William

The thin, dark cloud hung like a sickly veil over the crescent moon. Stifled light petered down on the fresh snowfall that covered the vast expanse of the ranch. A freezing wind, almost visible in the chilled air, swept through the ram shackled buildings that dotted the property.

William Murrin emerged from the large rundown barn that stood behind the main house, his hands cradling the thick cuts of wood. Snow crunched loudly under his boots as he made the short walk to the back door. Climbing the steps to the porch, he kicked off the slushy remnants before entering the house.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness of the kitchen, his weak arms growing heavy under the weight of the wood. The fires glow and warmth greeted him when he reached the front room. He placed the wood into the container beside the hearth, a crackled wheeze echoed from his throat as he did so.

Standing in front of the flames, he let the heat wash over him. His eyes transfixed on its fiery dance until a painful rumble gnawing at his empty stomach released him from its grip.

Hunger had been a constant through the long winter. The crops long since gone, William unable to save them by himself.

He glanced at the dusty television in the corner now dormant since the power went and remembered how he and his sister would rush downstairs on a Saturday morning to watch cartoons before their chores.

Memories were his only company anymore. Some, like that one would make him happy but most filled him with a deep sadness.

William lit a candle and went back to the kitchen. A solitary tin of corn, which he found that morning hidden in his fathers wardrobe, was all that occupied the cupboards. He lifted the lid off the icebox by the door and saw the three small bags of meat that remained within. These would not last long and he knew he would have to try and hunt again.

The rusted tin opener pierced the lid of the corn before he moved the blade along the rim of the can. After managing to open it just enough, William spilled the contents onto a plate.

Dark specks peppered the yellow kernels, a dusty odour confirmed the staleness of the corn. Ignoring this, the young man placed the strip of meat in the pan. He fumbled with the small butane canister on the table and when the blue flame appeared he placed the pan on top.

The meat crackled as it fried, filling the kitchen with its aroma. William's stomach ached as these smells coursed into his nostrils.

He devoured the meal without haste, savouring every morsel.

Feeling tired after the food, William shuffled back to the warmth of the fire. He lay on the tattered couch and wrapped himself in a blanket. Sleep overcame him in moments.
********************
After their mothers death his father Edward, knowing the city was no longer safe, moved them to the isolation of the farm. Miles from anywhere, he felt they would be protected here.

For the first few months things had gone well on the farm. Edward and William planted numerous crops while his younger sister Jessica looked after the household duties. The seclusion of the new home seemed to help with their mourning.

Edward forbade any mention of their mother, leaving the siblings to grieve in their own way. It hit William the hardest, he was always closer to his mother and as the weak and sensitive child turned into a shy, awkward young man, he missed her protective wing so much more.

His father had been tough on the children, his short fuse often exploding as the crops began to fail. A hot, dry summer gave way to an unexpected long, icy winter and Edwards lack of experience the reason for these failures.

After the power went Edward began to drink more heavily alone in his room, only coming down at night to drive the jeep aimlessly around the property. It was not long before one night he lost control and crashed into fencing at the front of the property, writing off the vehicle and injuring his back.

Jessica and William struggled, rationing what food was left. William would spend hours in the nearby snow covered forest trying to hunt for any animal that braved the conditions. Only once was he successful, bringing home two hares he had shot with the old Remington.

Like a spectre upstairs, they would sometimes hear their father moving around his room knocking over the small plate of food Jessica would leave at his dresser. She was always visible shaken when she returned downstairs. Other times the sound of his drunken rants would fill the house followed by a guttural sobbing that seemed to last forever.
*******************
The cold woke William suddenly, the blanket now crumpled on the floor. He noticed the fire had almost gone out and quickly placed some wood on the dying flames.

Fresh snowfall illuminated an otherwise dull morning outside as he stepped out onto the back porch. He loaded the Remington, placed some ammunition in the pocket of his parka and made his way toward the forest.

His boots sunk deep into the white that covered the ground, the freezing air hurting his lungs. An eerie silence greeted him when he reached the forest. The trees branches arched hideously under the weight of the snow.

He pulled his scarf over his mouth and nose, opened the rifles sight and waited.

Movement to the left broke his concentration. William turned the rifle but saw it was only a weakened bough that had been felled by the weight of hardened snow.

Hours passed, his hands under the thermal gloves bitten with cold. Nothing stirred in the forest and William decided to return to the house.

He followed his tracks back when the noise rose in the distance. The sound became clearer as he moved toward it, the mechanical turn of an engine.

William picked up the pace as best he could through the deep snow slipping like a baby deer when he did. The noise grew louder the closer he got.

