I stepped onto a field used long ago for blimp landings. The hard, untended, weed infested ground stretched out in front of me. The nearby lake lay flat and black. Cheerful yellow dandelion blooms, oddly out of place in that severe setting, peeked out from cracks and fissures in the bleak, stone stadium. The others on our tour group stood in a semi-circle around our guide and listened to his fact-filled talk.
I turned away from the guide see all that surrounded me. Even though I stood in the bright sunshine, I pulled my woolen shawl closer around my neck and jammed my gloved hands into my coat pockets. Cold rippled up from the ground. Suddenly, other people stood in front of me, clear, see-through people. Thousands of them occupied the same space, the same field, the same stadium, where I stood, but in another dimension, from another time. Were these see-through, non-people ghosts? Spirits?
The field filled with row upon row of male spirits, see-through men. My throat filled with the stale odor of male over-charged adrenalin surges. The non-people in the stands around the field screamed and shouted angry words I could not hear. Hate and loathing swirled around me like a poisonous vapor.
The non-people men on the field stood straight-backed and still. They stood at attention and did not look at me.
“I want to get out of here,” whispered a wiry, white haired lady in our tour group. “I’ve seen this place so many times in news reels.” She shook her head. “Even after all these years, this place is still teaming with evil.”
“You’re right,” I said. I turned away from the field and started toward our tour bus. “I’ve had enough of Hitler’s Nuremberg parade ground.”