Seven Years Old
The house is too quiet tonight. Not the kind that feels safe. Not the kind that means sleep. This kind presses in, heavy and wrong, like something is waiting.
I know quiet. I sit curled in the back corner of the crate, knees tight to my chest, chin tucked down. The metal under me is cold, biting into my skin, but I don’t move. Moving makes noise. Noise gets noticed. The chain at my neck shifts when I breathe. A soft scrape. Too loud. I make my breaths smaller.
My stomach hurts. It always hurts. It doesn’t twist as bad as it used to, just sits there, empty and dull, like it forgot what it’s waiting for. There’s a smell in here. Old. Sour. It sticks to everything. To me. I stare at the thin line of light under the door across the room. That’s all I see of the rest of the house. I don’t try to see more anymore.
A noise breaks the quiet. Not inside. Outside.
My body goes tight before I understand why. My breath stops. My fingers curl against the metal floor.
Voices. Low at first. Then louder. They don’t sound right. Not like the voices I know. Not sharp and mean in the same way. These are fast. Urgent. Too many at once.
My heart starts beating harder. I feel it in my throat, in my ears, too loud. I press back into the corner as far as I can go, like I can push through the wall and disappear.
The voices get closer.
Something hits the front of the house. A loud thud that makes the walls shake.
I flinch, hands flying up over my head even though no one is in the room yet.
Another hit. Then a crack that splits the air open. The front door. Footsteps rush in. Heavy. Fast. More voices, all talking over each other.
“Police! Don’t move!”
I don’t know what that means. It’s just louder. Too loud. Too close. My breathing breaks, sharp and fast, pulling in air that doesn’t feel like enough. The chain rattles now with every movement, every breath, every shake.
They’re going to hear it. They’re going to find me.
Footsteps get closer. The door to my room slams open so hard it hits the wall. Light floods in. Too bright.
I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face away, pressing tighter into the corner.
“Jesus—” a voice says, close now.
Another voice, softer but still fast. “We’ve got a kid. Call it in. Now.”
Footsteps come toward me.
I can feel it. The air changes when someone stands right in front of the crate. Bigger. Warmer. Too close. My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
“No, no, hey—” the softer voice again, lower now. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Hands reach toward the crate.
I see them.
Big hands. Coming closer. Everything inside me snaps.
I scream. It rips out of my throat, loud and raw, louder than anything I’ve ever made before. It hurts, but I don’t stop. I can’t. My body slams back into the corner, heels kicking, hands hitting the metal like I can push through it. The chain jerks tight at my neck, digging in, choking, but I don’t stop.
Get away.
Get away.
“Easy! Easy!” another voice says. Not angry. Still loud. “He’s scared. Back up.”
“I’ve got cutters…hold on,” someone else says behind them.
