Chapter One



The small boy sat huddled and trembling in the cramped space under the house. His viewpoint reduced to a narrow strip of light. His face was streaked with dirt and tears and every so often his body let out a choking involuntary hiccup.

He could see her legs in his eye line, for a moment his only view was her muscular carves and calloused feet, cradled in those ugly drab moccasins she seemed to live in.

“You come out here at once, you filthy boy!”

He knew she knew where he was, he also knew she couldn’t reach him.

“You can stay there forever if you want boy, but He knows where you are and He knows what you’ve been doing, don’t think you’re safe boy, you’re far from it.”

The harshness in her voice betrayed any sign of motherly love. Soon another pair of legs appeared beside hers. Skinny, white stalks covered in a hideous blotchy puss filled rash.
“It’s eczema,” his sister would declare with pride. “I’m being tested by the Lord.”

“Shall I go under and fetch him out Mother?” he heard the treacherous girl ask.

“No! You’ll not go near him, fetch your father.”

The boy wondered how long he could stay in his hidey-hole, whether it was possible to survive there indefinitely if need be. He could wait until it was dark then in the dead of night creep out and search for food, dig up the carrots in the garden and pull the wild chokos from their vines, drink water from the outside tap, scavenge in the rubbish bins for leftovers. For a four year old boy the possibilities were boundless, the truth a different matter entirely.

Then the boots appeared, soundless but bringing power and terror with them as a calling card.

“It’s happened again,” he heard his mother whisper then his father sigh.

He knew now that he was here nothing was possible, all his dreams died at his father’s bidding.

“Get out here boy, now!”

His father’s fury grew stronger with each syllable, daring the child to defy him, almost wishing he would, so he could prove just how in control of the situation he was.

The child knew he didn’t stand a chance.

“Coming Daddy, coming.”

In his haste to obey he crashed straight through the spider web invisibly barricading his exit. His wan face appeared, covered in the fine silky trap, as he realised what he’d done he began to scream and flap his hands about his face and head, in didn’t matter that there was no spider in sight, he could feel it, crawling over his face and head, trying to burrow into his brain, a tiny moment in time creating a lifetime of terrifying nightmares.

His father reached down and pulled at the thin little arm, even his mother gasped all at once concerned he might break it.

He dragged the wretched child across the yard as if he was nothing but a sack of rotting vegetables. His skinny legs grazing on the barren ground where the grass had simply refused to grow.

The man remained calm and in control yet still he terrified. Once
inside the stark house he slammed shut the wire door and hauled the boy through to the kitchen.

A pot of vegetable soup was simmering on the stove and the aroma of home cooking usually associated with safety and cosiness proved a trick in this family.

The bamboo cane came down hard across the boy’s knuckles, six times, three on each hand.

His mother stifled a cry and turned back to her soup, his sister glared and ran to her room. The boy sobbed, choking, heart-breaking sobs that threatened the man to reconsider his actions, but he chose not to.


“You have sinned and we do not live with sinners, they poison all that is righteous and good.”

The child stood quivering his head bowed, he wore his shame like ill fitting hand me down clothes.

His father spoke again, softly but with the same commanding authority of a bellowing sergeant major.

“What have you to say for yourself boy?”

The child opened his mouth to speak unsure as to whether he still could.

“What…. what did I do?”

His father’s face-hardened and his shoulders stiffened.

The boy tried to think what could have caused such wrath. He thought back to the morning, everything had been fine; he’d been playing in the long grass, chasing those tiny grey butterflies that could almost pass as moths, trying to catch them in his clasped hands, imprison them for a moment so he could feel their gentle fluttering caresses then release them, thrill them with his generosity, when it came to playing God he could do it just as well. Then he needed a wee, that’s how it all started, he stood there beside the willow tree, holding onto his little slug of a penis, distracted by the sheep in the paddock beside their house. There he stood, trousers round his ankles his fingers fiddling and bending even though he’d stopped urinating, he watched the giant balls of cotton wool grazing and imagined what it must be like to be an animal. Then the idyll was over.

“Don’t you ever, ever touch yourself there again boy, do you understand? Ever!”

His father shouted; his red face so close the child flinched.

So that was what it was all about, nothing really, the boy pretended to understand and shook his head.

“No father, I won’t, not ever, I promise.”

Even as he uttered the words he knew this was a vow he would never be able to keep.