The Empty Room
by Ron A. Sewell
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Lest we forget...
_____________________________________________________________________
A flurry of snow filled the air as two figures stood on a cold, desolate platform. The woman, her shoulders stooped and well into her seventies, looked lovingly at the boy, her ten year old grandson, Aaron.
“Come,” she said, “there will be more snow.”
The boy held her hand and helped her. Only their footprints disturbed the fresh white covering.
“Why are we here, Booba?”
“Memories, only memories and I need you to see before I die.”
“Booba, you’re not dying, are you?”
“One day, Aaron, but not today.”
The two, hand in hand, walked to the end of the platform and down the ramp to the track now rusted with age. Here the ground became rutted and Aaron held his grandmother’s arm to steady her. The cold wind encircled them, sapping their warmth but they trudged on.
Huge black crows perched on sagging wire. Every so often one would swoop down and tear at the corpse of a small animal trapped in the barbed mesh fence. Others would follow and fight for scraps.
The wooden door to an outbuilding swung in the wind, banging loudly against its frame.
“Over there, Aaron,” said Booba pointing, “that’s where we registered. A lucky few received a number.”
“Why, Booba?”
“Those with a number received food and worked.”
A sign that gave directions to disinfection remained firmly fixed to a brick wall. Turning right, they trod warily down an ice-covered slope which led towards two iron doors, the black paint now flaking from decades of attack by the elements. The sign above the doors read, Zu den Duschen(To the Showers).
Aaron felt Booba’s hand tighten.
For a moment she experienced a chill of doubt and then dread as she pulled open the door. The changing room had not altered. The walls glowed white and scrubbed wooden benches remained in place. Coat hooks to hang clothes, some broken, were precisely spaced around the four walls.
Booba stared at Aaron, her face twisted with misery. “We must move on.”
“I’m cold, Booba. Why can’t we go back to the hotel?”
She attempted a smile. “I have to visit one more room and then we’ll leave.”
Aaron walked ahead and opened the heavy door. Its hinges groaned when it swung open, revealing a yawning darkness. He stood back to let his Booba through. To her surprise, an automatic sensor activated, flooding the room in white light.
“It’s like our shower room at school, Booba, but a lot bigger.”
“Hush, child.”
For many minutes Booba stared sightlessly at the bare whitewashed walls, reflecting the vision they conjured up. In this place nightmares began and abruptly ended.
A gust of wind rattled the roof top ventilators; the screech of metal on metal when these turned gave a frightening aspect to the room.
Booba leant so heavily on Aaron that he had to lean against the wall to prevent himself falling. “Booba.”
“Be quiet, Aaron,” she said sternly. “It’s nothing.”
Her voice died away and in the intense silence that followed, he turned to her. He saw her face was a ghastly pale.
It seemed, if only for a moment, that something intangible resented their intrusion. Shadows of the past in this stark room flitted noiselessly to the right and left. A presence grew around her, but when she turned the bare walls stared back. To her, this room depicted a complete sense of horror.
Booba remembered the people crying, screaming and hammering until it went quiet. The hum of electric fans before the doors opened. Strange but at that moment the room held a macabre warmth, not cold as now.
With trembling hands she grabbed Aaron and rushed with him to the outside. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs as if getting rid of the air of death.
The initial flurry of snow had become a blizzard. She staggered to a pile of logs next to a brick wall and watched Aaron making snowballs.
He stopped and pushing the snow with his feet, went to her. “Booba, why did we come here?”
“Aaron, I had to. Your Zada and I worked here for many years but in the end they took him into that room. I helped carry him out.”
As they trudged through the deepening snow, Aaron stopped. “Booba, in that place...”
She looked at him, her face red with cold. “ Yes, Aaron?”
“Why in that empty room could I hear children crying?”
Swearwords: None.
Description: Lest we forget...
_____________________________________________________________________
A flurry of snow filled the air as two figures stood on a cold, desolate platform. The woman, her shoulders stooped and well into her seventies, looked lovingly at the boy, her ten year old grandson, Aaron.
“Come,” she said, “there will be more snow.”
The boy held her hand and helped her. Only their footprints disturbed the fresh white covering.
“Why are we here, Booba?”
