Not everyone wakes up and suddenly realizes, “Hey, I want to write
about Nazis.” And not just Nazis, but tackling some of the most taboo of
Americana topics. I’m talking about school shootings, domestic abuse, racism,
rape, the bottom of the barrel of humanities darker half. Before you ask, no,
there will be no major spoilers here. My aim is to give a little peek behind
the curtain on some of the subject matter discussed in the book by looking at
the characters that live inside the world of Reinheit. And perhaps some insight
into what inspired me to write the macabre story in the first place!
For starters, what does Reinheit
even mean? Reinheit is the German
word for purity or uncontaminated. Purity and contamination and how people
define those terms are key themes throughout the entire book. From start to
finish, those meanings play a significant role. Allow me, if you will, to show
you what I mean through some of the characters you'll find within the pages.
Let’s start with the villains!
Major Eric Schröder: As an
Nazi SS officer, his character deals with purity in a very real and terrifying
way. His secret life also plays into notions of purity and contamination. He is a true believer in Hitler's vision of
the Third Reich, the Thousand Year Reich
as some of them have called it. He believes almost
without question, though at times he does doubt the methodology. Schröder is in
command of one of the Einsatzgruppen
units. These units are real and a tragic part of history. Made up of everyday
men, regular blue collar folks, these units followed behind the regular German
army into the eastern front and "liquidated" entire Jewish ghettos.
The Einsatzgruppen were the solution
before Concentration Camps turned into killing camps, before the gas chambers
filled those shower with Zyklon B. In writing the story, I needed and wanted to
use Schröder's character to give a foundation of sorts for the theme of purity.
I want my audience to question how certain notions of purity can lead to
terrible things. And while Schröder is a vile character for the horrifying
things he does or orders others to do, he is, in his own way, a sympathetic
character because of the secret life he is hiding, even from his own beloved
SS. Or I should say, a secret hidden especially from the SS.
Frank Moss: Honestly, I
really, really, really loathed
Frank's character. I had to tap into some really dark places and imagine some
really horrible things. Frank, much like Schröder, has a "different"
look on life. He's a traditionalist in the worst kind of way. An abuser and
gets off on the suffering of others, especially his wife, Rebecca. When
writing, originally, Rebecca was going to be the mechanism paired with the
armchair, the carrying on, of sorts, of historic sin. However, when Frank's
character began to develop more fully, it became apparent that he would be the
ideal host for the armchair to latch on to. Rebecca was simply the obstacle, in
a way, that came between Frank's later possession and those he aimed to hurt.
The only sympathy for Frank, that I found, was his family history. His father
was a drunk and a fiend. The idea of Frank becoming just as his father was, is
a common motif and a tragic reality. I'm talking statics, of course. Not every
abused becomes the abuser. Frank and Schröder are both linked together in the
story as antagonists because of their prolonged contact with the armchair, but
will they share the same fate?
Next we’ll look at our heroine and the not-quite-villains category.
Rebecca Moss: What can I say
about Rebecca? During her character introduction in the book, we see that she
is both charitable and has a bit of a comedic side. Rebecca is one of the
stronger characters in Reinheit,
given her positive personality juxtaposed with the horror she endures from
Frank. She is, I think, I tragic heroine. Her good nature confronts evil, yet,
despite Frank’s brutality, she still loves him. She is also courageous, as she
moves into the final act. However, when she faces a possessed Frank, what will
she do? Will she finally make a stand, or will she continue to allow the
torment? One of the questions I wanted to evoke with Rebecca was, “How much can
good people take before they snap?”
Weber's Auction House: Okay.
Not truly a “character” in the traditional sense, but I find the idea that
places and things can absorb the essence of those it interacts with terrifying.
I mean, what If someone really vile died on a particular piece of furniture? Or
what about a building surrounded by tragedy? What would happen to those places
and things? If the corruption and tragedy lived on in an echo? The armchair
itself was born from this idea, as you see from the very get go in the book, as
Schröder once owned the armchair that eventually possesses Frank Moss. Weber's
auction house becomes the go-between with the past and the present. As it
seems, the armchair is drawn to particular places equally as scarred as itself.
