MY eyes searched the dark room for any object of defence, but found none.

Then, as the man was only an arms length from where I was sitting on the bed, I saw something strapped to his waist, just above the waistband of his pair of boxer shorts: a dagger!

‘‘You know the rule.’’ The man chuckled. ‘‘I believe they must have told you. You don’t make a noise. Just obey. A single word or sound from you…’’ He detached the dagger from his waist and brandished it before me, ‘‘…will make this thing drive through your neck and choke you to death. And I will lick your blood off the dagger to purify it. And nobody, not even God, can save you.’’

He licked his lips and dropped the dagger on the bed beside me. Then, rubbing his palms, he made to touch my chest, but I flinched.

‘‘No need of that, little cunt.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘The truth remains that I will eat your holy sacrament, and no one will be here to partake in it.’’ He laughed so mischievously hard that my hatred for him grew.

He pushed me with so much force that my heart nearly flew my throat, forming a lump there and choking me.

I watched him with horror as he pulled down his shorts, revealing his monstrous John Thomas.

Then, he mounted on me, the same time my right hand grabbed the dagger lying in wait on the bed. He did not know I had grabbed his dagger. Perhaps, his denigration of me as a vulnerable, little girl beguiled him into thinking I was harmless.

As he aggressively proceeded to push my gown up my belly, I did what I didn’t know I could do.

The man gasped for breath, blood oozing out of his mouth, as he held the part of his neck where I had buried the dagger. Blood trickled through the gaps of his fingers and ran down the back of his hand.

I pushed him off my body, and he landed with a springy movement beside me on the bed.

It was a miracle for me, I thought. The door, through which the man entered, was left on the latch. I opened it, and was surprised that nobody was within sight. Even though the voices of those little girls had died down, I could still hear their screams in my head: No! No! Please! Don’t do it! The pain is too much for me!

I shook my heard to get rid of those haunting voices. Those voices shouldn’t be sounding in my head. I was not their tormentor and abuser. I wondered whether the men who abused those girls were haunted by these voices, too.

I turned and saw that there was a gap under the door behind me. A person of my size can pass through it.

Thank God! I breathed a sigh of relief, after I crawled through it and emerged at the backyard of this Hell of a place.

The only thing standing in my way of escape was the fence. I surveyed it and discovered some ledges on it.

Without wasting time, I grabbed the first ledge and lifted my tired body to balance on it. Like a monkey, I climbed to the top of the fence, not minding the broken bottles that were used as makeshift burglary proofs, and jumped down on the other side. It was then that I realized that my body had been bruised by those broken bottles. Blood trailed down my laps and my arms.

I limped to a nearby abandoned shop, and sat down on the bare muddy ground, hyperventilating.

The screaming voices came again. I shook my head, but, instead of getting rid of these uncanny sounds, another sounds intercepted: distressed voices and approaching footsteps.

Then, I turned to know what the noise was all about.

The police.

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