Blue Flame

“This place gives me the creeps, so I will look outside.” Said June and rushed out.

“I’ll go look upstairs, you look down here,” said Churchill senior.

Church wandered around and felt drawn to the room on the ground floor that Granny Pearl had always kept locked. When young Church had asked why she had always told him it was her and Grandpa Jack’s special room that he could not go in… yet.

Church went over, turned the knob, and opened the door.

He gasped upon entering the room as a vivid blue flame flickered at the centre of the pentagram, with its light filling the corner of the room, and two shimmering apparitions at its centre, one glowed crimson, the other multi-coloured, and the familiar aroma of Brussels sprouts wafted around the room, along with a faint trace of Brylcreem.

“Happy birthday young Churchill,” said a man’s voice, followed by a familiar woman’s voice, “Churchill, meet your Grandpa, Jack.”

Church giggled and said, “Hello Grandpa Jack, and Granny Pearl… Fancy meeting you here.”

Both spirits chuckled. Granny Pearl then said. “Happy birthday Church; we can talk later, but for now, let’s make your parents happy so they will leave and we can begin your tutoring.”

“Your dad always was a greedy, money-grabbing little sod,” interrupted Jack.

“Be quiet Jack, we have to help Church.” Pearl curtly replied.

“You must have been secretly seeing the bloody milkman. Certainly no son of mine,” grumbled Jack.

“Shush stupid,” snapped Pearl. Church looked on at this exchange between the two spirits and chuckled. He knew his life would now change for the better.

Pearl gave Church directions to an area outside the cottage and told him that he would find a chest buried there containing various items. She instructed him on what to give his parents and what he must keep.

Church left the portal room and called his father downstairs. Although he and his father had never spoken about his gift, Churchill senior was aware his parents were different. He also knew his son was different and had the gift, so it did not surprise him when he said that Pearl had told him where she buried their inheritance.

“Okay son. Let’s go find it, but say nothing to June about your grandmother’s ghost.”

Church and his parents found the spot under a large, gnarled oak tree root, marked by a Cross and Rose symbol scorched into the ground. Church dug up an ancient chest, took the ancient key and chain from around his neck, and opened the lock.

The old lid creaked open, and they all peered inside.

Churchill senior and June smiled.

The chest contained various items of gold and silver jewellery adorned with rough-cut precious stones, along with gold coins and ingots.

Churchill senior grinned as he picked up a coin dating back to the 16th century, while June picked up a bejewelled necklace and put it against her neck, getting the nod of approval from her husband.

Church was more interested in an old leather-bound journal he saw at the bottom.

They took the chest into the cottage and laid it on the kitchen table. While June fetched a cold box from the car containing sandwiches and cakes she had brought along, Churchill senior loaded items from the chest into a duffel bag.

Church removed the book and glanced within the pages, made from varying materials, from old parchment to typing paper. The journal, compiled over the centuries by different authors, with the later entries put in by his grandmother, who he knew had an old typewriter.

Once the box was empty, Church locked it and replaced the key around his neck as Pearl had instructed. He placed the chest into an old cupboard in the scullery.

After eating the sandwiches and cakes, Churchill senior announced, “Okay son we will leave you to settle in and until you have a phone installed, I will visit once a week and bring you fresh supplies.”

Church knew they were impatient to leave and go to value and sell their inheritance. “Thanks dad,” he said, happy they were leaving.

“Will you be alright Churchill? You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” said June, sounding concerned.

“I will be fine mum,” Church replied and smiled.

“He’ll be okay, come on let’s go June. We have a lot to do,” said Churchill senior heading for the door.

His parents drove away looking delighted with their newfound wealth.

With his parents gone, Church went to the portal room to learn about the family business.

4

For there is one thing we must never forget; the majority can never replace the man.

The year was 1945. Magnificent buildings that once stood proudly in the opulent city of Berlin now lay in rubble, decimated by an angry world hell-bent on exacting revenge by annihilating the city and making German people atone for the atrocities committed by their country over the past few years.

Although spring was in the air, no aromas of freshly mown grass and fragrant flowers carried on the warm breeze. Instead, the overpowering smells of cordite, napalm, and the vile stench from the charred, rotting corpses, which lay strewn amongst the rubble-filled graveyard of the city.

With World War 2 almost over and while the demoralised German people came to terms with an uncertain future, the leaders of this fallen nation were now deep within a bunker, planning their next and final atrocity.

* * *

Located fifty feet beneath the once picturesque Gardens of the Reichskanzlei chancellery building, there was a large concrete and steel bunker. Within the bunker, several sections built to protect the occupants from the Allied bombing blitz. Inside the bunker gathered a group of men, which included several military figures and a few civilians. They gathered around a large table while their leader screamed at them, and by their nervous expressions, they were terrified of this individual.

Adolf Hitler looked furious as he glared at his War Cabinet and senior officials of his Nazi Party, in a large plush conference room within the ‘Führerbunker.’

Hitler pounded his fist onto the desk and hunched over the table with rage in his eyes.

“Because of your incompetence, we are losing this war,” he hollered.

He looked into each face around him, giving them all an icy-cold stare. His steely eyes burrowed into their souls. He composed himself, inhaled, swept his fringe away from his forehead, glared at General Wilhelm Kietel, and said, “Kietel, give me some good news.”

Kietel’s hands shook as he organised charts on the desk, and with a quiver in his voice said, “My Füehrer, I have no good news. The American, European, and Russian forces will be in Berlin by next week.”

Again incensed, Hitler shouted obscenities and accusations of treason at the General, who hung his head looking embarrassed and afraid.

Hitler then focused his attention on a large man dressed in a white uniform.

He asked Herman Goering, “What about our beloved Luftwaffe?”

“Füehrer, we only have a few planes and pilots remaining, although we…”

“Silence!” Hitler commanded. Outraged, he struck the table hard again.

“I suppose our great fleet is also finished.” He glared at Admiral Raeder, who nodded and replied, “We are still fighting Füehrer, but we are taking heavy losses from the enemy.”

Hitler remained silent for a few moments and then addressed the group. “We must regroup and win this war. Our enemy is inferior to us.” He continued with his orders. “Hienrich, you and the S.S., along with Walter and Alfred, round up anyone who can carry a weapon, old men or young boys, and get them to defend their fatherland.”