The chapter dealing with Weber's auction house was my favorite. I love the idea
of historic echoes, how strong emotions like tragedy can ripple through time
and space and shape a place. The idea of Weber’s Auction House is the question:
“What happens to our past civilizations? Are they really gone? Buried beneath
us? Or does something, an essence you might say, live on?”
Braun: Despite his past, I
really enjoyed writing Braun's character. He is the main human catalyst between
the past and the present. He was part of the Einsatzgruppen unit under the command of Major Schröder, and
carried out many damnable actions. And, in a way, he really never learned from
his past mistakes. He is the very definition of a conflicted character trope.
And a very tragic one, at that. There are moments where we glimpse him holding
on to an old photograph of a little girl, assuming this to be his daughter.
What happened to her, I wonder? His character confronts Rebecca Moss, but do
not necessarily succeed. Despite his failings, I believe his was a brave-flawed
character, if not perhaps a little insane at times! With Braun, I wanted to
force the question of redemption.
Clyde: You will not see
Clyde much in the story. He is a very minor character, among many. However, he
does represent an important aspect of the theme, purity and contamination. His
character also represents the idea of the sins of the father kind of motif.
Different from Frank's abusive father, Clyde's dad was an intentional abuser,
though not with fists, but with words and the things he shared with his son.
Clyde also became a catalyst for the end...on that, I will not reveal too much.
Clyde was also a fun character to write. A real creepy and simpleton. But dark
and dangerous all the same.
Okay, so why did I write
Reinheit? And what is my style of horror?
Well...to divulge this let me ask you what you think/feel when you hear
the word NAZI. What comes to mind?
Typically, when one thinks of the Holocaust and the Nazis, we think "blood
thirsty Jew hating maniacs," right? Well…as it actually turns out, the Einsatzgruppen, and all Nazis for that
matter (or most, I should say) were just regular folk, ordinary men and women
who believed in their particular cause, as murderous and heinous as it was.
There are many scholars and historians and psychologists that argue for the
precise causality for such brutal actions as seen during this time period;
however, how can there be only one cause? I think Hannah Arendt said it best,
that "the sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up
their minds to be good or evil." In the end, perhaps maybe it all boils
down to our culture and how we see the world, which is a precarious
conversation in and of itself. It is my opinion that when see other people as them and not us, we compartmentalize people into boarders. We no longer see
people as just that, people. The Einsatzgruppen has taught us a lesson
that came at a terrible price, yet the world ultimately continues to function
all the same. We still think in terms of us and them. Or as one of my history
professors once put it, “We think in terms of othering.” Or, to paraphrase John Carpenter, “The camp fire story is an easier one to sale. The enemy is out there,
not us, in the woods, away from the fire. The other story is harder to tell. When we say we have met the enemy, the enemy
is us, we are the enemy.” Though, as hard as it may be, I honestly,
unequivocally, believe that horror is one of the best mediums in which to have
these kinds of discussions. I write horror because I love the genre and because
it is the most honest expression of social commentary -- period. Horror forces
audiences to ask questions without the sticky humdrum of actually answering
anything, and instead, allowing people to come to their own conclusions.
Reinheit
Thomas S Flowers
Genre: Thriller
Publisher: Booktrope
Date of Publication: July 29, 2015
ISBN: 1513701673
ASIN: B013118P92
Number of pages: 184
Word Count: 62,200
Cover Artist: Travis Eck
Book Description:
Rebecca Moss never questioned the purchase of the strange seductive armchair. She wanted to please Frank. But the armchair has a dark purpose. Nazi officer Major Eric Schröder believed fervently in Hitler's vision of purity. Now the chair has passed to Frank, an abusive thug who has his own twisted understanding of patriotism. There are those who want to destroy the armchair, to end its curse. But can the armchair be stopped before it completes its work?
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/f6PWf_qW1Xg
Excerpt:
The Eastern Front, Lithuania. July 1941.
