I always was the least emotional child. Even as I sat there, listening to the sound of liquid dripping onto the floor, right in front of my safespace, I kept calm, and continued to breathe evenly, slowly, and quietly. I was quite certain that this was simply a scare tactic from the man, he was quite prominently known for his ability to intimidate those who opposed him. This lead me to believe that he actually had no idea where I was, and was merely walking around the house making these noises in order to flush me out. He never did know the area as well as I did.

I thought that my sister hadn't been home. That didn't appear to be the case, however, as I heard the slam of a door opening, and a girlish shriek. I had known this might be an eventuality, but I never assumed it would be her, I thought it might be my older brother, Michael. I was then shocked once more by something I hadn't thought of. The silence. There was not even a hint of the usual thuds of one of us being caught. All I could hear was the dripping, drip, drip, drip…

This didn't make sense, I could hear nothing, I could see nothing, that is, until the small snaps started. It was as if someone had decided to start breaking apart a carrot, and it simply made no sense to me at the time. I know now that there is only one thing that is both that loud when broken, and makes a sound like that. Human bones.

After this, I hear a grunt, as if a man were trying to throw a sack of potatoes, and then a thud directly in front of my cupboard door. In fact, whatever made an impact with the door was actually still in front of it. Making the chances of him searching there much less likely, due to the extra effort it would take to move it. There was a low wheezing sound in front of the door two, and I recognized the voice as my sister, as she tried to speak to me. All that came out was a myriad of moans, however.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the moans slowly faded, until they were no more. I heard next the sound of fabric dragging against the hard tile of the kitchen, and the pleading voice of Michael, our father seemed to be much more serious this time. I hear another thud, and Michael's voice stops.

My ears are then assaulted by the piercing sound of metal contacting metal. There are then slow, deliberate steps toward where the thud that cut off Michael's voice was. I then hear a series of two thuds. One above the ground by about two to three feet I would guess, and then another that sounded more ground level. I start to wonder when the supposed help my brother called would arrive, it was his job to reach the phone, after all. If he didn't reach the phone then this would all be for naught. He HAD to have gotten there.

My attention is brought back to reality with a clattering of two metallic objects on the floor. Followed by those same, slow thuds, this time moving away from me. I silently thank my sister for sitting in front of me, and hope that help arrives soon.

I accidentally sighed, and then hear a sharp turn in the footprints. He stands there for a moment, while I hope that he was unable to pinpoint the sound. He walks back over, and, luckily, starts opening cabinets on the opposite side of the room first, shouting all the while. With slam after slam he works his way towards me, until, when he is two doors down from me, sirens start heading our direction. The man starts cursing as there is much commotion outside, I hear him run towards our bathroom, and then I hear the quick flip of a container opening, followed by the clattering of knives dropping one by one, he then opened the trash, and dropped something in it. With one last thud, the door to the house is slammed shut, and he is gone.

Ten minutes later, the first sign of light in thirteen hours creeps into my eyes, blinding me. The rescue team had arrived. The comforting tones and hushed whispers were enough to finally let me fall asleep due to exhaustion. I never got to see what happened outside of that closet, I only ever heard. And from what has been described to me, I didn't want to.

Sincerely,

Nate William River