[The End of Osamu Ashikaga]: The Devil in the Shadow

Every single prisoner in the Steplag was summoned to stand before the camp administrators and their legion of armed guards. Osamu and Taeko had experienced the miserable swelter of the Kazakh summer, but this memory brought them into the chill of the late winter. The barren, Kazakh steppes were coated in a thinning layer of thawing snow. The air was so cold that just breathing it in dried everyone’s throats and sinuses.

Every breath exhaled became a visible vapor in the sun rose over the eastern horizon. Osamu and Taeko stood alongside the camp administrator, who kept warm with his black, leather gloves, and lambswool jacket. It was rare for all the prisoners to be assembled in one place, so everyone knew that the administrator must’ve had something of great importance to say.

The wind tugged at the administrator’s coattails as he stepped forward with his hands behind his back. “The Soviet Union has suffered a tremendous loss. The premier, Joseph Stalin, has passed away.”

A wave of shock splashed the prisoners. Their brows shot up in surprise and their lips parted slightly open. They all exchanged shocked glances and breathy whispers before being silenced by the administrator.

“Stalin had just died?” Taeko asked. “That puts us at March, 1953. We’ve moved forward by nine years. That boy ought to be eighteen years old now.”

“In remembrance of our great leader, we shall have ten minutes of silence.” the administrator said. “I will speak once the time is up. Until then, all of you are to remain quiet.”

The prisoners did as they were told and stood silent in the Kazakh cold, but there was no denying the quiet excitement and relief that washed over them all. To them, Stalin’s death meant the pillager of their home countries and the autocrat of the Soviet Union was finally dead. It was like the end of a long, blood nightmare.

Stalin’s death also brought the prisoners what they had been starved of, both by their treatment at the hands of the guards and by the teachings of Sommerism; hope. All of a sudden, there was hope that they could be released and returned to their families. There was hope the gulag system could end, that the guards that abused and killed prisoners in cold blood might be faced with judicial reviews and brought to justice.

After the ten minutes of silence, Johan met with his son later that day at the top of the quarry, their usual spot. In nine years, the quarry had both deepened and widened to twice the says it was before. The copper mines had been expanded, and many of the housing projects for nearby villages and cities had been completed. The camp had access to a railroad and could transport people and supplies via cargo train.

The view from the top of the quarry wasn’t as barren and empty as it once was, and it wall thanks to a decade of back-breaking work from the prisoners. Johan had grown his black hair down to his upper back, but he kept it tied into a pony tail. His son had grown into a lean, 5’11’’ man. He kept his shoulder-length, blonde hair swept back, with just a few, stray strands dangling in front of his pale face.

“Our allies in the government saw Stalin’s death coming.” Johan said. “They said his condition was worsening in the last few days of his life and it didn’t look like he’d recover. They also informed me that, in the event of his death, they would move to get you out of here faster. They want to capitalize on his passing and use the anti-communist momentum to their advantage.”

“So the time has almost come.” The young man said, his voice deep but soft. “But what will happen to this place and the vampires living here?”

“That’s of no concern to them.” Johan answered.

“Then they’re shortsighted.” The young man said. He extended his thumbs and index fingers, holding his left hand out like a finger gun and flipping his right hand so the palm faced away from him. His right thumb met with his left index finger, and his left thumb with his right index finger, forming a rectangular picture frame.

The young man smiled as he fit the distant camp into his finger frame, as though he were taking its photograph. “The way I see it, this place is a powder keg just waiting to blow. Stalin’s death is the spark and all the prisoners are the gunpowder. If we do nothing, even the vampires might get involved.”

“What is it that you think is going to happen?” Johan asked.

The young man relaxed his hands, putting them behind his back as he looked on at the camp with his ocean-blue eyes. “Nothing yet. How long do you reckon it will take to get me out of here?”

“They intend to send you to Hungary first. They’ll need time to prepare everything for you, but I imagine they’ll be ready to proceed with the plan by summer of next year.”

“I see. Just one year left…”

Soon after the announcement of Stalin’s death, the prisoners were gathered outside again in the middle of the night. The administrator held an unfolded letter in front of his face, re-reading the contents the letter to himself before turning his gaze to the sea of prisoners before him. Electric lanterns hung on wooden posts all across the camp shined like amber stars in the darkness, elongating the shadows of the prisoners towards the guards and administrator.

“We have news from the government.” The administrator said. “In the wake of Stalin’s passing, there will be some changes to the gulag system. First and foremost, prisoners serving short-term sentences or who are imprisoned for non-political crimes shall be released. However, those convicted of political crimes shall remain imprisoned for the rest of their sentences.”

