An Old Story

I wrote this story a while ago (after I read The Hiding Place) and I thought I would post it on here just for fun... :)

The Secret Room

I woke up and heard scuffling noises outside the door. The closely packed bodies around me

triggered my claustrophobia instantly and I kept my breathing shallow to avoid the pungent smell

that was caused from the people who hadn't bathed in weeks. The raids were

happening more and more often as more officers became suspicious of the amount of ration

cards being used under the name Berta Meyer and would keep close watch on the little bakery.

This is why no one had been able to bathe for the few weeks that had slowly

passed and the soldiers had shown no sign of leaving their posts. The room was small and was

not exactly what you would call comfortable living quarters. There was a small shelf in the

corner and on it rested a little package of hardtack and what had been left of the previous meal.

There was a bottle of vitamins on the side of the shelf and they were only to be used in the most

desperate emergencies. I was a Jewish girl of 15 years and I had been forced to flee when the

Germans came and took away my family along with the family who had been helping us. I had

been directed by the man who came and found me to go to Tournai Street and walk behind the

tightly packed houses until I saw the Meyer bakery. The shuffling and shouts continued as I

shivered, despite the heat, in the farthest corner of the room. What was all the noise outside? Had

the secret been discovered? Worry gnawed at my stomach and I felt as if I was going to be sick.

Finally I heard five taps on the wall outside, two short three long, the signal that all was well and

it was time for the morning meal. The slat in the wall that we used as a door opened and I heard

rifle shots. One, two three. I waited as sweat began to wet my brow. “Father in Heaven”, I

whispered, “Protect us from these cruel people.” I listened for more rifle shots and all of a

sudden I was looking into two eyes. They were cold and harsh, but in them I could see a poor

broken spirit who was only doing what he did because it had been constantly beaten into his head

through all the years of his childhood. The young man scanned the interior of the room and I

watched as the other soldiers evacuated the other Jews but their eyes seemed to pass right over

me. They took the bottle of vitamins and the package of hardtack, dumped the remaining

water in the pitcher on the floor and threw the small glass plates onto the ground, shattering

them. One of the shards of glass flew past my face slicing my cheek in the process. I cried out

and clamped a hand over my mouth as blood trickled down my face. The soldier looked into the

room, confused, then shook his head and walked off. The shuffling and shouting

continued as I wondered why they had taken the others and not me. What was to become of me?

It became quiet after about twenty minutes of the shuffling feet, the shouting German officers

and the wailing of the others who they had taken prisoner. I heard doors slamming and the sound

of motor cars die away into the distance and then silence. Silence. Was that good or bad? Should

I stay in the little space that somehow had seemed to be invisible to the soldiers? I stayed there

for what must have been a whole day and long into the next. The stifling air became unbearable

and my hunger could no longer be ignored. I was about to step over to the door when a vision

came to me. I saw myself in the various hiding places around Tournai preaching to the sad and

weary people a message of hope, telling them of the amazing miracle that had occurred in the

little Meyer Bakery. “Heavenly Father,” I prayed “I see now why you allowed me to be saved

and I will fulfil my responsibility no matter the cost.” I sat there in awe as I realized what this

meant. I stepped out of the room and my journey began.


P.S. this did not actually happen (as far as I know )