“Where did they go?” Paul raced ahead, backpack swinging madly behind.
“Careful! Wait for us.”
It was no use. Paul had already scrambled over the crumbling wall. “I bet they were all torn apart in their sleep.”
Paul’s mother watched her son negotiate the scattered piles of rubble like a mountain goat. By the time they caught up he had already bolted through an opening in the building’s rear, the silence soon punctuated by the odd thud as something was hurled at a hopefully sturdy part of the wall behind them.
His mother shook her head and hollered, “If you keep that up you’ll call the Mardon.”
It had the desired effect; silence.
“Let him have his fun, Cara. They might have moved on long ago, or we could just as soon not wake.” Paul’s father’s gaze fell to the corner where the scattering of bleached and broken bones sat uselessly in the dust.
150 words (I’m not usually this frugal!) – Sally-Ann Hodgekiss