Image credit: TroobaDoor/Shutterstock.com

They are dancing again, in the night. It’s them.

I’ve got my iPhone with me so I can capture them on film at last, to prove my point. They are there. And all they do.

My parents say I am imagining things.

“It’s just kids letting off steam,” my father says. “They go to the wooded areas just outside town to have parties, get a bit drunk, dance, that’s all. All kids do that at their age. You will too, when you grow a bit older. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” my mother says in response, every time. But she’s not on my side. She goes on to say “Those parties are terrible drunken affairs! Someone will get hurt sometime, you mark my words, because of them! The council should do something. Or the schools, or someone! Someone should do something!”

According to my mother someone should always do something about the frivolous antics of teenagers and according to my father they should be left well enough alone. But neither of them listen to me about what I’ve seen really happens there. They think I’ve just got “a very over active imagination for a child your age. One day you’ll write a bestseller! Wait and see!”

But you see, it isn’t teenagers up there, not even older ones. It’s adults. And sometimes young kids, ones that look like they come from the poorer side of town. Ones no-one would miss if they disappeared. And I think – no I know – they do disappear! After that, there’s nothing for it. I’ve seen it.

I’ve seen what they do.

So tonight, I’m filming it all. And if anything happens to me, there will be this, my testimony. And hopefully someone will find it.

But if I get this on film and get away safe, then I’m going to expose them. I’m going to show the whole world.

And then this town will never be the same again.

(c ) Helen M Valentina 2018