William Royden

I knew it.

Courting started to climb the stairs.

He got up the first three with unbearable slowness, placing his feet right in the middle of the steps so as not to make them creak.

He turned to me in the dark and whispered two words.

Stay here.

Carrying the flashlight and leaving me behind, Cording went up the stairs.

I started to back instinctively away from the staircase when Cording reached the top of it.

He turned the flashlight off and I could just barely see his silhouette above me.

I shut down the camera and set it on the floor beside me.

I'm not sure how I was conscious enough to make that decision.

I heard the door opening and being pushed outward.

Cording moved a few steps forward, and then he was out of sight entirely.

In my fear, I moved backwards across the cellar to stand beneath the window he had come through.

At least there was air and the faint sounds of the wind and the trees outside.

Beneath the window was where I would wait for Cording to return.

I pushed my camera up and out into the grass, then stood rigid in the dark.

What happened two minutes later as I cowered in the basement is something I can't and won't describe.

I've used these pages to tell of what I could, but some words can't leave my fingertips because they are so hideous and so unbelievable.

No human imagination could conceive of the images I saw of the terrible struggle that Cording engaged in inside my grandfather's house.

I will only say that the fight came down the stairs as Cording either tried to escape or tried to lure his enemy down to a place where I might be able to help him.