[piosenniel]

Child's post

Stoatie watched with mounting trepidation as the familiar images flickered in and out, first hazy and then distinct until they finally solidified before his eyes. This is a dream, he reminded himself. Only a dream. But he had a strange premonition that this dream was far more significant and concrete than any he'd ever had.

His stomach lurched as he glimpsed the features of the land and road spilling out in front of him. He tried to will his body to stand still to stop what was happening, but his efforts were powerless before the inexorable chain of events that was about to play out again.

Step by step, his feet carried him down the path that had been so much a part of his childhood. He could see the threadbare hut at the end of the track with its broken windows and rotting boards and a crooked door that was always hanging half off its hinges. There was an awful ruckus going on inside. Crashing and banging and the sounds of a woman desperately pleading for mercy.

Stoatie ran down the dirt pathway, fingering the hilt of the old stiletto dagger he'd found that he always kept hidden in a leather pouch deep within his pocket to shield his body from the evil monster who lurked inside the hut. He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. It seemed like an hour or two before he actually reached the door.

The bottom hinge cracked as the door pushed outward crashing down under the weight of the man who fell against it. Tall and bulky, his face a mask of rage, he ran out onto the grass still clenching an axe in his right hand, the edge of its blade tinted with red. The man wasn't looking where he was going and came barrelling into the boy, sending both of them sprawling onto the ground.

The two stood up and faced each other. "Git outta here, Richard. There's nothin' to go back to. Scram!" The man lifted the axe over the boy's small head and hesitated as if he wasn't sure whether or not he should bring it down and strike. Then, letting the wooden handle slip from his grasp, he thundered down the path and cut across the field vanishing into a thick wooded grove.

There were no sounds at all coming from the hut as Stoatie ran in through the door and flung himself at the foot of his mother's bed. The woman's body lay twisted and broken amid the bedclothes in a grotesque mockery of the human form; blood streamed down from a great gash at the base of her neck. Stoatie tried hard but could not stop the tears that cascaded down his dirty cheeks.

He leaned over and kissed her goodbye. His father had done it just like he'd warned the two of them a hundred times before. The boy berated himself. Why hadn't he been here with his dagger to protect against the beast? If he'd only had his weapon, this would never have happened to the one person whom he cared for.

Stoatie ran outside unable to stand the hut and its secrets any longer. He ran and ran until he threw his body onto a tiny hillock that faced towards the outside world. Rage and fear welled up in his heart. He pulled out the stiletto and stared at it. He was very conscious of what he was doing. He wished he had a cat or a rat, but there was no time to go looking for one of those. He crumpled his jacket up into a ball and drew his fist upwards with the blade still clenched in his hand. Then he brought it down. Once, twice, a whole sequence of sharp thrusts. Stoatie skewered his own jacket again and again as though it was a living thing he was intent on murdering. When he finally finished, he curled himself up into a hunched ball, his tears still coming in jagged gasps. Finally falling into a deeply troubled sleep, the young boy vowed that he would never stop skewering and killing until he managed to find his father and even the score.

[ July 19, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]