Just like that, the optimism the prisoners felt upon hearing of Stalin’s death was destroyed. Discontent and shocked heartbreak soured everyone’s expressions. The faint glimmer of light in their eyes was swallowed by a pitch-black abyss of misery and dejection. It was like they had all died on their feet with their eyes wide open.

“I expected to see more celebration…” Taeko said.

“Most of the people imprisoned in Kengir were here for political crimes.” Osamu said, his hands in his pockets. “The government’s amnesty didn’t apply to them. This announcement was just a spit in the face.”

“Did the Shoku Twins show you what happened here too?” Taeko asked.

“Let’s keep moving.” Osamu said.

The young man stood outside of the human orphanage, watching from the barred windows as Johan read his picture books to the boys and girls sitting in a circle around him. He saw the smiles on the children’s faces as they eagerly shot their hands up into the air to answer Johan’s questions. The vampires’ adherence to Sommerism meant that new vampire children were born in the camp in the past nine years. All the children who grew up there were all in their late teens and aged out of the orphanage. They were all put to work just like the other men and women of the camp.

The young man’s face brightened with a smile as he watched the children learn with Johan, but he soon found himself staring back at his own reflection in the glass. His smile wilted and his eyes darkened before he turned his gaze away from himself. Turning around, he spotted another young man around his age dragging his feet across the camp grounds, his head bowed and his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Marko!”

Marko raised his head and spotted the blonde, young man calling out to him. He forced a smile on his face and waved back. “Hey. How are you today?”

“How am I?” the blonde man scoffed. “You’re the one with the long face. What’s on your mind?”

Marko swept his hand through his long, black, curly hair. “Oh…it’s nothing.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar, Marko. Here, let’s talk about it in the shade.”

Since the vampiric orphanage was empty, it became the perfect place to have a chat where the guards wouldn’t overhear them. Marko and the blonde man stood with their backs along the orphanage’s side wall, the length of roof overhead giving them some shade from the sun.

“So? What’s bothering you?”

“I…have a crush on this girl. Ionna.”

“Yeah that’s not surprising.”

“You knew?”

“Every time we pass the girls on our way back from our shift, you always turn your head to look for her. Whenever she looked back, you’d suddenly look away. I stand right behind you, so of course I’d notice.”

“You’re way too keen…”

“Have you told her yet?”

“I don’t really have the courage to. I mean, she’s one of the cutest girls here. Anyone would jump at the chance to get her. I don’t match up to half the guys here. I’ve never been particularly strong. I’ve still got a boyish figure. I just don’t see myself having any chance with Ionna.”

The blonde man looked on at the watch towers and barbed wire lining the horizon. “What have any of us really got to lose? Most of us won’t ever know freedom again. That’s especially the case for us vampires. If we’re to follow Johan’s teachings, then our generation will be the last of our race. After that, we’ll just quietly go extinct.

“When it’s your time to grow old and die, what will you regret most? The fact that you loved Ionna, or the fact that you didn’t tell her how you felt?”

“But what if I get rejected?”

“And what if you don’t get rejected? You can’t psyche yourself out before you’ve even made a move. How is she supposed to know you feel anything if you can’t communicate with her? Besides, persistence can be charming sometimes. It shows that you’re genuinely interested in the person.”

Marko chuckled softly to himself. “Isn’t love forbidden in Sommerism anyway?”

“Oh, come on. Sommerism is a philosophy, not a religion. And besides, Johan has never said that vampires can’t fall in love with each other. What he said was that bringing children into this world is immoral and goes against the goal of peaceful annihilation. I think Johan would agree if I said that a life without love is no different from death.”

“Okay…” Marko sighed. “What should I do then? Got any tips? Should I maybe write a letter? Oh my god, my hands are tingling just thinking about it!”

“Hey, deep breaths, Marko! Listen to me, buddy. Everyday, we wake up and take our daily bread and beatings. Everyday, we wake up and mine for these people, cut their wood, and build their apartments. That is infinitely more horrifying than telling a girl you like her, but we get up and do it anyway, right? If you’re brave enough to survive this place, you’ve already got what it takes to confess.”

“You really think so?”

The blonde man nodded and smiled. “I do! How about this? When we pass by the girls today, look for her like you always do. Tell her your name and that you love her. It’ll be intense, but it’ll be quick too.”

Marko stood up and slapped his face with both hands. “Okay. I can do this! I can do this, right?”

