Behavior Report 36

Dearest Love,

I wish I could wake up with you by my side. Where your calm breathing could erase the vision of the convoy of Kraut soldiers dressed up like Americans. I wish I could say, “It was all a figment of my imagination,” and then turn over to fall back asleep.

But those are just wishes. Worthless. Hopeless. They can do nothing while twenty faux American soldiers crawl into the back of a truck and then leave the great cavern. This scene happens over and over, and I don’t know how to stop it. There are so many. I could only stop a few before the rest understood what was happening. And, let’s be honest, I’m not the bravest person to jump into a fight.

“What do I do?” I said.

“Nothing,” Lieutenant Talbott says. “That’s not your battle.”

“But they are going to surprise some unsuspecting Americans.”

“It’s not your battle. That’s the hardest part of a war. Sometimes, the best way forward is to consciencely decide to let the enemy live another day.”

“I respectfully disagree.” I feel a burning sensation in the back of my throat. Whether it’s anger or frustration or nausea, I don’t know.

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“How many lives are going to be lost? We can do something to warn them?”

“What exactly are you going to do?” Lieutenant Talbott points to the line of Krauts. “Attack several hundred men who have rifles and machine guns with your sword? Frank, there’s nothing we can—”

“We know what it feels like to be ambushed,” I yell. “They were able to wipe out our squad in a matter of minutes with two soldiers. Two! How many are they going to wipe out with hundreds?”

None of the soldiers below notice or hear me above the din of the engines. They carry on loading and driving away. Sherman tanks roar to life and screech and scratch toward the exit. They slide into the convoy in intervals that maximize their explosive force to protect others. All the sounds echo into an amazing crescendo that seems to last forever, like the final notes of a composer’s greatest symphony. Lieutenant Talbott fades away as I lose myself in the disaster playing out before me.

“Do nothing,” I whisper in disgust.

But that’s exactly what I do. He was right. There’s nothing I can do.

After several minutes, only a few Jeeps and trucks remain in line to leave. A sulphur smell, like rotten eggs, envelopes me as the exhaust slithers along the ceiling and through the window where I stand. My ears continue to ring long after most of the vehicles leave. My stomach churns from the thoughts of what the convoy will do.

But there is nothing I can do.

I shake my head and lean onto the railing.  

Four Krauts hop into a Jeep and start the engine. They smile and laugh as if they have nothing to fear. I want to vomit.

But out of nowhere, I feel a tap on my shoulder. My muscles seize. My heart stops. I turn and find Madam Teuflisch. Instantly, I go numb.

“It seems as if you’ve found your way out of your room, Mr. Kaplan.” She smiles horrifically, like a nightmare come to life.

She’s alone.

My instincts tell me to reach out and strangle her, squeezing with all my might. My teeth grind with anger. But something inside holds my hands. I feel the presence of the boys. Their whispers collect in the back of my mind.

“She knows where Earl is,” one whispers.

“My men say that you burned through the lock. How did you do that?” Madam Teuflisch tilts her head in preparation for my answer.

“Where’s Earl.”

“Who?”

“Earl. The man who was with me when we were taken here.”

She inhales audibly through her nose and says, “Oh. Yes. The other American.”

“Where is he?” I stress each word.

“Why worry about someone else when you have no chance of getting out alive? Those men you just watched are only a small part of my army. Do you not see all the vehicles that are left?” She moves next to me at the railing and looks down. “There are—”

“Where is Earl.”

Her presence reminds me of a campfire burning wet wood. Hints of mustiness and green pine sap fill the air.

“You are persistent.” She says. “Like a mosquito.”

I want to push her to her death, but I hold back.

“But like a mosquito, I can kill you with a slap of my hand,” she continues.

The Jeep with the four Krauts leaves and no other engines come to life. We are suddenly surrounded by empty silence. I hear several footsteps thumping down the stone steps from above. Urgency strikes.

“Tell me where Earl is, now!”

