to Samuel. Samuel was sure he could see the man grinning even from here, but for some reason he found himself not inclined to wave back.

Turning once more, the man clicked his tongue and set his frisky ride trotting back towards the road. What a strange man he was, Samuel thought to himself, and what a strange healthy shine he had, too.

That night was fine and dry and crisply cold. The countless, tiny stars were bright and clear, far more numerous than usual, and looked like a glittering blanket strung between the mountain tops. They winked down at him and Samuel wondered what they really were-tiny holes in the veil of night, or swarms of fireflies hovering high in the sky? Everyone had their own explanation, but Samuel was yet to be convinced. His eyes grew fuzzy and he had to look down, rubbing them with his tiny fists. Quickly picking up some firewood, he hurried back inside and placed the pieces beside the crackling stove.

The music from James’ fiddle was making a merry tune and was complemented well by Sarah’s soft humming as she worked on her embroidery. Mother was busy at the stove, clanging the pots together as she cooked, while Father, Jason and Lee were at the table, discussing tomorrow’s work. The harvest was imminent and they would all soon be busier than ever. James would occasionally stop his playing and add something to the conversation.

‘Don’t you think it’s about time you taught your son how to shave, Peter?’ Mother asked from her cooking. Peter was what she sometimes called Father.

Father looked at an embarrassed Lee and inspected him for a moment. Lee self-consciously rubbed the wispy hairs that curled out from his chin.

‘Aye, so it is.’

‘What?’ Jason laughed. ‘There’s barely a hair there!’

‘That will do, Jason. Leave your brother be,’ Mother told him and Samuel laughed. It was funny when his family told each other off like that. Many of his friends told Samuel how their families argued and fought, but Samuel’s family seldom did so. At worst, there were some raised voices or a few bad words, but everyone was quickly happy again. It’s true, his mother would get very angry with him on market day and when he was lazy and he received the occasional spanking, but if Samuel tried very hard to be good, everyone was happy almost every day. He knew that his family cared about each other.

James abruptly stopped his playing and looked out the window. ‘I think there’s someone here,’ he said. Sarah stopped her sewing and there was a sudden eeriness in the house.

Father pushed his chair back and stood, clearing his throat as he did. ‘Well, I’ll have a look.’ He barely managed a step towards the door before it burst inwards and men came storming in, shouting at the top of their lungs and waving sticks wildly before them. Sarah and Mother both screamed and Samuel’s heart leapt up into his throat.

Father began to shout at them, when the first man struck him. Father raised his hands to protect himself, but fell to the floor as the man hit him over and over. The other ugly men hurried past. Samuel saw one of them was the man who had asked for directions and he still bore his wicked grin-wilder, more maniacal, than before.

Samuel’s brothers were wrestling with the men while Sarah was huddled up and screaming in the corner where the fiddle lay broken. Samuel scuttled under the table, watching the legs of his brothers and the men struggle back and forth amid their grunts and shouts. Father lay on the floor by the doorway, staring towards Samuel. His wide, white eyes glared through a mask of blood. His healthy shine was gone.

‘Peter!’ Mother screamed, just before being struck also.

In through the doorway stepped another man-tall and well dressed. He had short, neat, dark hair atop a high forehead and he bore just a hint of a smile upon his lips. He nudged at Father with his foot, then stood in the doorway and watched on with calm deliberation.

Something had Samuel by the back of his shirt and he was dragged out from under the table. In a moment, he was out of the back door and into the cold night air. The grisly scene, still visible through the doorway, shrank away from him as he was dragged away down towards the trees. He struggled and screamed until he was turned about and he found that it was his mother who had him. She plucked him up to her waist and they were once again running from the house and into the darkness.

A shout rose clearly above the grunting and swearing, carrying through the still night air.

‘Jason!’ It was Lee shouting and Samuel thought it sounded awful. Lee’s voice was thin and desperate and sounded too short, as if something dreadful had stopped the sound part-way.

Mother was sobbing and heaving as she struggled with Samuel through the paddock. Samuel saw the stars, nestled beside the narrow sliver of moon that had crested the hills and a few goats bleated with curiosity as they passed. Mother did not stop running or crying, even after they made it amongst the trees and Samuel could hear, just as well as she, the men’s calls that followed behind them.

Dark laughter echoed after them through the trees. Mother’s breathing became more rapid and frantic as her steps became irregular and she began to stumble. The branches scratched Samuel’s face and he cried and sobbed as much as she. There was a jolt and a moment of vertigo and then Samuel crashed onto the ground. Mother regained her feet and this time she began dragging Samuel by the hand. His heart thudded hard inside his chest as he struggled to match pace with her-she was nearly pulling his arm from its socket. After a few frantic moments, she lurched to a halt and dropped to her knees as surely as if something had struck her. Samuel was sure a drum was beating in his chest, booming in his head.

‘Go on, Samuel!’ she sobbed between labouring breaths, her hair matted to her face. ‘Go to Tom’s house!’

Samuel could only nod through tears as he let go of her hand and ran off down the narrow path that snaked towards Tom’s house-blackness snaking through blackness-while his mother lurched away in the opposite direction.

A laugh sounded closer, not far behind and a coarse cry of ‘Got you!’ broke the silence. Mother’s shrill scream then cut the air and curdled Samuel’s blood.

‘Where’s that little mongrel?’ another voice could be heard demanding, but Mother’s sobs only carried though the trees in reply.

Samuel stopped, suddenly afraid for her and he turned and ran back towards them, holding one hand over his own mouth to try and subdue his sobbing. Crawling through the bushes as silently as he could, he could see them through his tear-filled eyes, standing in the wan moonlight. Two men stood over his mother, who knelt in the dirt. She held her face in her hands and was wailing and pleading all at the same time, making her words incomprehensible amongst her grief. A terrible shadow had surrounded her healthy glow and it ate at her like a disease, creeping in towards her and smothering her light. It emanated an inescapable vileness that seemed to stab Samuel in the heart; it was almost as horrific as the men themselves. Samuel tried to squeeze his eyes shut to blot out the scene, but his eyes refused to obey him and he felt frozen in place.

‘Oh, forget the little crapper,’ the taller man said. The moon shone down through a crack in the trees and lit his face. His crooked nose threw a twisted shadow across his face, but that could not hide the silver scar that ran all the way from his eye to his chin.

The other man spat on the ground and smiled widely towards Mother. Only now did he stop his incessant chewing. ‘Now don’t make any trouble or I’ll make this worse, witch,’ he hissed and leapt upon her.

She screamed and beat upon his shoulders as he laughed and wrestled on top of her. All the while, the scar- faced man watched on dispassionately. Soon, Mother stopped her cries and was silent. Her healthy glow was gone, consumed entirely by the blackness around her.

A silver blade shone in the spitting man’s hand and he bent and wiped it on Mother’s skirt hems. She remained silent and unmoving. ‘Suit yourself,’ he told her and he looked quite indignant. ‘Hell-damned bitch wouldn’t keep still.’

‘Now she will,’ the scar-faced man returned bluntly.

‘That’s what we’re here for. Don’t be upset just because I got to her first. It was my turn, anyway. Ah, damn it! I think I got blood on me! Well…what about the boy? Shall we track him down before he makes trouble? The boss wants to be sure they’re all good ’n’ dead.’

The scar-faced man then looked directly at Samuel and raised an outstretched finger. ‘We won’t have to look far. He’s just there.’ His wicked smile returned as he glared towards Samuel and he held his knife up, as if to show it off in the moonlight. He nodded at Samuel and bared all his crooked, yellow teeth.

With a start, Samuel backed out of the bushes and scampered through the trees, their branches biting his

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