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Robert A Enns

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Member Since: Jul, 2010

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The Screams of Midnight
By Robert A Enns
Sunday, July 18, 2010

Rated "PG" by the Author.

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The first story of six from this book. Things go deadly wrong for a very intelligent but young boy when the Police show up on the scene to find out why these kids are all alone



                ACT ONE OF






       It’s the sound of many screams; this seems to happen just as the ancient Grandfather clock is chiming its first time. It’s the beginning of Midnight.  

       The Midnight screams are made up of such pressure from shock and horror that these screams seem to want to rip and tear you apart. Whether the emotions have been with you for a lifetime or merely a day; their one purpose is to be set free, or if not they will drive you mad. We will go in search of these screams; the horror and terror will pour like rain, and will create a hurricane.  We must be careful or we could get caught in the pain. So take my hand and we will go off into the night, through the realm of haunted frights.


                                        End of Act One

                                  STORY ONE

              THE INNOCENCE

        In the distance the sound of screaming sirens can easily be heard. Then we see a group of young kids rapidly escaping from the exit of a deteriorated and forlorn old building. They go madly racing in the opposite direction of the screaming Police car. Yet at this point another blue and white cruiser with its sirens blaring comes to a screeching halt, only yards ahead of the fleeing children, bringing the kids to an abrupt halt.  The door of the near cruiser opens, as you expect the Police to exit their car.

       Our attention is now turned to the young children. They are all dressed in faded and worn clothing, but our eyes are alerted to one child in particular. His baby sister, of maybe ten is beside him. You can tell they are related by the great resemblance to each other. He is wearing high rubber boots sizes too big for him, and a long green working jacket, very worn and faded.

       This boy stands out in this group strikingly, for you can easily see the intelligence which burns in his eyes. This type of child, usually through good upbringing, becomes a highly respected member of his community, or if the lad is brought up in the slums with poor parental guidance, or none at all.  He will often become a desperate and extremely brilliant, and very dangerous criminal.

       It is a real shame, as well as a terrible waste that such a young man as he should go wrong, but unfortunately these are the odds.  The stakes from the very start have been highly against him. To survive past his twenty-first birthday will be a gamble. For his life, spent in this environment can quickly end, by using a wrong drug, or mixing with the wrong violent crowd. There are many risks here that could end his life tragically.


       As the police sirens continue to howl, the red and blue lights of the flashers play on these youth’s shocked, starved, and hollowed features.  A feeling of depression and great loss sweep over the Police, they are unaccustomed to these emotions and they cannot comprehend the sadness and despair that permeates the air.


       Suddenly the young boy wearing the green working jacket begins to raise his right hand encased in his coat pocket.  As he slowly raises his hand it seems as if he is concealing a pistol; he begins aiming this in jest, but accurately nonetheless. Then comes a panicked shout from one of the Policemen


Then all hell breaks loose as the sound of gunfire pierces the night. Blood, muscle and brain tissue spatters to the area as the young boy falls lifelessly to the ground.


       Another desperate and defenceless twelve-year-old boy dies in these streets, with his baby sister’s arms wrapped around him tightly, as she soaks him with her parting tears and kisses.






                                    THE END

             ENDING OF ACT ONE  




       Well, I wonder how those young Police officers felt, who fired the killing shots.  Even though in the line of duty; how tortured their souls, and did any of their dark journeys end in loneliness, frustration, or suicide. Or was it just a case of not being able to control their hands from shaking at the sight of a gun.


      Then the parents are they responsible for their children being on the dangerous streets alone with no adult supervision. Why is this even the case? Their kids alone to do whatever little ones might think they can get away with? They are being derelict and probably up to more mischievous things then their own children; probably busy selling street drugs, or using them, or both. They are probably up to a numerous amount of other illegal practice’s common to their habit. Yet, still in their deepest heart of hearts they must have known the possibilities or the risks of something going terribly wrong without their guidance.  


       So in the utter shock of losing their son so violently, how much did their souls ache? This kind of thing truly can’t be measured. For everyone would feel their own personal hell after a situation like this. However, still with all the parents hopes and dreams centered on their growing son knowing of the great amount of intelligence he had been gifted with. So, he being the nucleus of their dreams and their world; to have all of that blown away in seconds, what would be the cost? Who could comprehend the destructive forces that would be unleashed within these people? Yet I will make an attempt nonetheless. Please bear with me, for I may not always be right; so to you kind gentle reader.


       The feelings, of extreme confusion and helplessness, agony of heart and soul, frustration, and anger of the unjustness of it all, even in doubt of life itself. Then perhaps they begin to question reality and God, and when they have done that, they have entered a mind maze. Consisting of confusion and doubt, where few people ever escape.


       Here in this confusing Labyrinth of deceptions, rules hopelessness, horror, and condemnation. It’s a monstrously huge round room where corridors branch off.  So numerous are they, it makes their mind spin. Here all night seems to whisper its many dark tales. There are many doors that all seem to give hope and relief of escaping this deep dark shrouding Hell and quickening their heart of them leading up to the brightly lit heavens. Yet they know that only one of these multitudinous doors will set them free.  Look quite closely, for they all give their own hope, as these doors gloat, and all but one deceives.


       For only one of these truly lead out into relief, thankfulness, and better times to be perceived.  Where true daylight appears to be where a gateway would set them free.  All of the rest descend into eternity, where all time could encompass you and me. In this labyrinth are wails of horror, screams of desperation in this night, as it is filled with many others. They are all trapped in their own separate confining chimaeras. Trapped possibly, all too possibly, each in their forbidden mind mazes. The screams, the all too imaginary hopes, saying to one another, and the women to their lost children,





“Is this it?”

Then running to another door smiles dripping off of Polaroid faces,

“No maybe this is it, or is it that one; or my dear child do you think we are in the wrong hallway all-together?”


       Then the frustrated women, children, and men a like shrieking, because of too many unknown choices; the shrieks and wailing begin again. Hopes all too wished for dashed in the inevitable consequence of choosing no way out of this great Labyrinth. All are too fearful that their choice of doors will lead them into an even darker realm in Hell’s cathedrals for them to choose any door at all.  They might all decide that no choice is better than being in an even more forbidding place than what they are now in.  So here they will dwell. Their sobs choked off in the night. Are there even worse things in this labyrinth than they have yet seen? This labyrinth of wails and screams of anguish will live into eternity never to give out its secrets.


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Reviewed by Donna Chandler 7/18/2010
You are so perfectly discriptive that I felt I could hear the police sirens as I ran with the children. Your insight into the labyrinth of our lives is amazingly accurate. I'm VERY impressed with your writing and am most definitely a 'fan'.


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