The armchair moaned delightfully as Major Erich Schröder
sat. Outside, the sun burst into the mountain ridge, filling the sky with
brilliant orange and red flames. Schröder watched out the open window from his
seat in front of a dormant fireplace. He poured a glass of Berentzen Doornkaat
schnapps from the decanter he had brought with him from home. Helen had packed
it for him, wrapped with last month’s funny pages. One of the strips discarded
in the waste bin revealed a valiant rosy cheeked Dutchman named Conrad,
demonstrating the power of solidarity in the factory workforce. The energetic
and turbulent rhythm of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony floated into the room
from some far off record player in the barracks. Love this performance. Schröder
closed his eyes and sunk farther into the armchair. The cool leather and
haunting harmony of Beethoven set his mind at ease, comforting his weary bones.
The comfort abated his thoughts, for the moment at least, of what lay ahead and
the unordinary expectations levied upon his young shoulders by high command.
Expectations? he
thought. God help us. Schröder lifted his glass and took a long gulp,
biting down against the burning sensation crawling in his throat. Expectations…
Horrible, horrible expectations… But it must be done. Himmler has given the
order, and so it must be. Ein Völk, ein Reich, ein Führer. For we are
one people, one nation, of one leader…
Schröder had believed in the vision for a thousand-year
Reich ever since he was a young boy, serving in the Hitler youth movement,
following in the shadow of Herbert Norkus, the child martyr. Schröder believed
in his führer fervently and demonstrated so by enlisting in the Waffen officer
program when he became of age. And that strong belief made him stand out from
among his peers to become a full party member of the Schutzstaffel
order, the dreaded and feared SS. And even after receiving his first orders,
being forced to follow on the boot heels of the regular army into the Eastern
Front, he retained his faith in the great commission, the plan to save Germany,
to bring the Fatherland into rebirth, renewal, into purification…but at what
cost? he wondered.
“Major?” called a strong male voice from outside the door,
interrupting Schröder’s thoughts.
“Who is it?” asked Schröder. He took another long swig
before rubbing the cold glass against his temple, struggling to abate the crest
of an emerging headache.
“Lieutenant Braun, sir.”
Ah, yes, Braun.
The thought of the handsome lieutenant was not unpleasant. Unlike the rest of
the old reservists assigned to his unit, Braun was different, younger than
Schröder, which wasn’t saying much. But Braun is local, Schröder
recalled, just like the other swine. Well…the lieutenant must be the
exception, proving not all of Lithuania is as ghastly as it appears. Perhaps
there are some redeeming qualities, he thought with a hungry smile.
“Enter,” Schröder finally answered. His face returned to
its narrow coldness. He brushed his short-cropped, wavy, blond hair to the
side. He crossed his legs and stared into the fireplace, as if contemplating a
fire.
The door opened. Schröder listened to the marching of feet
coming to a halt directly behind the armchair. He guessed there were at least
two men, uniforms flat as iron, brown as earth, with burning red armbands and
swastikas on each muscular biceps. The last being a fantasy, of course, most of
the men under his command were police reservists from the rural portions of the
country, not at all the physique of physically disciplined soldiers. Well,
except for Braun. He is most certainly fit. Schröder took another
gulp from his favorite schnapps, quietly fantasizing Braun’s undergarments,
waiting on either of the reservists to speak, but no one did. Only silence,
except for the ice cubes ringing against his crystalline glass.
“What is it?” Schröder asked impatiently, his breath on
fire. His head felt dizzy.
“Sir…” began Braun, his voice boyish but prudent.
“For God’s sake, spit it out,” Schröder barked.
“The delivery, sir. It has arrived.”
“Delivery?”
“The cases of schnapps, sir.”
“Oh, yes, good,” said Schröder taking another swig, nearly
killing the glass. “Assign a small detail and unload some of the boxes into one
of the storage rooms. Keep the rest on the truck,” he ordered with heated
breath.
“Yes, major.”
“Use the quartermaster’s room, if you must. When you’re
finished, have the rest of the company form up in the courtyard,” Schröder
ordered. His mind began to drift between his nearly empty glass and the sound
of crows squawking about outside the window, desperately searching for a place
to nest before winter. A strong breeze found its way inside. The odor of pine
and spruce filled his quaint personal quarters decorated with yellow
flower wallpaper and a quaint single bed covered in soft linen sheets.
An old quaint oak dresser and vanity sat next to the bed, and a small quaint
circular kitchen table, also made of solid oak, sat on the other side of the
fireplace. The burgundy leather Queen Ann high back armchair was last of the
furniture.
