I saw my parents throw a large wooden crate into the river and walk away laughing.
When I ran closer to the water’s edge, I heard a faint muffled sound coming from inside the crate as it started sinking.
“Please be empty,” I whispered as I jumped into the freezing water and dragged it back to shore with all my strength.
My parents saw me and rushed back.
My father grabbed me by the hair and threw me to the ground.
“Mind your own business.”
My mother kicked my ribs hard.
“Leave it alone.”
When I fought back, she punched me in the face, knocking me down.
But I crawled back and pried the crate open with a rock.
My hands were shaking as the lid came off.
What I saw inside made me scream.
My four-year-old daughter was tied up and gagged, soaking wet and barely conscious.
And that’s when I decided to destroy their lives.
The November air cut through my jacket as I walked along the riverbank that afternoon. I’d taken the scenic route home from work, needing time to clear my head if ever a stressful day. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting orange light across the water.
Everything seemed peaceful until I noticed two figures standing near the old boat launch about 50 yards ahead. Something about their movements caught my attention. They were struggling with a large wooden crate, the kind used for shipping heavy equipment. The box must have weighed at least 100 pounds based on how they strained to carry it between them.
As they reached the river’s edge, I recognized the woman’s purple coat.
My stomach dropped.
That was my mother, Donna.
The man beside her was my father, Gerald.
I froze behind a cluster of trees, unsure why I felt the need to hide from my own parents. They’d been acting strange lately, making excuses whenever I asked to bring my daughter Arya over for visits. Donna had claimed she was redecorating. Gerald said he’d been feeling under the weather.
Their reasons kept changing, but the message stayed consistent.
Stay away.
They lifted the crate together, swinging it once, twice, then launching it into the river with a heavy splash. The sound echoed across the water. Both of them stood there for a moment, watching it sink.
Then Donna started laughing.
Gerald joined in, their voices carrying across the distance between us.
The sound made my skin crawl. There was something cruel in that laughter, something that didn’t match the simple act of disposing of an old box.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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