Rhinehoth

By Brian Niskala

Centuries ago a great castle was built in the mountains of Germany's Black Forest. Its ancient guardians still thrive in its walls forever protecting its dark secrets, holding captive an enemy that threatens their very existence. Foretold is a story of an ancient warrior that is to return to the castle to free the captive Vampire Prince.
Simon Roberts was a petty thief who fled England to escape Scotland Yard after a series of unsuccessful jewelry store heists. He was recruited to do a job in Germany where he was to simply drive the get away car while providing a look out. He thought this was going to be an easy job and a way to break into the German crime scene. But things go terribly wrong and he ended up being the only survivor of the botched heist. Simon is quickly sentenced to a prison called Rhinehoth. This is where Germany sent the worst of the worst, surely not a place for a petty thief such as himself.
Rhinehoth is a great German castle that was converted in the late 1930s to a Stalag for war criminals of World War II. The converted prisons modern day inhabitants are relentlessly tortured, starved and sleep deprived. This contributes to the prisoners delusional visions that help hide the truth and keeps Rhinehoth's secrets. Their captors are the army of Werewolves who have survived the centuries off the very flesh and blood of Germany's worst forgotten criminals.
Simon, imprisoned becomes plagued with visions from his subconscious ancient past with confusion of his modern day consciousness. He discovers through his visions that he is the ancient warrior, Guthrie who has come to free the Vampire Prince and all the captives while saving the world from a dark plan of biblical proportions that has been orchestrated over the centuries!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Niskala
• Release date: Oct 23, 2009
• ISBN: 9781102467007

Brian Niskala

Brian E. Niskala was born in October, 1970 and grew up in Dunellen New Jersey. He attended both Public and Private Catholic Schools. Though primarily self-educated he did eventually obtain a College Degree. He quickly moved through the ranks of various Fortune 500 Companies including, Airborne Express/DHL, UPS and FedEx where he held various Senior Management Roles. He always worked on his writing skill but never became serious about his writing until October 2008 right after the large world economic collapse.

Book preview

Rhinehoth

By Brian E. Niskala

Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2011 by Brian E. Niskala

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Centuries ago a great castle was built in the mountains of Germany’s Black Forest. Its ancient guardians still thrive in its walls forever protecting its dark secrets, holding captive an enemy that threatens their very existence. Foretold is a story of an ancient warrior that is to return to the castle to free the captive Vampire Prince.

Simon Roberts was a petty thief who fled England to escape Scotland Yard after a series of unsuccessful jewelry store heists. He was recruited to do a job in Germany where he was to simply drive the getaway car while providing a look out. He thought this was going to be an easy job and a way to break into the German crime scene. But things go terribly wrong and he ended up being the only survivor of the botched heist. Simon is quickly sentenced to a prison called Rhinehoth. This is where Germany sent the worst of the worst, surely not a place for a petty thief such as himself.

Rhinehoth is a great German castle that was converted in the late 1930s to a Stalag for war criminals of World War II. The converted prison’s modern day inhabitants are relentlessly tortured, starved and sleep deprived. This contributes to the prisoners’ delusional visions that help hide the truth and keeps Rhinehoth’s secrets. Their captors are the army of Werewolves who have survived the centuries off the very flesh and blood of Germany’s worst forgotten criminals.

Simon, imprisoned becomes plagued with visions from his subconscious ancient past with confusion of his modern day consciousness. He discovers through his visions that he is the ancient warrior, Guthrie who has come to free the Vampire Prince and all the captives while saving the world from a dark plan of biblical proportions that has been orchestrated over the centuries!

A Special Thank you to the following:

Editor:

Andrea Róbert

Cover Artist:

Michael McAlick

Cover Design:

Brian E. Niskala & Prabhu Dorairag

Layout Artist:

Srinivasa Raja Iyengar

The following especially helped in my research for Literary Agents, Publishers and everything else I needed help with during the process of my insanity/writing.

Research Assistants:

Jacquelene Sena

Thelma Nuguid

Neelu Sree

Archana Ravindran

Thank you to my family who has supported every crazy book idea, invention or idea.

