Bad dream

I think they’ve gone. We listen carefully, almost holding our breath. Nothing. The silence feels comforting but fragile after a night of snarling engines and the wild screams and whoops of the bikes’ young riders. Esther squeezes my hand in the dark and my heart rate begins to drop. I feel weak and on the verge of tears as the fight or flight adrenaline leaves my body.
We switched the light off when we heard them coming and huddled on the cramped sofa, peeking through a tiny gap in the curtains as they skidded and wheeled, churning up the mud, their headlamps sweeping the pitch black field, illuminating the white blocks of empty caravans. One rider passed so close by I could have reached out the window and touched him. I closed my eyes as he swept by, praying for them to just go while Esther whimpered beside me. Eventually my prayers were answered and the noise receded into the distance. It was over. We were safe.
Together we get into bed in the dark, not daring to risk the light. I clutch the solid shape of the Maglite for reassurance. We hold each other and whisper loving words until sleep takes us.
Fear tightens around my heart as my ears pick up the sound. Quiet at first but getting louder. They’re coming back. Oh God, they’re coming back. Why won’t they leave us alone? The engines’ roar fills my head. They’re right outside. I reach for Esther. Where is she? The door flies open and suddenly one of them is in here with us. His blank helmeted head swings from side to side, seeking us out. Where is my Esther? Don’t hurt her, please. My hand closes around the heavy torch.
Screaming, I run at him, swinging the torch wildly. It catches his helmet a glancing blow and I’m surprised how easily he drops to the floor, but I don’t stop, I swing again and again and the shiny, black surface of the helmet cracks and splits and but I aim another blow and another. I stumble as my feet tangle with his legs. I put my hand out to stop my fall but I grasp at thin air and land heavily on the floor.
No sound from the rider. No sound from outside. They must have abandoned their fallen comrade, although I didn’t hear them go. I grope about for the torch and find it near my head, but it feels strangely sticky in my hand. Shaking, I switch it on and shine it on the rider’s face.
There’s blood. Lots of it. The helmet is gone and black-red blood covers the face. It’s splattered on the white tee shirt, and on Mickey Mouse’s smiling face. I read the words: Disneyworld, Orlando.
Our dream holiday. This time last year. Years of saving to spend two weeks in the Florida sun. Buying endless souvenirs – snow shakers, soft toys, the extra large tee shirt she’s slept in almost every night since. I wipe the blood from Esther’s face and stare into her unseeing eyes.