Short Story - The Taker

Short Story Tuesdays

To a young boy of eight years of age every day has the potential to be an adventure, yet none would be as unforgettable for Ricky as the day he learned of The Taker.

It had started off like any other, rising to the sounds of the morning blossom, smells of a hearty breakfast, eyes adjusting to the bright sun. But before he even had a chance to step down upon the floorboards below, arms outstretched in the process of awaking the insides a commotion blew through Ricky’s small village as fast as a stream of wind, setting into motion a scurry the likes of which he had never witnessed before.

Peering out his bedroom window the neighbors were in a frenzy, all scattering this way and that in preparation for something. A coming storm? He looked up towards the sky. Nothing but soft blue and fluufy white.

As if echoing the dash of the dozen or so disheveled the young boy’s mother came darting into the room.

“Get dressed. Grab your shoes,” she said while snatching up whatever article of clothing was nearest and flinging it over to him.

“What’s happening? Can’t I eat breakfast first? I’m hungry.”

“Grab a biscuit on our way out. No time. Hurry, there’s no time.”

“But-”   She was back out the door before he could say another word, his heart beginning to match the pace of the madness about.

By the time Ricky had dressed and entered the kitchen, a full sixty seconds to be precise, his small family were busier than the ant farm he had received on his last birthday, older sister, father and grandfather all joining mother in the skedaddle to flee the house.

“She’s coming!” someone yelled from outside.

She? was the only thought the boy could wonder before mother had grabbed his wrist and started pulling him towards the door, barely having a fraction of a second to get his fingers around a single biscuit, the unmistakable sound of a sob coming from her as they passed through the open doorway and into the chaos outside.

Another echo, this one from their fellow villagers he could now hear, all crying while lining the streets.

Were they in danger? Why weren’t they running away? Instead doing the opposite, joining in with the others by simply kneeling on bended knee and saturating the ground below with tears of sorrow.