The Creature in the Mist
My name is Arnold Gunther Schmidt. I am a musketeer in the 3rd Infantry Regiment of the Prussian Division of the German Empire. I have been honorably discharged from the military due to, apparent, mental deficiencies. I now reside in the Bethel Institution for the mentally unstable. I am routinely tested by mental health professionals in order to make me a functioning member of society again. By the wisest judgment of the top brass, I have been condemned to this unholy sanctuary. I’m not crazy, like my former commanding officer would like to propagate. I have seen the horrors of war that would breed monsters. War attracts the evil of the world and manifests it. I have seen it with my very own eyes. Let me tell you about my experiences on the battlefield. Let me clear my medical records for good.
It was the beginning of the Great War. The Archduke Ferdinand had just been shot and all of Europe’s nations mobilized for war. Before I was drafted into the armed forces, I was a baker in my home town of Anklam. I had inherited my father’s bakery and was engaged to a lovely woman named Adali. We had adopted a Shepard pup named Hansel, which loved to play in the expansive backyard behind the bakery.
One particularly hot summer day in June the papers were filled with news of Archduke Ferdinand’s assassination in Serbia. At first I was shocked. The Serbs wouldn’t get away with this, surely the Austrians would retaliate. After a few weeks passed, war engulfed all of Europe in flames.
“Darling what do you think will happen? “
“Well I doubt this war will take longer than a few months. The boys should be home by Christmas. “
Little did I know that not only would the war not be done by Christmas, but I would also end up drafted into the military. The day the drafter came to my home, Adali wept until the sun set. I was designated to be frontline infantry. I had to write up a will and show up at a recruitment center by the end of the week or face the rest of my young adult life in prison. Kissing my fiancé and dog goodbye, I left home for war.
In basic training, I learned what it felt to truly test the limits of one’s physical ability and mental capacity for pain. Hours of marching and gun drills toned my body. A week in the forests outside of Berlin with only the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet solidified my survival skills. Mental fatigue and training taught me discipline. I quickly became the embodiment of a model Prussian soldier and became the gold standard for the rest of my regiment. After two months of training my unit was sent off to the front lines in Verdun, France.
All of the automobiles, that would usually transport troops, were busy on the front lines, so our newly formed Prussian division had to march to Verdun. The march to Verdun was fraught with difficulties. Snow would cause frostbite to claim men’s toes. The entire division was slowed down considerably. Every time we camped another individual would catch pneumonia and die. We hadn’t even made it to the actual war, and people were already tired and begging to go home.
It wasn’t long until we finally reached our destination. The city of Verdun was in ruins. Many buildings had holes blown into the sides of them. The outside of the city had large craters dotting its borders. A myriad of wails floated out of a nearby church where the triage center was located. The locals had been set to work hauling rubble and supplies, or digging ditches. We would get to stay one night in town before moving into the trenches. That night I spent contemplating my life. I was terrified to go out there; I would surely die. I nearly decided to desert the army and go back home. In the end I got drunk on cheap wine and passed out in my room instead of cowardly running away.
The trenches were an awful sight. They were a man and a half deep and one man wide. The walls were held up by shabby wooden posts and sandbags. I heard further up the line some of the walls were partially constructed out of bodies of fallen soldiers. The ground was so muddy every step threatened to take a man’s boot away from him. The ground in some places was filled with five inches of either water or a concoction of other fluids. One didn’t need to feel lonely for rats the size of small dogs could keep one company.
Within my first few days of fighting in the trenches, I must have lost a substantial amount of my hearing. Gun shots rattled all around me twenty-four/seven. I remember my commander telling the soldiers to spray lead down the fields. It didn’t matter if we hit anything or not. The only thing that mattered was the other side kept their heads down instead of shooting back at us. When we stopped shooting, they would charge our trenches like cattle stampeding towards a cliff. I would always fire in the general direction of the enemy but never directly at them.
The worst days were the ones when it was our turn to charge the enemy trench. On those days everyone was silent. We all had our own rituals. Some would pray and others would drink. I would clean my gun and knife. The motions helped me prepare myself. Before I would go over the top, I would take one last look of a picture I had of Adali and rub the corner of the picture for good luck. Then the dreaded whistle would begin to blow. I would let out a war cry as I clambered over the wall. A strategy I overheard some of the other troops talk about was to duck into the craters left by mortar shells for cover. I would charge in and out of the craters making my way towards the enemy trenches.
I remember my first charge. I was so nervous I fell into a crater, face first. I landed on soft, freshly overturned, dirt probably freshly made by the recent shelling of the area. I crawled through the mud to the crest of the crater to the sight of machine guns mowing down my fellow comrades as they crossed no-man’s-land. After what seems like hours of crawling mouth-deep in mud, I made it to the enemy trench. There had already been fighting in the trench. Men in blue suits litter the floor of the trench. As I walked through the trench, I came across dead comrades. I’d mourn their loss later for I had been struck in the back of the head by an enemy soldier.
