in the deep of night, I was awakened by voices - angry, harsh voices that didn't belong to my family. Then I heard something that made my blood freeze: the sound of fighting, of screaming. My sisters' voices, high and terrified. Father's deep shout, cut short.
Suddenly, Mother burst into my little alcove, her eyes wild with fear. "Hide under the bed!" she whispered urgently, pushing me down. "Don't make a sound, my love. No matter what you hear, stay hidden and don't make a sound!"
I squeezed myself into the narrow space under my straw mattress, pressing my small hands over my mouth so hard it hurt. My heart pounded so loud I was sure everyone could hear it.
Heavy footsteps thundered up the wooden stairs. The floorboards creaked as someone entered my room. Through the darkness under my bed, I could see black leather boots, thick and muddy. The boots moved slowly around the room.
The boots stopped beside my bed.
For one terrible moment, I thought the stranger would find me — my breath caught in my throat like a trapped bird. But then, mercifully, the boots turned and strode away.
I stayed frozen, my fingers digging into the wooden floorboards, my body trembling.
Then came the sound that haunts me still — a gasp, muffled and choked. The stranger had found Mother, trying desperately to hide in the far corner of my little alcove, her form barely concealed in shadow.
There was a pause — just a heartbeat — before chaos erupted.
He grabbed her by the hair.
Mother screamed. A sound so raw, so filled with agony that it tore through me. Her bare feet kicked and scrambled against the wooden floor as he yanked her up by the roots of her hair, dragging her from her hiding place. She shrieked in pain, the sound high and animal, each note laced with terror.
"No! Please!" she cried, clawing at his wrist, at the door frame, at anything she could grab. Her fingernails scraped wood as she tried to anchor herself, tried to fight against the monstrous strength that dragged her forward.
But he was too strong.
Her cries filled the loft, piercing and desperate, echoing off the stone and wood. "Let me go! Let me go!"
He pulled harder. Her scream rose into a shrill wail, her hands flailing in the air as her hair was nearly torn from her scalp. The dragging sound of her heels on the floorboards mixed with the rhythm of her sobbing and screaming. And still he dragged her, step by step, toward the stairs.
"No! Stop! Stop! Please"
Her voice became fainter with each step.
"Mother!"
"Please!"
"What's happening?!"
Sarah screamed. Lucy sobbed. Their voices overlapped, chaos and terror spilling from their mouths.
Then — Father's voice, low and trembling, filled with despair.
"Please, my children! Let my children live!"
The sound of his plea hit like a hammer. I heard the tremble in his voice, the break in it. It was the sound of a man already defeated.
Then came the cries.
Emma's voice rang out. "Father! Father!"
The noise rose into a crescendo of screams, of wailing, of terror.
And then... slowly...
It began to fade.
First Sarah's voice, fading like a candle in the wind. Then Lucy's. Then Emma's cries, broken and scattered.
Their sounds became whispers.
And then, there was only silence.
Not peace. Not calm.
A silence so complete, so wrong, it felt like the world had ended.
And I stayed hidden, curled under my bed, biting my lips so hard they bled.
I stayed there for what felt like an eternity.
Time lost meaning in that darkness. I could hear the wind brushing against the cracked glass window, the slow creak of cooling wood. But no footsteps.
No more voices.
When the first gray light of morning crept through the tiny cracks in the boards, I still didn't move. My body ached.
My mouth was dry as bone. My limbs felt frozen in place, clenched and stiff.
But the sun was up. And the house was quiet.
I gathered every ounce of courage I had left — what little scraps fear hadn't stolen — and slid out from beneath the bed.
I moved slowly, like a ghost. My feet were silent on the floor. I peeked into the hallway. Nothing. The door hung open, the wood splintered at the frame.
Step by step, I went down the stairs, every creak like thunder in the silence.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw them all lying on their backs, forming a circle — heads nearly touching, like a wheel made of my family. For a moment, I thought they were playing a game, pretending to sleep, like we used to. I smiled weakly, not understanding.
I went to Mother first.
Her hands were folded across her chest. Her face was serene, untouched by blood or bruise. She looked as though she might open her eyes at any moment. I knelt beside her and shook her shoulder gently.
"Mama? Wake up."
She didn't move.
"Please, Mama," I whispered, more urgently. I gave her a firmer shake. Nothing. I touched her hand — it was cool, too cool. Her lips were pale.
Tears welled in my eyes. "Please, Mama, wake up. You have to make breakfast."
I crawled to Father next. He lay opposite Mother, arms outstretched as if reaching for her even in death. His expression was calm, like he'd fallen asleep in prayer.
"Papa?" I pressed on his chest. Nothing. I squeezed his hand. It didn't squeeze back.
"Papa, they're all asleep. You have to wake up first. You're the strongest."
Then I moved to Sarah. Her braid was still perfect. I patted her cheek, whispered, "Tell me a story, Sarah. You said you'd tell me one today. Remember?"
Her mouth was slightly open, her breath forever gone.
Emma was next. I shook her shoulders, desperate now. "Emma! Please, help me wake them! Please!"
Her head lolled slightly. Her skin was like wax.
Last, I crawled to Lucy.
She lay there, small and curled, her hands folded near her chin like she was dreaming.
I lay beside her, wrapped my arms around her, and whispered, "Lucy, we didn't finish our castle. You promised we'd build a tower today. Remember? The tallest one yet."
Her body was still.
And cold.
That was when I knew.
They weren't sleeping.
They would never wake again.
And something inside me broke.
I stood, barely able to breathe, and walked to the very center of the circle. Their bodies, arranged so carefully, heads close, hands folded, like they were embracing eternity together.
I sank to the floor.
Curled into myself.
And I screamed.
Loud and long. Until my voice tore and my throat went raw. Until every ounce of breath left my lungs.
It was not a cry. It was not a word.
It was the death of sound itself.
And when it ended —
I never spoke again.
That's how they found me.
Still. Cold. Silent.
In the center of my family's grave.