The Well of Souls

TW: Nazis, Holocaust themes

Caleb was awakened from a perfectly good Sunday afternoon nap by the clink of the mail slot and the slap of a significantly large piece of mail hitting the floor. He closed his eyes again and tried to pick up the thread of his interrupted dream, certain that the Archbishop of Canterbury transforming into a raccoon was infinitely more interesting than whatever fresh hell from work or stale hell of junk mail it was. Better to tackle it on Monday morning, he rationalized, since I’ll already be in my Monday mood.

        His eyes popped open. Who delivers mail on Sunday? It’s not Amazon—I didn’t order anything. The nap was over.

           It didn’t take more than this small incongruency to fire up Caleb’s curiosity. His mom once told him that Curious was his middle name, though Caleb recalled thinking it was “you little pain in the ass” for years. He did admit that he had a habit of poking his nose in anywhere he could make it fit, but as he discovered early in life, that’s how you learn the best stuff.

           The envelope was the large manila kind, reinforced all around with clear packing tape, and felt as though it was stuffed with half a ream of paper. It was addressed to his neighbor in neat block lettering by name but with no address, no return address, and no postage. It looked as though it had made a long and somewhat arduous journey to his front door, though from where he couldn’t say. Unless he looked inside.

           Caleb knew he should run the envelope over to Josef. It was the right thing to do. And it would give him an excuse to drop in on Josef and his deep blue eyes and unruly blonde curls. He could engage him in conversation just to listen to the lilt of the Austrian accent that a decade in the States had softened but had mercifully not eradicated. Not that Caleb needed an excuse to visit; in truth, Josef sought out Caleb’s company often, especially since Caleb had begun renovating the house, asking about how everything was going and always eager for a tour. Josef relished all the nooks and crannies characteristic of old houses and speculated on renovations that had probably been made over the years. As cabinets were emptied and walls came down, Josef got more and more curious about what interesting things the workers had found. So far, Caleb could report that the house had offered up an original Shirley Temple doll stripped of her trademark blond curls and suffering a caved-in skull and wearing a moth-bitten hand-knit cardigan sweater over the remnants of a calico dress. One of her once-blinking eyes was frozen open, but her tiny teeth were intact, set in a joyless smile that made Caleb not want to stare at her for too long. Josef, by contrast, thought she was hilarious in a macabre sort of way and seemed pleased that something predating WWII had been found hidden away in the house.

           Caleb looked at the unopened envelope and turned it over in his hands. It would be easy to slit the packing tape along one side and just cover it with a new piece after taking the tiniest peek inside. It was none of his business, of course, but then it had been shoved through the front door of his home by persons unknown. In Caleb’s opinion, that made it his business.

           The die was cast. Caleb slit the weakest side of the envelope and slid the stack of papers out. A sealed white envelope sat on the very top, forcing Caleb to steam it open like a fourth-grade private eye. Carefully, he unfolded the letter, wondering if he should be wearing gloves, and began invading Josef’s privacy in earnest. On fine linen stock, devoid of any letterhead, and neatly typewritten, read the following:

"J,

"I hope this letter finds you well. I have enclosed information we feel will help you retrieve the items that are of great value to us and are part of your proud family legacy. What a joy it will be to have these national treasures and monuments to your family’s great service back where they belong! Your great-grandparents showed tremendous patriotism in emigrating to ensure that these items stayed safe, and now they can be recovered safely and returned to the care of those who thought them lost forever. It is unfortunate that your parents sold the house without knowing what it contained, and while it is regrettable, we cannot expect every generation to have the foresight of those that came before.

"We have discussed it and we agree that retrieving the items through direct means is by far the easiest and least challenging, legally speaking. We are impressed with the ease with which you have ingratiated yourself with the owner and the progress you have made with preliminary reconnaissance. You are in a unique position to make this acquisition happen and we put our trust in you and faith that you are the man for the job. It is certain that you will make your great-grandparents proud.

"Enclosed you will find all the information we have gathered, and it should be enough to help you locate, retrieve, and return our treasure safely back home. We have friends in the States waiting to assist you in getting everything overseas with no questions and with your neighbor none the wiser. After all, it is hard to miss something you did not know you possessed, isn’t it?

"We eagerly await word from you that we are all the richer for your efforts and are ready to take the next steps in returning to us victorious.

"H."

