Saturday 4 – Saturday 18 December 2010
You know it’s not going to go well for anyone.
‘We should move to the attic, Ciara. Quickly and quietly. Go now.’ Claire stood and urged Ciara to do the same. They hurried through the kitchen and were about to step into the foyer when the man appeared in the doorway. Dressed in black and almost undetectable, Claire nearly ran into him, stopping short so that Ciara slammed into the back of her, sending her veering forward.
Sensing that they were in tremendous danger, Ciara darted to her right and grabbed hold of the poker that had been leaning against the hearth. Wielding it as if it were a sword she thrust it out in front of her. He was not expecting the young one to utilise anything around her, and was caught by surprise when the end of the poker penetrated his abdomen. Ciara drove it in as hard as she could, before using all her strength to pull it back out again, and swing it towards his head.
He fell to the floor, blood pouring from both wounds, eyes rolling back in his skull. Making sure that he was done, Ciara repeatedly hit his head with the poker, crushing it to a bloody, oozing mess. Claire, shocked initially by the man’s appearance in front of her, was unable to move as Ciara unleashed her rage on the uninvited visitor.
‘What have you done?’ The words were barely audible from Claire’s lips.
Ciara looked at her aunt, confounded by the woman’s question. Was it not clear to the old woman what she had just done? She had saved them from being killed. She had killed their would-be attacker.
Before Ciara could answer, a second man took the place of the first. He didn’t appear to be surprised by the body of his friend, lying in a bloody pool of bone and brain matter. He stepped forward into the kitchen, forcing the two women to step back several paces. He looked down at Ciara’s right hand, and the poker she was gripping tightly, the left side of his mouth raised in a sneer. She had lost the element of surprised on this one.
‘There are too many of us for you to fight, little one. Give up now, and we’ll kill you mercifully.’ His deep, velvety voice was a minor distraction to the words he spoke. In another time and place, Ciara thought that she might fall for a man who looked and sounded the way he did.
‘Ah, well, you’d better come and kill me then.’
. . . To be continued . . .