Schröder waved his hand in his usual form of dismissal. He
listened to the snapping of boot heels as the men shouted in unison, “Sieg,
Heil!”
“And, lieutenant…” Schröder added.
“Yes, major?” asked Braun.
“Keep it quiet.”
“Sir?”
“I don’t want a bunch of questions about why we have the
liquor on the truck. I want this done quickly and quietly, understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
The men filed out, leaving Schröder alone again. He sat
there and took another sip of schnapps, watching the dead untouched logs with
little interest. Outside, the sun had fully disappeared behind the mountain
ridge. The sky was black. His mind went to the hundreds of boxes of cheap apple
liquor in the cargo truck outside in the courtyard. The men will need it,
after today, he thought. After tonight, and the next night, and the
night after that, and so on and so forth until this madness is over. Until the
solution has been answered. When the vermin are eradicated, removed, liquidated
from the purity of the Reich. The rats, the money-grubbing Jews, stabbed
us in the back in Versailles, but never again. Schröder smiled weakly and
took another gulp, finishing off the glass with a grimace. The ice was cold,
but the liquor burned going down, warming his otherwise empty stomach. Licking
his lips, he slumped deeper into the armchair. The cushions felt more than
welcoming. The Queen Anne was soft, yet sturdy, dependable, and dare he say,
comforting? Yes. Yes, even in a waste of a country as Lithuania, given
nightmarish orders. Yes, even here, something as simple as a chair could be
comforting. It whispered to him. The tall backrest shielded him from the
world and told him everything was going be fine. The voice lingered with
Schröder like a fat dark cloud caught in a valley before a storm. Where have
you been? he wondered. Who last sat on you? Who else have you comforted?
Who will you comfort when I’m gone? You’re mine, you know that? You’ll
always be mine. His thoughts teased real jealousy.
Schröder recalled when the armchair had first arrived. He
remembered when Himmler, the führer’s shadow, had delivered it personally from
Latvia. A gift, supposedly, for Schröder’s first command. Himmler arrived in
the dead of night and Schröder had thought it odd for someone of his stature to
take the time to visit someone new in the order. Or perhaps that was the
reason for the visit. Did he come to inspect me, my men, our resolve?
Schröder waved the thought away with his empty glass. Does it matter? Was
it really so strange for a man like Himmler to drop in, even unannounced? No.
Schröder knew of Himmler’s obsessive reputation and the simple fact that the
man commanded all of the SS, including all the Einsatzgruppen units,
with the entire final solution for the Jewish question residing on his
shoulders, was warrant enough for paranoid examinations. I’d do the same
thing in his place, Schröder believed. How could he not? While the
regular Waffen army served a purpose, driving back the vile communist filth,
the Einsatzgruppen, the killing squads, as rumored to be called by some
of the men, were given orders of the upmost import. On our shoulders alone
sits victory for Germany. Only through us can Himmler succeed and thus Hitler’s
final solution be answered. Only through us can the one-thousand-year
Reich be achieved. So, when an officer like Himmler drops in
unannounced, bearing a gift for your recently awarded commission, you do not
turn him away, and you most certainly do not ask questions, Schröder
weighed, pouring another glass of schnapps when his door thundered yet again.
“Major?” called Lieutenant Braun in his usual vigor manner.
“Yes?” answered Schröder.
“The detail is done and the men have begun to form up,
sir.”
Schröder peeled himself begrudgingly from the armchair. His
skin felt as if it were being ripped away from the leather. It was difficult,
more than it should have been, for Schröder to get to his feet. It was as if
gravity were working against him. The more he moved, the more he didn’t want to
move. He hesitated to leave the warm comfort of the high-back armchair, or the
warm breeze from the window, or the bottle of schnapps, or even his lonely
late-night fantasies of a bare-backed Lieutenant Braun in his chambers.