Madam Teuflisch pushes her shoulders back to form her propaganda poster pose. “He’s in the dungeon below.” She nods toward the stairs going down. “Those will take you to him. But I doubt that you will find him.” She pauses and then says, “I didn’t like how he looked. His ears were too big.”

I swing my fist into her face before I can even think. She topples into a heap like a stack of Junior’s blocks. The footsteps above continue to fill the stairwell. I take off down the stairs, skipping two or three steps at a time, without concern of who I may cross.

Yelling echoes against the stone when I am several flights lower. Then, the boots begin to rush down the stairs, clopping and smacking the stone steps. I pick up speed myself until I come to the bottom. A doorway to the grand cavern stands to my left. To my right lies a cave entrance. The Krauts footsteps sound as if they are only a flight above, so I rush into the cave and hide in the darkness. Five Krauts, dressed as Americans, reach the landing, and run directly into the grand cavern. I wait a moment or two to see if any of them return, but none do.

“Where do you think this cave leads?” Lieutenant Talbott asks.

“You have a habit of disappearing when things get crazy.”

“That’s what happens with distractions.”

“Which is the distraction? You or the Krauts?”

I see a faint smile appear. “So, where do you think this goes?” he says.

“The dungeon.”

“Make senses. Madam Teuflisch said you’d find Earl down here. Maybe they locked him up? Maybe they didn’t? Maybe she sent you into this cave because there’s a monster at the end of it? Whatever’s at the end, you may want to be ready with that sword.”

I unsheathe my sword and, instantly, the sword gathers all the ambient light to glow like a torch. I aim the beam of light down the path and find yet another oddity. The cave is not like any of the others I’ve gone through. There are no stalactites or stalagmites. There’s no running water trickling down the center or even along the walls. No sounds or smells enter the cave’s presence except for my footsteps. Everything seems … false. I don’t know how to quite explain it, but the cave is clearly manmade much like the stairwell. The question that bugs me is, ‘Where does this go?’

The answer comes in the form of a bend to the right where a small new pin of light forms in the distance. I press forward to a rush of cool air that carries a faint aroma of something long dead and rotting. The thought occurs to me that I might not want to find out the source of the smell, but I press on, nonetheless.

The light I pursue remains small and flickering even as I draw closer. I had hoped to exit into another hallway or something more palpable, but my travels lead to a darkened doorway. Next to it is a small stone column, about four feet high, with a flame dancing on its top. There’s no wick or signs of something else to keep the fire burning. The fire just burns.

Several torches lean up against the stone column. I take one and use the dancing flame to light it. My Love, while the sword does provide a glowing light, there’s a different type of confidence that builds with the orange glow of fire. I pass through the doorway and into a much larger space where darkness swallows the reach of my torch. Sounds deaden to nothing with no walls to echo them.

I decide to move along the right wall to keep some idea of passage rather than walk through the middle of the space. Eventually, I come across a wooden cleat affixed to the wall and a thick braided rope tied around it. The rope leads upward into the darkness, and, for whatever reason, I decide to touch the torch to it. Flame instantly catches to the fibers and draws a line of light upward until it reaches a chandelier with dozens of waxy candles. Cobwebs, as thick as bed sheets, cover the chandelier and I imagine tank-sized spiders threading the webs. The flame catches on the webs, which lights the candles. The rope also leads to other chandeliers and more cobwebs, and, in the span of a minute, the space is mostly lit.

Wrought iron prison doors line the walls of the space. I push my torch through the bars of the door closest to me and find a torturous space barely large enough for a man to lay down or stand up straight. I investigate several others and they are all the same, with bits of torn fabric, miniature bones left from meals eaten long ago, and shackles bolted to the walls. Each prison encapsulates a different smell. Some are sweet. Some of deathly. All take my breath away.  

My heart sinks with the thought that I might find Earl or possibly remnants of him in one of the many cells. As much as I don’t want to look, I still move from doorway to doorway, praying that I find nothing.

