It was a blustering autumn and I was seven. My Minnie Mouse schoolbag, filled with books on animals, chafed my shoulders and my skirt thrashed around my numb little legs.
With four older siblings waiting, ready to tease and bother me at home, the park was the best place to be alone, to be myself.
I knew all the shortcuts. Darting through the dinky hedges and rose bushes, I made my way to the riverbank where the grass was softest and you could hear no voices. The only sound to be heard was the faint rumble of the odd car high up on the bridge. I plonked myself down, near the waters edge, and curled my legs beneath me. My contented sigh accompanied the opening of my first book on that day's menu, 'Cats and Kittens'. I read until there were no books in my bag left to read. It was dark by that time, with winter getting closer and the days getting shorter. I lovingly packed away my books and stood up, just turning to go when I caught a flicker of something out of the corner of my eye. I turned to face the bridge; a young man was peering over the side of it, a man all in black; black hair, black clothes and black eyes.
I gasped as the man swung himself onto the flat ledge of the bridge, watched entranced as he stood up, froze when a gust of wind struck him and his arms flailed wildly.
The man shouted something in a triumphant voice. I felt confused and scared; what was he doing? Was the man crazy? I felt a sense of dread tugging in my stomach.
It began to rain hard. The raindrops pelted on my braided head, and the man lifted his arms to the heavens.
All at once, time seemed to stand still. I screamed "Don't!"; I was petrified!
In what seemed like slow motion, the man turned his empty eyes to me. My legs buckled; tears mingled with the rain on my cheeks. Then the man looked down, and leaned forward.
I shut my eyes tightly! There was a great splash and I peered through my fingers. Bubbles rose from the dark mercurial water in the middle of the river. I crept, reluctant and compelled at the same time, to the edge of the river where little waves lapped the rocky bank. I bit my lip until it ached; held, transfixed, at the edge of the river; inside I was screaming.
My breathing became ragged and fast, as a whiteness in the water drew closer to the surface. A young man's face came into focus, emerging from the shallow riverbed, followed by a badly torn body. The corpse floated for a while, the mouth wide, wide open, a gaping black hole that made a startling contrast to the moonlit white face.
Then the body drifted away and was gone. I didn't realise I had been running until I tripped on a root in the park. I got up and ran blindly, straight to the road that lead to my house. Branches whipped my face and I slipped on the wet leafy ground several times before I managed to get home… I sobbed all night, and didn't speak again for a month…
…With time on my side, I grew up. I finished school, managed to squeeze in a year of travelling before studying for my veterinary degree. It was on my OE, in Germany, that I met my wonderful future husband. We graduated, got married and after a year of our marital bliss welcomed our first of three children into the world.
I have tried to forget what I saw on that day.
They say that it takes seven minutes for the average body to fall asleep at night. It took years of parental patience, slow therapy and love for the shadow demons of the bridge and the hollow ebony eyes of the boy to fade from this in-between time. Gradually, that experience became just another muted memory.
But; sometimes, late at night, outside my bedroom window… when the moonlight flickers through the rustling leaves of our old oak tree, and shadows flit between worlds, I fancy I perceive the silent scream of the boy, eternal pain incarnate, carried in the howling wind.