Holocaust

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 15; the fifteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Credits
Image - Alston Station by Wandering Soul
Courtesy - www.deviantart.com via www.blogaton.in

In the warm summer's evening, the train finally rolled to a stop at the quaint village of Wüstungen. There were few people left in Lukas's carriage. Everybody had gotten off at the previous station. He took his rucksack off the rack and got down the train steps. There wasn't anyone to receive him at the station which seemed quite abandoned and dilapidated.

It was 1944. Lukas was returning home on leave to his family after being stationed for nearly two years in Austria. He hadn't even heard from them for the last five months or so. But he knew they were alive. They must be. They were Christian. Who would kill them?

As Lukas walked onto the platform, he noticed a lot of dust everywhere, as though none live there anymore. True, he could see nobody in the vicinity. He walked on and out through the station gates, walking over his favourite roads down to his old house where his parents and little brother lived. Wüstungen had become a ghost town. People had fled. There were many Jews in that area. They must all be dead. Lukas sighed with relief that the vermin was gone from the streets of his beloved village. He walked on home thinking this.

As a Nazi soldier, he had killed many Jews. He did so with pride. He felt like he was taking out the garbage. He had been a good comrade to his mates and a stubborn fighter. After being in the field for a few years, he used to drive a Panzer. He'd even fought alongside the great Rommel, the Desert Fox in battle. He waited with baited breath as he walked the empty streets back home, those that had been flushed clean of the filthy Jews that he hated. The thought of telling his brother about the war and the tanks and prisoners from the Red Army before they lost the war and he fled, were lost in his mind. He was happy to back home.

As he neared the house where he had spent his childhood days, Lukas dumped his rucksack in the yard and ran up the porch, throwing open the front door. It was unlocked. There wasn't anyone inside in the hall. He got inside and moved around the house calling everyone's names. There was nobody there. The house was empty, just like the rest of the village.

He now started thinking that something was fishy here. Why was the village abandoned? Where was his parents? Where was Timm? He grew wary and getting out of the house, started roaming around the rest of the village calling his family members' names.

As he reached the local church, he went inside and straight into the priest's quarters. He called out for the old man. None answered. As he turned his back and started heading away, a faint voice reached his years.

“They're all dead, son. I'm so sorry.”

Lukas turned back immediately and as he was heading back, he saw the wizened old priest rambling slowly out of his basement.

“What do you mean, they're all dead?”
Go back, son. There's nothing here anymore. Many men with guns killed everyone. Even those nice people that lived on top of the hill. Pity.”

“What are you saying? Who came here?”

“I don't know. I don't know. They're all dead.”

Lukas went into the church, and kneeling before Christ, he wept.
“They killed my mother, my father. They killed little Timm. I will not spare them. These filthy dogs. Those Jews must have done this. God, if I have learned anything in life, it is that those infidels must be wiped out off the face of this Earth. I shall avenge my family. How could they do this to little Timm?”

He walked out of the church, wiping his tears. He walked solemnly back to the train station. He knew the same train by which he came would come back the next day, if another didn't earlier. So he sat down on a bench and cried. And he thought about vengeance. He thought about joining the army again and killing the dogs that killed his little brother. How could they possibly kill a little boy. He would have been nine in a few more weeks. Lukas was filled with rage.

As he lay on the bench contemplating revenge, a notice on the wall caught his eye. He got up sombrely and walked up to it.

“By order of the Führer, all Jews in this village and those surrounding it have been killed.
Anyone who has helped hide the Jews have been killed.
Heil Hitler.”

His parents had always been friendly with everyone. The thought of loose and broken floorboards in his house crept into Lukas's mind. His parents had helped. They had hidden the Jews underneath their floor. The Nazis killed them. His own army had butchered little Timm.

Lukas took his service revolver out and placed it against his temple.

“Father. You killed my little brother. Shame on you. I shall now meet you in hell.”

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.