"Mom" My yet to mature image called out as I searched the halls. In such a big home it was hard not to be lonely. "Mom" I repeated louder. The floor creaked below my step, and the boards felt chilly against the pads of my feet. The air, always felt different in the dark, like it could swallow you whole. But I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid of anything.
"Dad" I raised my voice further, creeping towards the stairs. I sure sounded scared. I knew, oh god I knew deep down in my hidden and since aged brain that this was but a memory, a childhood nightmare that I followed like a blind man following screams.
I could see the faint light coming around the staircase. I expected both my parents to be sitting in the living room- where in fact the light was coming from- as they normally sat in there after I went to bed. But being nothing more than a child, I had a sort of anxiety about traveling without them by my side. With every step down the long, seemingly endless staircase the feeling grew, I was becoming nervous with each venture down.
Then I heard the loud comforting crisp of paper being rubbed against paper, a sound I was familiar with. My parents had always been avid readers and it seemed this trait was hereditary, though I struggled with names still, I was considered quite good for my age. I finally came to the end of the steps to find that around the corner, my suspicions had indeed been correct.
My mother and father were curled together on the corner of our rather large couch. They shared a copy of Dracula- a classic my father often said to be his favorite- with my mother leaning into him, her head resting on his shoulder at the perfect angle to see the book that lay slightly propped by his hand in his lap. My father had an arm curled around her waist, holding her close. Mom would turn the page for them, as my father always left it for her to do. He had told me once, that when they shared, he would always let her turn the page because he read at a slightly more brisk pace, as she liked to pay extra detail. He also said that when he finished, he would just live in the moment of being with her, having the woman he loved close to him, But that was a secret for just me and him.
My mom seemed to notice my presence almost immediately and with her calm tone that she seemed to always have she called "Jonathan, what are you doing out of bed?" She was smiling at me, her face completely at peace as she sat with my dad.
"I cant sleep, could I sit with you, for a while?" my small and obviously tired voice asked. I noticed as I spoke- though my dad kept his eyes glued to the page- My father smirked in a loving way.
Without a word my mother patted the empty spot next to her on the couch, beckoning me to it. I walked over and lied myself down on my side, with my head placed on a pillow on my mother lap. I felt the strong hand of my father squeeze my shoulder with affection.
I didn't sleep. Back then I had, but this was always the part my mind would realize this had happened before. All I could do was listen to the turning of the pages, to the soft breathing of my parents and wait for that something to happen. I not supposed to be afraid of anything, but though I didn't remember what was going to happen, I knew it terrified me.
Then it came, the loud slam of a door and the cracking of wood that made my heart stop. I felt my father push up off the couch and run for the doorway leading to the main hall-towards the racket- but he didn't get far. A man came around the corner and shot my dad in the leg. My mothers screech seemed to drown out my fathers cry in agony. He fell to his side , holding himself off the floor with his good leg and a hand, while he used his other hand to press down in the quickly bleeding wound.
I hadn't really noticed that my mother had pulled me to stand behind her among the fireplace that seat in the other end of the room from the two men. I could feel her need to go to my father radiate off her. Looking at his brave face, I felt my cowardly tears stream down my face.
My mother had taken up the fireplace poker and held it out in defense in front of us. She was stiff, but I felt numb, perhaps suffering from shock. "Get out of my house" she yelled, her calm loving tone gone from her voice, leaving a cold voice of what I would have an imagined a warriors to be much like. He looked in our direction for the first time with a sneer on his face. His hair was medium length and shiny brown, it appeared greasy and not well kept. He had a broad chin with patchy stubble sticking out in all directions. He was tall and well-built, dressed in ragged clothes. what scared me most about him was his eyes. Looking into his eyes I saw nothing more than wild amusement in the shades of dark blue. In response to my mother simply raised the gun to point at my father's head, speaking after a moment "I'm guessing you are the Morgenstern's?" When no response came his sneer simply grew. "Good, clients tend not to like it when I deal with the wrong people".
"What is this about?" My father asked the man through gritted teeth.
"You rich people aren't too patient! I'm here because you have made some investments that are causing a lot of the wrong people problems. You my very stupid friends, you made some very dangerous enemy's" there was a playful bitter sense to his words. He seemed to both envy us and find himself superior t to us in some way. But, he was the man holding a gun.
"And what have they planned to do about it?" My father challenged as he pushed to his feet in pain and met eyes with the man behind the weapon.
"They agreed that you and your wife are to die tonight, Mr. Morgenstern." He lowered the gun and shot my father in the chest. "And maybe I'll kill your son for the hell of it!" He said bluntly as my mom called out, sobbing as my father went limp on the floor that turned scarlet around him.
She raced forward as his back was turned and swung the poker towards his head, only to have him duck. He took hold of the stick and slammed the gun down on her forehead. She fell to the floor, and just as she landed he shot her, right between the eyes. There was no hesitation.
There was so much blood, I could practically taste the bitterness mixed with the salty taste of tears that had fallen from my eyes. My heart was clenched, my body shaking as loud sobs began to escape me. I knew this was the end, Knew I was about to die and I was terrified. I had always wondered whether god was real, but standing here feet away from the man who had moments ago massacred my parents before my eyes, as I watched him smile down on my mothers corpse, I knew there was a Satan.
"This has always been my favorite part of my job, admiring my work." he said cheerfully, almost like he was unaware how inappropriate a time it was to express joy. He walked towards me, crouching down to my height, taking great glee in my fear. "You know, Iv'e always liked kids. So delict, impressionable. Personally I like girls better, the way they scream and beg." He reeked of smoke and must.I found chills snaking down my back at th sight of his yellow teeth. His hand reached out and took hold of my shirt, shaking me violently. "I could kill you, But I don't think im going to. Growing up without parents can really fuck someone up in all the right ways, and after what you've seen it would be a miracle if anything else happened. You could turn out just like me." He let go of my shirt as he pushed me backwards, letting my back hit the brick of the fireplace. He reached out again, this time grabbing me by my blond curls. "Do you want to live?" he questioned.
"Please" I begged like the coward I was.
"Alright kid, I'll let you live, but don't ever tell anyone you saw me." He tugged roughly at my hair, "If the cops find me, your dead," his voice dropped to a whisper. Releasing me he smiled down on me and said "I'll Be watching" before knocking me out cold.