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Billy by Shaun Whittington

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Genre/Category: Crime, Thriller, Mystery
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Billy by Shaun Whiittington
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This is a revised and extended version of the short story, 'The Third Anniversary.' It's been nearly three years since the school killings, and Billy Jones is still haunted by what happened and struggles on how to deal with an episode that will scar the town for a long time.

Also by Shaun Whittington on obooko

The Woods of Red Hill by Shaun WhittingtonThe Third Anniversary by Shaun WhittingtonDEMONS by Shaun WhittingtonMisty Falls by Shaun Whittington Snatchers by Shaun Whittington

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The hysterical screaming of young voices pierced his sensitive ears; almost making them wince as the noise assaulted them. It was a surreal, sullen moment, and his mind refused to comprehend what was happening, it was as if he was drunk and had no control over his body. He looked around in a frightened daze, and saw the dead man slumped to the floor, the knife sticking out of his chest. Also, blood covered the floor of the room, and it didn’t just belong to the dead man. It belonged to other young souls who were no longer alive, and to others that were injured.

His legs shook so violently he found it hard to stand, as he scanned the room with his frantic eyes looking for his son. Where was he? He couldn’t see, as the majority of children that were shrieking, were simultaneously running around like antelopes from a fire. Some ran in terror and didn’t know where they were going; some held onto their bleeding wounds, while others stood still in a state of shock and screamed, but some didn’t, and were gazing into nothingness as the shock smothered their young frames.

He stepped over a young body and his shoes made bloodied footprints on the hard floor as he headed towards the soft-play area. He tried to call out, but his voice had been stolen by fear—by the horror of the episode he had just witnessed, and was still witnessing. There seemed no escape from the surreal nightmare he was imprisoned in, as his tremulous legs began to snowball upwards and his arms began to judder uncontrollably.

Fuelled with fear and adrenaline, he scanned the soft-play area and could clearly see two young bodies hiding, desperately trying to outwit the bad man, but they didn’t realise he couldn’t hurt them anymore. It seemed callous, but he wasn’t bothered about them, as all he wanted was to hold his own flesh and blood.

Again, he tried to call out, but his voice was paralysed. The cacophony of disturbed wails and moans coming from behind him, never fazed him while he continued to scan for his boy.

At last he heard a young voice whimper out, “Daddy.” A small sensation of relief brushed over him; he tried to call out but could only muster a noise, which was a vast improvement on his last effort.

The young four-year-old ran at the adult, his arms outstretched and relief evidently clear on his face. Both father and son embraced, both father and son cried unashamedly, both father and son had survived.

As other adults ran into the room, the screams and hollers of distressed voices rang through Billy’s head. One seemed to stand out more than the rest. It was a voice from a woman he recognised. Her name was Pauline and the hysterical woman screamed constantly, “Katie! My Katie! Oh God help us! God help us!”

The deceased young Katie was on her back, her eyes were like timeless eyes of a statue and as wide as golf balls. The lifeless body lay, and her skin was snow white, like polished ivory. As he hugged his boy, he tried to stand to also comfort the woman who had lost her Katie.

His legs were like rubber, and he almost fell on top of his son. “It’s all over,” he whispered in his son’s ear, and they both embraced tightly.

How wrong he was. It wasn’t over. This was just the beginning.