“Don’t even ask me! You’ve got to know that you can! I’ll be right behind you when it happens, Marko.”

Marko nodded as his expression brightened. “Thank you so much. I guess we’ll see what happens. Hey, now that I think about it, I never learned your name. Why haven’t you told me? I mean, I know the guards want us to use our numbers and all, but…”

“I don’t have a name. I was never given one.”

“Really? But…everyone should have a name. Otherwise, what do I call you?”

“You don’t have to call me anything. More importantly, you should be working up the courage to tell Ionna you have the hots for her.”

“Why’d you have to say it like that! I feel all nervous again!”

The blonde man laughed. “I’m sorry! Forget I said that!”

The memories flashed forward to when the moment came for Marko to confess. The Kazakh sun wasn’t nearly as oppressive as it was in the summer. The early spring air offered a cool, relieving breeze while the sun gave off just enough warmth to keep the prisoners comfortable as they marched through the steppes.

The men were coming back from a mining trip with dirt stuck to their faces and sediment lodged beneath their fingernails, escorted by four armed guards. The blonde man nudged Marko’s shoulder as the women turned the corner and walked in the opposite direction to the men. They’d soon come within talking distance of each other.

“Marko! It’s time! I’m right behind you, man!”

“Okay…” Marko sighed. “I’ve got this!”

Marko looked out for Ionna, a Ukranian vampire with long, brown, wavy hair that stretched down to the middle of her back. She had perfectly even bangs cut just above her eyebrows and green eyes that shined like an aurora borealis.

Once he saw her, he waved and shouted. “Ionna! My name is Marko! I wanted to tell you I love you!”

Ionna was completely taken by surprise. Her face turned beet-red as she locked eyes with Marko, seeing his goofy smile and bright expression. For some reason, as stupid as Marko might have looked in that moment, she found his confession to be rather cute and genuine. As they passed by each other, she turned around and maintained eye contact him.

“No talking!” one of the guards hollered.

“Marko! I’ll remember your name and write to you!” Ionna said.

Marko couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He couldn’t even blink or say anything back. Following the blonde man’s advice had actually paid off exactly as he hoped. At the very least, Ionna was interested in hearing from him again.

Marko turned to face the blonde man. “Did you hear that? Did you actually hear that?”

“I did! Good job, buddy!”

“I said no talking!” another guard shouted before loud pops ripped through the air. The prisoners all dropped to the ground and covered their heads as the guards suddenly fired upon them. The blonde man closed his eyes and covered his head with his hands as the prisoners around him screamed in terror. Marko’s elation had suddenly gone silent. He wasn’t screaming either.

When the gunfire stopped, the blonde man opened his eyes to find Marko lying before him with his eyes stuck open and blood spurting from his mouth. Marko’s eyes and lips twitched as his body rattled. It sounded as though he was trying to speak, but the blood filling his lungs choked him into silence. He bled through his dirty prisoner jacket, staining the Kazakh soil at his back.

The blonde man looked around and saw some of the girls had been shot as well, including Ionna, who lied face-down on the ground with a bullet hole in the left side of her neck. The guards kept their guns trained on the prisoners as they lied on the ground, scared for their lives.

“No fucking talking! This is what happens when you don’t listen! Morons!” one of the guards raged, kicking Marko’s corpse. “Fuck! God fucking damn it!”

The guard grabbed the blonde man by his collar and pulled him back onto his feet. “You! Come with us. You’ll bury them.”

After the horrific incident, Osamu and Taeko found themselves standing in front of seven, shallow graves the blonde man dug all by himself. The sunset coated the Kazakh steppes in a veil of orange light, elongating the shadows of dry brush and rocks across the cracked ground. Three armed guards stood behind the blonde man as he dragged each body into its respective grave. The final two to be put in their resting places were Ionna and Marko, two vampires never given the chance to love.

The camp administrator hopped out of the truck parked behind the guards, the wind tugging at his leather coat. He pulled his pistol from his holster and aimed it at the blonde boy’s head.

“You should’ve dug eight graves.” The administrator said. “Marko was a timid boy. He could hardly sleep in the dark. He wouldn’t even kill a fly. And yet, after he talked to you today, he suddenly found the courage to confess. It’s a shame. He and Ionna were both so young.”

The blonde boy looked upon the dead faces of Ionna and Marko, their pale skin and the dried blood around their mouths. He didn’t put his hands up or beg for mercy. He didn’t apologize or kneel in supplication. He smiled.

