving nod from Baecker then says, “The large blank spot on the telly… that’s the location of the original Burg Frankenstein, now a one mile diameter invisible void. The red circle indicates the edge of the paranatural membrane that surrounds it. That magic membrane is completely see-through proof, tech-proof, and sound proof. We can’t see or hear anything that happens inside. We have no way to know what goes on in there and I sleep better at night grateful for not knowing. All we do is monitor for any unusual activity on the perimeter with thermal, seismic, and motion sensors, and issue an alert when something untoward shows up.”
“How do we get in?” I ask.
“You walk. It’s not impenetrable. There’s a force that will grab hold of your instincts, on a subconscious level, urging you to flee immediately. But it’s not all-consuming. Solid objects can pass through it. It’s not waterproof. When it rains, the water disappears within. Same for leaves whisked about by the wind. Every once in a while, we’ll observe animals go in, too. But it’s a one-way trip. Nothing that goes in, gets out. Ever.”
“So how do we get out?” asks Cooper.
“Honestly, we don’t know,” says Baecker. “As Agent Neustadt says, nothing that has gone in has ever made it back out, and despite the warnings we were given by the magical beings who created it, don’t think for a minute that we didn’t try. We broke their rules by sending a drone through. Once it penetrated the bubble, all contact with it was immediately lost. Then we sent in a highly skilled, well-armed, six-man team to retrieve it. They went in on foot and with an armored vehicle loaded with the firepower of a small tank. They were never seen or heard from again, either.”
Rudolph continues, “A few fortnights later, our sensors went wild. We couldn’t see or hear anything, but the seismographs were off the charts, and pustules, for lack of a better term, began forming on the outside of the membrane. We almost had a breach, one which would’ve presented a clear and present danger to this peaceful locale. The military went on high alert. Luckily, the Mysticals, the magic people, fortified their membrane and prevented that from happening.”
“The man who gave the order did so with the intention of protecting his country from an inside threat. For doing so, his career was destroyed,” says Baecker. “Nobody even whispers his name. Yet, here I am being ordered to repeat his mistake with you three.”
“That man acted without authority,” says Miguel. “You are performing your duties honorably upon orders given to you by your superior officers with the full consent of these benevolent magical beings.”
“Just because I have been given permission and instruction, doesn’t mean I don’t believe this is a severe lapse in judgment,” says Baecker. “Nevertheless, I am duty bound, so please follow me.” He walks us out of the tent.
“Did anyone notice that no one answered my question?” grumbles Cooper.
“Don’t worry, big guy. We’ll get out of there. Have faith, right Father,” I say.
“I’m not so certain,” Miguel says softly, again with the doubt.
We follow Baecker into an adjacent tent and my concern at Miguel’s continued lack of faith gives way to delight. Baecker brought us into an armory, a weapons cache on par with that in my Pa’s basement. Only every bit of artillery here is sanctioned and legal. I savor them like a fat kid staring at a wall full of happy meals. “Christmas!”
“Take anything you believe is required,” says Baecker. “Just be mindful that the men we sent in had more.”
“Your men didn’t have me,” says Cooper. “And I don’t need any of that.”
I toss him an automatic that he snags out of the air. “A werewolf with a machine gun. Cool and unstoppable. But mostly cool,” I say.
Cooper passes the weapon to Miguel. “Don’t need it. And who’s going to tell me I’m not cool.”
“He has a point,” says Miguel, as he loads up on ammo and grabs a couple of side arms.
I don’t argue. Satisfied with the guns I chose, I grab a few blades then stock up on some grenades and weapon’s grade C-4.
“Frankenstein’s castle is a historical monument,” says Miguel.
“Hope I don’t have to blow it up,” I reply. “Okay, I’m all set. I have everything I need for our Sunday stroll.”
Miguel picks up a double barrel shotgun, snaps it into place with one hand Terminator style then places it into a sheath on his back. “Though we may walk into the shadow of death, we fear no evil, because shadow cannot exist without light and we are that light.”
“Miguel, that’s the brightest thing you’ve said all day.” I pat him on the back. Then we exit the tent and head outside toward the perimeter.
Chapter 18
“Looks all clear ahead,” I say, staring into a vacant forest, spotting nothing but trees and dirt.
“It’s not,” says Cooper. “You smell that?
“It smells normal,” Miguel says.
“Here it does, but two feet in front of me I smell nothing,” says Cooper.
“What you think you see, smell, and hear… it’s an illusion,” says Baecker. “Do you feel that?”
“Are you referring to an inner compunction to turn back and run the other way?” I ask.
“Yes.” Baecker pushes his hand forward until his fingertips vanish in thin air. “This is the perimeter. It only appears what lies ahead is a natural continuation of the forest. The reality is we don’t know.” He pulls his fingers back.
“It seems to have a safety feature,” says Cooper. “You were able to pull your fingers back. You’re going to tell me in all this time, no one’s ever tried to stick their head through, get a peek, then pull it back?”