Schröder pictured the young lieutenant naked, erect, pulsating with heat, and
smelling of plums. But Schröder knew he had no time for fantasies such as
those, not now. Now he had a job to complete, the commission, and until then he
would not be able to return home to Munich, to his beloved Helen, and
their faux marriage, and her ravenous breasts and plump lips he absolutely had
no desire for. But, despite his pretentious social mask, of which he so often
hid, that fairy tale existence was more enjoyable and pleasing than the cold
nothingness of Lithuania. At least in Munich he could have something more than
fantasy. Full moons he could sink his teeth into and lustful adventures out on Blumenstraße’s
dark avenue, where men and boys overfilled his cup. A place where names were
never asked, never given. Or at least not real names.
God help me if anyone ever found out. He shuddered. They’d stich a pink badge on a pair of
rags and send me on the midnight train to Dachau, or worse. Auschwitz-Birkenau.
And what would poor Helen think of the charade? That her husband loved the
taste of cock? She would be absolutely abashed! Schröder let loose a faint
dry laugh despite the remnant fear of being caught lumped heavily in his heart.
There was another soft knock at the door. “Sir?” asked
Braun. “Is everything okay?”
“I’ll be out in a moment,” the major barked.
Schröder pulled himself from the comfortable armchair and
smoothed out the wrinkles in his black uniform. He noticed a scuff mark on the
toe of his otherwise perfectly gloss black boots. Frowning, he crossed over to
the small table, set down his empty glass, and picked up a rag. Kneeling, he
polished out the blemish in quick sweeps. He stood and looked himself over in
the vanity. Satisfied with his appearance, Schröder opened the door to his
room. Lieutenant Braun was just outside, alone, and snapping to attention. One
hand shot down to his side while the other flew upward, palm down, fingers held
firm together and straight, as one might imagine how the Romans may have
saluted Caesar.
“Sieg, Heil,”
shouted Braun.
Schröder returned the salute, smiling on the inside.
Licking his lips. At least there was more than just the lieutenant’s physique
and beautiful bright blue eyes that he admired. Braun was, if anything else,
dedicated, loyal, and obedient. Qualities one should always surround
themselves with.
“Sir,” Braun’s arm returned to his side, “If I may, why
have we assembled the men at such an hour?” he asked, nodding toward the dark
sky outside the hallway window.
“Judenfrei,” replied Schröder.
Braun did not mask his confusion.
“Do you believe it is possible?” Schröder added, almost
singing.
“To be free of Jews? Yes, major.” Braun still looked
confused.
“How?”
Major Schröder knew the young lieutenant could not answer.
How could he? He had only the slightest idea. A rumor, at best…as for the
particulars in how the Reich would free themselves of Jews. Only the higher
echelons knew. Most assumed the same fate the POWs met, when the Communist
sympathizers and partisan survivors had been gathered to the labor camps, and
would think this seemed a possible solution for the Jews as well. Made sense.
To collect them and then transport them off to the camps as well. But how
can that be? Schröder thought. Of all the camps, certainly they could not
hold all the Jews in Lithuania, nor all the POWs, gypsies, criminals, or homosexuals,
all of the Reich’s undesirables. There were too many enemies and simply not
enough room for them all. Certainly, Braun has mulled through all this.
“Well, lieutenant?” prodded Schröder. “Let’s hear it.” The
Major smiled foxily.
Braun looked white, befuddled in his confusion. He almost
seemed to laugh. Perhaps a sudden idea had sprung to mind? A terrible idea?
Whatever the cause, the lieutenant remained silent. Is he thinking of what
I’ve been ordered? Of mass extermination? All of them? Schröder
could sense the lieutenant’s unease. He looked flushed and short of breath. He
knows. He simply doesn’t want to say it out loud. It would be too horrible,
unfathomable to say out loud, the major thought. He understood because he
felt the same unease within himself, the unease of exterminating an entire
people. The annihilation of European Jewry. The weight of killing not just the
men, but women and the children, both the very young and the infirm. But we
must, for the nation. For the purity of the Reich.
“Lieutenant, I am going to tell you something that will not
be easy to hear. In fact, it’ll be damn near impossible to hear,” Schröder
began. “But we must. Such courage will be needed if we are to succeed in our
mission…for the purity of the Reich.” Yes, Erich, keep telling yourself that.