The forest thinned out ahead of him and the farm came into view. Thin plumes of black smoke wafted into the air behind the barn.

A sense of fear began to grow inside the young man, he gripped the rifle tight.

William crouched down behind an old water tank adjacent to the barn, its door visible from this vantage point. Moments later the door opened and a man with a gun over his shoulder emerged looking cautiously around. His large frame was well wrapped in camouflage hunting gear, tufts of grey hair protruding from under his woollen cap.

The man started to walk toward the house, his gun now in his hands.

"Hold it there", William shouted, his rifle pointed at the figure that approached the house.

Startled, the man glanced over at him, then ran suddenly around the side of the barn.

Engine revs tore the quiet of the early afternoon before the man careered his snowmobile away from the barn and up the hill in the opposite direction.

William shouted again but this was drowned by the roar of the vehicles motor. Soon the snowmobile was out of sight, leaving the young man alone and terrified.

The rising wind banged the barn door melodically against its frame. William entered and saw that the fire wood had been knocked over. He moved toward the back of the building.

Two large crates that his father used to store grain had been open. Knowing what they now contained, William's heart sunk to the pit of his stomach when he realised that the hunter had looked inside.
*******************
On the night it happened William had been reading an old comic in one of the back bedrooms. An awful high pitched scream came suddenly from upstairs. He jumped off the bed and ran up the creaky steps.

His father's bedroom door was slightly ajar. He looked inside and saw his sister bent over the bed, her head buried in the sheets. Her trousers and white cotton panties wrapped around her ankles as he saw his father fumble with his belt.

William ran at his father, pushing him away from Jessica. Edward held his footing and punched his son on the side of the head. The younger man crumbled to the floor, his head spinning from the impact.

Jessica stood up, her small hands pulled at her trousers. Her father grabbed her hair and flung her hard against the wall. The girl's arms flayed as she fell but could not prevent her head from smashing violently against the side of the dresser.

Blood, black in the flickering candlelight, poured into a pool beside her lifeless body. Edward dropped to his knees and covered his head in his hands.

William managed to get to his feet, ran out of the bedroom and out of the house. Disorientated, he lumbered through the snow into the barn. Inside, he saw the ladder to the hayloft and climbed it. Laying on the cold, damp hay he spied down through a crack in the flooring.

He could hear his father shouting his name, his voice getting nearer. The barn door opened.

"It was an accident boy, I'm so sorry. Please come out and talk to me", Edward pleaded, searching through the barn below where his son hid.

The hay tickled the boy's nose before a loud sneeze alerted Edward to his position. Edward began to climb the wooden ladder. William stood and looked down at his father who was now nearly at the top. With all his strength he grabbed the ladder and pushed it backward.

Edward's body crashed against the floor, the ladder fallen on top of him. He gasped for breath on the ground, paralysed from the fall.

William climbed down the beams at the side. He pulled the rusty axe from a piece of deadwood by the door and walked to where Edward was slouched.

Blood and air bubbled from Edwards's mouth and trickled down his chin. Anger consumed the boy entirely as he stood over him. In a swift motion he brought the axe down on his father's skull.
*******************
The weather deteriorated the days after William saw the hunter come out of the barn. Strong winds howled through the ranch, rattling the windows of the house.

Fear had prevented him from sleep as he kept watch from an upstairs bedroom, only leaving to eat the remaining slices of meat. His body grew weaker and pains ripped at his stomach.

When sleep finally took him it was only for a few hours before the gnawing aches brought him back to consciousness. He moved slowly down stairs, the old Remington in his hands. The kitchen was icy cold. He opened the drawer, took the large knife out and put it in the pocket of his coat.

William went out onto the back porch and looked around. The wind swirled viciously across him as he made his way to the barn.

The crates at the back of the barn were still open. William looked inside at the remains of his father and sister. Their naked bodies frozen in the makeshift coffin.

The young man took out his knife and began to cut through the harden meat of his father's calf muscle. When he had finished he placed the slice of meat into a small plastic bag before he started on the other leg.

William returned to the house with two thick strips of meat in the bag. He lit a candle in the kitchen and ignited the small butane canister.

After he finished his meal he took the can of petrol from under the stairs and poured it along the hallway floor until it was empty. He took the matches from his pocket, lit the box and placed it onto the oil. The fire spread quickly as he walked out the front door.

William walked down to the tree in the front garden, the noose swung gleefully in the breeze. He climbed up to the branch that held it, slipping a few times before he eventually reached it. He looked at the house now engulfed in flames and placed the rope around his neck. The coarseness of the noose scratched at his scrawny neck. He tightened it and fell from the branch. William was not afraid anymore.