Hitler's Skull

Hitler Skull.
The directions SS Fanatic had sent Frank were very clear, as he came off the main road, he found himself driving through rough narrow county lanes, which turned, into indiscriminate dirt tracks, and still he drove on. Eventually Frank came to his destination and was instantly disappointed. Frank was expecting some kind of army barracks complete with Rottweilers pulling at their leashes, hungry for blood. As it was, he found himself gawking at a thatched roof cottage, complete with roses round the door. He was about to get back in his van when the door opened. A very tall thin man stood in the dimly lit entrance, his pale face seemed to float in midair. The man stepped out of the doorway, into the daylight, offering his hand, 'Frank, I presume?'
Frank had been chatting to other Boneheads on the internet, indulging in his favourite pastime, the Nazis. That was how Frank found himself in the middle of nowhere, Ipswich seemed a million miles away from here. How Frank wished he'd stayed at home playing 'happy families', punching his wife and slapping kids.
The man Frank had come to known as SS. Fanatic stepped out into the day light offering his hand. Frank stumbled over his words. This bloke looked posh. He wore a dark tweed suit, black shirt and a cravat, not what Frank was expecting at all.
'Yeah mate, you must be SS¦'
The man's face broke out into a huge smile, as he leant forward grabbed Frank's hand giving him a firm handshake, 'Please, call me Christopher.'
A chill zipped up Frank's arm, causing him to jerk his hand free. Christopher smiled again, 'Come in Frank, I have some wonderful things to show you.'
Frank hesitated as his eyes adjusted to the dark hallway. Frank felt the sweat bubble up on his forehead, it was hot outside, but inside it felt ten degrees higher. As they made their way from the hall into the first room, Frank was puzzled at just how much larger the place looked once inside. He rubbed his hands together with glee as he took in the sight that surrounded him. The walls were lined with swastika flags, between each flag a uniform was pinned, some from the soldiers, some from the victims. A spotlight shone underneath each uniform, highlighting their different conditions. A few looked brand new while others hung tattered, covered in what could have been a mix of vomit, dirt or blood. On the far wall, was a gallery. A collection of hellish suffering, the starving, almost cadaverous frames of the Holocaust staring back.
'This is amazing mate. I mean truly amazing.'
'I'm glad you like my collection, Frank. I thought you might. Some people get terribly queasy when they see the¦'snapshots'. Now please, let me get you a drink. Gevery ' Chambering? It's a premier cru.'
'I don't really drink foreign lager, you got any bitter?'
'Oh poor Frank! This is not some ghastly lager. You will find it to be a very exclusive wine. Did you know, Hitler was a connoisseur when it came to the finer things in life? People tend to forget about that.'
Frank shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, wishing he were back home screaming at his wife.
'I'm sorry Frank. Listen to me conversing away. Let me get the drinks and I'll show you something very special.'
While Christopher stepped out of the room, Frank took a closer look at the photographs. 'This man is sick', he thought. For the first time in his life, Frank felt something other than a thrill or indifference as his eyes became fixed on the sunken faces staring back, begging, screaming, pleading for help.
'Here you go, Frank.'
Frank jumped, but his eyes stayed fixed on one image. It could have been a boy or a girl, it was hard to tell, as their features were a collection of dark smudges on a fading face, draped in black and white striped rags.
'I have to keep the natural daylight out otherwise you lose the beauty. Same with the uniforms. They would deteriorate quite quickly. Not so much the guards, but the others. The pink triangles seem worse for fading.'
Frank grabbed the crystal cut glass, gulping its contents down in one.
'Oh, my dear man. You really must give this wine some respect. Savour its aroma, its flavour, its¦history. It is not beer!'
'Beer? Have you got any beer? I'd love a beer.'
'I'm afraid not, Frank, but let me show you something that will really quench you.'
For the first time in his life, Frank felt he was not in control of things, he could feel his shirt sticking to his back. He was not happy. Frank grimaced as he heard Christopher call him with his cut glass accent.
