Mind Problem

Parcell is a college grad from America migrating into Germany. He wanted to admire the country but instead meets a girl named Margelle. He starts recalling things he has seen from the past as reminders. Margelle tells him of a concentration camp called Auschwitz to grab his attention. This adventure takes a turn for the worse when a horror hits him and stes a chain reaction off. What could it be? Is it a ghost, or is it his wretched thoughts messing with him, turning his sanity black? Which ever it is, one thing is for sure. He has a Mind Problem.


PART: 1 Beginning of horror

Have you ever been in a situation where you weren’t supposed to be in a place for a reason unknown? I was on a vacation in Germany. My first stop was in Frankfurt Airport. “Hallo.” I said to the Immigrations depot official. He was of big build, so I tried not to get on his bad side. He sported a blue beret and a blue uniform, one of a British Constable. ”Hallo. Ihr reisepass, bitte?” (Hello. Your passport, please?) I handed over my passport, a worn piece on leather and paper held together by the binding strings of the seam. “Oh, you’re from U.S,” he said in a somewhat fluent matter. “Vat brings your business here?” I responded, “It’s my break from college.” Three stamps later and he stated, “Vell, you seem to be in order so you can go. Auf wiedersehen.”
I traveled the airport in search of any attractions or brochures to lead me to my next destination. “You’re from the U.S. No?” a voice said from my left. I looked over to see a woman of blond hair and brown eyes, no less than 30. “Yeah, how’d you know?” I asked her. “You’re shirt says Harvard so I just presumed, I’m Margelle, and you are?” I replied “I’m Parsell, nice to meet you.”
“You have a lot of bags for a vacation, Parsell.” She pointed to my plentiful amount of bags. “I guess you’re… Wait, how did you know I said I was on vacation?!” I responded in surprise. “I overheard you and the guard.” She said. “Let me guess, you’re moving from the U.S. to Germany to start a new life?” I was astonished. “How did you find that out?!” She simply put “You have a pair of socks hanging from your one bag.” I looked to see she spoke the truth and I dropped my head in embarrassment. Then I said “Well, I should get going to find a new house, nice meeting yo…” She interrupted, “You can stay with me if you want.” To which I responded “That’ll be great, thanks.” With that we went to the parking lot and began on our way.
Once in the car, I asked her, “So how did you become so fluent in English?”
She responded “My father was American and he married my mother in Berlin, so I picked some up from him.” We kept discussing our past on our way to her house. I told her that I had been as tall as I was (6’1”) since freshman year of college and that I was on the wrestling team when I was thrown into a chair during a match and ended up cutting my arm on a lady’s hair pin that she dropped when I landed on her chair. She told me that she was born and raised in Berlin her entire childhood. She moved to Frankfurt to attend the University of Frankfurt am Maim, where she majored in History.
“Well, here we are.” Margelle said. I looked at what seemed to be a pueblo styled house. It had two floors and looked like it was actually made of clay. “Wow!” I said “You actually live here! Amazing!” She responded in a proud tone “Yes, I know, it is surprising. Come on in.” She led me into a doorway made of pure hickory. She opened the door to reveal an amazing interior.
The walls were gray and blue and the matched perfectly. The living room looked like the Presidential suite in the Hilton Inn. The chandelier hung over the table in the dining room to add some type of close in space. The countertop of the kitchen was made of refurbished marble, glistening in perfection. It seemed as I was in a Hollywood star’s house. “For the love of God, YOU LIVE HERE!” I said in even more surprise. “Alright alright, don’t get your pants in a knot. Go ahead and put your things in the guest room and meet me here for dinner. We’re having chicken and sauerkraut.” She said. I followed the hall down to the guest room and to my expectance the guest room was all but lame. Everything looked like it was in a five-star hotel and I do mean everything.
After putting my things away I came into the dining room to see Margelle already eating dinner. “Too slow.” She said. I just sat down and ate with her. “So what do you plan to do first in Germany?” She asked “Well I guess I could visit that art museum in Berlin.” She tapped me on the head with her fork and said “No. That’s a bad idea. If you want to have a good experience, you have to go somewhere exciting.” I became interested “Go on.” She continued “Well, as I was studying on WWII, I came across a concentration camp so notorious, it was known in America. It’s called…Auschwitz. Even better, nothing inside is messed with, nothing at all!!” I responded with a simple answer “Alright. I guess I’ll go there.”
“No, you’ll be going on the nightshift. When I was there I talked with people saying they saw ghosts in Auschwitz.” She replied “What makes you think I love ghosts?” I said “Your bags said it all.” And I then realized that that she was right.
My bags were covered in Ghostbusters and Ghost adventures stickers. This made me feel like quite the fool. It occurred to me that I can no longer go on with trying to avoid Margelle’s sense of hindsight. It seemed as though she was from the book I just finished reading on the plane, “The Hounds of the Baskervilles.” It also seemed that this house was just like the main room that I saw in the UK’s Grand Palace on my way here. “Well, I guess I could go check it out, but how will I see ghosts?” I asked her. “You sneak in after hours, duh.”
“Alright, I’ll give it a try.” I admitted. “Good.” She said “Now it’s time we went to bed. Gute Natche.” (Good Night.)