To my Wife, Cynthia, for being my partner in everything, mother of our 4 children, Kyle, Brandon, Emily and Olivia and supporting me no matter how crazy she thinks I am.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Court

Chapter 2: Welcome to Stalag Rhinehoth

Chapter 3: Wash Those Floor

Chapter 4: Discovery

Chapter 5: Kitchen Duty

Chapter 6: The Visitor

Chapter 7: Back in the Infirmary

Chapter 8: Lost my Hat, Manchester United

Chapter 9: Identity Told

Chapter 10: Dreams of the Past

Chapter 11: Asmirelda

Chapter 12: The Journey Begins

Chapter 13: Crucifixion

Chapter 14: Castle Rhinehoth

Chapter 15: Down Into the Bowls of Hell

Chapter 16: Time for a Drink

Chapter 17: Back to Hell

Chapter 18: Dawn of a New Moon

Chapter 1

Court

‘The defendant is found guilty!’ As the gavel fell with a load BANG, filling the court room, the defendant flinched at the sound as he tried to hold his heartfelt sorrow back. He slouched down and as the curve of his back met the chair, the gavel seemingly in slow motion, hit the judge’s desk one more time.

Simon Roberts from Manchester, England was just found guilty by association of murder. He drove the getaway car for a band of hoods that tried knocking off a jeweler on the East side of Berlin.

But what Simon was not aware of was that his small band of brothers picked the wrong jeweler to rob from. The jeweler was well-armed with a ferocious temper - a seemingly small detail that was left out of the planning.

Simon sat motionless as he slipped away from the moment to the night that ended him in court.

Simon slowly drove the car up to the front of the jewelry store. The cobbled road was almost right next to the store with only a very narrow mist covered sidewalk in between. Simon rubbed up next to the worn cobbled curb that slightly jostled the car. The store owner could be seen walking towards the back of the store as the three men pulled down their dark masks, pumped their shotguns and left the car. Simon, with no mask just a sweat-stained Manchester United ball cap that he pulled down to help cover his eyes, slouched in the front seat just to be slightly out of sight.

Gunfire broke out almost immediately as if the jeweler had been expecting them. The would-be jewel thieves opened fire at the first sign of the jeweler’s rage as he reached for his gun, but it was too late for all of them.

The three thieves each got mortally wounded in the crossfire. One of them did get off an important shot that mortally wounded his victim, who breathed his last breath. Simon, flinching through the gunfire, opened the car door as the one surviving thief leaped from the store with his very life; he fell just short of Simon’s getaway car.

Simon could hear the distinct, loudening sound of the Berlin Police coming closer. He blinked, wiped his face with his bare but sweating hand and dropped the car in Drive as he saw his last remaining brother lying on the wet pavement, taking his last gasp of life, with his hand reaching out for Simon to save…

As Simon hit the gas propelling car forward, the open car door slammed shut from the motion. A light mist that had fallen made it impossible for him to keep the car in control and he swerved to avoid a blinking construction sign, but it was too late, he was far beyond bringing the car straight to avoid the cement pylons blocking some re- routed gas lines.

He hit the pylons with such force that it split his car wide open and he was hurled out, making a large thud as he hit the pavement like a raw piece of meat. His head came to rest on the cobbled curb with a bone-crushing crunch.

He was in hospital for weeks to heal his injuries, mostly going in and out of consciousness due to the bad concussion. Surprisingly he had only a small fracture to his head considering the force of the impact amongst his other bruises and bumps from the violent ejection.

Simon blinked back into reality. He leaned toward his lawyer, a seedy-looking man who obvious as a State appointed attorney looked as though he had forgot his razor and a bar of soap for that matter.

‘Where am I to go now?’ Simon asked.

His lawyer, clearing this throat, leaned in close to him and said: ‘The Rhine.’ His breath made his nose hairs curl. Simon pulled back and covered his hand over his nose and mouth and muttered to his attorney again.

‘What is The Rhine?’ Simon inquired, still covering his nose. The dirty attorney just leaded back and showed his gnarled teeth so bad it almost appeared a worm crawled between each molar. Simon would find out soon enough.

The back door of the dark gray van closed with a metallic BOOM! Simon flinched yet again. Shrugging back into his seat, he tried not to look around, but his curiosity was getting the best of him as he looked to see who else was with him. He saw a dark figure, wheezing as if having a terrible cold. Simon looked harder, trying to gain focus of the peering figure from the darkness of the rear cabin. Mustering up a few courageous words, Simon asked, ‘Who else is in here?’ His voice quivered.

