I stand before the rotten door of the barracks. It smells like death.

Somehow, I’ve managed to search the whole camp, escaping the attention of every Nazi guard. My luck seems impossible. Maybe it’s because I’m from the future- 70 years in the future.

This is the last place. She must be here. I open the door; it creaks painfully with a chorus of ungodly moaning, groaning, and pleading. “Close the door... it’s cold...” The smell of death is overpowering: decaying flesh, broken dreams.

“Where is Anne?”

Deafening silence. Flesh, bones. I can’t tell where one body ends and another begins. It’s as if they are already in a mass grave. Sunken eyes, all on me. I fight the urge to cry.

A small voice finally replies. Weakly. “Here.”

I spot her in the twisted, emaciated heap. Anne Frank. My tears stream. She is bald, pale, and hollow... unrecognizable. Almost. Her eyes... they contain a faint glimmer of her former spirit.

“I haven’t heard that name... my name... since Margot died.”

“When did she...?” I manage through tears.

‘I... I don’t know. Time passes differently here.” Her eyes settle on me. “Am I dying...?”

“...Yes.”

“Are you an angel?”

“No.” I take her frail hand. “Your father, Pim- he’s alive. Auschwitz was liberated in January. It’s March now, and he’s recovering. The war is almost over. In just three weeks, Bergen-Belsen will be liberated too. You must fight, Anne.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I’m- I’m from the future. I know it sounds crazy, but I am. You have to remember- the happiness in your heart can only be dimmed, Anne. It will always be there as long as you live, to make you happy again.”

“That’s... from my diary. How do you...?”

“Look.” I pull her published diary from my coat pocket.

She stares at it in amazement and confusion.

“Miep found it. When Pim returns, he’s going to publish it, just like you wanted. It turns out people are interested in the musings of a teenage girl- the whole world, actually. You are a good writer. A great writer. I want to help you survive.”

She smiles.

Hope.