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The Journals of Raymond Brooks 83
and screams flashed through my mind and my eyes darted
everywhere like frightened hen searching for a place to hide.

“Calm down, boyo, you’ve been here for two days, nobody’s
after you now. You’re safe.” He said soothingly, “You just rest for
as long as you need, I’ll take care of everything.”
“There was fire, and screams,” I said many minutes later. I
grabbed his arm when he got closer, an act which brought back
the images of fire and slaughter. “They were everywhere and
I tried to get away,” I continued. These words struck a core of
terror in my heart, and I hung on to his hand in dire need of
support.

“Hell,” he said under his breath, not intending that I hear him.
But I did. I didn’t know what ‘hell’ was, for I had no memory of
such a place name.
“By Mary’s grace, no fiend can harm you here. This is a
Christian home and no unclean thing can trespass here,” he
said. I wanted so hard to believe his words, though I knew
neither who this Mary was nor what he meant by ‘Christian.’

His words nonetheless reassured me that he knew my enemies,
and that I was safe from them here.
“Thank you, thank you!” I said.
“Don’t worry about a thing, boyo. You’re safe here and you
can stay for as long as you wish,” he added, and I smiled. Feeling
less anxious, I let go of his arm.
“You just rest now while I go outside to chop some wood,” he
said, and I nodded and laid my head down, doing as instructed.
I remember the sound of his axe striking logs outside, and then

as sleep approached, the sound faded. There was a moment
where I didn’t hear, feel, or think anything — a moment of utter
blackness. Then the visions came, a vast discord of images and
sounds; fire, screams, violence, pain, and the scent of scorched