The Merry Pranked by Day Rusk

ground, he heard the same man say, “Finish ‘em all.” He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t look away, as four more shots rang out. He saw two of them hit his Mother, one in the chest and the other in her head, and one hit his sister Mary in the head, the impact of the bullet almost exploding it like a ripe melon. The fourth shot hit his brother in the head, but he didn’t see that.
    His young mind was struggling. What had he just witnessed? What the hell was happening? Why weren’t they eating Shepherd’s Pie? This was all wrong!
    Even as he was trying to register what he had just witnessed, his mind knew enough to tell him to move. With the same stealth he’d used to walk down those couple of steps, he went right back up them and raced to his bedroom and his bed. He could hear the men moving, heading for the front door of the house, or were they coming upstairs again, looking for him? He had no idea, all he knew was he dove under his bed, rolled onto his back, and grabbed hold of those slates with both hands and his feet and hauled himself up out of sight. He didn’t hear the door close as the four men exited the house; he didn’t hear anything, his full concentration was on holding himself in place under his bed until his young arms couldn’t hold him any longer. He wanted to cry, but he also knew silence was his best friend now.
     
    Leslie leaned against the alley wall, looking at Harry who was looking right back at him. Harry seemed amused.
    “You were in the house that night weren’t you?” asked Harry. “We looked everywhere for you but couldn’t find your sorry little ass. But you were there. Where the hell were you hiding?”
    Leslie just looked at Harry; he didn’t feel much like talking and still had to figure a way out of this mess.
    “Morgan doesn’t like to leave witnesses behind. Figured you needed to go. Actually put out a hit on you. Fucking ten-year-old with a price on his head. Morgan didn’t believe you were at a friend’s house. That’s what your old man told him. Said you were having a sleepover some where’s. We didn’t buy that shit. But you were one lucky bastard. Once the police and the Feds didn’t come calling we just figured you had nothing to tell them. Weren’t the eyewitness they was looking for; or maybe you didn’t see anything. Either way, they moved you away and we just forgot about your sorry ass. I wonder if Morgan would still pay that price, you know, allowing for inflation and what not.”
    Harry laughed. Leslie could see he was having a good time with all of this. Leslie had been an eye witness, but it was determined he was an unreliable eyewitness. He assumed the authorities knew there was a hit out on him, and didn’t think, in the long run, in the fragile and damaged state he was in after the murder of his family, and what he had witnessed in his family room when he finally left his hiding spot and went downstairs; what he had seen before he had called 911, that he’d make a good or reliable witness against Morgan and his cronies. It’s always a gamble putting a kid on the witness stand, and in his case, they must have figured he wouldn’t make the grade.
    “So you’re a reporter now,” said Harry. “Someone in the family going legit. Not like your old man, huh. He certainly wouldn’t have allowed me to get the drop on him like this. That’s why we had to surprise him at your house; only way to get done what needed to be done. Your old man was a real bastard, he was.”
    Leslie had no idea what the hell Harry was talking about. He’d helped kill his Father and his family, what did he know about them?
    “What are you talking about,” he finally managed to spit out.
    “Your old man. Dan Marshall. Fucking nutcase that one. Fucking psycho.”
    Leslie was stunned; what was this asshole talking about? He could see Harry noticed his confusion. Through the damage he had done to Leslie’s face, he could no doubt still see the surprise on it;