DisturbedBrad Boessen

So, by the time he got home it was way past midnight. Mum and I were in bed. Mum had turned off the Christmas lights. She couldn't sleep with them on because they would shine through her window. So the only light was from the street light at the end of the block. And I guess, in the darkness and having been drinking all night, dad had forgotten about the Santa manikin – and mistook it for a burglar or something because there was shouting out on the lawn...gunshots... broken glass. I ran to my parents room because I didn't know what was going on. But they weren't in bed and it was cold, like someone had left a window open so I looked and there was my mother. Lying in the middle of this blood and broken glass. She must have been at the window when...And I just stood there. I couldn't move. I couldn't say anything I was still half asleep. It was like a dream. Then I heard the front door open and footsteps coming up the stairs. I was terrified. I thought whoever was shouting out on the lawn was coming to get me now. But I couldn't hide. There was no place to hide. The only thing I could think of was to lay beside my mother and play dead. I thought, whoever it was wouldn't hurt me if he thought I was already dead. So when dad got to the doorway of the bedroom, he saw me and my mother and all the blood, he said...something. It didn't register at first. I was so scared and concentrating on not moving. Then he stumbled out the room and I heard him crying saying, no no no, over and over, no no. I recognised his voice. I knew it was dad. But before I could say anything there was another gunshot. And he wasn't crying any more.