Blood On The Edge

Deep in the night, the rain intensified, lightning slicing through the darkness in fleeting flashes while thunder roared, as if asserting its dominance over the stillness of the night.

Inside his modest home, eight-year-old Shadow sat beside his parents, playing with his toys amid the ominous downpour. He couldn't help but notice the fear in their eyes, their hushed whispers carrying an unsettling secrecy.

Suddenly, a violent rattling erupted at the door. A shadowy figure on the other side was desperately trying to break in. Panic seized his parents as the door finally gave way.

Six masked men, clad in pitch-black clothing, stormed inside, their guns raised. Without hesitation, they aimed at his father and mother.

"Hide, Shadowooooo!" his father screamed.

A gunshot rang out, and Shadow watched in horror as his father collapsed before him, his body drenched in blood. Shock and fear paralyzed him as he burst into tears.

His mother, though shaken, tried to shield herself from the bullets. But then, a shot came speeding toward Shadow's face. He screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

In a desperate act, his mother lunged forward, shoving him behind the couch with all her strength. The bullet meant for him struck her instead.

She fell to the floor, bleeding, her arms still reaching for him, as she lay beside his father in what looked like a sea of blood. Shadow, now stained with his parents' blood, sobbed helplessly.

He was just a small, innocent child from an ordinary family—powerless against the horrors unfolding before him.

The masked men exchanged words.

"Let's go. It's done."

"And the kid?"

"Leave him. He's just a child—he won't do anything."

With that, they vanished into the night.

The neighborhood was eerily quiet, with few residents around. No one had heard the massacre.

Then, a thought struck Shadow—there was a police station nearby. Driven by desperation, he bolted toward it, tears mixing with the rain as he ran.

Reaching the station, he burst inside, crying out, "They're dead! They're dead! I need the police!"

The officers tried to calm him, and soon, a man stepped forward. He was Lord Cromer, the head of the station.

"What's wrong, son?" he asked gently.

Between sobs, Shadow cried, "My mom and dad… they were killed! Strange men came into our house!"

Lord Cromer's expression remained unreadable, but a faint, unsettling smile flickered on his lips.

"Can you take us to your house?" he asked in a hushed tone.

Shadow nodded frantically.

Cromer and four officers followed him back. The house stood eerily silent, the door slightly ajar, with a crimson trail seeping onto the porch. The officers exchanged uneasy glances.

"Wait here, son," Cromer instructed. "We need to check inside."

With a silent gesture, he signaled his men. Guns at the ready, they crept toward the house. The door creaked open under Cromer's touch.

Inside, the officers found the gruesome scene—bodies sprawled, blood everywhere. They reemerged, their faces grim.

Lord Cromer crouched beside Shadow. "Do you have any relatives?"

Shadow wiped his tears. "I have an uncle… but he lives far away. I can't go alone."

"Don't worry. We'll take you," Cromer assured him.

The officers escorted him to his uncle's house. Upon their arrival, Cromer knocked cautiously. When the door opened, Shadow's uncle hesitated, eyes darting between the boy and the officers.

"Sir," Cromer said, pulling him aside, "we need to talk."

Shadow strained to hear their hushed conversation before Cromer returned to him.

"I know this is hard, but you're strong," he said. "Your uncle will take care of you."

Turning to the uncle, he added, "We'll investigate. We'll find those responsible and bring them to justice."

His uncle led him inside. His eyes were filled with sorrow.

"I hope you can forget what happened, son," he murmured. "You should rest now. Come on."

Tears shimmered in his uncle's eyes as he watched Shadow go to bed.

Days passed, but the grief didn't fade. Shadow barely ate, rarely spoke, and nightmares haunted his sleep. He no longer played with his toys.

He had become hollow—a child stripped of his childhood.