Alone

By Hannah Baston

"Behind the door was where bad things happen. No matter how many blankets I used or extra pairs of panties I wore. None of it mattered. The monster always came. His face obscured in the shadows, partially hidden behind the cloak rack. Hot breath breathing over my face as soon as I closed my eyes."

By the time Sarah Jane was seven she’d started to fear coming home. Her Mother’s stern words and threats were countered by her Dad’s kindness. But then things take a turn and the monster isn’t staying away. This is her story of escaping from a life of neglect and sexual abuse. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hannah Baston
• Release date: Jul 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533713704

Book preview

1

My father was a magician. Everything he touched came to life. Lumbering into our cottage home from the factory he’d sing Clair de lune and cry out from the door way of our little cottage ‘Sing with me Sarah Jane.’

Tapping his big black boots on the kitchen floor and scooping me up his arms as he sang. We’d ignore my Mother’s disapproving glare and I’d pull at his scruffy beard laughing.

As darkness set in, my Mother’s drawn face would appear up from her piles of ironing. Scowling at me and pointing to the bedroom door. My arms would wrap tightly around his big thick neck, silently begging not to be put down.

Lying awake at night, my heart would pound at the sound of footsteps. The creaking of floorboards and the squeak of my bedroom door meant the monster was coming…

Pulling up the covers up to my nose, I’d pray to God, to make him go away. I even tried snoring loudly in case it scared the monster away. Even though at seven, I was far too old to believe in such things.

My mother was much too tough to believe in any such ‘nonsense.’ Her nostrils flaring and heavy body turning towards me, arm out ready to smack.

If I hear you talking such nonsense again, I’ll smack you so hard you can’t sit for a week you hear, she said. Her face was red and puffy like the rest of her body. Giant hands would whack me. Hitting me until it was hard to breathe. Making my stomach and back go a purplish colour. If I wasn’t so naughty, she wouldn’t have to do it. But she makes me long coats and jumpers so no one else has to see my ugly little arms.

Grunting she turned back to her huge piles of laundry. Sorting out the white shirts with pointy collars and tiny buttons that men wore to work from the delicate cardigans with