But at what cost? How much are you willing to pay? At the cost of your own
soul? Your sanity? Schröder pushed his weakness away. “Our goal will
require the strongest will. Tonight, we will march toward Kovno, arriving at
the break of dawn.” Schröder paused. He took a deep breath. “We will then begin
the process of eradicating the vermin from the Kovno ghetto. For the purity of
the Reich, the infestation must be absolutely eradicated. There can to be no
survivors, lieutenant. Do you understand what I am saying?” Schröder watched.
Waited.
Braun was a ghost, as white as death. “We are to…kill them,
major? All?”
“Is it villainess to put down a diseased dog? Or is it an
act of mercy?” asked Schröder.
Braun was silent. He nodded quietly.
Schröder nodded as well, but said nothing. They said
nothing for some time. Neither would look at each other. In the silence,
Schröder could hear voices stirring from outside through the second floor
hallway window. In the courtyard below, Bravo Company was beginning to wonder,
no doubt, why they had been ordered into formation at such a late hour in the
night. Schröder oddly began to wonder himself what Helen was doing back home. Meeting
up with a friend for dinner, perhaps? A male escort? That would be something,
he thought numbly. Finally, Schröder looked at Braun, who stood as a specter in
the hallway. Schröder wanted to embrace him, to hold his firm chest against his
own, to feel the panicked and disturbed heartbeat in rhythm with his. Schröder
wanted to brush Braun’s slicked black hair, to part his lips and pull Braun
close, and feel his large bulge and well-manicured hands. But Schröder pushed
away the fantasy. Instead, he told Braun of Himmler’s orders, the commission of
the Einsatzgruppen units. That they were to enter the Eastern Front, in
four separate commands. In Kovno, Bravo would herd the Jews into the town
square, dividing the men fit for labor from the rest.
The laborers would be ushered to the train yard, destined
for Höss’ newly operational Auschwitz camp, while the others would be marched
into the nearby forest. They would dig graves deep enough for a city municipal
bus and then the Jews would strip. And the brave, ordinary men of Bravo Company
would aim their shot with bayonet and fire into the base of the skulls of
countless girls, boys, hags, gimps, and the sick. The infants would be bashed
against the side of walls to make quick use of their time. One round per
Jew… God forgive us, but this is how the Reich will be judenfrei. This is how
the Reich will become pure again, Schröder thought, his hands quaking
terribly. He gave one last longing look into his bedroom, his gaze settling
upon his high-back armchair.
‘I can do this, I have to do this, and so it must be
done,’ a strong whispering voice reassured him. With his eyes still on the
chair, tracing the elegant blemishes were blotches of brown grew darker and
then lighter, Schröder exhaled, “Ein Völk, ein Reich, ein Führer,” just
audible enough for Braun to hear him.
Braun snapped to attention, still ghostly, and threw out
his right arm, “Sieg, Heil!”
Schröder returned the salute vigorously. And then the two
abandoned the hall to join the men of Bravo Company outside in the courtyard.
Nearing the tall pine door entrance, Major Schröder stopped and turned.
“Have my armchair loaded into one of the cargo trucks,”
Schröder said. “The Queen Anne will accompany us to Kovno.”
Braun did not question the order.
Schröder did not explain.
Thomas S Flowers was born in Walter Reed Medical Center, Maryland to a military family. He grew up in RAF Chicksands, England and then later Fort Meade, and finally Roanoke, Virginia. Thomas graduated high school in 2000 and on September 11, 2001, joined the U.S. Army. From 2001-2008, Thomas served in the military police corps, with one tour in South Korea and three tours serving in Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom. While stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, between deployments, Thomas met his wife and following his third and final tour to Iraq, decided to rejoin the civilian ranks.
Thomas was discharged honorably in February 2008 and moved to Houston, Texas where he found employment and attended night school. In 2014, Thomas graduated with a Bachelor in Arts in History from University of Houston-Clear Lake. Thomas blogs at www.machinemean.org, commenting and reviewing movies, books, shows, and historical content. Thomas is living a rather simple and quite life with his beautiful bride and amazing daughter, just south of Houston, Texas.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ThomasSFlowers
Twitter: https://twitter.com/machinemeannow
Website/Blog: http://machinemean.org/
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1 comment:
Thanks for having me!!!
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