Abacus

could to not make any noise as he watched the torchlight dance in the darkness. They both entered a small barn near the house and searched inside it. He could see the light coming through the gaps in the timber panelling, and heard them as they picked up timber packing boxes and threw them around. As they exited the barn, the silhouette of one of the killers holding a large kitchen knife chillingly shone onto the large entry doors.
    Next, they searched along a long line of disused farm machinery, which would eventually lead to his hiding place. He watched as old tractors and ploughs came to life from the darkness. “We know you’re here, you have nothing to worry about. Just come out, everything will be all right.”
    T he torch shone on a pile of hay bales. He froze. He was petrified. He knew his best hope was to remain totally still. He also knew that if they kept coming on that course, he would be found and killed. Just as they got within fifteen metres of him, they stopped. “Fuck, he could be long gone by now,” one called out, obviously frustrated.
    “We gotta get him , he’s a bloody witness, he saw our faces. We gotta kill him too.”
    “Well , we can’t stay here forever, someone might twig.” Randall was relieved to see them turn and walk back. “Hang on, look there. It’s a blood trail from his shoes, let’s follow it.”
    His relief turned to horror as he watched the murderers turn around and shine the torch on the marks on the ground. He thought about running, but he knew the noise would alert them, so he held his nerve and remained perfectly still. He watched as the torchlight darted from left to right on the sparse lawn towards him.
    Fearing the worst, he lost control of his bodily functions and urinated in his pants. The warm stream, which ran down his le g, almost felt comforting. The torchlight got to a point halfway between him and the house. “The trail is bloody fading,” one of them called out. Even though they had lost the trail, it still gave them a good indication of where he was. As they continued towards him, he could see the torchlight start to dim. “Fucking torch is out of juice. The little bastard is here somewhere.”
    With the torch light quickly extinguished, Randall could only hear their footsteps on the parched ground heading his way. Picking up a stone, he decided his only hope was to divert their attention. He hurled the stone back towards the darkness near the home. The stone made a ding as it hit some machinery, and caused them both to turn and run towards the noise.
    He lay there, prayi ng they would not return as they murmured in the darkness. Finally, a figure emerged from the darkness in the rear doorway of the house. He watched closely as a second figure appeared. Minutes later, he heard the sound of a car engine and they were gone.
    Even after the car had left, Randall remained under the small bush silently for the next thirty minutes . He held the trunk and rocked back and forth. “Mum’s not dead. They’re alive. Mum’s not dead. They’re alive. Mum’s not dead. They’re alive.”
    He eventually found the courage to move. He released his grip on the trunk of the bush. He had held on so tight, for so long, his hands were now cramped and sore. He extended and contracted his little fingers to try and get the blood flowing again. He crawled from under the bush and made the slow walk towards the house. His bare feet felt col d on the dry ground.
    He stopped just outside the back door and shut his eyes tight. He prayed it was all just a bad nightmare, and when he opened his eyes again things would return to normal. His mum would again tuck him into his cosy bed and kiss his forehead, followed by his dad who would read him a chapter or two until he fell asleep.
    He opened his eyes and walked to the back door. When he reached it he slowly pushed it open. It was quiet, eerily quiet. His hands shook and bottom lip trembled as he rounded the corner from the laundry and into the kitchen. His lifeless mother and father lay next to each other on the floor. Almost like they were sleeping together, only surrounded by a huge pool of rich blood. The sight was incomprehensible; like an out-of-body experience. He screamed loudly as grief and anger overcame him. Teary and crying, he knelt in the blood between the two bodies and rocked back and forth as he hugged them both. “Mum’s not dead, they’re alive. Mum’s not dead, they’re alive. Mum’s not dead,