"It started when I was about five years of age. It was late on a Saturday afternoon, the sun was very close to going down. The final rays of its radiance shined through the large bay windows in the kitchen. My mother and her boyfriend were there, yelling about something. I can not even remember the sound of their voices any more. I could not hear well from my spot on the stairs, as they were located three doors down from the entrance to the kitchen which had been closed by my mother in hopes of blocking out their rather loud argument, I was supposed to be asleep. As a result I only caught the occasional word or two, though I will not bother to repeat them.
I remember creeping closer to the door, trying desperately to figure out what had my mother so livid with Robert, which was her boyfriend's name. She was obviously the angrier of the two, though Robert was being louder. He was begging her to forgive him, saying that he would be able to fix it, make everything ok. He was lying. He was never able to make anything ok. But that is beside the point. I am fairly sure they were talking about Robert's unfortunate addiction to drugs. The hall was dark from the lack of windows and only a small patch of light lit up the floor from the crack under the kitchen door. I sat in front of the door, in this patch of light, for the duration of their fight, watching through the key hole. Eventually the yelling died down. My mother ended up in Roberts's arms, crying. He made soft shushing noises into her long blonde hair, causing it to ruffle up around his nose.
I decided it was safe by then to be with in the same vicinity as them. I turned the brass door handle with a small amount of difficulty, due to my small hands, and walked up to them. Neither one of them noticed me until I tugged slightly on the hem of my mothers dress. She turned startled at first, but her face softened when she saw me. Her large green eyes were rimmed red and a few tears still streaked her face. She always had been a crier. Her mouth twitched with the effort of a forced smile, but she quickly gave up on that idea and opted instead to pick me up and nuzzle her face into my hair. I always loved it when she did this. It made me feel safe, and warm. Robert put his arms around us in an attempt at comfort. We stayed like this for a long time, I am not sure how long, but my legs were asleep long before the time any of us moved.
My mother carried me to bed, Robert trailing behind like a lost puppy. I was tucked in amongst my toys; even then I had a thing for toys. My mother kissed me on the forehead and Robert ruffled my hair before turning the light off and closing the door.
That was the last good memory I would ever have with them. Latter that night I awoke to a crash in the kitchen and my mother yelling. Startled I got out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs. At first I thought that my mother and Robert were fighting again. But that possibility was erased and replaced by a much more frightening one very quickly.
I found Robert at the foot of the stairs, or rather what was left of him. His chest was littered with stab wounds, so much so that the flesh resembled that of ground beef, and the skin from his face was peeled off of the muscles and tossed carelessly on the rug by his corpse, tuffs of short brown hair also missing. A single brown eyeball stared at the tall ceiling with an unseeing gaze the other having been gouged out. The air smelled of the blood that had pooled under him, staining the white carpet a sickening scarlet, as well as his ripped blue shirt. It was around this time that I realized my mother was not yelling in anger but rather screaming in fear.
Stepping around the mangled remains of Robert I ran to kitchen, and froze in front of the open door when I got there. The moon light flowed through the windows illuminating the scene before me. I saw my mother kneeling on the floor facing the shape of a man who bent over her with his back to the doorway. His long sleeve black shirt with blue jeans and his mess of dark, and crazy black hair the only thing identifiable from my position no more than five feet away. She was crying again. The man had a gun and was swinging it around wildly along with his hands as though he were telling a story that he was extremely enthusiastic about relaying. Come to think of it maybe he was; that would be something he would do. My mother stared up at him with glazed over eyes, unblinking as she cried. I cried then too. The salty liquid slipping from my eyes unnoticed. Her eyes lowered from the man to look into the darkened doorway where I stood.
Our eyes connected, and for a split second her eyes widened, before she quickly glanced back up at the man. But a split second was all he needed. Halting his rant he started laughing. That laugh, I will never be able to forget that horrible cackle, masochistic and wild, a shinigamis laugh. Even just the memory of it makes me sick. He turned around, now facing away from her. I could now see his profile; he was young, no older than seventeen. He was smiling that insane, warped smile of his, where his head turns to one side while his lips curve up the opposite direction and his eyes widen to create a truly sadistic look. I stood frozen as we stared at each other for at least five minutes strait.
The only sounds coming from my mothers muffled sobs and our breathing. His eyes studied me with a frightening determination. They were red. As bright crimson red as the blood that still seeped from Roberts's body behind me in the hall, the same red liquid smudged on his cheek. Again he broke out laughing. My mother screamed for me to run as he lunged for me. I could not move I might as well have been glued to the spot. His long, white, bone like fingers closed around my forearms and pulled me swiftly into the large moon lit kitchen. He picked me up and sat me on the edge of our marble countertop, and held both hands up in front of me as if to say 'stay'. He turned back to my mother and started talking to her for a second time.
'So Lorraine,' he called her by her first name, I cared not how he knew it. 'How could you have forgotten to tell me that you have a child? You know, for some people that could be a major deal breaker!' He scolded her in a fake sweet voice. 'Lucky for you I love kids!' he screamed his sweet voice instantly forgotten, turned to what I assumed was his normal disturbing voice. 'I have actually been looking for a little bundle of joy for myself! And I think that little… err…what's his name?' he asked, leaning close to my mothers face as he noticed that he had yet to learn my name. She pulled back and shook her head no furiously. He growled and slapped her. I cried out with our meaning to, bringing his attention back to me. 'What's your name buddy?' he asked in the same manner of a creepy clown at the circus asking if you want a balloon. I trembled and opened my mouth but no sound came out. He turned and slapped my mother again before turning back to me expectantly. I pinched my eyes closed and tried desperately to speak my name. I barely managed to choke it out; terrified that he would strike my mother again. Her face was already turning a slight purple from multiple hits and slaps. He smiled that demonic smile and patted me on the head. Turning once again to my mother he continued talking.
'I like this one Lorraine! Here, I will give you a chance to save yourself! I don't do this very often so listen carefully! You give me little Nate, with no struggle, and I let you go! I promise to take very good care of him! As I said, I love children.' The last part sounded extremely creepy and caused my mothers eyes to widen considerably before she shook her head again much in the same way as before. The man sighed and shook his head as well, as though he was genuinely disappointed. His head shake turned into a nod as he laughed again. The sound echoed of the walls before being cut of. 'Unfortunately I thought that would be your answer. To bad, I kinda liked you Lorraine. Bye, bye. Goodnight.' He whispered the last part into her ear as he drew his gun up and shot her in the temple. She fell to the floor instantly, her blood had splattered his face. The metallic liquid poured out of her. I screamed at the top of my lungs and jumped down to the tile, stumbling as I landed. I lunged towards her, grabbing her body and hugging her, shaking her.
'Wake up!' I screamed over and over again. 'Please wake up!' I screamed until my throat was raw and I was forced to quiet to a whisper, but still I called and cried for her to wake up. The man just laughed behind me. For hours we sat there, me crying and begging, my mother bleeding and the man laughing. The sun had come up and was retreating down the sky again by the time I broke myself out of my cry filed daze. I looked up at the man, my eyes red rimmed and tired. 'Please' I begged him, 'make her wake up… she needs to wake up.' The man had stopped laughing but never lost his sadistic smile as he walked over and kneeled down next to me and my mother's stiff deceased corpse. He pried my mother from my grasp and pulled me into his lap. He quieted my cries and buried his face in my hair, just like my mother had done not twenty four hours earlier.
'Shhhh,' he comforted, 'its alright. I can't wake Lorraine up, no one can. She is going to sleep forever now.' He explained and I broke out crying again, this time I clung desperately to his shirt, sobbing into it, looking to him for comfort, the man that had killed my family."