He jumped onto my back and beat me with a coffee can. Why he didn’t have his rifle is anyone’s guess, however I am lucky he didn’t. In a desperate attempt to shake him off me, I swung my rifle around and knocked him to the ground. I stared down at the man as he begged for his life. I would have given it to him as well if he hadn’t grabbed for a knife on the ground. Before he could take a swing at me, I pulled the trigger and shot him in the head. His body flopped over almost comically and joined the collage of bodies on the ground. I felt horrible, as if my stomach was eating itself. I promptly vomited up my morning’s breakfast and cried until I was found by my commander.
I later found out, through the chats with my therapist, that I was experiencing murderer’s guilt. Apparently this is common amongst other soldiers as well. Later encounters I would be less affected by my guilty mind.
After a year and a half on the battlefield I had changed a lot. I no longer formed attachments with other soldiers. I didn’t feel anything after taking another’s life. The sounds of bombs and bullets became as natural as the wind. However, no level of desensitization can explain away what I saw that tragic day.
It was some time in summer. The war had been going on for two years now and a new weapon was being added to the fighting. The use of mustard and phosphorus gases became common place on the battlefield. Every morning I would wake up to a green mist covering sections of trenches. When you heard the mortars go off you just knew there would be a new layer of gas added to the air. My gas mask practically became a part of me since I had it on so often. My troop began to prepare for the morning charge across the line. Everyone waited for the whistle, ready at any moment to climb the trench. When I heard the whistle, I was over in an instant. Years of trench warfare trained me well and I crossed no-man’s-land in stride. What was strange was everyone else did the same. We were in the enemy trenches without a fight. It’s like the enemy had abandoned their post.
It was then when the explosives went off and the mortars dropped. We had fallen into a trap. An explosion happened so closed to me I was buried under three feet of earth. Shell shocked and stunned I looked around and called for help. The only ones to call back were people in a similar situation or worse. I saw a man walking around with a half blown-off arm asking for help. Another man was shoveling his comrade’s intestines back into his body. Then the gas descended upon us.
Those who were too injured to do anything suffocated to death on the gas. The other’s tried to put their gas masks on but found that their masks had been shredded in the explosion and soon suffocated as well. I was one of the lucky ones and my mask worked. After digging myself out of the dirt I, tried to find any survivors and prepare for the enemy’s counter assault. However, when I called out for any survivors no one answered. I was alone.
It was then when I heard the sounds of something large stomping around in front of me. I couldn’t see what is was, due to the gas, but I could see its outline. Whatever it was it didn’t look human. The thing had long gangly arms and legs. It was as tall as the trench itself. It must have been strong because it picked up one of the bodies off the ground with one hand and held it over its head. What was truly terrifying was the way its head moved. The creature’s head split open like a flower and lowered the body into it. The creature then convulsed for a while until it stopped moving entirely.
Stunned silent I tried to keep my breathing to a minimal. What was this thing and why was it eating people. I must have made a noise because in an instant the creature snapped its flower-like face towards me and made an ear piercing screech. I turned and sprinted as hard as I could away from it. I could hear it stomping behind me, almost gaining on me. The maze of trenches stretched out in front of me as I ran from this creature. A right, a left, at one point I think I climbed a wall and fell into another trench. I ran until I was unable to run anymore.
I must have blacked out because the next time I woke up I was in the triage center. Apparently I was found collapsed on the other side of the enemy trench than where I was supposed to be. I was asked to give a report of my experience and I told them everything. I tried to warn the leadership that there was a creature out there eating troops, but they wouldn’t listen. They wrote off my warnings as a rambling man who was still getting over a case of shell shock. But that’s wrong! I know what I saw it out there and it is still out there. That thing is evil. It is the embodiment of war sent to punish us for our sins. No one will listen to me but I saw it. Please believe me when I say that nobody is safe from that creature. It is death come to claim my soul. Sometimes I see it at night and it taunts me. It wants me and it wants others. Why won’t anyone believe me?
Commander Frederick Anst’s field report July 20, 1913. Musketeer Sergeant Arnold Gunther Schmidt was found cowering in a hole in the twenty fourth enemy line. Sergeant Schmidt was experiencing a psychotic break. He was screaming about a monster that eats humans stalking him. The Sergeant’s mask had been punctured and he had most likely been breathing in poisonous gases. I have admitted Sergeant Schmidt to the triage center in Verdun.
Dr. Kurt Whinmen, medical examiner’s report. Patient Arnold Gunther Schmidt has been admitted to Bethel Institution. Mr. Schmidt has developed schizophrenia due to the brain damage he received during combat. Mr. Schmidt experiences auditory, visual, and physical hallucinations. Mr. Schmidt claims to see a tall menacing creature that wants to eat him. I have prescribed Mr. Schmidt daily electro shock therapy sessions for the foreseeable future.