Through the Bedroom Window

The tranquillity of the late evening was shattered by a scream of terror. A light flicked on in Donna's bedroom, and Mike's coffee mug shattered on the path as he spun on his heel and flew through the house and up the spiral stair.

Donna's wail was louder, more strident with every stride Mike took. Even taking the stairs three and four at a time, he registered vaguely that she hadn't paused for breath: how could a twelve-year-old possibly have so much air in her lungs? He rammed the door squarely with his shoulder, caring neither for the damage he might do to the doorframe or for his own safety. From the corner of his eye he saw Tom's bedroom door begin to open, and snarled a savage "Stay!" as if commanding a powerful but disobedient dog.

Donna was cowering half under her duvet, curled in the far corner of the room, dry-sobbing uncontrollably, totally winded. Her face was an alarming shade of purple as she fought to breathe. Scooping her up in his arms, Mike squeezed her as tightly as he dared below her diaphragm, forcing precious air back into her lungs. This variation on a Heimlich manœvre was effective: Donna was silent for a half-second, then drew a long, loud wavering breath and clung desperately to Mike's shoulders. A tiny whimper became unchecked floods of tears as she returned gradually from whatever nether region of Hell she'd been visiting.

"There was a man, daddy - right there, at the end of my bed! I think he came in through the window, and he was carrying a gun ...!"

She broke off once more as uncontrollable tears returned with a vengeance, robbing her of any possibility of coherent speech. All Mike could do was hold her, caress her, and make a variety of non-verbal noises intended to calm and comfort her until the night terrors retreated and she could continue:

"You must have seen him, Daddy! He backed away when I started to scream. He was going through the door when I heard you coming up the stairs: that was when I just shut my eyes and kept screaming ...!"

"Darling, the door was shut when I got to the landing: I hurt my shoulder when I charged it, I thought it might be jammed ...!"

"No, dad, when I said "through the door" I meant it! He didn't even try to open the door, he just went through it, as if it wasn't there! He couldn't possibly have got past without you seeing him!"

"I saw something, dad, but I'm not sure ..." Tom's voice trailed off before he could end the sentence. He hovered half in and half out of the doorway, as if acutely conscious of the fact that he'd disobeyed Mike's single word command to remain in his own room.

Mike realized Tom needed reassurance and comfort just as much as Mary did. He forced himself to relax.

"If you could just try to describe what you think you saw, I'm sure that will help all of us. I promise, I'm not cross: you've done nothing wrong!"

He carried Tom over to Donna's bed and sat between them, with a protective arm around their shoulders. Ellen joined them, carrying two hot chocolate drinks and two glasses of amber liquid on a tray.

Tom took a deep draught from his cup before speaking.

"He ... it ... I thought I saw a soldier, Dad."

"That's what I thought, too!" Donna agreed, "I told you, he had a gun! But he didn't seem to see me, he just ran straight for the door ..."

" ... and through the stair rails, like they weren't there!" Tom added.

The bedroom door was almost fully open. Mike glanced up: 'through' the stair rails was a blank wall with neither door nor window, not even a painting or a curtain to mask any part of its smooth wood-panelled surface. 

Mike turned to Tom, who seemed slightly less distressed than Donna.

"A soldier, you say? Was he wearing a uniform of some sort?"

"Yes." Tom nodded. "I couldn't see his face, he was wearing a helmet. His jacket and trousers were very dark but there was no light on the landing, so I couldn't see more."

"And the gun was on a strap over his shoulder." Donna added, "He looked like he was running away from something - or someone."

"Mmm. Running away - and to (or through) the door ... Donna, could you tell where he started running from?"

"No, Dad. I'd turned the light off, and I was just thinking about what we've been doing all day so I wasn't quite ready for sleep. But all of a sudden I felt cold: so cold I was just about to get up and check if the window had been left open ... and there he was, crossing the room without a sound. I screamed when I saw the gun, but he didn't turn round or react, he just ... vanished through the door."

"Mum and I were in the garden, drinking coffee, and nobody came past us. He certainly didn't get in through the window!"

"Listen, now. I believe both of you saw something here tonight. Whatever it might have been, Mum and I didn't see it, and I can't explain it right now."

He hugged both of them one more time and stood up.

"It's getting late. I'll go and look round the whole house, and check in the garden as well. Mum will stay here with you until I get back. I'll give Søren a call tomorrow ..."

"You handled that well, Mike: they settled down easily enough, and you suggesting Tom 'camps out' in his sleeping bag makes him feel like a hero, protecting his sister!"

