The Unexpected Occurrence of Thaddeus Hobble (11 page)

It came as a terrible shock to find myself presented with Him so soon. I was not a believer, but I played along – it was easier that way. If I was to impart one single piece of advice to another human being, it would be to always seek out the easiest option in life. Oh yes! There was nothing easy about coming face to face with the Führer himself.

I was born in 1925 – a good year apparently. Some old bag told me I'd picked an ideal period in history in which to exist. When I questioned her why, she just cackled and danced about on the spot. Stupid bitch. Nevertheless, I felt somewhat pleased with my slice of being for a time, having happily avoided too much trouble as a young boy. Of course, all that changed when I was 14 and the world went to war. We lived on a farm in Wales and quickly found ourselves housing some Italian prisoners of war. Nice chaps, really. Stole some china out of the cabinet, but owned up to it and accepted the lenient punishment. Anyway, things were alright for me for a while in terms of keeping out of the war – both in terms of my age and the fact I was working on the farm. I didn't do much work; I didn't need to. We had the Italians to do the heavy stuff.

Things altered dramatically one Monday morning in early 1945 when I awoke to the sight of a balding man standing over my bed. What remained of his hair was fair, darkened only by too much cream which plastered it to his bulging reddened head. The head only seemed so swollen on account of the rest of his body being so thin and lacking in presence. He placed a briefcase on the tallboy next to my bed in the small attic room and opened it, taking out a large syringe. Before I could come too properly, he had stuck it in my neck and I fell asleep once again.

* * *

Adolf Hitler – I was utterly terrified. He stood across from me in the low-ceiling room, staring into a full-length mirror. The only object that separated us was a large, pale chest lying flat on the floor. Several wires and a tube ran from it into an area to the left of me, curtained off and in darkness.

‘I pulled many strings to bring you here,' he uttered in a low, almost not-there, voice. I felt like my voice would also be as weak; either due to nerves, or the damp air in here. I blinked, trying to adjust to the low lighting. ‘Seven agents died to achieve my aim.' He watched his own lips as they moved. ‘Their deaths are unfortunate. Good agents.' His English sounded at the very least understandable. I remained silent and deathly still, not quite sure even what position my body was in or whether or not I was bound. I felt utterly away from myself, or maybe I wished so. I watched in the mirror as Hitler reached into his jacket pocket with a trembling hand and brought out a tattered old notebook. It was yellow, falling to bits. His shaky, clawed hand lifted the thing to his lips and he kissed it as his hunched back quivered. ‘Peter Smith.' He knew my name, he'd gone to great lengths to bring me here – why? I could not ask him. ‘
The
Peter Smith. You are the genuine article, your lineage has been traced.' He now turned to face me, struggling down on to one knee and bowing his head before me as he clutched onto the notebook. ‘Save me, oh Great one,' he pleaded with me. Just then another man, in uniform and very tall, walked in unannounced. Hitler got up with some effort, screeched something in German to the man, and sent him running with his tail between his legs. ‘Forgive me,' he uttered to me, the volume of his voice dropping once more. I stayed deadly still and quiet as he stepped closer, as if waiting for me to respond in some way. I knew not how to. His eyes briefly flicked over to the curtain before resting on the object on the floor between us. ‘You have many powers. I know you see the future – you saw me as the murderer of millions of people. Your prophesy is somewhat accurate, though I am not their murderer. I sweep away the worthless filth. I am a cleanser.'

‘You are an opportunist and an arsehole, Adolf,' I told him. I couldn't help myself, it just came flying out from between my lips. I awaited his onslaught.

‘You are an affront to nature – to the very fabric of existence,' he calmly told me back.

He clicked his fingers and the curtain to the side of us retracted. A bright light came on and behind it stood a large black upright box – the wires from the pale horizontal box between Hitler and myself running into the back of it. Next to the box sat a very small bald man in white overalls. Behind him was some kind of control panel with buttons and levers, also connected by wires to the big upright box.

‘What is all this?' I asked, gaining ever so slightly in confidence following Hitler's meek reaction to my last uttered phrase.

‘Meet Alois Vadge,' Hitler told me, pointing at the little bald man on the stool, ‘my chief medical advisor on this special day.' The word medical was certainly not what I wanted to hear from this man's lips. We'd all heard the news reports of what he and his Nazis had been up to. Here I now was, waiting to be used in another gruesome experiment. Alois Vadge stayed perfectly still and perfectly silent, save for a slight dilation of the nostrils as they kept the air flowing to his lungs. ‘The third reich is crumbling – it is the story of my life,' Hitler went on. ‘You work hard for something really nice, only for someone else to come along and spoil it.'