“Indeed. It is a great shame. The thing about Marko is that he was incredibly good-natured…and trusting. His insecurities about himself led him to rely on others for leadership and direction. When I saw him this morning, I couldn’t help but call out to him.”

“You bastard.”

“All I did was encourage him to admit his true feelings. The rest was because your men were all too eager to kill someone today. Are you going to shoot me? I’m sure that would look quite good on your report, wouldn’t it? You could frame this incident as a group of insubordinate prisoners trying to exchange messages with each other, an especially legitimate concern given Ionna’s ties with members of the Organization of Ukranian Nationalists.

“Stop talking.” the administrator demanded.

The blonde boy turned his head, revealing the gentle smile on his pale face. “But the big question is why were your men so eager to shoot? Why take the lives of five women and two men for something as benign as talking? Madness betrays desperation and desperation betrays fear. Stalin is dead, collective leadership has been restored, and the gulag system is becoming increasingly more lenient. The people in charge now don’t share Stalin’s repressive attitudes, at least not to the extent he displayed them.

“The government no longer sees a reason to have such high security around their labor camps. And so, you and your men find yourselves at risk of losing your positions and salaries. But if you can prove to them the Steplag is still in need of your leadership, you can maintain your standing and make more money that way. You and your men need the prisoners to act out so you can respond in force. Now you have seven, fresh bodies to prove your case, one of them being directly associated with the Ukranian Nationalists. The way I see it, I’ve created quite an opportunity for you.”

“And why would you do that for us?”

“Nationalism is the natural enemy of Sommerism. My people wish to live here in peace until we naturally die out. I don’t think the Ukranian Nationalists in the camp feel the same after you spat in their faces with that farcical amnesty announcement. It’s mutually beneficial if we work together. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The administrator locked eyes with the blonde man, glaring at him like a lion eyeing down a gazelle. The blonde man’s tranquility and total lack of fear was almost unsettling. He was unarmed and completely at the mercy of the armed guards before him, and yet he felt invincible. The administrator and his men couldn’t deny that he was right about everything he said, that their power over the camp was diminishing.

Beaten by the blonde man, the administrator holstered his pistol. “Cover the bodies then return to camp. If you see or hear anything about the other Ukranian Nationalists, report it to me right away.”

The blonde man grabbed his shovel and resumed his work. “Of course. We have ourselves a deal, sir.”

Taeko watched the ordeal with disgust, her brows arched downward. “He’s a lot like you, Osamu. You’re both able to kill off your friends just to further your own goals. Under different circumstances, I’m sure you two could’ve been besties.”

Over the course of a year, the senseless violence against the prisoners only got worse. The administrators had their own lists of potentially dangerous, Ukranian Nationalists. Every list that was compiled was handed over to the blonde man, who would then work behind the scenes to provoke incidents like the one that killed Marko and Ionna.

As the beatings and shootings went on, the guards would bypass the blonde man completely. They would throw a pack of cigarettes on the ground, order a prisoner to pick it up, and then shoot them the moment they had their back turned. Just as the nameless, blonde man had predicted, the Steplag was a powder keg waiting to blow, and unbeknownst to his fellow prisoners, he was the one putting spark to gunpowder.

Osamu and Taeko watched countless incidents unfold, each one enabled by the blonde man’s rapport with his fellow prisoners. Handsome, charismatic, and soft-spoken, people were drawn to him. When he spoke, they listened, and he always knew what to say to each person to compel them to act in the way he wanted. He brought out the best in people, often giving them the courage to act without realizing the possible consequences.

By 1954, tensions between the prisoners and the guards rose to unseen heights. The killings were no longer driving fear into the people’s hearts. It was emboldening them to act. All too familiar with running rebellions, the former members of the Organization of Ukranian Nationalists began meeting in secret during the night. Each day that passed, they were slowly putting the pieces together to organize and mobilize their fellow prisoners.

Killings and beatings were responded to with worker strikes and mass disobedience, forcing the camp administration to come to the negotiating table. The prisoners accepted that freedom was out of the question, but if they couldn’t be free, they at least wanted to live in humane conditions.

They wanted for the bars to be removed from windows, for the prisoners to be fed properly, for people to be allowed to use their names rather than their jacket numbers. They wanted the wall diving the males and females to be torn down, so that girlfriends may be reunited with their boyfriends, wives with their husbands, and mothers with their sons.

The administration accepted these requests on the condition the prison population would resume their work. An agreement was made, and it seemed that life for the people in the Steplag would improve drastically. But after the people finished their work day, the camp administration made an announcement. 

