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KURT
[DOOR OPENS SLIGHTLY AND SLOWLY]
Um… [sheepishly] Hello? You… said to come in now right? I’m sorry if I heard you wrong.
NOVELIST
Oh. Hello, Kurt. You can come in, this is the perfect time. Please take a seat, do you need anything? Water?
KURT
[DOOR OPENS FURTHER THEN SHUTS FASTER THAN IT OPENED]
Oh no, I don’t need anything. Thank you. You… wanted me to come in and say my piece, right?
[short pause]
The one from the war?
NOVELIST
Yes, that should be enough. Unless you have any other stories that you feel you’d like to share.
KURT
O-oh no! I don’t think anything else I’d have to share with you. At least nothing you’d be interested in.
You said you were going to get a story from everyone here? That must be a lot of work.
NOVELIST
Oh please Mr. Frank, I promise you that I’m interested in any story you might have to tell. This one though… seems particularly interesting.
And yes, I will be at least trying to get everyone to speak. [sigh] It’s a hell of a lot harder than I would expect. People don’t seem to want to cooperate.
Anyway, shall we begin?
KURT
Oh! Um… sure. Sure. We can start now.
NOVELIST
Wonderful. Let me get the formalities out of the way.
Statement of Kurt Frank, regarding…?
KURT
Oh! Sorry… regarding… [brief pause] something that happened during my time serving in World War I.
NOVELIST
Thank you. Now, when would you say this happened? Don’t worry about being exact.
KURT
Hmm… I believe around… mid-February back in 19… [pause in recollection] 1917?
NOVELIST
Wonderful, thank you.
Statement taken directly from subject. Recorded in the Oletus Manor at an indeterminable date and time.
Statement begins.
Mr. Frank, you may begin.
KURT (STATEMENT)
Ok, ok. Um…
Its a bit odd to preface this but I feel that I just have to say it. I know I’m sane. Everyone else questions it but trust me- All I ask is that you trust my head and my words. I know that it looks bad when you look into whatever manilla folder has my name and all of my troubles tucked inside that I’m sure you’ve been given: my time in The Great War, my stint in White Sand Street, all of that. I won’t even know if you’ll actually believe what happened was real of course, but I hope you can at least lend me the courtesy of letting me spill my heart out. I love telling stories.
The Great War was only great in certain forms of the word. Not great as in an enjoyable time or something magnificent. It was great in proportion and significance, though. Millions of good men sent out to fill their boots and hearts with mud and blood and sickness until they screamed no more. I didn’t even want to be a soldier, my father sent me. Right before I stepped on that train to be hauled off to base he told me “Maybe someday, ‘boy’, you can earn to be called my son.” I got no hug, no ‘love you,’ no other consolatory remarks. Nothing. I don’t doubt for a second that he knew how deeply those words cut into my mind. As the train chugged off his expression never changed, he was never even sad or angry or whatever others may have felt seeing their sons inch away on that metallic centipede, just eternal disappointment. Mother wasn’t even there to feel anything, but if she were there I don’t think it would be all too farfetched to think she'd act the same as father. They were always so stone-cold. As the train left the station, so did they. While trying to get comfortable, I pondered about what would happen if I were to be discharged. Would they willingly take me back in? Or would they have already forgotten about my existence the moment I was out of sight. “Oh well” I thought to myself. “I think I'd die before they were willing to bring me back into their lives. Ruin their fun.”
When I had finally settled inside the car I knew right away that I felt that I could mingle quite nicely with the other recruits. They were mostly my age and similarly forced to be here for one reason or another: whether it be by uncaring parents, escaping from debts or just simply being drafted. I quickly became familiar with the lads that were in my car, we all sat and chatted about all sorts of things on that nauseatingly long journey. We spoke of our homes, our youths, really anything that would get our minds off of the dread that was slowly beginning to settle. As I said earlier, I love to tell stories. I was quite the adventurous child, my parents called themselves ‘explorers’ but really they were just tourists. I, however, was a genuine explorer. I’d run off into the nearest wood I could find, stumble across some big beastie or beautiful landmark or what have you, then always find my way right back home. All of those ‘academics’ from back in college called me a delusional fool who read one too many books, but… the lads in that train car… They believed me. From their smiling, laughing faces I could tell that they wholeheartedly took every word I had to say and thought it true. It was a magical feeling, to be validated. To feel like your life is not a lie like every other person had almost forced you to believe. But then the train slowed to a halt, and our current reality had returned to all of our minds like a tsunami. Most of them wouldn’t make it much longer, I knew that. I at least hoped I could make their remaining days a bit brighter with my wondrous adventures. I think I did that, I sure hope I did anyway.
