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They were abandoned and seeking revenge against their long departed parents. That is the only conclusion I can come to in reference to “The Children.” Sadly, I’ve had to suffer many trails to make this conclusion, and as I lie here with paper and pen, I can’t help writing down the memories of that gruesome massacre. The look on my dear Anne’s face, Johnny’s dying breaths, and Lindsey... Poor Lindsey. I must warn you, reader, there is no happy ending to this tale - not even my survival is a satisfying ending.
It began a few nights ago, when I was awoken by a sudden loud noise coming from the kitchen. I have a tendency to not fall back asleep for several hours once I’m awake, so I decided I might as well put whatever pot or pan that fell over back in its place. I gingerly got out of bed, making my lovely wife stir a little in her sleep. Our home was rather large, so I had to go down a somewhat narrow corridor and cross through the family room to get there. I flipped the light switch and easily spot the large, black pot we use for “stew night” on the floor, base up. I bent my knees to retrieve it when I heard a bizarre pitter-patter pat-pat.
Great! Now we have rats, I thought, oblivious to the events to come. I put the pot back its usual drawer and began to wonder how it had fallen in the first place. I concluded that either Lindsey or Johnny had left it on the counter by mistake. I glanced at the microwave to check the time and saw that it was on the earlier side of 12 AM. To be honest, it felt later into the morning than that, but I was never good at judging time. I decided to watch some television to pass the time, since I had to leave for work in a few hours. I headed back into the family room, switched on the light, and sat down on the couch. Just as I hit the cushion, I saw a shadow dash pass my peripheral vision. I hesitated before quickly aiming my head in that direction and seeing nothing. A sudden chill ran up my spine, making me shudder. "Had it always been so cold in here?," I asked myself as the moment passed by almost as quickly as it came.
I turned on the television and began watching the news; some fast-food joint was going bankrupt, gas prices higher, some international crap going on, etc. In other words, same as it had been for the past few years. I remember groaning in disappointment for the state of the world, but I digress. After about fifteen minutes, a story about some recent kidnappings around town. The police couldn’t find any leads on where the children are, nor had the families received calls asking for a ransom, which was not typical in these cases. I can’t remember if what happened next was pure paranoia, created by The Children, or a mixture of both but I suddenly heard a loud thump nearby. I jerked my head in that direction and grabbed the remote to use as a weapon, but whatever may have been there was gone, leaving my heart pounding.
I decided to check on the kids and left the remote controller behind, because what the hell is that gonna do? Jonny, my eight year old son, was in the bedroom closest to the family room, so it was logical that I checked there first. I slowly approached my son's bedroom door, feeling another wave of chilly air as I came closer- why was it so cold?! I grasped the knob with a sweaty palm and opened the door slowly, peaking in to see my innocent child sleeping soundly. I heaved a sigh of relief, closed the door quietly, and headed towards Lindsey's room feeling confident in my children's safety- I hadn't even noticed that the door was already slightly ajar when I snuck my head in.
Alas, I must end my entry shorter than I wish; I sense them drawing closer as my candlelight fades. If I am able to escape with my life, I shall continue my tale of woe.
- Richard X. Ferdinand