Mind Fires

Chapter 8

Kyle picked the boys up from school as he was awake by then and I had to work overtime. A gentle old lady requested a bouquet to put on her late husband's grave and she wanted it to be perfect. When I arrived home, there was silence. "Hello?" my voice echoed around the building as I hung my keys up. I took a few footsteps. Maybe Kyle had taken them out somewhere. But his car was outside? "Kyle?"

I took a couple more footsteps, but stopped in my tracks as the sound of clattering metal and laughing emerged from the kitchen. I rolled my eyes. Kyle was stupid enough to let them loose. I stormed through the hallway, swung open the door and stopped instantly as I caught sight of all my pots and pans scattered around the room. But what startled me more was Micah sat high up on the counter, with Nathaniel giggling next to him. "Micah!" I gasped. I rushed over to retrieve him, but almost slipped after reacting to a knife being pulled out on me. Micah, baring the same sinister smile as before, grasped the knife. He intently looked at it, then tilted his head as he met my stare. "Oh my god, no," I whispered, almost pleadingly. I sharply changed my tone, "Micah, drop the knife right now!" I held my hand out, bravely.

Nathaniel, still giggling, quickly shut up as I scowled at him. "Knife. Now," my voice became stronger for a second, before I quickly lost it and jumped back. Micah raised the knife up, almost as if he was about to use it as a dagger. "Micah..." I felt sick, my stomach filling with fear. A three year old wouldn't be capable of stabbing me, I thought, trying to reassure myself.

Micah, still smiling creepily and holding the knife up high, froze. Now is my chance, I thought. "Kyle!" I screamed, distress straining my voice. But it was an awfully bad move.

I missed it by less than a centimetre. Tears forming in my eyes, I turned back and saw the knife wedged into the wall just above where my head was. My breathing was fast, I was trying not to cry. I gradually rose from my crouch, moving the pans I used for protection to the side. I faced the boys again, confused as to why - or even how - they managed to do that. All I remember was the speed at which the knife pierced the air and how I was grateful to my quick reflexes helping me miss being stabbed. A three year old nearly killed me! Traumatised, I screamed out to Kyle. I screeched again, this time fleeing the kitchen and waiting in the hall. He bowled down the stairs, eager to see the problem. He repeatedly asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't tell him. I wanted to, but I physically couldn't talk. Leaving me, he hurried to the kitchen. I sat on the bottom stair covering my face.