'Frank? Come and see my prize exhibit. I promise you will not be disappointed.'
Frank followed Christopher's voice into the next room. The room was a sterile white, lit by a single hanging light bulb. Christopher stood next to a glass cabinet. Inside on a glass shelf sat a red velvet cushion. Placed on top was a skull. The blank sockets stared directly at Frank, as the row of perfect white teeth stretched wide an eerie grin.
'What's that then?'
'This, my friend', grinned Christopher, 'is Hitler's Skull.'
'Piss off!'
'I can assure you, Frank. This is quite genuine. I have searched for many years to acquire this; not only because of its heritage, but because of the power that it contains.'
Frank could not contain himself and laughed out loud.
'Nice one, Christopher mate. I like a joke as much as the next man, but you can fuck right off.'
Christopher narrowed his eyes, sucking in his thin lips until they nearly disappeared. Frank felt uncomfortable as he searched for something to say.
'So, em, Christopher mate, em what's these powers then?'
Christopher smiled,
'Your heart's desire, what will it be? A busty blonde or how about a curvy brunette?'
Frank spluttered his words out,
'A beer, a nice cold beer.'
Frank yelped as a tankard of beer appeared in his gripped hand. Suspiciously, he gave the beer a sniff, Christopher laughed. 'My good man, it's not wine!'
Frank felt his hand grip the tankard, as he looked over the rim at Christopher. He took a sip, and then gulped back the ale in one, letting out an enormous burp. Frank grinned as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'That, Christopher mate, was pure nectar, any chance of another?'
Frank could not control his grin as he watched the tankard refill itself, and again he gulped back the liquid in one, feeling it cool him from the inside.
'How much?'
'How much is what, my dear man?'
'How much do you want for the skull?'
'Oh, I'm sorry Frank. The skull will never be for sale, but you may borrow it.'
'And what would you want for that?'
'Oh I don't know¦ Did you not say you have a guard's uniform?'
'Yeah, but it's not in very good nick. It's in the van. Shall I go get it?'
Christopher nodded as he ushered Frank back through the other rooms to the front door. The sunlight struck Frank as he stepped outside. He contemplated driving off; but the greed that was growing inside him persuaded him otherwise. Once back inside, Frank handed over a carrier bag to Christopher, who pulled the dishevelled uniform out, held it to his nose, breathing in deeply.
'Oh yes, you can smell the violence raging through this uniform. This belonged to one of the lower guards. Like you, Frank, he gained great pleasure from other people's pain.'
'Yeah well, I haven't been in any big scraps for a long time.'
'Oh do not be so modest Frank, you were known as 'The Menace on the Terrace' for a good number of years were you not?'
'Yeah, I knew how to keep them Norwich supporters in place.'
'Oh, yes, you hit the head lines after giving that young Norwich fan
'a razor smile' I think is how the papers reported it.'
'Yeah well, like I said that was years ago. How'd you know about¦?'
'What about your wife, Maureen? And the brats, Becky and Joe?'
'Well, they need a slap, keep 'em in order, know what I mean?'
'I do Frank, I do very much, but wouldn't your life be so much better without them, why don't you wish them all away?'
'Yeah, get myself some peace and quiet. Give us the skull!'
'First things first, Frank. As interesting as this uniform is, I really do think you should give me something of more value.'
'Like what?'
Christopher glanced up to the ceiling tapping his index finger against his thin lips and smiled, 'How about¦your soul?'
The beer made Frank's head spin. He let out a slight laugh, 'Yeah right.'
Christopher's eyes fixed Frank with a chilling stare, causing him to look away. Frank looked over at the tankard and grinned. 'Go on then, my old mum used to say I was soulless anyway, so it ain't like I'm going to miss it.'
'Good man.'
Christopher grinned putting his hand out to shake Frank's hand, causing Frank to slightly sober up.