           Caleb sat there motionless, letter in hand, processing. His heart was beating faster, as it did any time he was presented with a mystery, and this was a corker. He flipped quickly through the pages. There were photocopies of select art catalogue pages, jewelry appraisals, and a list of addresses all over the world that meant nothing to him, save one—his own address. He found the deed to his house and the list of those deeds held before him back to the first owner, and a set of full blueprints shrunk down to manageable size. Specific parts of the floor plan had been enlarged to show the details of the house. It was very out of date and didn’t show any of the seven decades of post-war renovations that gave the house its current shape, but it was without a doubt his house.

           He sat and stared at the papers and the envelope for quite some time. It was growing dark, but he suddenly felt uncomfortable turning on the light, knowing that Josef might be watching the house. The contents of the packet and knowledge that a break in was imminent was making him increasingly uneasy. He felt anxiety begin to bubble up. His thoughts raced. What if Josef had seen the envelope delivered and asks for it? His car wasn’t in the yard, but he could have cameras watching the house. He could be watching remotely. And for all Caleb knew, Josef was dangerous. What to do?

           Punch him in the face.

As his brain tumbled and turned the mystery around, some of the thoughts grew sharp edges. It was becoming increasingly clear that Josef had been dishonest for a reason and Caleb had trusted him. That lying piece of crap was in league with people who sent unaddressed packages with Caleb’s personal information in them, and a directive to snoop around to make taking his stuff easier. And to be clear, Caleb thought, what is in these walls belongs to me and I decide what happens to it…full stop.

           He defiantly snapped on the light and pulled out the blueprints, comparing them to the current floor plan. The additions were easy to spot, and some walls had moved a bit. God knows there was miles of knee wall under the eaves that had taken months to empty. But Caleb wasn’t concerned with what wasn’t there; he was looking for something that was there in the blueprints but not currently in the house.

           Bits and pieces and small nooks and crannies had been erased generation by generation, keeping the strong bones but lifting the old girl’s face, so to speak. He searched the floor plans from the attic to cellar, and it was at the very bottom of the house that he found what he was looking for.

           It would be in the cellar, he thought with a shudder. He hated that nasty cellar. It was creepy as hell and whenever he went downstairs to throw laundry in the dryer, he vowed as he ran upstairs as fast as he could that one of his renovations was going to be a proper laundry room far away from that dank hole. He got his large Maglite out of the hall closet and opened the cellar door, strapping on the headlamp he kept hanging inside the door in case the power went out. He turned the lights on and saw the yellow glow in the center of the main room, and only the center. The stairs were steep and narrow, and the front of each tread was worn into a smooth crescent shape. The top step was a couple of inches higher than the rest and necessitated a sharp turn to the right while descending and he never made the maneuver without fearing a fall down the stairs. He pictured himself lying motionless in the dirt and mildew of the cement floor while giant black rats circled him. He shuddered again. He couldn’t bring himself to close the door to the cellar door behind him.

           Across the main room sat the new white Kenmore dryer in stark contrast to the rough gray stone walls. The far corner was in shadow and even the light of his headlamp didn’t penetrate the darkness of the room that lay beyond. He thanked whatever gods may be that the area he needed to search wasn’t in there. It was where the bulkhead was, and he knew it was the final resting place of old tools, rusted bikes, two disused woodstoves, and a bunch of other random tattered furniture that accumulated over the years. It smelled strongly of earth and decay and the huge brick base of one of the main chimneys gave him the willies in a way he couldn’t explain.

           The room he wanted was under the stairs, literally. The small wooden door had been propped open and the staircase had been built over the upper left corner of the door. The cement floor of the main room turned into packed dirt and the already cool air of the cellar turned cold. He figured this would have been a root cellar or something similar at one time. However, scanning his flashlight around the room to the left revealed not roots or even homemade hooch but boxes and boxes of old holiday ornaments. His light caught the cherubic smile of a giant plastic light-up Santa, and he felt his soul leave his body. Shaking, he considered giving up the search, but the idea of Josef coming in here and taking so much as a mouse-eaten Easter basket made his face hot with anger all over again. Resolved, he turned to the right of the room to the canned good storage area and pulled the chain to the light. More sickly yellow light filled the small room, exposing cobweb-covered cans stacked on some rudimentary cinder block-and-board shelving. He judged by the labels that the cans dated back at least to the 1970’s and he reckoned there was enough food poisoning in the room to kill most of the town. The wall behind the shelf was concrete, except if one was to shine a flashlight all the way down to the darkest corner where wood boards were partially hidden.

