Nightmare in Niceville Read Online Free PDF

and frightening subject to think about.
    Ashley was only a few days old, and I was ten at the time. My father had started to drink a lot, and it became a problem. I spent most of my time in Ashley’s room after that started. When my father would come home at whatever time of night, Mom would hurry me into Ashley’s room, and I locked the door like always. She wouldn’t come in the room with us because he would follow her in. She had protected us at all costs.
    So, I would sit holding Ashley while I listened to my father screaming and yelling and cussing. Mom would yell back, and I could hear her voice shaking. I knew she hated yelling with every part of her being. I would hear him slap her, and banging noises from all over the house. Ashley would whimper, and I rocked her in my arms so she wouldn’t cry. I’d grit my teeth to keep my own tears in. Trying to keep Ashley safe and calm was the only thing that kept me from bawling.
    Each night was different. Sometimes, he’d get closer and closer to the room, and I would rush to the closet with Ashley to hide. The doorknob would jiggle, and the door would shake in its frame as he shoved and kicked it. But Mom had always gotten him away in time—I’d hear something shatter against the door, something that she’d thrown at him. Or she would yell, which would earn her more bruises.
    My heart never slowed down on those nights . . . sometimes I worried that I would wake Ashley because it pounded so hard. Then, after what felt like days, my father would go to his room and slam the door. He would pass out for a long time until he felt like drinking again. Mom would knock on our door quietly, and I’d run to unlock it. Her face would be all busted up with new bruises or a busted lip. Once he’d even broke her wrist. She had lied to everyone and said she fell down the steps. Even though she was in pain, she hugged me and told me that everything would be all right. She’d grab Ashley, rocking her back and forth. Afterwards, she would clean all her scratches and bruises with the First Aid kit she’d stashed in Ashley’s room. We would fall asleep in there. And my father would usually be gone when we woke up.
    One day, my mother had finally put an end to it by getting a divorce. We’d moved in with my Grandma and Grandpa Strykes in Niceville, which was nine hours away from where we used to live with my dad. She had gotten a restraining order against my father for all of us, but she’d never gone to the police about the abuse. I always wished she had. That awful man deserved all the punishment he could get. It seemed like she almost wanted to protect him from the law even though he had put her—and us—through so much. It infuriated me if I thought about it too much. I was just glad they were separated.
    But the divorce had made my father extremely angry, and one day he came after us in a drunken state. He had ended up killing three people on his way to our house by crashing into their car—a man and his wife, and their three-year-old son in the back seat. And he kept on driving without a second thought.
    My friend Chelsea and I were playing on the front lawn. We had a dollhouse, Beanie Babies, and Polly Pockets strewn all over the grass. Then he flew onto the curb and into the mailbox. My mom had been watching us from the porch, and she ran frantically to my side, grabbing me and Chelsea. She tried to rush us inside, but my dad tore out of the car in a fit of rage, a few beer bottles rolling out after him. He had a gun in his hand, and he was staring at my mom. My mind was so frozen I had no time to react. I didn’t cry or whine or speak. I just stared at that black, evil thing in his hand.
    â€œThis is what happens when you try to leave me, baby!” he had yelled and cussed. His words were slurred from the alcohol, and he pointed the gun at me. I remembered my heartbeat being the only thing in my head, like