The barred windows would remain in place. The food would remain the same. No one was allowed to use their names, and the wall separating the men from the women would stay exactly where it was.

Spat in the face, beaten, and abused for far too long, the prisoners had enough. The dialogue amongst the people shifted from talks of strikes and walk-outs to bolder, much more drastic plans. They were going to stage a rebellion and take control of the Steplag.

The memories brought Osamu and Taeko outside the camp perimeter in the middle of the night, a pale, crescent moon hanging high in the raven sky. Two guards escorted the blonde man out to the middle of the Kazakh steppes, where Johan and the camp administrator waited for him amidst dry grass and broken rock. The blonde man walked with his head high and his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed upon the barren expanse of dry, flat land to his right.

“The boy wonder is here at last.” the administrator said.

The blonde man stood more than ten feet away from Johan and the administrator, the night breeze combing through the coat of dead grass at their feet.

“Interesting place to hold a meeting.” the blonde man said.

“I’ve been a soldier long enough to know that when negotiations go silent, conflict is imminent.” the administrator said. “Have you heard anything from the prisoners?”

“I’ve had my ear to every wall, yet I’ve heard just about as much as you have.” the blonde man answered.

“My instincts are telling me to prepare for a revolt, but we also run the risk of inciting a rebellion if we prematurely tighten security around the camp.” The administrator explained, placing a cigar between his lips. “I need to know exactly what’s going on before I make a move. It’s already apparent the prisoners have some sort of organization among them. It’s how they’ve been able to pull off the strikes and walk-outs. I just need to know who’s running the show.”

“If there is a rebellion in the works, we need to be sure no vampires are involved.” Johan said. “With enough incitement, I fear that even our race will strike back against the guards.”

The blonde boy smiled as he turned towards the expanse of grass to his right. He took slow, deliberate steps onto the grass with his eyes closed and the breeze combing through his long, unbound hair. “I don’t see the point in continuing this charade. If there is a rebellion brewing, then it’s already too late to stop it.”

“I’m not asking for your help. I’m ordering it.” The administrator growled.

“You’re such a fool.” the blonde boy hissed, turning his had to glare at the administrator. “Since the beginning, this has been all about keeping appearances. You wanted to make it appear as though you were still needed when Stalin died. Now you want it to look like you have control over what’s coming next.”

“Stop!” Johan shouted. “That’s an active minefield!”

The guards turned their rifles on the blonde boy as he had his back turned to them. Despite Johan’s warning, he kept his eyes closed and continued walking. “Funny, isn’t it? With all your men, money, and guns, you can’t do anything to save your imprisoned soul. You’re bound by your own desire for power.”

“Stop where you are right now!” one of the guards screamed, his finger mere centimeters from the trigger of his rifle.

“People who chase after their attachments can never be free.” the blonde man said, the swaying blades of grass revealing the POMZ anti-personnel mines scattered all around his wandering feet. “The freest people are those who close their eyes and let fate guide their next step. Will it be another step closer to freedom? Or will it guide us ever closer to destruction? We chase nothing. We simply move forward, free to turn in any direction we like.”

The blonde man lifted his foot, his next step bound to land on one of the mines. He suddenly stopped as the wind changed direction and blasted against his chest. He took it as fate’s sign to stay where he is. He put his foot back down and opened his eyes, seeing how close he was to blowing himself up.

He turned and smiled at Johan and the guards. “No slave can ever threaten a free man. We have no attachments, and thus we have nothing to lose. So what will you do now that I refuse to help you?”

“I ought to throw you in solitary confinement! We’ll see how long you last in there before you feel like talking again.” the administrator barked.

“Well then?” The blonde man said, extending his wrists towards the guards. “Who will come to arrest me?”

Not a soul stepped into the minefield with the blonde man. No one dared to test their own luck against him. It only proved the blonde man’s point. Nothing could imprison him. Not the Steplag’s watchtowers, nor its barbed wire fences. Not its armed guards and solitary cells. Not the beatings, the blood, or the bullets.

Johan’s expression in that moment caught Taeko’s attention. When Taeko’s eyes were glued to him, Osamu noticed and stared in the same direction. All the light and life behind Johan’s eyes, what little of it was left by that point, had died. The full moon casted deep shadows on Johan’s pale face. In that moment, it finally occurred to Johan that he had made a terrible mistake in conceiving his son, for the polite, quiet boy had turned into the perfect devil

The blonde man’s elongated shadow stretched down the minefield and swallowed Johan whole, drowning him in its darkness. Soon, that devil and his shadow would consume the Steplag and its people, then be released into the world.