Blood, blood, and more blood. Nothing but blood. Where did all this come from? It’s all my fault. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream! Why can’t I wake up! There’s nothing to grab nothing to hold on to. WAKE UP! Why can’t I? I know I’m dreaming, no not dreaming I’m having a nightmare. Nightmare, that’s the word I’m looking for. That man is a nightmare. That man is in the house. I can hear him now coming up the stairs. Why did I answer the stupid phone? The children! Have to save the kids. Their paintings all along the walls, I could have saved them. Why can’t I move? He’s in the children’s room. I need to help them! Why am I hiding? I should be helping the children. NO! He’s dragging the boy from the room, into the blinding light of the hallway. What’s his name? Why can’t I do anything? Why can’t I think? Why can’t I stand? Stand! Scream! Distract him from his doings. Save him! Why can’t I stand? It’s so simple. Just move. Just go run and save him before… BOOM! No not again. Not another little body in this cramped little closet. Have to hide. Maybe under the other children? No I can’t do that. Here he comes, with a little boy in his arms. Blood dripping from his little head. With a bullet hole right above his eyebrows. Got to move away from the door. I hope he doesn’t see me. His shadow covers the light from the hallway. As I see the knob turn, every bone and muscle in my body shut down. I try to move. Not to scream. Not to even breathe. I hurry to hide, trying not to make a sound. As I skip over the young bodies lying on the floor of the closest, the door slowly opens. The light from the hallway starts to come in the closet. The metal hanger holding the large winter coat is my only way to stay hidden. As I finally get into the coat. The whole door opens, revealing the murderous man that ruined those poor little kid’s life and what’s left of mine. His muscular figure blocks most of the door. There was no way out. If he saw me there would be no hope of my life. I’m so scared. No not scared terrified. Just think a few hours ago we were all running in the pouring rain. Jumping in the mud puddles. Now all that’s left is a little girl who’s hiding who-knows-where, a puddle of blood, and a pile of bodies. This was just a babysitting job and now all of a sudden it is a horror film that I can’t get out of. He throws the helpless body into the closet, just as if it was trash. When he leaves to go find the last child alive, I slowly get out of my hiding place and go to the boy. He was still warm unlike the others who the man murdered a few hours ago. I cradle him in my arms. Even though I didn’t know them I still felt as if they were a part of me. And soon enough I might be where they are. No. I have to stay focused. I have to believe that I’m going to get out of here. Have to get out of here. Have to get out of here. Maybe even save the little girl. What were their names? Eliza. That’s her name. Who knows she may even is dead by now. No he would have thrown her in the crowded little room. With only one live body and the rest just lying there limp as a log. Somehow I have to remember something. It’s as though I lost my memory. That this horrible event just somehow erased all of my memory. What was even my name? Wait. I remember now. She’s in the kitchen. But that’s all the way across the whole house. How am I supposed to help her and still make it out alive? I look down at the little boy still warm in my arms. His eyes still wide open from the terror that man caused him before his demise. As I try to comprehend why I’m sitting in a closet full of bloody children, I here a scream and a crash. Then all of my senses came back to me. I had to do something, and I had to do it now. I try to get out of the closet, but every time I get close to the door, it’s as if they are calling to me. They want me to stay with them. As if they were still alive and afraid. Was it just me that was scared or was it their spirits calling to me from the under world. I heard running and more crashes down stairs. I knew that girl was a fighter. You could tell from her screams and crashes of breakable pieces as they fought to the death. I had to help her. She could only stand so much pain. It kind of depends on if he wants her for more than she is worth. If you don’t know what I mean, then I really don’t want to describe why he left the only girl last. The boys he just murdered for fun. The girl, well he will probably have fun, but hopefully Eliza won’t live past the first round of blows. CRASH! O boy, there goes the glass counter top in the living room. I can’t believe that I’m just sitting here while she is downstairs getting the life beaten out of her. I don’t care if the kid’s ghosts haunt me for leaving them. I have to save her. I slowly reach for the doorknob, and I hear her scream. Not the kind of scream that your scared of, the kind of scream from horror movies that indicate that the main character