An Encounter With Evil

An Encounter with Evil


By
P.J. Lawton


It was deathly quiet on the gently sloping hillside. In the
deepening silence I recalled the last words spoken by the tired old
man. With a trembling voice he had called to me as I walked away. "Be
careful for what you are searching, for you may just find it."



Unexpectedly the hair on the back of my neck tingled as a
cold wind blew across the clearing. Where only moments before there had
been bright sunlight now dark misty fog covered the landscape. I felt
something eerie, a strange nearby presence. A hurried glance up the
hill to the edge of the tree line found a standing figure completely
encased in a dark cloak. With the stillness of a statue it stood
staring toward the shrine. The cloak hood was pulled up obscuring the
head and face so that nothing was revealed of the person inside. I cold
shiver arched down my spine.


Some unknown force compelled me to look back to the shrine. I
had been to many so-called supernatural happenings before but they
usually turned out to be nothing more than the figment of someone's
overworked imagination. Somehow this one seemed different, more real,
for I was unexpectedly overwhelmed with strange sensations. In an
instant I recognized the feelings. I was in the presence of evil, pure,
pure evil. I couldn't breathe. I had to force the air into my lungs.
What on Earth had made me come here today? Oh yes, my stupid morbid
curiosity.


***


I had always been curious about the strange or bizarre, the
supernatural, the occult, and other mysterious happenings. It had
become more than just curiosity; it was now my main hobby. I wasn't
overzealous about it but simply liked to stand at the scene of the
sighting to see if I could feel vibrations or other sensations. I would
take notes in the journal I carried everywhere. Someday I planned to
write a book about my experiences of the unexplained.


I was on vacation in southern Germany when I learned about
the sightings of someone or something mysteriously wandering the hills
of the beautiful Obersalzberg. Was it really him? Some surely believed
it was. I was a little skeptical as usual but figured why not check it
out. The village of Berchtesgaden wasn't all that far by train after
all.


Berchtesgaden is a small quiet beautiful village that had
become nefarious during the Second World War. Nazi party bigwigs had
appropriated the Obersalzberg, the mountain overlooking the village,
and other areas near Berchtesgaden and converted them to a Nazi
headquarters and stronghold. The Hotel Platterhof, the people's hotel,
and a model farm were built on the mountain as well as homes for many
of the party leaders. The area was heavily bunkered and
fortified.
After the war, those properties in the area appropriated by the Nazis
were taken over by the U.S. Army. The Hotel Platterhof was rebuilt and
renamed the General Walker Hotel and opened for guests in 1953. The
region that had been infamous for its connection to the Nazis was now
to become famous for the warm hospitality extended to the American and
other Allied forces. That is, until 1995 when the hotel closed. It was
then that the reported sightings started!

***

Since my interests also included military history I had stopped by the
small village cemetery to view the headstones of the local soldiers
killed in the war. There seemed to be a lot for such a small village.
The cemetery was beautifully kept up, the graves maintained with
meticulous care. An old man that I took to be the caretaker approached
and struck up a conversation in heavily accented English. We spoke for
some time. After a few minutes I asked the questions that had brought
me here.


"So, all of it was just a lie?" I quietly spoke to the frail
old man in the worn WWII style German Army greatcoat. "He didn't die in
the bunker in Berlin?"


"Nein," he said. "He was not there. He was here at the Berg
Hof. I was a guard at the Hotel Platterhof, the local party
headquarters and the SS Kaserne, the Army barracks, from December 1944
until the end when Berchtesgaden fell to the Americans. I saw him
several times." He nervously shifted his gaze to the mountain then
continued in a quieter voice. "Then, one day he just disappeared. No
one knows where he went. Many say that still today he roams these
mountains."


"But, I thought the Berg Hof and hotel area was bombed and
destroyed by the American Air Corps in early 1945."


"Yes, it was. However, the Burg Hof was not completely
destroyed until it was blown up by the West German Government in 1953.
This was done so that it would not become a shrine to him. If you wish
to see the remains of the house, take the bus to the hotel. Just below
the hotel is the location of his Berg Hof. There is a sign that says
"Entritt Verboten", no entrance, but this is widely ignored. About 20
to 30 yards along the path you will see some of the retaining walls and
part of the foundation."


