Subject:      JYM: The Film - not sex but horror.
From:         ABC@XYZ.COM (JYM)
Date:         1996/09/06
Message-Id:   <3230b5ac.15904895@news.interserv.com>
Organization: Not Organized
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories

                                        Comments to GJ@SPRYNET.COM

                                       The Film

                                       FICTION

   My grandfather died last year during my freshman year in college.
Mom called me to break the news.  She told me she was sending a plane
ticket so I could attend the funeral.  Then she surprised me when she
said, "Sara, you'll have to stay a day extra for the reading of the
will.  Dad specifically requested that you be there.  Mr. Long said
that Dad wanted you to do something for him."  I asked questions, but
mom didn't know any more than she'd already said.

   Afterward, I cried for an hour.  Grandpa and I had always been
close.  We lived nearby and I was always over there.  Grandma died
when I was little and I don't remember much about her other than what
Grandpa told me over the years.  I do know that he loved her very much
and cherished my mother, his only child.

   Grandpa was usually a cheerful person, but every once in a while,
maybe twice a year, he'd get in a mood that would last for a few days
or a week.  I never knew what caused these moods but I did know that
it had something to do with the war.  Grandpa was an officer in
Patton's 3rd Army and fought all the way from Normandy to Berlin.

   The funeral was solemn and depressing and I found myself wishing
that I had stayed at school.  Of course I immediately felt guilty
about feeling that way and that only made things worse.  Then came the
reading of the will.  The reference to me was short, but Mr. Long
insisted that everyone else leave before he read that part of the
will.  He said that grandpa had insisted that it be done that way.
When we were alone he read that section of grandpa's will to me after
cautioning that grandpa wanted it to remain secret.  He swore me to
silence before reading, "Sara, I leave you this film and ask that you
view it once before destroying it.  It will help you understand those
black moods that came upon me periodically over the years."  Then Mr.
Long handed me an old battered film cannister with a label written in
German.  He also gave me grandpa's old 16mm projector which he carried
down to the car for me.

   I watched the film that night and to this day I wish that I had
burned it first.  It will haunt me until the day I die.  The way it
haunted grandpa.  For a long time I cursed him for leaving it to me,
but I've come to understand that he had to share the knowledge with
someone.  Someone who would understand how it affected him.  Someone
who would understand why he fought that war and others that followed.

   The film was short, no more than 15 minutes in length.  A scratch,
black and white film shot by a German military (I assume) cameraman
during the war or shortly before.  It begins with a long shot of a
concentration camp.  An establishing shot I believe it's called.  Then
there is an abrupt switch to an indoor location.  An empty room.  Or
what appears to be an empty room.  The camera pans around and shows a
noose hanging from a rafter.  And a small stool postioned under the
noose.  After a few moments, the camera swings to focus on the door to
the room.

   A few moments pass and then a German officer enters the room.  He
is wearing the black uniform of the German SS.  I'd seen enough old
war movies to recognize that much.  A woman follows him into the room.
She is young, maybe 24 or 25, and very beautiful.  Dark hair and eyes,
smooth pale complexion, slender build.  She wears the Star of David
emblem signifying that she is Jewish.  She is accompanied by a small
child, a girl of no more than three or four years of age.

   The officer spreaks, but it is impossible to know what is being
said because there is no soundtrack.  The woman shakes her head.  The
officer draws his sidearm and points it at the little girl.  The woman
shields the child with her body and speaks at length.  The officer
shakes his head.  She pleads.  Finally, he nods in agreement.  The
woman stoops and kisses the child.  The officer turns toward the door
and a minute later a woman in civilan clothes appears and takes the
child.  The door closes.

   The young woman stares at the door for a moment.  The look on her
face is a mixture of relief, hope and terror.  She glances at the
officer who speaks briefly.  She nods and begins to remove her
clothes.  The camera lovingly follows every movement.  At this point I
realize that the film was meant to be the officer's souvenir.  When
the woman is finished undressing the officer gestures for her to turn
for the camera.  Her body is lovely.  Her breasts are full and firm,
her belly smooth and gently curved, her thighs long and firm, sleek
and smooth.  Her buttocks are tightly rounded and her legs are superb.

   I want to look away but I can't.  I watch as she climbs up onto the
stool and places the noose around her own neck.  She glances down at
the officer and speaks for a moment.  He nods and replies.  She seems
satisfied.  She glances at the camera and then reaches up to grasp the
rope with both hands.  She lifts herself off the stool.  The officer
removes it.  She hangs there, holding the rope in a tight grip.  Then,
gradually, her hands begin to slip.  The officer watches, smiling.

   After two or three minutes her strength is gone.  She releases the
rope and is left hanging by her neck.  Her body twists and turns as
she slowly strangles to death.  She loses control of her bladder and a
puddle forms beneath her.  After several horrible minutes it is over,
the woman is dead.  Her tongue protrudes horribly.  She is no longer
beautiful.  The film ends and my nightmares begin.

                                 The End.