It was dark in the wardrobe, and I huddled back as far as I could into the piles of old clothing.ÌýIt smelled of damp and mothballs and I choked on my own breath, trying to silence the sound and swallow it back down.ÌýThe air felt hot and damp and I shuddered as a bead of sweat trickled down my side from under my armpit.ÌýI could smell my own fear and felt nauseous as I thought of the moment earlier when I had first seen the knife.ÌýIt was the kind of knife that wouldn't have looked out of place in a horror film.Ìý The light from the lamp next to the television had glinted off the ugly serrated blade as they had pressed it to the soft, compliant flesh of my neck. Emotion caused my head to swim, and I imagined my poor mother's face when she was told the news. I was her only child, her baby, surely this couldn't be true!ÌýThe loud tick-tocking of a clock somewhere in the room pulled me back into reality, mirroring the pounding of my heart, which felt as though it was about to break through my chest at any moment.ÌýTaking stock of the situation I knew that if I was to get out of here I needed to keep my head in the here and now, not in some self pitying fantasy. A shadow passed in front of the louvered wardrobe door and I suddenly became very aware of his presence in the room.ÌýI peered out cautiously between the slats.ÌýHe had no idea I was there.ÌýI breathed a quiet sigh of relief, thinking that there might be some possibility I could wait until he had gone, and sneak out undiscovered.ÌýI'm not a gambler by nature but I knew the odds of this happening were very short indeed.Ìý I started to get up, slowly, my legs shaking like those of a new born foal. I took another look and glimpsed him again.ÌýHe had always been weird.ÌýWhen I was a little kid my mother had always said I was never to play near his house.ÌýWhen you saw him in the street he was always wearing the same old tatty raincoat, even in the summer, buttoned right up to his chin and belted at the waist.ÌýHe never ever spoke, but he always stared.ÌýSometimes kids would throw stones at his windows, or smear them in dirt, whatever they could get their hands on. His back was to me as I slowly started to open the wardrobe door.ÌýMy palms were sweaty and my breath came in short, ragged gasps.ÌýHe turned his head towards me, as if some sixth sense had alerted him to my presence.ÌýTime seemed to slow right down as he lunged forwards, reaching out for me.ÌýMy bowels turned to liquid as fear took over and I was unable to run.ÌýCatching me around the neck, he started to say something.ÌýThen the look of anger on his face was replaced with a wide eyed stare of confusion.ÌýI'd thrust the knife hard and upwards, just like they had told me to do and he staggered backwards, falling into the chair he'd been sat in. Confusion was replaced with terror as a trickle of blood formed at a corner of his mouth.ÌýUnable to catch breath, he made a rasping noise as blood bubbled up through his windpipe in his dying moment.ÌýA loud cheer went up outside the window, and I could see the other members of the gang shouting their congratulations to me. I was in, part of their crew, and I'd passed the initiation with flying colours. |
