by Patricia Rainford

Created on: November 14, 2008

I was seven years old, I think (it's been awhile), when the children's choir at my church stated that we'd be going Christmas caroling to help raise money for the parish the church had set up for the season. I was so excited! I was new to the church and this was the first group I'd ever been a part of. I loved to sing! I felt at that moment like I was part of something special, something magical, something that would be calculated on my score card in heaven as a "good deed".

Our choir director and his wife, Walter and Cheryl (names changed), were the ones who drove the church van. Besides the two of them, the van was filled with kids ages six to twelve. I believe this was the first time I'd ever been allowed out without Mom and Dad. I felt free, I felt mature, and was looking forward to the evening. Little did I know about life in general. Everything, at that point in my life, was all happiness and sunshine. Everyone was nice, adults were always right; the negativity of the world had been shielded from me.

We were going caroling in Walter and Cheryl's neighborhood. They parked the van at their house and the troop proceeded to walk from door to door, singing merry tunes that was the norm among caroling. Everything was going great.

It was a house about seven houses down from Walter and Cheryl's house. I remember the warm glow coming from inside. It was a multi-colored brown brick with burgundy shutters. Perfect sticky bushes lined the front around the edge of the porch. It was a beautiful one story house that seemed so peaceful.

"Let's go on down to 134," Walter said, his hands stuck deep in his pockets. He stood in place, half of the kids not hearing him still treading through the grass towards the house Walter seemed to have an aversion to.

"Why? Maybe it would be good to get to know more of our neighbors," Cheryl said. "They're home. See?"

By that time the rest of us were almost already up to the porch. Cheryl jogged to catch up, yelling at Walter to come on. We began "Silver Bells" as Cheryl joined the line.

Slowly Walter began to move. But instead of joining us, he hung back, leaning up against a small tree in the yard, ignoring confused glances from his wife as the carolers sang on.

The door swung open and a young man and woman around Walter and Cheryl's age peered out at us smiling. Then they switched on the porch light which illuminated the front half of their yard, putting somewhat of a spotlight on Walter cowering near the tree.

"What the hell are you doing here!?" the man blasted while simultaneously the woman behind him was mouthing something I couldn't hear and Cheryl was saying, "What?" over and over right next to me.

Walter was backing up, "The kids..." he was trying to say before the man flew out of his house and tackled Water in a fury I'd never seen before. The other woman dashed back into the house and Cheryl just stood there screaming. Needless to say, the caroling was over and there was an array of screaming and crying coming from the children's choir.

"How dare you come back to this house after you screwed my wife!" Not the man's exact words but in the interest of keeping horrible curse words out of this story, I improvised. He was saying this while he was using his fist to emphasize how angry he was. Walter was struggling but couldn't quite get his wits about him enough to defend himself.

The rest is really a blur. I remember the blood, I remember the police, I remember it was a very long time before I was allowed to go out without Mom and Dad. After that, it was a long time before I even asked.

It was my first memory of the utter ugliness that rests within society.

We continued to go to that church, though, but we never seen or heard from Walter or Cheryl again.

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