‘Invading Russia didn't help you,' I pointed out.

‘A tactical mishap, or divine intervention?' he mused, tapping his little moustache and swiping his greasy black side-parting back into place. ‘Germany has failed me, I have ordered total destruction of Berlin. The only avenue left open to me is reincarnation and immortality – secrets you hold.' His trembling, clawed fingers waved in my general direction. He clicked those same fingers and Alois Vadge suddenly sprung up and dashed to the control panel behind him, fiddling with the knobs and levers. The pale box between Hitler and myself began to emanate a greenish glow. Condensation began dripping from it before Hitler leant over and wiped the top. It was misty, but there appeared to be some kind of body in there. Alois dashed across clutching a towel, which Hitler promptly snatched from him. After mopping his sweaty brow with it, and undoing a couple of catches on the side of the container, the two men pulled at the top, breaking a seal as the lid started to free. And then – the smell. A putrid odour raced out as the men pushed the lid aside and peered in. The big black box to the side just stood there, seeming to play no part other than playing host to wires and a tube. I too peered inside to see the image of a very tall and thin man sporting white curly hair. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes deeply set into his skull. His wrinkled hands lay across his chest. He was submerged in ice, which was melting around him. ‘A familiar face, Peter Smith?'

I did not recognise this person, though some far off inclination told me that I should. ‘Who is it?' I questioned, the horrors that Hitler had planned running through my mind.

‘Nature would have asserted you never see this man again, yet he is before you now ready to be reanimated. He is Thaddeus Hobble, the man who secured your writings so that I could gain everlasting life. He has been dead two hundred years, his body kept frozen in deepest Siberia as per his wishes. My turn on Russia was not all to no avail.'

As the ice melted from his body, Hobble's hair became limp and fell from his scalp in clumps. His exposed head reacted with the muddy air and blistered, peeling off in patches. Hitler gently patted Hobble's face with the towel as Vadge reached in and lifted his arm up. He checked for a pulse, looking worriedly back at Hitler, before bending down and pulling the wires out from the container and placing the ends directly onto Hobble's temples. Sparks flew, some landing in the last of the water as it drained away underneath the inanimate man and causing mini explosions. I kept fixed, still unsure whether I could move or not. Hitler shouted something in German as he dropped to his knees and banged his fists on the floor. All at once the sparks stopped and Vadge leapt back as Hobble's eyes opened. His lips opened and a gasp of air released itself. Hitler pulled himself up against the container and leant in, his eyes moist and his mouth making some sort of grin. Hobble's body twitched and spasmed momentarily.

‘He is alive,' he said to me.

‘What now?' I wondered.

‘We kill him,' Hitler responded bluntly. ‘The process works, we have no further use for this man.' Suddenly Hobble's arm outstretched itself and slapped Hitler aside, knocking him to the floor. ‘There is no muscle wastage – remarkable.'

The reanimated corpse sat himself upright and looked sideways at me. His eyes widened before narrowing. ‘I,' he uttered, his attempt at speech turning into a cough. Once his throat was cleared he hauled himself up and got out of his once-icy casket. He was naked, and Hitler studied the body intently. ‘I saw you die,' he said to me, ‘and yet you live.'

‘You died as well, Hobble,' I responded without thinking, knowing somehow that some deep recess had provided these words. I looked behind the man to see that Hitler and Vadge were dancing together. Hobble turned to face them.

‘Men of fancy,' Hobble laughed. They promptly stopped and both turned to face him. Hitler stepped up. ‘Who are you, you ridiculous little man?' Hobble questioned, his attention drawn to his moustache. ‘There is muck above your lip.'

Mirth had turned to fierce aggression on Hitler's face. ‘I am the Führer himself, Adolf Hitler.'

‘The imbecile from Peter Smith's fairy stories? What a turn of events,' Hobble responded glibly, becoming somewhat aroused. ‘It appears my scheme to travel into the future has worked – what year is this?'

‘1945,' I confirmed, trying to keep my eyes off his half-erection.

‘The year of Adolf Hitler's suicide, the year he loses everything,' Hobble gloated.

‘Incorrect,' Hitler yelled, raising a finger at the men. ‘I may choose to fade from view for now, but I shall be back. If I cannot gain access to The Space through Peter's mind, then I shall merely have myself frozen in the same manner that was so successful for you.' Now Hitler smiled again. ‘As for
you
, Thaddeus Hobble – the remover of your own wife's breasts – your purpose is complete.' He turned and nodded to Vadge, who brandished a concealed pistol from a strap on his waist. ‘It has been proven the process of reanimation works, you can now be disposed of.'

