Berlin is a
city filled with ghosts. It's a city that has a strange atmosphere
that hangs over it, one that can't quite be explained. This is by no
means a slate on what is a beautiful place. Quite the opposite, in
fact, in that this odd feeling only adds to the allure, drawing in
people from all walks of life.
It's taken
me several weeks to analyse the forty-eight hours that I spent in
Germany's capital city. I'm still mulling it over even as I write
this.
This is a
city that has experienced a lot and much of it is embedded in the
streets and buildings. A feeling that someone is constantly watching
you. A sense that anarchy could break loose at any moment. A feeling
that anything could happen and that the extraordinary would surprise
no one.
Last year, I
wrote about
ghostly encounters in Las Vegas. This year, it's the turn
of Berlin and, for a city so steeped in history, it certainly doesn't
hold back with the spirit activity.
On November
7th, I flew into the city on my very first visit (it won't
be my last). The hotel I'd picked had come on the recommendation of a
friend and, for the first time, I found myself staying in luxury.
While the exterior matched a lot of the city in its stark grey
concrete, it turned out that this was just a facade, one that fooled
me. With a lobby that could fit my entire apartment building in it
and a chandelier that looked like something from a fairy tale, I
definitely felt like I was in the wrong place. Except that I wasn't.
My room was
equally as beautiful with a comfortable bed and a view over the main
road outside. The hotel was based in Berlin's business district and,
across the road, were buildings that had bore the appearance of
housing something useful. Much like the hotel, the exteriors were
bland and functional, hiding what they truly were.
Yet there
was a strange feeling to the room, one that made me cold and nervous.
Turning off the lights only made the atmosphere heavier and, like a
character in a horror film, I dived beneath the bed's covers. And, as
night fell, I discovered why the room felt like it did.
I went to
bed at around 2am on that first night. I hadn't drunk any alcohol and
I'm now completely free of drugs and other medications. The only
thing bothering me was the weight of the exhaustion that lay on my
shoulders and head. I felt as though I was going to sleep for an age,
hopefully only waking once the sun was up.
But there
was something in the room that refused to let me rest. At the end of
my bed stood a dark figure. Even with the light from the streetlights
outside, I couldn't make out any of the figure's features. It was
just a tall shadowy being that gave off an evil feeling. To me, it
felt as though it had served in the military, more than likely in a
far higher capacity than a mere foot soldier. This was someone who
had been in charge. Someone who had issued orders rather than follow
them.
As I've done
so many times before, I commanded the being to leave. Yet it refused,
instead steadfastly remaining at the end of the bed. Its presence
made me ill and, some time during the night, I heard something that
sounded like a gunshot.
That night I
slept less than three hours. Normally I can fall asleep wherever I am
(I'm one of those people who can, and will, fall asleep on planes,
trains and in cars) and being in a new place rarely bothers me as I
carry a few small creature comforts that help me to settle. On
average I sleep around six hours a night.
The
following morning, I was out of the room as soon as I could make
myself presentable. I went and had breakfast and started on the rest
of my plans despite the fog that eclipsed my brain. I was beyond
tired and all I wanted to do was crawl somewhere warm and quiet for a
few more hours.
I left the
hotel at around mid-day and didn't return for another thirteen hours,
falling into bed at around 1am. By now, I was beyond exhausted. I'd
battled my fears,
delivered a pumpkin, walked for what felt like
miles, been out in the cold, attended a concert, danced like a fool,
and had several long discussions with my friend. All I wanted was to
sleep.
But that
wasn't going to happen. As soon as the lights were out, that
omnipresent feeling returned, cloaking the room in a darkness that
was far blacker than the night outside. Again, the figure was at the
end of my bed, watching over me like some kind of evil godfather.
Again, I asked it to leave. Again, it didn't. It never moved and,
despite the lack of facial features, I got the distinct feeling that
it was looking at me.
That night I
slept for less than two hours.
Once I'd
returned home, I decided to do some research on the area. The
adjacent streets house a number of embassies, museums and other
government agencies. The building that was directly opposite the
hotel, and which I could see from the window, was the German
Resistance Movement Memorial Center.
During WW2,
there was a plot to assassinate Hitler. It didn't go to plan and the
members of this plot were executed in the courtyard of the building
that now holds the memorial centre. Was the being in my hotel room
one of the firing squad? Or perhaps the person who had ordered those
executions? Maybe the hotel now stands in the footprint of another
building that housed a military division and the spirit I was seeing
was linked to that?
Thankfully
it wasn't all bad. There was one presence that spent the weekend with
me, making sure that I was in the right places at the right times.
Were the people that apparently appeared out of nowhere to guide me
on to trains, help me when I became sick, and helped me around a city
that I felt like an alien in placed there by this being? Whatever it
was and wherever it was from, it was a constant source of comfort
during my two days in Berlin. After I'd dropped my package at the
arena, I decided to take a walk. Despite my tears, there was a
feeling of love and comfort that surrounded me. This was the complete
opposite of the darkened being in my hotel room. Whatever was with me
in those hours had the colour pink associated with it and was forever
at my right shoulder. I don't know what it was, nor where it came
from, but its presence was one that I was constantly thankful for.
