It was already midnight. It was raining cats and dogs, foggy and misty. Typhoon signal No. 8 was still hoisted. A mysterious middle-sized cottage stood alone in a dark forest. Crickets were humming the melodic lullabies for the Wong’s family. The House was dark, filled with snores, sweet dreams and nightmares.
‘Creak … creak …’ the door was opened.
A man, who appeared with a long shadow walking with caution, held a gun in his right hand and shouted.
‘ALL OF YOU COME OUT AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD!’ The long shadow moved very fast, like a ghost and he finally arrived at his destination.
A series of broken sounds of dishes and bowls ruined Mrs. Wong’s lovely and sweet dreams about his eight-year-old son, Thomas.
‘Wak…wake…upp…hon..neyyy…,’ Mrs. Wong quickly shook her husband to get up, ‘There’re… are some strange noises… outside…’ She nearly cried.
‘BANG!’ The noise came again…
‘I SAY IT ONCE MORE! GET UP NOW AND COME OUT!’ shouted the man with another series of shooting.
‘AAAHHHH…’ Mrs. Wong finally collapsed. What worried her much was her lovely son, Thomas, whose room was right next to the kitchen.
Mr. Wong grabbed a broom and walked out quietly of his room. He was courageous. The floor was full of broken glasses with a long shadow of a man. Mr. Wong quickly hit it with the broom.
‘Hurray! Done! Hey, my son!’ He rushed towards his room.
The room of his son was opened. Mr. Wong turned on the light. What he saw was a short guy standing still. ‘Where am I?’ the short, innocent guy asked, rubbing his eyes.
‘Thomas, my baby,’ said Mrs. Wong, ‘What’ve you done? You see… you sleepwalked again… Oh…’
Thomas, holding his favourite toy gun, still felt shocked after the incident.