Hochstetter's Stalag: Butterfly Effect
by 80sarcades

Welcome! This is a continuation of my original supernatural story 'Hochstetter's Stalag.' I plan on writing a third part (referenced in the prologue) where our loveable Major Hochstetter is taken care of for good...although he only has a cameo appearance in this tale. In case you've never read the original, the Major dies and his ghost is trapped in Stalag 13...seemingly forever. It's not required to read that story in order to enjoy this one, however.

A side note: what I meant by 'temporary character death - 2' was this: as the story progresses, two characters - one in the prologue, one later - will die. However, none of these will involve the current (1943) temporal occupants of Stalag 13. You have been warned.

Enjoy the story and have a nice day!

Disclaimer: I disclaim this story. I disclaim everything. Who are you again?

August 20th, 1991
San Dimas, California
7:45 PM

The battle is joined.

Physicality collides with intangibility in a headlong battle of wills. The stakes are high for both combatants: one seeks to preserve life, while the other will eradicate with prejudice. It is a battle neither party can afford to lose.

Inevitably, one will fall. I watch silently, unable to intervene, as the mortal side of the equation began to give way. Even in defeat, I am impressed: the mind, despite the body's imminent failure, remains actively resilient.

Unfortunately, fate graces the darker side with victory. The wraith glowers in triumph over his defeated enemy; he knows that death will soon embrace his longtime nemesis. With a final taunt, the specter leaves to complete his evil task. The forsaken foe, now alone, now belatedly realizes that he is about to die.

Yet, despite the odds, he refuses to surrender quietly. Given his past, that is to be expected.

At that moment I raised my right hand. Time itself ground to a standstill even as the man, his face a mask of painful determination, crawled desperately towards the nearby telephone. Under other circumstances the still work of art before me might have been interesting. Memorable, even.

However, today is not one for entertainments. Instead, it was my chance to correct an impulsive mistake; to set right to an unknowing wrong. Without help, another innocent – one of many – will lose her life tonight. To counter, I must equal the balance.

With deliberate calm, my hand reached out towards the still living – yet temporarily frozen – body of Robert Hogan. As I did so, a part of my mind automatically recalled the last time I visited the former Army Air Forces Colonel. More than five mortal decades separated then and now, yet I recalled all as if it were yesterday.

Unlike Mr. Hogan, however, I have many more days left to travail…

November 4th, 1943
Stalag 13, Germany
9:02 AM

By and of itself, the camp is unimpressive.

It exists as a collection of wooden buildings surrounded by barbed wire, guard towers and numerous fences. Men in blue uniforms, called Germans, guard a mix of other men who are far from their homes. In most respects, the camp is somewhat similar to its brethren spread out through this country and others.

In another aspect, it is an advancement of war...although one has to wonder how war has to advance at all. Instead of dungeons and irons, there now exists barracks and coolers. A mark of progress from supposedly civilized people. Still, however, the conditions here are humane; I well know the atmosphere that pervades the areas known as Poland and Russia.

No, by and of itself the camp is unremarkable...unless one inserts the qualifier 'below.' As in 'underneath.' Specifically, a large network of tunnels beneath the camp serves as a combination escape center and sabotage facility. Ingenious, really. At times I must take my hat off to the human race; one can be quite surprised at such moments.

It is for this reason, among others, that I am continually drawn to this camp. Not so much as for the Allied missions they carry out but more for their oddity. Of being a unique - one could almost say permanent - silent fixture beneath the feet of their enemies. Qualities I know of only too well, for what I do.

Of course, I am not a guard at this camp. Neither am I a visitor, nor a temporary guest. I go by many names; some recognizable, others lost to history. My true name is common while my public name is not.

For I, the observer of this camp, am simply known as Death. However, as one civilized being to another, you may call me Jack.

Next: Observations

A/N: I haven't posted to FFN lately...or done much of anything else, rather...since I am in danger of losing my job due to a recent restructure. I'm trying to save it, but...things are not going well for me. If it were just me, I'd walk away and say the hell with it and the stress. However, as I have a family to support, my options are somewhat limited.

Additionally, with my wife going back to work I've had to ramp up my 'Mr. Mom' routine around the house. Strangely, it both pleases and annoys my wife at the same time...I'm doing my usual bit but I keep everything clean, nice and laundered. On the other hand her cooking is better than mine!

I'll try to update as quick as I can if RL doesn't intervene. Then again, I'm not going to let my work problems affect my regular life, either.