PART 2: AUSCHWITZ
I awoke the next day with the thought on my mind of Auschwitz. How was I going to get in? I thought. “Good, you’re awake! I was just gonna leave on my own. Get dressed and let’s go! Come on!” Margelle greeted me with her usual look of adventure.
It took us five hours to get from Frankfurt to a city called Oświęcim, Poland. It was a small town near Auschwitz that took only minutes to get out. We parked and found our way into the castle-like camp. It was huge! There were buildings that were a lot like longhouses. There was one single building with a black shingled roof and gray walls that had a sign saying Officers Quarters. “Wow.” I said “This place is gigantic!” Margelle replied “Yes, it is. As big as two American football fields. Do you know why this place is so well known?” She asked. I was never good at history so I shook my head. “Well, this place was very used in WWII. Since it opened, over one million people died by their captors’ hands.” “One million! Are you joking?!” I screamed” She shook her head and asked, “Now, what’s your plan?” I told her I planned to go into the crematorium and hide in one of the furnaces until the camp closed. She nodded her head and without saying anything, she left.
I decided to start my plan. I walked around the field, not knowing where to go. As if the spirits commanded this to happen, I spotted a sign post pointing two different ways, one said Gaskammern (gas chambers) and the other said Kremotorium (crematorium). “Well, now I know my next destination.” I told myself. The crematorium looked like any other one in existence, but the doors to the furnaces were the major dividing line. I was lucky no one wanted to care for a bunch of old and rusty doors on a wall. This made my job easier. I found a burner at a good level above ground and jumped right in, closing the door just enough to allow a little smidgen of light through. I fell asleep to let time pass faster.
When I woke up I looked at my watch to see the time. It was 7:07. “Perfect.” I said. I opened the door enough to allow my head through to see for any guards. None were in sight. So I crawled out and let myself on my way around for any spirits. One thing caught my eye though. A door had opened on the first row that was previously locked and closed. I looked in to find a key at the end of the furnace. My curiosity got the best of me and I went in. Right when I grabbed the key, the burners, rusted beyond use and repair, lit aflame with me in it. I squirmed out to safety and slapped my clothing senseless. When the fire went out, though, my clothes were fine. No burn marks left on them at all. “What the hell?” I said. Then I realized that my wallet was in the furnace. “It must’ve fallen out when I was thrashing.” I turned around to see that the burners were turned off. I was stunned at this point. I reached in to get my wallet. I slipped and fell on the metal plate on the bottom and instead of getting burned; the metal was cold, like it hadn’t turned on in years. “Something is screwing with me here.” I said in a scared tone. The worst was yet to come, though. I flipped around to see ghosts hanging from the out of the walls; hands, bodies, and heads; screaming “Help us” and “Take me from this place!”
I ran immediately at the sight of them and headed to the gate. I got to the gate to be greeted by a big padlock on the fence entrance. “No. This can’t be happening.” As if on cue, a voice behind me said in an eerie tone “Verdammt Jude! An die arbeit!” (Damned Jew! Get to work!) And a whip cracked on my back, followed by my scream of pain. I swiveled my head around to see a tall figure. He was the worst creature I ever saw. His face was covered in decay. He had a giant black overcoat and had a swastika on his right upper arm. He was followed by a stream of black mist coming from his back. He had a nametag on his right breast pocket. It read Fritzsch. “No way! You’re SS Hauptsturmfüder Kerl Fritzsch!” I heard of him from reading a plaque on the officers’ quarters wall. He was one of the high deputies of Auschwitz.
Wer Können sie sprechen?”(Who let you speak?) And he whipped me again. Without thinking, I dashed for the officers’ quarters and locked myself in. He screamed “Stop, Jude!”(Stop, Jew!) I piled anything I could in front of the door, but when I was moving the desk, I saw a note on it. It read:
To anyone who finds this
letter, be aware of the Nazi
still on patrol. I banished Him
here for eternity. The only way
to rid the world of him is to crush
HIS SKULL.
Maximillian Kolbe
“Wait a minute. Kolbe was the priest her.” I read of him on my way to the crematorium. Apparently, he died in the starvation chamber from a punishment Fritzsch put him under. “But where’s the skull.” Then and right then, I saw a big strongbox with a keyhole on it. “Maybe the key fits in it.” I took the key from my pocket and plunged it in the slot. It turned on its own to reveal what I was looking for, the Skull of Karl Fritzsch.
Almost suddenly, the door busted down to show the grotesque shape of Karl. He yelled “STERBEN!!!!”(DIE!!!!) and threw his whip with all his might. In reaction, I put the skull up to defend myself. The force of the whip was enough to break the skull in half. “NIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!” He yelped. A black vortex opened and started to absorb any unbolted and inanimate objects in the room. With one last yell Karl said “Sie werde eines Tages dafür bezahlen.” And then he began to deteriorate into dust and continued into the vortex where he was no longer heard from again.
With everything solved, I walked out to see the sun shining and a guard opening the gate. I ran to him and said “Thank you so much sir. I thought I was dead in this camp but I’m okay.” And he responded. “Vat are jou tolking about. Dese are ze ruins to Auschwitz. Jour not soppuzed to be heir.” I looked back to see that everything was gone. Only the Officers’ Quarters and another building stood, as museums.