'When would you want it?'
'I'm a fair man Frank, so this is the deal. You can have the skull for as long as you like and make as many wishes as you like. Fill your heart full with all its darkest desires. However, as soon as you want to take a wish back, then I will send for your soul. Ok?'
Frank heartily shook hands with Christopher grinning to himself, as he watched the tanked fill itself up with frothy beer. Gulping the beer back, as he made his way through the rooms of the cottage, Frank held the skull tight to his chest making as many wishes as he could. 'Get rid of the van, I want a Rolls-Royce, get rid of the wife and kids, and give me so much money I can use the tenners to wipe me arse.'
Frank opened the front door and saw a silver Rolls Royce standing where his dirty van had stood earlier. He turned to see if Christopher was behind him, but the door was shut. Without giving Christopher a second thought, Frank got in his car and drove back to the terrace house in Blanch Street.
Once back at his house Frank bellowed out to his wife and kids. He felt a slight pang at not hearing their usual fearful response, but could not stop himself grinning as his eyes feasted on the pile of money blocking up the doorway to the back room.
Frank was about to wish to see the 1966 world cup final live, when he noticed a silver disc by the DVD player, written in ornate writing was the words
'Play me'.
'What the hell's this? Alice in bloody Wonderland?'
Frank put the disc in the player and sat back as a black and white image came into view. He recognised the scene right away: Storm Troopers marching with military precision. The crowds cheered and waved as an open top car passed. Hitler gave his Nazi salute to the crowd. As the camera zoomed in on Hitler's car, Frank pulled himself closer to the screen.
"What the hell?
The driver looked directly at Frank and gave him a wink. Frank could hardly believe his eyes. The driver was Christopher. Picking up the remote, Frank jabbed the re-wind button but the scene faded into another. At first, he could hardly make out the images. He could only see jumbled shades of black and grey, the more he stared the clearer the picture became. The indiscriminate shapes started to form themselves as individuals, women and children were bundled into the concrete chamber. As soon as the door slammed behind them the wailing begun in earnest, as they waited for what they knew would happen next. Frank knew what was coming too, feeling a chill run down his arm. The guard outside shouted out in German, 'Tod'. The wails turned to hysterical screams. Before Frank would have sat back with a beer at such a sight, but now he found himself manically stabbing his finger on the eject button. Frank felt his bowels congeal as he recognised Maureen and his kids, Becky and Joe, clinging to her side. They looked directly at him, arms outstretched, their dark sunken eyes pleading for him to help. Frank jumped to his feet and kicking his boot through the screen. The television fell back as the screams poured out, filling the room with cries of terror. Frank scrambled across the floor, grabbed hold of Hitler's skull and shouted, 'I want my wife and kids back.'
Frank fell back, blinded by the brightest light. As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, he saw the television back in place. He looked over to the doorway. The money was gone. Frank went to check on the Rolls but as he opened the front door, he found the doorframe blocked by two large men.
'Hello, Frank. Christopher asked us to pop round.
Frank squeezed the skull screaming, 'I wish I was someplace else.'
'Our pleasure', said the two men in unison.
Before he could think, the two men pulled Frank out of the house, lifting the skull from his hands, then threw him in the back of their black van. On the side was written,
'Christopher's Removals. No job too big or too small'
Just then, Maureen and the kids came round the corner. One of the removal men poked his head out of the van window.
'Hello luv, Frank asked me to pass on a message. He said he's leaving you and the kids but not to worry, his gone to a place were he'll fit right in.'
Maureen watched as the van pulled away. She could have sworn she saw Frank's ghostly face pressed against the black glass of the van, but it was hard to tell. She pulled the kids close to her, as they stared down the road at the vehicle driving away from Blanch Street, towards the sinking, orange sun, settling behind a much quieter council estate. Maureen could not help but smile, 'Come on kids, let's get the tea ready and see if there anything interesting on the telly.'

Word count 2410