           Taking a deep breath and regretting it, he started emptying the shelves and disassembling them. Carefully he worked, stacking the boards and blocks to one side until a small, narrow door was revealed. Removing the boards was not difficult as the wood had deteriorated even in the relative dryness of this particular room. The resulting opening was only about 4 feet high and offered more pitch darkness. Carefully, not knowing what to expect, he shone his strong flashlight into the hole and was met with a bright glint of light.

           He bent down and peeked in, careful not to hit his head but not willing to commit to stepping inside just yet. It had been sealed well, because while there was dust, the dirt that prevailed in the rest of the used parts of the cellar was absent. Most everything was covered with canvas cloths or packed into wooden boxes. One corner of a drop cloth was askew, and he could see the silver that was reflecting his flashlight. When he was satisfied that nothing was hiding in a corner that could jump out and get him, he stepped in and stood up. Drawing back the cloth was a sight that made him forget all about the crawling his skin had been doing since he opened the cellar door.

           The precious metal shining back at him took his breath away. Large pieces of silver ornamentation were neatly arranged beside cases that held tableware, goblets, and wall sconces. A carved wooden chest with an ornate silver inlay held a jumble of jewelry, everything from watches, and simple gold rings to precious jewels of all colors. He lifted the top of the nearest crate and saw rolled canvases. Pulling one out at random, he unrolled a portrait of an elderly man in old fashioned clothes. Worried that he would damage it, he carefully rerolled it and put it back.

           Caleb was too excited to be scared anymore. There was indeed a treasure in his basement, and if the mysterious letter was to be believed, it belonged to him no matter who put it there, and he had every intention of consulting a lawyer first thing in the morning to make sure. He made a quick mental inventory of the contents, checking out the small boxes of trinkets. He opened one box and was about to categorize it as earrings until the items moved and he froze. He rolled the box side to side and shone a strong light on the bits of gold tumbling around.

           They’re teeth.

           Caleb felt sick. He set the box down with shaking hands and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He hastily scanned his light back over the silver pieces and in less than a minute found what he was looking for. A candleholder, rather plain in comparison to some of the others, but with small Hebrew lettering around the base.

           “Thank you for saving me from the trouble of breaking in,” Josef said behind him. His Austrian lilt and Aryan good looks filled Caleb with revulsion. “I saw you received a delivery today. It was addressed to me, and I was curious as to why you did not bring it to me unopened.”

           Caleb was incredulous. “You’re seriously calling me out for having a lack of scruples because I read your mail? There are teeth here! Gold teeth, ripped from the mouths of people on the way to their death! Everything here was stolen, and now you’re here to steal it from me! Jesus suffering Christ, man…”

           “’Stolen’ is a strong word, my friend.”

           “I’m not your friend,” Caleb shot back, “and ‘stolen’ barely covers it. It’s not strong enough.”

           “Stop being dramatic. Listen, you help me get this stuff to safety, you can keep some of it. I’m sure my associates will be happy to give you something by way of a finder’s fee.” A sickening grin crossed his face and his eyes glittered as cold as a snake. “I call dibs on the teeth though.”

           Josef’s body made a satisfying thud as it hit the floor.

           The sun was just starting to rise, and the early morning fog was burning off the tall grass of the meadow behind Caleb’s house. Caleb stood beside the abandoned well, long out of use since they had gone to town water back in the early 80’s. The heavy lid was slid back and Josef’s body was slumped over the edge. Caleb nudged him with the toe of his boot. Josef came to groggily and tried to pull his gag off with bound hands. Caleb obliged him by yanking the duct tape off his mouth as hard and fast as he could. “I have no intention of letting you take anything from that room out of my house. The only one coming to take anything is the Holocaust Museum and they should be here in about an hour, so you’ll understand if I don’t have time to chat. Just enough time to take out the trash.”

           This time Caleb actually was being dramatic, but he didn’t care. Moving swiftly, he slapped the duct tape back over Josef’s mouth and before Josef had time to figure out what was happening to him, Caleb grabbed his bound ankles and dropped him into the open well. The well went down at least 40 feet and was dry, at least to Caleb’s knowledge, so provided he survived the fall, he would have sufficient time to suffer and maybe repent or something. Just to hammer home the message he was far too tired to deliver, he dropped a large Nazi flag down in the hole and didn’t even listen for signs of life. Without any remorse, he slid the tremendously heavy lid back onto the well and secured it with its safety bolts.