Gnarling in his own saliva, the voice began to speak: ‘They call me Father Time’ as he leaned forward into the dim light, wiping some of the saliva that was dripping from a scar in his lip. The man hesitated; he paused for a moment as to recognize Simon.

‘Siegfried, as named by my birth parents, Siegfried Uhrmacher. At your service.’ he said ironically as he stuck out his hand. It was in shackles, but oddly with some sort of other mechanism that looked mechanically geared and clumsy.

Simon was not sure what to do, he was trying not to stare but found his eyes dwelling on the strange shackles with the outreached hand and the scar where saliva seemed to drip out of.

‘Oh, yes, my name is Simon, Simon Roberts.’ Simon hesitated, wanting to add ‘as my birth parents named me’ but felt it would be off-color, considering the events both were going through, not to mention there was no room for humor in their predicament.

After a brief handshake Siegfried leaned back into the darkness once again: ‘Oh, yes, Simon Roberts, the botched jewelry heist getaway driver, yes. Dreadful event that whole matter, how is it you survived the whole thing?’ he asked, wiping some more drool coming from his scarred lips.

Simon was still peering into what light was present at the weird device on Siegfried’s wrists. Trying to contain himself, but visibly not hearing the question, he asked: ‘Um, not to be rude, but what is that gear thing on your shackles?’

Siegfried leaned forward, with his shackles almost right into Simon’s face. ‘Well you see I am a bit of an escape artist, so they have devised this little toy to help deter me from trying anything’ he answered, laughing under his breath.

Simon, moving back a bit to better focus the device, moved his glasses a bit further down his nose. As he peered through a light beam that was coming from the front barred window, the driver opened the van doors and shouted into the back.

‘Achtung, fasten your seatbelts sweeties!’

With that the van lunged forward and the small barred window that gave light was slammed shut as the sheet metal slide slid across, almost sounding like a razor cutting through paper.

Simon tried to peer for any whisk of light to better see, but it was hopeless. Siegfried had already slipped back into his seat, gnarling at his saliva drip, and Simon, he too just kind of faded into his seated position.

Siegfried began to speak, ‘Well, time for some sleep Sir Simon, the last good sleep you will have for quite some time.’

Simon, exhausted from the day’s events just mumbled ‘Where is this place we’re going?’

Siegfried, in a chuckle, answered: ‘It is not where, but what…’

Simon fell asleep as the rhythm of the tires drowned out any other audible noise.

After a seemingly long hours drive, he was awakened by the change in the rhythmic rumble of pavement to the crunching of loose gravel below the tires. Groggy he drifted back to sleep with the faint sound of Siegfried sucking in his drool from his scarred lip. He thought he heard one of the guard drivers say ‘Schwartzwald’ which was a phrase meaning ‘Black Forest’ but Simon was not familiar, nor did he register as his eyes’ lids fell drowsily closed.

A few moments later as it seemed, Simon was awakened by some ever increasing bumps and jumps in the road or was it a road any more. The hatch barred window slid open from the turbulent driving, so Simon could peer out to a great structure, which looked as though it had been built out of the side of the mountain. The half moon glow hung over the structure on the clearest of nights, yet a low-lying fog seemed to form in the headlights of the van. As he leaned more forward, peering into the driver compartment, he could see the clock showing it was well after 4 AM. They had been driving for hours all night long. The van began to slow to a stop with the pavement crisply cracking underneath its wheels and a slight brake squeal.

‘Achtung!’ the guards shouted through the open barred window. Simon glanced over at the way of Siegfried, who had a foul stench of a wet dog. He could hear him snicker and his shackles sounded as if they hit the floor, just as the weird geared mechanism made a whizzing noise: it sounded like it was collapsing on to itself.

Simon jumped back, trying to make out the silhouette in the darkness - was there a large dog in the van with them, had he missed something, did they pick it up on the way? Hit a dog on the way putting the injured body in with them, how could he have missed that. Was he drugged??

‘Siegfried!?’ Simon shouted.

‘Calm down Simon, it is I’ Siegfried’s drooling, gnarling voice said. ‘All is well.’