is going to die soon. That’s when I grabbed the door handle and about ripped the door from its hinges and screamed from the top of my lungs “YOU MISSED ONE D*****BAG!” Shoot, why not just cuss the guy out? He killed 4 innocent little children and was working on the fifth; no way was I going to be polite! As I strain my ears for even the slightest noise from the distance, I realized that I heard nothing. Not even the smallest whimper from the girl down stairs. If he killed her there was no stopping me from doing the same to him. Not even the cops could stop me! THE COPS! Why didn’t I think about that sooner?!? I ran to the nearest telephone line. Grabbed the receiver and ran. Ran down the stairs. Dialing 911 on the phone the whole way down. I ran through the kitchen and to the living room. Which wasn’t the smartest idea. There lying on the floor was the little girl that I was risking my life for, out cold. I could still see her little chest going up and down so I knew she was alive. I also knew he was there. Somewhere hiding in the shadows, just like he did when he first arrived. I braced myself so I was standing over Eliza, protecting her from any more harm, and so I could face my opponent head on. Then I realized I was no match for him. He was strong, ready for resisting victims. He had a gun on him. What was I thinking? I had to be strong. Do it for Eliza. Even if he kills me I still have to try. I yell, “Where are you? Show yourself!” I had to give myself some credits at how stable and strong my voice sounded. Sadly, I heard the all too familiar sound of the gun reloading. Then the most horrifying laugh I had ever heard came from the darkness below the staircase. Right then and there, my adrenaline kicked in and I sprinted straight for him. Somehow I knew exactly where he was. I pounded into him with a big explosion of power. No way he had seen that coming. I didn’t even realize what I did but milliseconds after the hit. Then I flew into action. Had to grab something. Something sharp. Take away his gun. Punch him will all you got. Anything that will go in my favor. I managed to get his gun far away from him. I wasn’t sure but I think I gave him a bad groin injury. I made a run for the gun, and sprawled to grab it. Surprisingly I still remember that from volleyball season last year. I hear him groan in pain. Good. He deserved it. He deserves to die, but I don’t think I can. I mean I’ve never shot anyone. I grasp the gun in my hand. Feeling how heavy it was. I place my pointer finger on the trigger. He looks up, staring straight into the barrel. “Shoot me,” he said; “I dare you!” all of a sudden my hand starts shaking. Wondering what to do. Do I pull the trigger? Or do I let the cops handle it? The cops aren’t here yet. They will be. Maybe if I just keep him here that he will stay down and the cops can handle it. No. He killed those little children. They were their parent’s angels. Now they are just angels. I had to kill this b******. I press the gun closer to his temple. My hand now confident on what it was doing. Any second now I was going to pull that trigger and all the pain and suffering was going to be over. Any second now. Why couldn’t I pull it? Something was stopping me. I couldn’t explain it. It was as if someone was holding my finger back. Then I heard the sirens. I guess he heard it to because he went crazy. Trying to get his gun back and kill me. That was when my finger grasped the trigger with all my might. The cops rushed in, without even yelling to come out with your hands up. Man, the movies never get anything right. There was blood everywhere. No way had he survived through the shot that I managed to get out of the barrel. Well at least he was gone, I was alive, and so was Eliza. As the paramedics take Eliza to the ambulance, I tell the police that they are upstairs. That he killed them, murdered them. It took several months till the crime investigators decided that I was telling the truth. Eliza back me up with the story of what happened. Yes, he did kill 4 little kids. Yes, I hid in a closet trying to stay alive. Yes, Eliza was the only one kid to survive. The newspapers were all over the story. They were like hungry wolves chasing a jackrabbit. The first thing I did when I got the newspaper that day was tear it apart. Just because I survived doesn’t mean that I have to relive it every time I look at the newspaper. Almost everyday I go and see Eliza at home. Her critical wounds are now only scars. Scars that wont go away for a while. Every now and then I wake up frightened that he was back. Last night, I woke up and something told me to turn on the TV. Call it intuition, or whatever you like, but what I saw was something that made me bawl my eyes out. On the news was a criminal, one who was believed dead. He had killed four boys and barely left the girl alive. He was found dead grasping onto Elizabeth Silvia’s bedroom window.
Children in the Attic
November 17, 2010