Berlin was not where I had lived and died in the 1940s, yet it marked my first return to Germany since those days of devastation.
Among the books on my reading list focusing on World War II and postwar Germany is The Ghosts of Berlin by Brian Ladd, which examines the city's urban landscape through the lens of its dark and complex history. Engaging with this reading list—particularly beginning with The Berlin Wall by Frederick Taylor—has resurfaced memories of my brief time in Berlin, a city where history is etched into every street and structure.
As I prepared for my trip in February, I anticipated that, given Berlin’s intense and layered past, I would inevitably encounter remnants of that history in ways beyond the physical. Whether woven into the architecture, imprinted on the city’s atmosphere, or even manifesting through spectral encounters, I expected to cross paths with the lingering presence of its past while navigating its busy streets.
I never chose to be a spectral magnet—a reluctant host to uninvited ghostly couch surfers who have transformed my once seemingly normal life into an ongoing, surreal existence of relentless hauntings from beyond the grave.
“You will remember things,” one of the ghosts residing in my house said—or rather, impressed upon me in a way that bypassed spoken words entirely. Berlin was not where I had lived and died in the 1940s, yet it marked my first return to Germany since those days of devastation. “The ghosts will read your history,” he continued, his presence slicing through my thoughts like icicles piercing the folds of my brain. “They will want to show you things.”
I laughed nervously. “I’m sure you’ll all serve as beacons for others, waving your ethereal banners and announcing: Empath alert, empath alert! She was one of us and now she can communicate!”
Sarcasm is my default response to the paranormal—my attempt at grounding the unexplainable in something more manageable. Because, frankly, I never volunteered for these bizarre encounters. I never chose to be a spectral magnet—a reluctant host to uninvited ghostly couch surfers who have transformed my once seemingly normal life into an ongoing, surreal existence of relentless hauntings from beyond the grave.
From Spook Fest to WWII: The Slow Emergence of Truth
The film (trailer), Truly Madly Deeply. Hans is like Jamie and he’s invited some his pals over for years of movie viewing and furniture moving without my consent
I feel like Nina in Truly Madly Deeply, whose long-lost lover returns from the spirit realm, only to bring along an entourage of movie-obsessed, furniture-rearranging ghosts.
I had been going about my life blissfully, orbiting within my own little solar system, when Hans suddenly appeared in the summer of 2010. Like an uninvited couch surfer who proves impossible to evict, he became a permanent fixture in my life. He follows me everywhere (as spirit guides do), whether I want him to or not. At times, he is boisterous, but I have adjusted to the spook fest. In truth, he’s not particularly unsettling—or perhaps I’ve simply adapted to his party tricks.
But when the Fallschirmjäger appeared at the foot of my bed, fully materialized and glowing brighter than a nightlight on the early morning of D-Day, 2015, he did more than just intrude—he opened a portal. And now, it flashes a neon German sign in my direction: Sie kann uns hören! (She can hear us!). I sometimes wonder—whose World War II obsession is this anyway? I feel like Nina in in Truly Madly Deeply [1], whose long-lost lover returns from the spirit realm, only to bring along an entourage of movie-obsessed, furniture-rearranging ghosts. Except in my case, they aren’t cinephiles—they’re soldiers, historians, and restless remnants of a war that refuses to stay buried.
Fortress Berlin
Preview to Episode 6, Season 1, Fortress Berlin, Nazi Mega Weapons, PBS.
Before traveling to Germany, I immersed myself in the first season of Nazi Mega Weapons on PBS, unable to get enough of the sheer madness of this war. I was surprised to learn that one of the architectural structures featured in the series—the only partially surviving flak tower that once protected Hitler’s bunker—is located in Berlin. Today, the Führerbunker itself sits like an unmarked grave, buried beneath a parking lot, erased yet never truly absent.
"Will I have an encounter at the flak tower?" I asked Hans and the others as I fixated on the footage, studying every inch of the massive structure.
They remained suspiciously silent.
When I finally arrived in Berlin, I quickly learned what has become a recurring pattern since this whole ghost whispering ordeal began—I was wrong about where I would meet the city's invisible residents.
To be continued.
Notes
[1] There are so many synchronous films, such as this one, that continue to affirm my paranormal connection to Hans. Another one is The Ghost & Mrs. Muir, my all-time favorite paranormal romance film. Both of these films (and also Twilight--another favorite) I watched for the first time after Hans appeared in my life.
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