There was a knock on the door. Or was it just tree limbs thudding against the eaves? Without getting out of bed to go see, the little boy lay frozen in fear, afraid to breathe, let alone risk the long, dark trek to the front door.

Heart pounding in sheer terror, he stayed still, letting the purr of his kitten soothe his nerves. Sammy was home alone, both parents at work and it was two o'clock in the morning. There were no close neighbors that would help either. There was no one. And he stared at the ceiling, as his kitten woke up and walked around his head, as if asking if it were time to play.

"Come here, Tommy, stay with me." The boy cajoled and stroked the kitten, as if it were the one that was afraid of the shadows moving around in the light of the summer moon.

His bed sat directly beneath the north window of his room. No headlights from cars could illuminate or intrude, but suddenly a beam flashed across the window and bug-eyed with disbelief, he knew that someone was there, and that they were up to no good.

Real fear gripped him now, and with tears clouding his vision, the ten year old stuffed his gray kitten beneath the covers and slid from the safety of his bed to the cold, alien floor.

The tiny feline hopped down and padded behind the boy, a tiny shadow following in the soft light that filtered through the open windows.

"Dang it, Tommy, you stay put.", the boy whispered to his cat, as he quickly put it in a closet.

He moved with ease now. His sense of survival kicked in and he darted from window to window, peeking quickly, searching for movement. As he neared the backdoor, he could hear a car running, its motor sputtering as if ready to stall. And voices too. Straining to hear, the boy crept slowly to the window sill.

"Goddamn, man, let's just bust the fuckin' door down." A figure neared the back of the house and the boy raced to the phone. The beep each number made as he pushed the buttons sounded like sirens in the still of the night and as his mother's cell phone rang, the boy was close to panic. He squeezed his eyes shut and balled up as small as he could, wishing with all his might, that he were invisible.

"Mommy, please answer!" He had to force himself not to scream the command, but as the phone rang and rang, he felt his bladder fill, and new fear grabbed him like a vise.

"Mom'meee, plueease, answer!" And the loud knocking hammered into his brain again, the sound like thunder, sending the boy from the still ringing phone in terror.

He darted back to the closet and grabbing the protesting Tommy, he flew to his bed and slid beneath it, getting as far back as he could. He clutched the kitten for dear life as the knocking grew more insistent. And he felt the wetness warm his pajamas as the door was kicked down.


"Hey, it's dark, man, where's the flashlight? Let's get this done." The leader of the group was confident that they were alone in the house and he donned latex gloves and began to fling cabinet and closet doors open.

"This place ain't got nothin' ... we're wastin' time here." A short, fat boy of indeterminate age sat down at the kitchen table and started to whine. From beneath his bed, Sammy sensed that he didn't want to be in this house. Hope that they would leave quickly almost made his head burst, he wished it so badly.

"We shouldn't be here, Dustin. Let's go." He got up and wandered off, into the depths of the dark house, his whining trailing off, and ignored. He didn't like Dustin much anymore. But having him for a friend was better than nothing.

"Well, there's a t.v. at least. Let's get it first, Jason. I think there's a VCR too." The two older boys yanked cords out of outlets and without hesitation, kicked the front door open and hoisted the electronics out to the waiting car.

The girl at the wheel of the old Honda grinned, smacking gum like a Harlem whore, her yellow hair a matted mess of dyed straw.

"Look'it, Brittany, this'll get us at least fifty. VCR will get twenty. That's gas and some smokes."

"Who lives here, ya know?"

"Nah. Who cares. They ain't here."

"Any clothes in there I could wear?" The girl was filthy and her jeans were filled with holes and snags. She smelled too and wanted to take a shower.

"Damn, we ain't got all night. I seen this woman. She's bigger'n you anyhow. And she'll get home from work perty soon too. We gotta go, Brit."

"Okay. Go get Fatass." She revved the car up in warning. The boys went back in for one more look see. They had other places to check out.

"Where's Kent?" Dustin moved deftly, and as his flashlight raped the sanctity of the home, he unwittingly turned it into nothing but a shell of a house.

"Hell's bell's, man, where is he? He was sitting at this stupid table."

"Hey, I don't like it, Dustin. Let's go. He's on his own, dude. I ain't kiddin'. We got enough for now. It ain't worth hangin' around." Dustin's friend had the heebie jeebies and took off for the old car.


"Hey, Kent, you here?" Dustin was beginning to worry. Kent was like a dog. Always one step behind the group, waiting. whining and being a pest. He really was gone. There was no one else in the house.

He checked the front closets again and found the guns. "How'd I miss these? Damn ... " He breathed deep with relief. These .12 gauges would fetch more than the junky television any day.

As he strode back to the door a sound stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Kent? That you?" He stood still, listening. He needed ammo in case it wasn't his friend. Quietly, he opened several drawers and sure enough, there were shells, ready and waiting.

"Kent, what'cha doin', man? We're leaving." He put a shell in the chamber and moved like a ghost to the bedrooms.



"I'm scared." The boy tried to speak through the hand clamped over his mouth. He had been discovered by the heavy-set boy, and now, they huddled in the farthest reaches of the walk-in, hoping for a chance to run.

"Shhhhh ... " Kent knew they were both in danger and he wanted desperately to be anywhere but here right now. Dustin was nuts and wouldn't want any witnesses to this crime. The fifteen year old held the little boy tight. This was not a game anymore.

"Be still." Sweat poured as the boys stood behind the old coveralls and barnclothes in the back of the walk-in closet. There was no way out. If Dustin found them; well, Kent didn't want to be found.

A faint creak told the hiding boys that evil had entered the room. The smell of terror filled the closet and death looked through its door.

The only witness ticked noisily on the wall, and in the heat of that long summer's night, the deafening blast of the gun sent an orange streak through the dark, as the pellets found their marks.