“Or a camera on a stick,” I offer as a better suggestion.
“It’s been tried. But the magic sphere is thicker than you think. Just poking something through won’t put you on the inside. It’s kind of like an air lock on a spaceship. You need to pass through a corridor before it seals you off from the outside. Once you are, you’ll be totally on your own. If things go south, we won’t even know about it, so no one can come to rescue you,” says Baecker.
“Wouldn’t have it any
other way,” I say.
“We will manage. Your assistance getting us thus far is greatly appreciated,” says Miguel. “Can you give us a moment alone, before we enter?”
“Godspeed and Viel Gluck. And for all of our sakes, don’t muck it up,” Baecker says before leaving.
“What’s the matter, Father. Getting cold feet?” I ask.
“There’s something you must know before we go in,” says Miguel.
“You mean other than the fact you’ve been keeping something from me since the moment you picked me up,” I say. He stares at me, wondering how I know. “Yeah, I noticed. Priesthood and lying don’t go together, but avoiding the truth by omission is your easy way out. I spoke to Pa and you never mentioned this little expedition to him while you made me believe you had. You’ve also been hesitant and filled with doubt lately. That’s way out of character for the badass that helped me kick the shit out of the devil. You ready to tell me why?”
Miguel slumps. “You know from time to time I converse with a higher power I fully believe to be God. His guidance to me over my lifetime has been impeccable, his teachings invaluable beyond words. It was his enlightenment that assisted us in defeating Balzuzu. Without his timely help, evil would have won that day and this planet we call home would be a cruel, harsh place. I have never doubted his words and his words have never failed to lead me, or our world, to a better place.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, the last time we spoke he told me I have to kill you.”
The words hang in the air like the end of a chapter. I’m too stunned to say anything, nor do I fully believe that the big guy really wants me dead, let alone wants Miguel to be the one who kills me.
“That’s pretty fucked up,” says Cooper.
“That’s the nice way of putting it,” I say. “There’s no way he would tell you that. Maybe someone hijacked his landline.”
“I have pondered that possibility, even the possibility that the entity I’ve been speaking with my entire life isn’t God at all. However, after giving it much thought, I am positive those possibilities are incorrect and the message I received to kill you did in fact come from God himself and that’s exactly what he wants me to do. Never before has my faith been tested in this way. It has had a profoundly negative effect upon my psyche.”
“Yeah, and my life. I’m not buying it.”
“What’s more important is if you’re buying it, Padre,” says Cooper.
“I’ve already bought every word. Though, obviously, I have no intention of going through with it.”
“What say you, boss? It’s your quest,” Cooper says to me.
I think it over. I trust Miguel with my life, even if he’s telling me he threatens it. ‘Trust your friends even when they don’t trust themselves,” I remember. If he says the big guy told him to kill me, than the big guy told him to kill me. I’ve always been prepared to die to save lives so if this is my final mission and it saves the world, so be it, even if Miguel has to do what he says he has to do. There are worse way to die.
“Don’t sweat it, Father. I trust you to do the right thing.” I pat his arm.
“Glad we worked that out,” says Cooper. “See ya on the other side.” He lunges forward, vanishing into nothingness.
“Okayyyy, we better follow him in before he gets us into even more trouble,” I say.
“That’s probably wise, though more likely, he’ll be the cause of that trouble,” says Miguel.
We step forward. It’s an unusual queasy feeling. My vision blurs. My heart palpitates. My skin crawls. Then we’re through. My peripheral vision spies plush greens and thick trees, a forest denser than the illusion. That and Cooper’s lunging at us full speed.
“Get down,” he yells, diving on top of us.
A split second later, projectiles riddle the area, whizzing through the air above us. They ricochet off the invisible magical barrier then pluck into the soil behind, pinning us down with nowhere to go.
“Holy shit,” I yell, hastily grappling for my weapon while Cooper’s body protects us from harm.
A group of bullets hit Cooper in the shoulder and smash into his snout, splattering me with werewolf blood. He heals almost immediately but I can tell those hurt. He’s pissed. He let’s out a primal growl, turns swiftly, and attacks. More bullets plunge into his torso as I get the chance to see who’s firing them. Or better yet, what’s firing them. It’s a stout creature with gray pink skin, standing on two heavy hind legs, with a machine gun strapped over its plump shoulder and it’s firing away like Al Capone on the streets of 1920’s Chicago. Its head is fat with a short animal-like snout, lopsided eyes, and, from the way the sun’s glinting off them, metal saw-like teeth. The rotund body is covered with scars, random patches of dark fur, all of it seemingly held together by nuts and bolts that protrude out from its joints. My brain processes it all and I know what I’m looking at… a walking, shaved corpse of a European brown bear.