The silhouette seemed to fade in the darkness only to regain its form; Simon’s eyes had obviously been playing tricks on him in the early hours of the mountain’s dawn.

The fog stretched into the back of the van as the guards opened the rear doors. To everyone’s surprise the shackles were lying on the floor, with toughs of black hair entangled in them. Siegfried leaped forward as the guards were tackling him on to the ground and as he lunged forward, still his ankles were shackled tightly into his skin with burps of blood oozing from them. It looked as if they had imbedded themselves into the skin and the gears on them were making a clicking noise as he lunged.

Siegfried whined: ‘They twist into my bone, release me!’

The guards quickly rose to their feet, and then pushed back almost in fear. They pulled forth their lugers -an obvious antique weapon that seemed to serve them well. Their black leather gloves made a wringing, tightening sound as they gripped their pistols for dear life, but the look in their eyes was fear, clear, unwavering fear. But with both of them armed at the gates of the prison and with the snipers in sight in the raised turrets and Siegfried being shackled tightly to the van, what was there to fear?

Simon glanced down at the loose shackles that once were on this old man’s wrists and thought ‘Where and how did he get out of those things? And where did those black hairs come from?’

More guards came from the now lowering drawbridge to help assist in Father Time’s re-introduction to Stalag Rhinehoth. Some had pistols drawn, others had rifles, all aiming at Siegfried’s head. All were shouting ‘Komm Zurück!, Komm Zurück!’, repeating the phrase as loosely Simon could translate as ‘Get back!’ Simon, watching the whole spectacle unfold, just sat back in his chair and turned his head. For he knew what would come next…

As the guards got control of Father Time, Simon sat back in his seat. The guards moved in quickly to remove his choking leg shackles that had imbedded themselves underneath his skin. With an inhuman howl not made by any known creature, the shackles were pried free from his body. Simon flinched the whole time, gripping his eyes closed as the sounds of pain and anguish poured from his road trip mate’s throat.

Siegfried was pulled from the van with nooses thrown around his neck and body with long batons used by dog catchers to keep their distance from rabid dogs. Simon finally turned to view where the bloody shackles lay… ‘There is so much blood, from one man, from an older man how is that possible?’ Simon gasped as he tried talking to one of the guards.

The guard only sneered at Simon and replied ‘He is no normal man’. But the guard was quickly slapped by Klaus Wache, a huge man with a slightly curved upper back from having spent more time pumping iron on his upper body than his lower. He had a dark beard that seemed thick and no matter how often he shaved it would grow back a few hours later.

He glared at Simon and asked ‘Are you waiting for a special invitation inmate?!’ Simon froze as Klaus stared at him with almost red eyes: ‘GET OUT!’ Simon stumbled to stand, but ended up falling out of the back of the van. He had been sitting so long the blood had rushed out of his head to his lower extremities to try to function his legs.

Klaus bent over with his massive hands and grabbed Simon by the head, pulling his body in the erect upright position. Simon, in his British wit, replied: ‘Thank youuu…’ but you could hear the strain in his voice. Klaus laughed at the sight of this feeble man.

As Simon turned the fog seemed to lift, showing the long fall from an apparent moat. But as he stared deep through the mist, he could see that it was not a moat at all, but rather a cave fall so far it was hard to see the bottom. As Simon tried to look upwards a light mist made him squint and hard for him to see the top of the prison, which was more shaped like a castle and behind it he could see the long stretching mountains filled with snow covered pines. As breathtaking as it was, no time to sightsee, he was shoved forward by the guards towards the drawbridge that had been lowered for them.

The drawbridge was old wrought iron with dark heavy timber flanks, weathered, but almost hardened like steel. There were so many iron strips in it, it was more metal than wood, and looked centuries old. The iron links that lowered the drawbridge were massive; the chains lead themselves up into the mouths of Griffins whose wings stretched across the massive door. The guards looked up to nod at the guards who worked the capstans, which raised the bridge. It took eight guards in total to raise the bridge, four per capstan on either side of the massive door that was the bridge to the outside world.

Simon wondered how come it was manual rather than an electric winch or hydraulic piston. Just then, Klaus smacked him in the back of the head with his leather gloves, ‘You see, it takes eight large men to winch up the door, probably ten prisoners. It’s a lot harder to get ten prisoners up there without being shot than pushing some electric button!’