Mike shrugged.

"He's growing fast, and I don't just mean physically! He wants to make himself useful, being a 'knight in shining armour' is going to boost his self-confidence no end!"

"Did you see anything out of the ordinary around the house?"

"No, but not knowing what I was actually looking for didn't really help! Good job it's Sunday tomorrow ... or today, I should say" he corrected himself, with a glance at his watch, " ... I hope Søren won't mind me calling him at home on his day off..."

 Søren arrived just before midday with crisp, warm breakfast rolls for everyone.

"I did some Internet searching before I left," he said as Ellen poured refills of coffee. Tom and Donna showed no intention of being excluded from the discussion but sat attentively without interrupting.

"I hope you don't mind? I thought it would be easier for me, considering you might struggle with language problems, looking at historical records?"

"Søren, I wouldn't even know what to type into the 'Search' box!" Mike grinned, "Anything you managed to find has to be a better result than I'd come up with!"

"It made the search a lot easier when I found out, many of the houses in that part of town are fairly new," Søren began, " ... so I didn't have to backtrack too far."

"In fact, the main road at the end of Grønnegade was laid by the Occupying Forces during World War Two - or more accurately, by local labourers under the orders and guns of the Germans. They wouldn't do the mule work themselves, of course ...!"

"In English we call it 'donkey work', Søren!" Mike said, with a grin. "Still, I take your meaning, and I'm not trying to be a smartass, okay?" he added, suddenly aware that the comment could be misunderstood.

"No problem, and thank you! That's one of the 'little things' that makes the difference when you learn a language from someone who really knows!"

"Anyway," Søren continued, "They wanted a good, solid road to bring in all their heavy guns and weapons from Rødby harbour. The houses on Grønnegade date from a few years earlier, say about 1930."

"Any major building work - extensions, installing plumbing, heating, things of that nature - is easy to check. Apart from building the garage, which was added in the mid-sixties, the only work done on number 44 was in 1990 when the original stairwell was replaced with the present spiral staircase."

"Dad, that must be why the sold...!" Tom stuttered to a halt in mid-sentence.

Mike cut in smoothly, covering his son's embarrassed flushes.

"I wouldn't have disturbed your day off without good cause, Søren! I'm sure you've realised that, but I haven't told you yet what happened last night ..."

"And what Tom was about to say, I think, was something on the lines of 'that was why the soldier didn't use (or even see) the spiral staircase' - yes, Tom?"

Tom's silent nod was almost surplus to requirements. Søren didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned to his laptop and punched a rapid key sequence.

"According to the Census taken during the war years by our super-efficient invaders, this property was 'requisitioned' as a Staff House for Commanding Officers. There are no individual names listed for this address - they would have been rotated regularly every few months, probably less - and surprise, surprise! - there's no record of the person or persons who the house was requisitioned from."

"That doesn't seem too helpful," Mike frowned.

"It tells us the occupants at the time weren't Danes" Søren pointed out. He turned to speak to Tom.

"You said the ... figure you saw was wearing a helmet? Was that why you thought it had to be a soldier?"

"Yes: that, and I'm pretty sure I saw the gun Donna mentioned, strapped across his back just like she said."

"Good!" Søren didn't want to put words in the young lad's mouth, or frighten him by using words such as 'ghost'. He wanted to keep the conversation light and easy.

"His clothing was 'dark' - and there were no lights on the landing. Can you describe the helmet? Big? Small? Like a motorcyclist, maybe?"

Tom briefly closed his eyes: a frown of concentration appeared on his forehead.

"He could have been a biker, I suppose: his boots were big, not like ordinary shoes, but he never made a sound. He just ran ... there was no noise, none at all, as if he weighed nothing, floating across the landing without touching it, like a g....!"

He checked before choking out the final word of the sentence. His face blanched with terror. Donna seized his hand in an attempt to return the favour her 'parfait knight' had offered unselfishly when she'd needed it so desperately, equal measures of courage and protection.

Søren looked at Mike for permission to take the lead, then turned to Tom and asked in a gentle tone:

"Like a motorbike helmet, you say? Can you describe it?"

"I only saw it from behind" Tom said, "and only for a second. But it looked - I'd say, 'old fashioned': not round, like a spaceman's, more ..."

 Tom paused, then sketched a rough box shape in the air. He wasn't old enough to have heard the unflattering 'Squarehead' nickname coined for German troops, but given the evidence Søren had already uncovered Mike wasn't surprised.

1878 words