A few months into my service time is when… ‘it’ happened. The reason I’m talking to you folks. We were sat in a trench, it was night, and there was a cease in the gunfire and mortar shells. Silence was odd normally, but in war it had an eeriness to it. The quiet could mean anything: it could mean the other side was preparing some grand attack. It could mean that someone from the other side was trying to sneak into your own trench to gun you down and bleed you out. This silence, though, was unlike any other I had heard since I was shipped off to France. I suppose I didn’t hear it, which is what baffled me so much. It was me and five other lads in this section of the trench. I know for a fact that there were six of us. I. Know. Yet there I was, in that trench, and when I looked to my left? No one was there. Looked over to the right? Also no one.
A panic set in. Why was I alone? How was I alone? Had I somehow missed a call to charge through no-mans land? If I were to peek over and check I’d surely be shot dead yet the urge to do something as simple as turn around to face the enemy burned up in me. I just wanted to know what was going on. I looked back to my sides again just to make sure they were all gone before I did anything rash. Still just me. And so I made my choice: I turned around.
I have seen many a beastie in my day as adventures in the woods of Europe often yielded them. Nothing like this. To my horror, the largest creature I had ever seen sat in the center of no-man's land. Its dark, scaly body was pierced with the barbed wire that littered the typically empty space and its maw was covered in blood and shredded soldier uniform. The sound came back the instant I made eye contact with the thing, it was nearly deafening. Shots of the machine guns mounted to the parapet, men screaming and crying, the explosions of mortar, all of it. My body froze up and sweat seeped out from every part of my body that could produce it. The only part of me that could move was my eyes but since my head couldn’t I still couldn’t see too much. Mostly just forward, which is the exact opposite way that I wanted to look. I felt something in my hands, I know for certain that I wasn’t holding anything before all of this began, and even with my limited vision I could tell that somehow my hands had grasped onto my rifle at some point. Once I had noticed my newly acquired weapon, I heard the voice of The Brig yelling in my ear: “Dammit, Frank! Fire!! Why can’t you do anything right?!” I began to weep. I couldn’t even move my arms to even try to fire let alone look at the thing to take aim.
I continued to stare at the parapet, the noise came to a sudden halt just as it had begun when Naib, one of my trench-mates, gave me a swift slap to the face. I ‘awoke’ just where I was when this all began. The rifle was no longer in my hands, replaced by a clamminess and beads of sweat. I quickly realized that I was able to move again so I touched my face, that sickly kind of hot as if I had a fever. Naib put a hand on my shoulder and the extreme contrast of temperature gave me some comfort. I hoisted myself up so that I could look back over the parapet. All quiet and dark again. Naib looked on in confusion.
“Talk to me, Frank.” Naib spoke quietly, knowing my frazzled state.
“Where.. Where did everyone go? What happened? Naib..” I was barely able to stay conscious after escaping whatever had just occurred let alone form a coherent sentence.
“Just breathe, Frank. I’ll be honest with you, bud, I don’t know what you're talking about when you say ‘what happened.’ We’re all still right here.” When he said that, I froze. What did he mean? For confirmation, I turned to my right and low and behold there they were. The rest of the lads were right there, sleepily waiting just in case a nighttime attack came in. My breath quickened as my mind spun. “Oh God…” I thought to myself, “They’ll never believe me. I’ll be a fool again… Oh God…” In a moment, Naib gripped my shoulder and snapped his fingers to get my attention again.
“Hey, hey, hey, look at me, Frank.” I did as he said. “What's wrong?” Of course, I told him. I didn’t think he would believe me but I just ‘had’ to say something.
“I… There was a… a big… thing! A-and it was in n-no-mans land and it was… God I don’t even know anymore…” I couldn’t tell at what point the moisture on my face turned from a domination of sweat to being taken over by tears.
“Frank. Look. Do you want me to help? You said whatever it was was in no-man's land right?” I nodded. He got up and left for a moment to look for something. At the time, I didn’t know what this was but when he came back I saw that it was a grenade. “I won’t set it off, I'll just toss it. It'll just land on the ground. Everything will be fine.”
With that, he hurled the still pinned grenade with all of his strength. Naib watched, his eyes moving in an arc, following the path the grenade traveled while still in the air. I didn’t follow the same way. When he threw it, I watched it closely. It flew up in the air just as I thought it would but… as it had started to descend it changed course. It looks like it had ricocheted off of… something. And came back towards us. I yelped out in fear and fell back, scooting as far away as possible from that side of the trench. I couldn’t go too far, only about a meter. Naib stared in continued confusion, but still kneeled down at my side.
