“My son…” a woman wailed, in the midst of darkness. She covered herself under the blindness of a corner, grubby, dirt-ridden and alone. Her hands trembling immensely, her tears obvious and  her heartbreak spelled out clearer than the signage above her head. Hawol was afraid, she should be. But her heart shone nevertheless, she walked slowly into her deepest fear. She held her breath and steeled her guts, eyes firmer than her own muscles as she went closer and closer.

“Maám.” she called, tiredness colouring her voice despite her ironed determination. Courage. The woman looked up to her, exhausted. Broken and it reminded of  her all her scary nights. Her nightmares, the crawling darkness that had faded into her memory; they were reminisced by the look in the woman’s eyes. She was living it; a nightmare.

Where is your son? Hawol asked, knowing her place and hating it. The woman looked down, stayed that way for a moment and  gripping the brown, almost blackened dirt. Then after a few short breath, she spoke with this great turmoil in her voice. Shaken, juddered and breathless. The ‘monster’, she said. The monster had took her son’s life and now the boy is gone. She repeated her words almost religiously, without any ounce of doubt. The monster was the one that took her son away. It was him indeed. But where is he? Hawol thought. So she asked again. 

“They took him.” t