When DEAD calls

Chapter 7

ANNA CARTER'S POV

Surreal scenes came together and just whooshed away in a jiffy. He was hoisting the red banners of Swastika. The soldiers saluted. There was a ritualised rounds of applause for the powerful speaker. His passion and his words moved the people. The citizens believed him like a God, who would restore their dignity from the foreign 'influences' and 'conspiracies'.

It all started with the fire in the reichstag, roaring and racing around. Marinus van der Lubbe was caught, arrested, jailed, tried for treason, the blade hanging above his neck, and then CHUCK!, he no more had his soul with him. The 'undesirable' were gassed in camps to DEATH, deprived in ghettos to DEATH, electrocuted in live barbed wires to DEATH. Women and children weeping and waiting in a queue of DEATH. The 'desirable' teased and laughed. The genocidal war waging a hell lot of mess.

They were traumatised, isolated, destituted, humiliated, burdened, depleted, resisted, sympathied, depressed, stressed, conquered, prosecuted, destroyed, devastated, trapped, glorifically trenched, proletarianized, defected, collapsed, threatened, tortured, dismantled, defeated, poisoned, crashed, slaughtered, killed, dead.

He was the saviour to some, murderer to others. And then he lost. Anticipating what was coming, he committed suicide with his family in his bunker. He fell dead on the floor, gave vicious laugh, swayed his hand over me, and shut his eyes for eternal.

I woke up with a start, my head stinging in pain, eyes burning, arm and legs went numb and frozen, heart throbbing, skin turning chalky-white. I squinted my eyes, rolled my head, rofled my limbs, rubbed my skin to get normal, but it was useless. I scanned my surroundings, dark and misty, nothing else. I tried to get up and revive my memory, what happened, lately? Where am I? Why am I here? What place is this? How did I get in here? and many more questions rised with not even a clue for answers. I dragged myself and sauntered, my steps clunking on the cold black stone-paved floor. My body ached and shivering very badly, as if a thousand men jabbed and shoved me away in this freezing icy-site for me to get hypothermia. I was then shocked to see my hand covered and dried with bloodstain. Instantly, I checked myself for any cuts in my body, but there weren't any. I looked around the stone path and I found a large old-fashioned black shard, covered with dry blood and I thought 'How could this possibly come to my hand, fully drenched in blood?'. I sighed and closed my eyes 'cause I couldn't handle anymore questions in my mind. I just dropped that thing and continued to saunter, but stopped abruptly when my eyes caught a sight of a door.

I started walking closer to it. It was Oxblood red made out of rosewood. It was thick and firm, fixed to a house. I walked closer and I felt the tension in me rising. Sweat trickling from my forehead. I swooped my hand out to reach the doorknob, when I felt the chill run in my nerves, wind blowing hastily out of nowhere, my hair swaying swiftly. I withdrawed my hand and the air went still.

'You gotta think twice', I scolded myself. I was confirm with one thing – this house ain't haunted 'cause the house looked way more beautiful to be haunted and second thing – I ain't going to stay out in the dark and it's freezing.

Best option - I'm going in so I turned the knob.