With this, and a horrified gasp from Hobble, Vadge pulled the trigger and shot him in the face. Blood splattered over my own face and I went to wipe it off, now realising that my hands were indeed bound. I was completely weighted down, unable to move whatsoever. Hobble's unsheathed body dropped lifelessly to the floor as Vadge moved in and shot him another three times in the face at point blank range. After this, the pistol went back into its hiding place on Vadge's person and he strolled over to the console unit by the upright box. He flicked some switches, picking up and returning with some kind of helmet with wires running from it. He placed it on my head; it was small, so Vadge forced it down – pushing and pushing. I growled at him, but he did not cease. Then, when it was suitably fixed, he began turning some sort of bolts on it. Four razor-sharp pins in all, each drilling right into my skull. I cried out in sheer agony as thin blood ran from under the helmet and down my face and neck. I could feel my hair soaking wet under there, through blood and sweat, as Vadge stepped back to eye up his work. Suitably pleased with the balance of the device, he seemed to lose interest and instead went back to Hobble's body and dragged him away out of sight. My pain began to ease to a gentle numbness as my brain pulsed. Hitler, who had been standing still watching the whole time, again slipped his greasy side-parting back into place with crooked fingers welded onto a trembling hand.

Vadge reappeared with a syringe as Hitler leant in and undid my belt. Undoing my trouser button and unzipping my flies, the dictator pulled at my trousers as I just sat there in an incoherent mess. I looked down to see my trousers and underpants around my fastened legs as Vadge moved in with the big shiny needle.

‘Advisor Vadge will now inject your scrotum with bull semen, Peter Smith,' Hitler explained calmly as my buttocks clenched and I pulled back as far as I could. It wasn't far enough, as I instantly felt the most agonising of stinging sensations. I opened my eyes for just enough time to see the last of the gloopy yellowy substance exit the syringe, and enter my own testicles. Finished, Vadge stepped away, and with a quick hand gesture was dismissed by his master. ‘It will be processed along with your own semen.' Hitler slowly knelt down between my legs. ‘I will draw out this elixir of potions – suck out and consume it so that I may benefit.'

I watched flabbergasted as he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, touching the tip of my flaccid penis with it. I couldn't feel it, I didn't want to feel it. Everything else that I'd heard this man was responsible for seemed distant to me, forgivable – it was this vile act against me that made him a monster now. My penis remained limp, lifeless, as he moved his head forward and it disappeared inside his mouth. Suck he did, with increasing ferocity as his right hand found its way inside his own trousers and he masturbated along. I became so overwhelmed that I gave way to the pure desire to cease existing and I shut myself down.

* * *

I woke up in a slump, the vague image of two Hitlers in front of me. One got down on his knees and began praying alongside a young woman with short brownish hair falling in curls atop and behind her head.

‘Meet my wife Eva,' the standing Hitler called over to me as Vadge placed his pistol in the woman's mouth. ‘We were married just yesterday.' He fired, her head popping as she dropped to the floor. Next, the gun turned to the other Hitler and he too was shot. Hitler again dismissed Vadge and I slipped back into incoherence.

* * *

The next time I woke up I was lying flat out in complete darkness. I went to get up but could not move more than an inch or two. Struggling to bring my arms from my sides to my head, I felt around directly above me. I was sealed shut inside some kind of hard wooden coffin, my lungs suddenly reminding me that I had no oxygen in here. I gasped for air, suffocating. It felt as though I had no mouth whatsoever as I used up the last of my energy to pound on my tomb. Nobody came to let me out – there was no sound at all from the outside. I must have been buried deep underground, I could feel the crushing weight of earth on top of my chest. I relinquished all desire to struggle and just lay there as still as a corpse, waiting to become one. My death was surely not that far off; I would at first fall into unconsciousness and then pass away. But, it did not come. I went on in utter desperation for air as I suffocated and suffocated in my little box. I was starving too, from the cold and from lack of food. My mouth, dry and flaking, just sagged open as my lungs worked tirelessly in search of any morsel of oxygen. Maybe I
was
dead, and this was what non-existence was. It was certainly hell, something I could endure no longer. But no, it went on and on. Unable to do anything but feel the pain of suffocation and starvation, I knew not of how little or how long had passed in time – all I knew was that it seemed like an infinite passage. On and on, endless concealment.