Once upon a time there were two young children living alone in a house once owned by their parents. A little more than a week earlier the parents were on their way home from a party at a friend's place when they drove off the road and into the river. Later the autopsy report would find that they both had alcohol in their blood and dad's pants and underwear had been pulled down. On his blue and pale penis the coroner found bite marks.

Afraid to be taken away by social services, the two children fled the house as soon as they had gotten the tragic news. For almost a week they lived near the local McDonald's, digging through the dumpsters after closing time for something that would not be too hard to eat. They always went to sleep hungry.

When after a couple of days they returned to their home. Carefully they approached the windows and peaked inside. No one appeared to be in there. They knocked on the door and ran behind the bushes to hide. But there was no answer at the door. They moved back in again.

The cupboards were still filled with groceries and even though none of the children could cook, they could at least eat the canned food, the bread and the other things that did not need preparation. In the freezer they found meals their mum and dad had prepared the last couple of days before the accident. When they were defrosted, they could be eaten cold.

For three days the children lived well on what was in the house. They went to bed when their parents usually told them to and woke about the same time every morning. They deeply missed their parents and every night they cried themselves to sleep, but during the day they could not help but feel quite grown up. Many were the times they had heard dad talk about how a grown up is someone who can take care of himself and others. Mum always added a "or herself" followed by that serious but still loving look.

When they went to bed on the third day they had finished all the bread in the cupboards and there were only two defrosted meals left. From now on they would have to save. They knew that much. But they also knew that in a few days there would be no more food. What would they do then? If they went to a neighbor, they were sure social services would lay their hands on them. They remember their dad talking about how the social services took care of children with no parents and one evening when mum was watching TV, they heard about how social services had taken care of child and given it to a family who had hurt it and killed it. And they would do anything to make sure that did not happen to them.

On the morning on the fourth day the slept a little longer than usual, perhaps because they were a bit hungry from last night. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Both the children woke up immediately. They heard a key turn in the door and it opened slowly.

"There you go, Mrs Henderson. Now you just let me know when you are finished in here".

"Thank you," a woman's voice said.

The sound of heel clicking against the wooden floor sent shivers down the children's spines. Could it be..?

A loud voice spoke:

"Hello! My name is Mrs. Henderson. I come from social services. Tommy? Billy? Are you in here somewhere?"

They looked terrified at one another. Billy wanted to scream, but Tommy quickly put his index finger over his lips. Billy swallowed the frightened cry. It hurt his chest on the way back down.

"Your relatives are mighty worried about you. If you are in here, please let me know so that we can take care of you."

There was no escape from their room. They knew that. The windows were too high up and the only way out was through the door and downstairs to the front door. The sound of the clicking shoes grew louder as they began walking up the stairs.

Panic began to spread, but they tried to remain focused. They had to, otherwise they would be given to a family that would hurt them and kill them just like on TV. A look was exchanged, and a nod.

"Please, if you are in here, let us know. We just want to help you and take you away someplace else."

The boys' room was at the end of the hall. Inside fear was spreading. Was this it? First their parents died and now they would die too?

Clickety-clickety-clickety.

The clicking shoes came closer and closer.

Clickety-clickety-click.

Suddenly it stopped. She was outside the door.

From the inside the boys could see the knob slowly twist. The door creaked a little when it was slowly pushed up, as it always did. A blue high-heeled shoe came into the room.

Tommy hit the foot as hard as he could with the baseball bat he and his dad used to practice with during weekend afternoons. The heavy piece of wood smashed into the bones of the foot and Billy could hear the crunching sound of small bones being crushed. He had never seen his brother swing the bat that hard and he was still too young to know how people seem to develop super-human strength in very stressful situations.

Mrs. Henderson's face took on a look of surprise and her mouth opened to scream, but her voice cracked and only a subtle gargle and a little air escaping the lungs could be heard. She turned around to run away but as soon as she tried to support her bodyweight on the crushed foot, she fell to the floor, not far away from the room she had just tried to enter.

Billy quickly ran out in to the hall where Mrs. Henderson was twisting in agony and panic. He jumped up on her back shoved the blade of the knife his mum got him when he begun boy scouts as far as he could. The handle stopped the knife from going in all the way. Billy could feel something warm and wet on his hand.

Mrs. Henderson turned over to shake Billy off of her. He fell into the wall and hit his head. That would leave a bump he thought and remembered for an instant how his mum used to kiss the bumps and cool them with an icepack.

Tommy saw the panicking expression on the woman's face and this time she looked as if she would be able to scream. The bat swung sideways and hit Mrs. Henderson on the cheek and over the mouth. Her head followed the movement of the bat and blood sprayed on the wall. She still tried to scream but the only sound Billy and Tommy could hear reminded them of the kitchen sink as the woman swallowed blood, bone fragments and the teeth that hadn't fallen out on the floor.

With the memory of his mum and the icepack quickly fading, Billy crawled back up on Mrs. Henderson. Sitting on her chest, he stabbed at all that he could stab. Over and over again. The face once loved so dearly by Mr. Henderson became more and more unrecognizable as the blade went into her head, throat, neck and eyes. Always leaving behind a trace of blood on the wall or on the floor. And sometimes even on Billy's face.

It was Tommy who realized Mrs. Henderson was dead. She had stopped moving sometime ago and just laid there almost accepting every stab from Billy. He put hand on his brother's shoulder and he took a deep breath and just stopped. He turned around to face Tommy and through the blood a smile could be seen. They had done it.

The police arrived on the scene early in the afternoon after the man who let Mrs Henderson in had himself walked inside to see what was keeping her and found a body he could only recognize from the dress she had been wearing. The house appeared to be empty, but there were small blood-red footsteps all over the house. Down the hall, into the kitchen, back up into the room and to the closet. To the bathroom and then to the front door where the footsteps ended. They never found the bat or the knife either.

This happened only three blocks away from here. Near the McDonald's where we eat after tee ball every Sunday. And two nights ago the Johnson house down the street was broken into when they were away. Only food was stolen. Their dog, Molly, you remember Molly, right? You used to play with her when she was just a puppy. Their dog, Molly, was found in the hall, beaten and stabbed to death and around her body; do you know what they saw?

Small footsteps.

Sweet dreams, son. Mommy and I are going out for a while.