Curiosity thoroughly aroused, I thanked the old man and made
for the bus station.


The actual distance up the mountain wasn't long but the trip
took some time because of the severe winding of the roadway. The
conversation with the old man had been almost an hour earlier. I had
since walked down the overgrown path past the no entrance sign to the
remains of the Burg Hof, the mountain vacation home of the epitome of
evil, one of the greatest monsters of all time, Adolf Hitler.



Part of the remaining foundation was still standing and
looked to be part of the sub-basement. Beneath the concrete floor a
shrine had indeed been erected. The inside back wall was painted with
several Swastikas and other symbols. Several slogans had been written
in red paint with drippings down the wall, I suppose to give it the
look of blood. Remains from several candles were present and two were
still burning. I was fascinated by what I saw there.


Of course, all that had been before the watcher made its
appearance.


***


Now just minutes later I was here staring at the unholy
shrine with a mysterious specter lurking over my shoulder. Sudden vivid
images started flashing into my mind. One after another, images so
dramatic and so real that my senses were totally dominated.



Flash: I could feel a cold drizzle as massed troops marched
past the Arc de Triomphe while French citizens stared, tears of rage,
sorrow and fear pouring down their faces.


Flash: The sickly sweet smell of death was everywhere as
hundreds of Russian men, women and children were forced down into a
long ravine where soldiers with the double lighting bolt uniform
insignia began to fire and fire and fire oblivious to the screams and
moans of the dieing.


Flash: The bright sunlight gave off no warmth as citizens of
some European city listlessly walked the street with a bright yellow
star adorning their clothing while soldiers of the conquering army
stared, laughed and jeered.


Flash: In the cold morning air I could feel the hard twisted
strands of barbed wire and see the menacing guard towers that held
thousands of starving scarecrows. Some of the scarecrows were being
forced to load the emaciated corpses of the dead into wagons like some
much old refuse.


Flash: The stench of charred flesh permeated the air as giant
smokestacks bellowed great geysers of grey black smoke from massed
ovens filled with ash and pieces of bone.


I couldn't take anymore. I fell to my knees and grabbed two
hands full of earth in an attempt to bring myself back to reality,
something, anything to break the cycle of images!


In an instant the flashes stopped. Rising to my feet, I
quickly glanced around. Yes, the figure was still there. As it moved
back into the shadows for an instant the hood moved revealing the face.
Actually it wasn't a face at all. It was a death's head mask with its
evil toothy grin. How strange, I thought, why would someone wear a
mask? Then another thought, what if it wasn't a mask? Another shudder
crossed my body as thousands of goose bumps formed. The figure paused
for a time staring in my direction then turned and in an instant
disappeared into the mist.


I stood in total shock for several seconds. My numbed mind
simply would not or could not explain what had just happened to me.
What were the flashes I had witnessed? What would compel someone to
dress and act that way? Was it some type of sick joke or was it . . .
more! After all, the images had been so real!


Something, some part of my inner being told me I had to get
off this mountain. The little voice in my head suddenly shouted, "Go,
Now!"


Without a backward glance I rapidly made for the hotel. As I
neared the bus stop bright sunlight again shone down on me. As suddenly
as it had arrived the misty fog had gone.


Securely seated on the bus heading down the winding mountain
road I felt a great sense of relief. Rounding a curve I gave one last
glance up to where the Berg Hof had once stood. My eyes widened with
surprise for I could see at the base of the foundation near the spot
where I had earlier knelt now stood a shadow. It was the silhouette of
a figure in a long dark cloak! Could it be? As it again turned in my
direction we rounded a bend and the ruins were out of
sight.


Safely back in the village I stood for some time staring
toward the beautiful majestic mountain. Had it actually happened? Had I
really faced dire circumstances or was it the work of my overactive
imagination? No, it had happened all right, of that I was sure.
Although maybe a little out of place, a funny thought popped into my
mind. Maybe it was time for me to take up a new hobby.


Turning to move back to the city center and the train station
I felt another cold chill. Whether I got a new hobby or not I realized
that this day would forever etched in my memory. No amount of time
could erase what had happened here. Yes, I would always remember this
day. This was the day I had an encounter with evil.


End