The Terrible Ones of the Lord

Suddenly, a loud voice came from behind and startled us.

"What’s you doing here!"

I could tell that whoever it was, spoke with a thick accent; or was it street talk? We swirled around and saw eight youth. At least four of them didn’t look much older than we did. Chains hung from their pockets. Their hair was greased and combed directly toward the back of their heads. Some wore hats. An ugly, sinister look crossed their faces. I shuddered, knowing that they could kill us with the slightest wrong movement on our part. I still don’t know how they came as close to us as they did without hearing a thing.

"Your on our turf," said the tall one who had just spoken to us. He obviously was the leader or voice of the group. They looked at us and walked one step closer. Then they looked and saw Wendall’s car.

"Hey, rich boys, I ask you a question!"

"Who?"

"A girl named Sharon Stine."

"She pretty?"

"Yes. She...." Before Wendall could finish they all began laughing in a horrible way- almost like a lion about to kill its prey.

"Go ahead, knock," said the voice. "When you find her, we gets her." Their laughter exploded anew and I trembled at the thought of what they might do if they did get their hands on Sharon.

Wendall turned around and walked back up to the door. His knock produced no response. After unsuccessfully attempting three more times, Wendall turned and began walking toward his car. Sam and I automatically followed him. The eight quickly stood between Wendall’s car and us.

"Hey, rich boys. We’re going to charge you for coming to our turf. A fair deal. We gets your car, you walk away and we don’t hurts you."

It was then that I sensed the presence of someone else behind me but I didn’t dare turn around and look.

Suddenly, Wendall lost it. The filthiest words came out of his mouth. He walked to within a foot of the voice, cursing, yelling at him, and threatening to kill him. Sam and I were so shocked that we stood motionless. I noticed people coming to their windows up and down the street. When they saw what was happening, they quickly left and closed their shades. It was as if this were a scene that they had seen replay itself time and time again. I began to wonder if I’d ever see my parents again.

Wendall lunged toward the voice. As he did, he reached into his pocket and produced a revolver. The voice recoiled backward, catching sight of the revolver. Instantaneously, I saw the glare of the sun reflect from a large blade. The movement was quick and sure. The knife entered Wendall’s side and he screamed in pain and terror, dropping his revolver. He fell to the ground and as he did, he looked at us, his eyes pleading for help. Another knife entered his back. Sam and I lunged toward his assailants at the same time, not knowing what we would do when we met them or how we would survive. Neither of us had weapons of our own.