Cooper grabs the automatic rifle it’s holding, taking the bear’s arm off with it. He plunges his claws through its chest. The bear thing grabs Cooper by the face and throws him into an oak. I hear Miguel cock his shotgun. My Lupara’s already in hand. Together we fire multiple rounds watching them plunge into the dead animal’s flesh. The monster falls back under our onslaught but doesn’t go down. So Cooper jumps behind him, rips off one of his legs, and gets savage as he takes the big beast to the ground. It’s not getting up again, so Miguel and I scan the immediate area to see if something else bad might be waiting for us. Nothing is, so Miguel agrees to keep watch while I walk over to take in the aftermath.
“You know, he was such a grotesque creature, I think he looks better in pieces than he did alive,” I say.
Cooper’s frothing at the mouth. “You know what this thing is? Frankenbear. Goddamned fucking Frankenbear. That sick twisted soulless monster is still alive, living here, making more like him. And he was waiting for us.”
I roam the surrounding area. The magical membrane is opaque from this side. I push against it. It’s as solid as a foot thick titanium wall. Frankenbear couldn’t have seen us. Yet, obviously he knew we were coming. Or he was here in case anyone was coming.
“He wasn’t waiting specifically for us,” I tell Cooper. “I suspect the German’s never moved their base. This is where their KSK team must have entered the perimeter and the dangerous entity behind this left Frankenbear here to guard against anyone ever trespassing into this location again.”
Miguel tosses me the H & K MP7 the creature was using. “And they did it by turning the German teams own weapons against us,” says Miguel.
“Makes sense,” says Cooper. “If Frankie can’t get out, he has to use whatever is sent in.”
“The gun makes sense. The bear doesn’t,” Miguel says. “The bear population around here died out decades ago.”
Cooper sniffs him. “So did this guy. Frankenbear is a reanimated corpse decades old.”
I walk over to what Cooper left of Frankenbear and bend down to get a closer look. The skin is rotted, the smell fetid. There’s a red gem fragment lying next to some body part I can no longer identify. I pick up the gem, show it to Miguel. It’s the same color as the ruby bad guys get from Balzuzu. “This look familiar?”
Miguel takes it and examines it closely. “Unfortunately, it appears to be exactly what you think it is.”
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Told ya,” says Cooper. He’s still in battle mode, cold breath flaring from his snout.
“Fuck,” I mutter again. No monster has ever unnerved me more than Balzuzu. “Cooper, do you remember what part of the body this came out of?”
“Wasn’t paying attention. Though I’ll tell you where it didn’t come from. Frankenbear didn’t have a heart.”
Miguel pockets the ruby. “The only way we’re going to learn the truth is to get inside that castle.”
“True dat,” says Cooper, wiping blood off his face.
&nbs
p; “Okay. Let’s not keep evil waiting,” I say.
We trudge through the quiet greenery for about half a mile. The brush is thick, as are the oaks around us, but soon we come upon a large clearing atop a hill that affords us a full view of the castle. It’s a real beauty for a ruin supposedly left unattended for centuries; a faded gray fort-like structure nearly as tall as the trees that surround it, larger than told of in the legends. Vines weave and skate through its brick and mortar. Eight battlements with rows of loopholes stand proud beneath fully intact merlon teeth. Murder holes gaze down upon a main entrance protected by a metal portcullis. It looks less like a 19th century home and more like a stronghold built for war.
“Well, fuck me,” says Cooper, taking it all in.
“That… doesn’t sound appealing,” I whisper under my breath, staring in awe at the castle. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
“Stone that should long ago have crumbled and metal which should have given way to rust are in remarkably good condition. Someone, or something, has been spending a great deal of time on upkeep,” answers Miguel.
“That’s cause Frankie’s here,” says Cooper. Miguel and I give him a ‘give it up already’ glance so he adds, “All men and monsters want a place to call home.”
“And maybe he built Frankenbear to be his guard dog,” I say.
“Let’s go tell him we killed his dog,” says Cooper.
We move cautiously down the hill through high brush to the front entrance. Miguel grips the metal bars, feeling how solid they are. Cooper gives them a vigorous shake but they don’t budge.
“We’re not getting through this gate,” says Cooper.
“Perhaps we can climb through the machicolations,” says Miguel, pointing directly upward at the murder holes.
“What do you think, Cooper? Can you handle that?” I ask.
“Sure,” he responds.
Miguel pulls a rope from his backpack, tosses it to Cooper. “Drop this down when you’re through.”
Cooper digs his claws in and effortlessly climbs up the wall. His grace and strength are impressive to behold, his movements not dissimilar to the yetis. In less than a minute, he slips inside and lowers the rope. I loop my wrist around it and start my climb. Miguel does the same. We’re slow, so Cooper gives us an assist by pulling the rope up with us. Half a minute later we’re inside the murder hole emerging onto a narrow wall walk. We head left toward a drystone ramp that leads down into a main hall, a barren room except for a single shred of tapestry that stubbornly clings to the north wall and a long dormant chandelier that angles from a dangling rusty chain. Two curved staircases skirt the outer walls leading up to separate platforms. Three more arched exits lead to different parts of the castle. Two gargoyle statues guard the middle arch on the opposite side of the floor we’re on.