Thankfully, my prayers are answered.

My attention shifts to the middle of the room where there is a wooden table with leather straps affixed in each corner. Next to it is a cart filled with horrific tools like a rusty saw, scalpel, and sharply pointed prying tools. Newer devices, like a stand holding intravenous fluids, syringes, and scientific jars filled with substances of all different colors lay on the other side.

“Do you think this is where that doctor does his experiment?” Lieutenant Talbott says, appearing once again across from me at the table.

“Maybe? Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Just when you think you’ve seen it all …”

I survey the room one more time from my spot at the table. “There’s nothing here that suggests that Earl had any part of this. Everything looks like it hasn’t been used in years, except those syringes.”

“Whatever they’re doing, it can’t be good.”

I lower the torch onto the table to set it ablaze, but just at that moment, the distinct sound of chains rattling echoes from a darkened corner of the space. I aim the sword’s reflected beam into the darkness. The first pass illuminates nothing, but the second pass catches upon the last remnants of a few metal links, as large as train cars, being dragged into the shadows.

“Oh, my lord,” Lieutenant Talbott says.  

A rumble, like distant thunder from a summer rainstorm, rolls through the cave. I begin walking backwards.

“Get back to the entrance. Whatever is moving those chains will be too large and unable to get us,” Lieutenant Talbott says.

“Good plan,” I respond via a breathy gasp.

I move slowly, deliberately watching the darkness, while waving the torch back and forth in hopes that it scares off whatever made the rumble. The torch hits something and before I can find out what it is, a line of flames follow another braided rope toward the ceiling. The fire reaches a pulley that’s connected to several more ropes that lead off into the dark. Soon, each line sets a chandelier ablaze. But it doesn’t stop there. More ropes carry the flame to even more chandeliers that all explode into light. Flames continue running down braided rope to more and more chandeliers until there are ten ablaze.

Hundreds of stalactites hang in bunches along the ceiling. Trickling water, that looks like trinkets of gold in the firelight, drip off the stone onto a pile of stalagmites. Two brilliant sapphires glisten within a mound of stalagmites by the far end of the cave.

“Oh my god,” I say, slowly.

The thunder rolls once again.

“What is—” Lieutenant Talbott fades away before he can finish.

The mound moves, slowly rising.

I drop the torch to hold my sword with both hands.

Two feet unfurl from the front of the mound. Once they are set, another pair further back raise the hind quarters. The legs are like thick, poorly carved stone columns that grow wider at their base. Claws, as big as Junior, surround each foot. Its movement is extremely slow, almost painful. Avalanches of pebbles and dust pour from the beast’s shoulders and sides as each leg uncurls and slams into the cave floor. My ears ache from the earthquake.

The sapphires are affixed to a smaller mound that reaches out from the core like a turtle stretching out its head. Above each ruby is a brow full of stalagmite horns. One terribly sharp point is positioned at the tip of the monster’s snout. Two additional stone like horns extend out from the monster’s jaw like elephant tusks. 

“What is that?” I whisper.

Dust plumes surround the monster. I step back, sword at the ready, waiting for a charge. Air from the monster’s nostrils shoots columns of clear air into the dust plume.

The monster never charges.

It doesn’t show its teeth.

Nor does it roar.

The monster barely moves.

It almost seems … sullen.

I stop backtracking to gauge if the monster does anything. But the massive body remains hunched over as if a great burden is weighing heavily on its shoulders.

“Are you tame?” I say in a half whisper.

The monster rolls its head to the side slightly and reveals a two-foot-thick steel ring strapped around its neck. Blood stains the lower half of the ring.

“It’s in chains. It’s hurt.”

Blood falls from the collar in droplets as large as me.

“The poor thing is hurt.”

My Love, you may believe that what I write next is crazy and, quite frankly, it is. Instead of leaving the cave, I decide to take a few steps toward the beast.

“I think I can help you.”