The world was quiet again, of course not for long. Barely a moment later we heard a slightly muffled explosion and our other trench-mates began to flee. About 10 meters away, a grenade had rolled down into a branch of the trench. I was still stunned and on the floor when they came running. I had a feeling I'd get stepped on regardless of how much Naib yelled for them to hurdle over me. What I didn’t expect, though, is a piece of shrapnel hurtling toward my face.
According to Naib, I’d be out of there in a few weeks time. That did indeed turn out to be true. That flying spec of metal managed to take out my eye and leave me with a nasty scar across my face as you can see. If it was just the scar, I may have been made to stay but since it was more than that the medical discharge was inevitable, and that ended up sending me directly to White Sand Street. I… really thought that I was going to be sent home. I honestly don’t know which option would have been worse: being at home with parents who didn’t care, fighting for my life in The Great War or being at White Sand Street. But none of that matters now. Now I’m here. At this manor, playing this game. I don’t think I’ll ever see any of those lads again. Who knows, they're probably all dead by now. War is cruel like that. I doubt you will but if you ever run across him… please tell me. Thank you.
NOVELIST
Statement ends.
Thank you for your time, Mr. Frank. Please, take all the time you need to wind down, I know how having to recall these events makes people feel.
KURT
I… I think I’ll be alright. I hope so. [sniffle] I’ve got a match later so I need to be in tip-top shape.
NOVELIST
Right. If you’ll be leaving then I’ll get back to you if or when I find something. I have tissues right here if you need any.
KURT
I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying over something so silly. [sniffle]
NOVELIST
No no no please, it’s perfectly fine. You can cry all you need. This is a lot to live through again and I’m proud of you for even coming this far.
Are you still sure you don’t need anything?
KURT
[PAUSE BEFORE SOFT CRYING BEGINS]
NOVELIST
[CHAIR LEGS SCRAPE AGAINST THE FLOOR AND THERE ARE FOOTSTEPS. THE SCRAPING AND FOOTSTEPS CEASE]
There, there… [gentle patting] Everythings going to be alright, Kurt. I promise. That's in the past now, it won’t happen again. Here-
[A TISSUE IS PULLED OUT OF A TISSUE BOX]
KURT
[snottily] Eugh. I’m a mess. Th-thank you. You don’t know how much it means.
[A NOSE BEING BLOWN]
NOVELIST
Oh please, no need to apologize. If you needed a shoulder to cry on so much you could have just asked…
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…
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Supplemental. Of course I have plenty of research to do post-statement. Especially one like that.
According to my research, this White Sand Street place is an orphanage turned insane asylum. I suppose the army did some sort of mental stability check on Kurt after he told folks about what happened that night and deemed him insane. Poor soul. As far as I know he's perfectly fine.
But… Now I wonder how he got out of there? As far as I can see in his records from White Sand Street he was never formally discharged. I hope it won’t hurt him to ask. I’ll call him back in a few days when he's calmed down.
Pause supplemental.
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…
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Resume supplemental.
[yelling] Kurt! You can come in now.
KURT
[DOOR SQUEAKS OPEN THEN CLOSES. FOOTSTEPS ARE HEARD BUT THEN STOP AS A CHAIR SCRAPES AGAINST THE FLOOR]
Hello again. What was it you needed?
NOVELIST
I just had some follow-up questions for you. It’ll help me figure out more about your case.
KURT
Oh oh! Okay um… w-what would you like to know?
NOVELIST
About your stay at this, erm, White Sand Street place, I was-
…
Are… you ok?
KURT
[SOUNDS OF HAIR BEING RUSTLED AND SHARP, SOFT SOBS]
NOVELIST
Kurt, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that asking about it would make you react like this I-
KURT
Why… why does it h-hurt so much… now? T-the first time when you uh… when you asked me to tell my story… it came out so naturally. I-I was fine. How did you do that?
NOVELIST
What? I mean… I don’t know. I really… don’t. I’m sorry for bringing it up again. Please don’t pull at your hair like that…
KURT
Sorry… It’s what I’ve always done when I’m stressed or scared… its become an uh. Instinct. I-I suppose.
NOVELIST
Right, I understand. Take all the time you need to calm down. Again, I am very sorry.
Oh! Damn... I forgot I had the recorder running, give me just a moment, Kurt.
End supplemental.
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