“I would also scream out will all the force I could for Mary to release me from the hellish hole of our cellar, meaning my wife would often stay away. This, of course, was not just because she found it difficult to deal with the terrible things I would shout up at her, it was also because she feared that she would be swayed by my obvious suffering and free me.
“My memory of how I actually managed to escape – even though the event only occurred not so long ago – is rather hazy. I recall waking from a nightmare, in which I was terrorised by my hunger into drawing blood from my, in the dream, still living wife, and finding that some of my bonds had been released. Perhaps I had struggled to free myself from the straps as I slept, I don’t know. Whatever it was, it meant I knew that during the next wave of hunger, there was a chance I would be able to get out. I tried to call up to Mary to inform her about what had happened, but even if she heard me, she probably just assumed that I was once again shouting some awful things due to the pain of the hunger.
“Soon enough, I could feel its influence, my drowsiness being replaced by that all-consuming thing. In desperation, I cried out again and again for Mary to come, but it was no use. In truth, I did not even know if she was in the house. As I felt myself lose control, I even attempted to free myself in the hope that I could escape while I was still conscious of what I was doing in the hope that I could prevent myself from repeating what I had done to Johann. Of course, this was useless. While my mind was still my own, I could not command the full strength of my body. If anything, all I did was loosen the straps further, making it easier for my future possessed self to break free.
“Once again, I found myself at the kitchen door at the back of the house. It seems so odd to remember what I did, even though I wasn’t in control. I left the house and, just like the time before, instead of heading for a neighbour’s home, I stumbled off towards the field. This time, I took a different path, heading towards one of the country lanes that leads away from Radcliff. The poor boy just happened to be the first person I came across.”
“I won’t go into all the details of the attack, I don’t think it’s necessary,” said Peter, whose words were becoming ever more hesitant as his mind played back the memory of what he did to Brenden. “I saw the boy from some distance away, lit as he was by the streetlights. I believe there was a moment when he saw me and I paused. He asked something of me, but I didn’t hear what it was, nor did I answer. Then I killed him.”
Peter swallowed with a throat so dry it was almost as if it were lined with sawdust. This description of his murder of Brenden, as minimal as his expression of it had been, caused him to briefly reflect on what he had done, something he had avoided doing until that very moment. Over the many years he had spent hiding in his home and the dark of his basement, Peter had often thought about what the attack on Johann had meant, and what it suggested about himself, but there was no doubt in his mind that the killing of the boy was worse. When attempting to justify his continued hiding away after the death of Johann, he had frequently told himself that the killing had just been a one off, an unfortunate mistake that would never happen again. But the murder of the boy undermined all this. As he continued to say nothing, Peter felt the force of the eyes in the room upon him and without meaning to, he began to consider how they were judging him. He began to feel a growing sense of self-loathing, despair and loneliness building within him, and then - after hearing the voice of Mary somewhere at the back of his mind – quickly suppressed these emotions by telling himself that he had not yet finished his statement.
“By the time I regained my sense of self,” Peter continued after clearing his throat, “the boy had already passed out: perhaps he was already dead. To my shame, once again, I fled as quickly as I could, returning to the house without any real consideration about the person I’d left behind. This time, though, I did not even lie to myself over whether I would alert anyone about the boy. Instead, I just went back down into the basement and waited for Mary to return to tell her what I’d done.
“Yesterday, I had some time to think about my actions. Unlike my wife, I truly regret what I did and would do anything I could to avoid the tragic loss of life I caused. At one time, my belief was that we had created something that would ensure that neither of us would ever again let the continuation of our lives out there lead to the end of the life of another, but now I’m convinced that one can never really escape the hunger. Because of this, my unease that another attack could always happen, and because