Simon, trying to reach his head to soothe the smack, thought ‘Had Klaus read his mind or is that what everyone thinks?’

As they crossed the threshold to Rhinehoth it was apparent this was no ordinary prison. The courtyard was antique, cobblestoned, weathered, dark and grey. The watchtowers were blocks of granite carved with various demons, dragons and the such. Each eye of the creatures was the lookout window where the guards peered through with their rifles. Every so often you could see the laser sights stream across the floor of the courtyard just enough to let you know they were up there, watching, staring, studying.

Klaus stopped Simon somewhere in the middle of the yard as the drawbridge came slamming shut. He looked over his shoulder to see the massive door create a whirling mist of the rain falling down on them. A fog began to roll out of a door across the yard as a large black horse, looking to be bellowing steam from its nostrils, approached them. It was saddled and massive, every muscle could be seen rippling as it cantered towards them. Simon flinched yet again as it became ever so close. Klaus reached out and gripped its reigns. Patting the horse on the nose, Klaus rubbed it, reached in his pocket and pulled out a cube of sugar to feed to him. ‘This is Arnie,’ he rubbed the horse’s nose ‘He is the best horse here. He is one of many, we keep them to patrol the rough forest. Not that you will escape Häftling!’

Simon thought Häftling was German for gentleman or something, but he knew it was nothing more romantic than Prisoner . He looked further around as Klaus guided him with his pointing hands, showing each of the guards’ towers, machine gun turrets and the flickering of the laser sights on the ground and walls as the guards routinely projected.

Simon looked down at his feet in submission knowing there would be no way out. But what of his newly befriended van mate, Siegfried, who was escorted in ahead of them? There was no sign of him, surely he had escaped, there was hope! But Klaus took a swing with his Billy club to the back of Simon’s legs, THUD!

‘Oh where’s my manners, welcome to Stalag Rhinehoth!’

Simon was dragged on his knees to a dark corner of the yard where he entered a door with an abrupt slam. His welcome beating had begun.

Chapter 2

Welcome to Stalag Rhinehoth

Simon awoke a few days later to a dripping sound coming from somewhere off in the distance. He felt cold and as he took a deep breath he could feel the cold enter his chest. His eyes began to focus and as he peered around with his still weary eyes, he saw a rat in the corner gnawing at a stale piece of bread that may have been his breakfast, but he was not sure, maybe the rat was his breakfast for all he knew.

He pushed himself to his feet, weak from the beatings a day or two ago. His hands and knees had dried blood from something he could not remember and his cell reminded him of something from a book he had often read as a boy: The Count of Monte Cristo. A book, he will soon want to forget as it starts off with a man imprisoned for life, a man that is annually beaten and starved to a bag of bones. He eventually escapes more than a decade later but his family and friends have forgotten all about him. Simon could not bear the thought of one year, let alone a decade or even life for that matter. A book he once enjoyed reading with his imagination is now his imprisoned reality.

He tried to stand upright but struggled from lying on the floor unconscious for a few days. His back was bruised, he was hungry and weak. He looked down at a plate and bowl next to where the bread was taken from by his rodent visitor. The bowl was shallow but looked to contain some sort of soup, green, almost fluorescent green. He held himself back from gagging, as it seemed a rat had drowned in it. Something he did not see at eye level crouched on the floor.

He turned his head to the opposite side of his cell. It appeared he had a bed, a mattress, pancake flat, which molded to the contours of the floor. It appeared to have a stained shroud of all the men who had slept there before. He knew why he had probably unconsciously chosen to sleep on the stone floor.

His toilet was a hole in the cobbled floor. Water ran from the open window down a groove cut from years of wear. The flow of water ran right into his toilet, an obvious modern convenience of turn of the century plumbing. The water in the toilet looked deep and muddy. It certainly was not mud from its smell. A window let in stale air from the jagged hills and spiked peaks of the mountain range behind the prison.

Oddly enough being winter, Simon was cold, but not freezing despite the open barred window. He had to stand on his toes to see out of the window and he noticed that it seemed to be mid-morning, but the back of the prison cast out the sun, not to mention the constant cloud cover at the altitude they were at. His lungs felt the thinness of the air. Simon could see the lights on the hill showing each individual cell,