“Memories, only memories and I need you to see before I die.”
“Booba, you’re not dying, are you?”
“One day, Aaron, but not today.”
The two, hand in hand, walked to the end of the platform and down the ramp to the track now rusted with age. Here the ground became rutted and Aaron held his grandmother’s arm to steady her. The cold wind encircled them, sapping their warmth but they trudged on.
Huge black crows perched on sagging wire. Every so often one would swoop down and tear at the corpse of a small animal trapped in the barbed mesh fence. Others would follow and fight for scraps.
The wooden door to an outbuilding swung in the wind, banging loudly against its frame.
“Over there, Aaron,” said Booba pointing, “that’s where we registered. A lucky few received a number.”
“Why, Booba?”
“Those with a number received food and worked.”
A sign that gave directions to disinfection remained firmly fixed to a brick wall. Turning right, they trod warily down an ice-covered slope which led towards two iron doors, the black paint now flaking from decades of attack by the elements. The sign above the doors read, Zu den Duschen(To the Showers).
Aaron felt Booba’s hand tighten.
For a moment she experienced a chill of doubt and then dread as she pulled open the door. The changing room had not altered. The walls glowed white and scrubbed wooden benches remained in place. Coat hooks to hang clothes, some broken, were precisely spaced around the four walls.
Booba stared at Aaron, her face twisted with misery. “We must move on.”
“I’m cold, Booba. Why can’t we go back to the hotel?”
She attempted a smile. “I have to visit one more room and then we’ll leave.”
Aaron walked ahead and opened the heavy door. Its hinges groaned when it swung open, revealing a yawning darkness. He stood back to let his Booba through. To her surprise, an automatic sensor activated, flooding the room in white light.
“It’s like our shower room at school, Booba, but a lot bigger.”
“Hush, child.”
For many minutes Booba stared sightlessly at the bare whitewashed walls, reflecting the vision they conjured up. In this place nightmares began and abruptly ended.
A gust of wind rattled the roof top ventilators; the screech of metal on metal when these turned gave a frightening aspect to the room.
Booba leant so heavily on Aaron that he had to lean against the wall to prevent himself falling. “Booba.”
“Be quiet, Aaron,” she said sternly. “It’s nothing.”
Her voice died away and in the intense silence that followed, he turned to her. He saw her face was a ghastly pale.
It seemed, if only for a moment, that something intangible resented their intrusion. Shadows of the past in this stark room flitted noiselessly to the right and left. A presence grew around her, but when she turned the bare walls stared back. To her, this room depicted a complete sense of horror.
Booba remembered the people crying, screaming and hammering until it went quiet. The hum of electric fans before the doors opened. Strange but at that moment the room held a macabre warmth, not cold as now.
With trembling hands she grabbed Aaron and rushed with him to the outside. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs as if getting rid of the air of death.
The initial flurry of snow had become a blizzard. She staggered to a pile of logs next to a brick wall and watched Aaron making snowballs.
He stopped and pushing the snow with his feet, went to her. “Booba, why did we come here?”
“Aaron, I had to. Your Zada and I worked here for many years but in the end they took him into that room. I helped carry him out.”
As they trudged through the deepening snow, Aaron stopped. “Booba, in that place...”
She looked at him, her face red with cold. “ Yes, Aaron?”
“Why in that empty room could I hear children crying?”
About the Author
Ron A. Sewell was born in Leith, Edinburgh. At the age of fourteen, he ran away from home. Heading for the south of France, he found work as a deckhand on luxury yachts. On his return to the United Kingdom, he enlisted in the Royal Navy, eventually becoming a commissioned officer. During his career, he travelled the world, qualifying as an engineer, deck officer, boarding officer, a diver, and parachutist and for a time part of an Air Sea Rescue team. This has given him much experience and many ideas.
Ron has been writing for twenty-three years. He has written numerous short stories (many of them published) and five complete novels to date. Two of the novels, entitled The Collectors, are currently with his agent, who is attempting to sell them to a publisher.
Ron has been writing for twenty-three years. He has written numerous short stories (many of them published) and five complete novels to date. Two of the novels, entitled The Collectors, are currently with his agent, who is attempting to sell them to a publisher.