Young Writers Society

I wrote this story after I read an article about child endangerment. It was about a couple who was on trial, and the one thing that I remember is that they slept in wooden 'cages.' The rest is fiction.

I walked through through the long wood house labeled 'One'. There were four rows of 4x5 foot wooden cages, lined floor-to-ceiling with feces and other bodily fluids littering the straw on the bottom of each crate. The entire room reeked of sickness, sadness and the smell of dried blood. I began to cry as I reached the fourth crate on the top row. It had a hole in the chain-link that surrounded the wood frame. There were trickles of blood down all of the wooden ladders. I choked as I tried to speak.

"It hasn't changed."

My name is Carrie Glasser. I'm thirty-five years old, and I am a reporter for the New York Times. When I was asked to cover a story on child endangerment, I didn't want to, but I convinced myself that I was strong enough to handle it. I never imagined it would be THIS story. Twenty years ago, I lived in that horrid place. It was I who kicked the hole in the chain link of that cage, or, 'beds' as we were told to call them. We were never allowed to leave, except for chores and when we were home schooled by a tutor who came to the house twice a week.

I was found sitting under a tree in Central Park when I was five. It was December. It was then that I came to live there. I was told that I was going to live with a couple by the names of Joan and Lanny Beverly. I was brought there by a lady called Carol, who I later learned was my case worker. She led me to the house. It was beautiful, out in the country, with a big wrap-a-round porch, and a swing, and screen door. It was three stories tall, and had all the old charm an old farm house should have. I still remember walking in and smelling chicken and apple pie. There were three other kids in the house, one was watching TV, the other two were playing. Joan & Lanny were the nicest people I'd ever met. Joan gave me a piece of apple pie and a glass of milk and told me to make myself at home while she talked to Carol. Lanny showed me his old train set from when he was a kid, and showed me how to work it. I was in awe that families like this existed.

Carol came back in the room and said that she'd be back in a few weeks to check on me. She never came back. It seems Joan had convinced her that it was...unnecessary. I quickly learned that the toys and apple pie were all a show. They kept it up the rest of the night, and I slept in what I thought was going to be my own room. The next day they led me out in the backyard, and showed me two buildings. Building Two had all the stuff we'd need for chores and such, and then they showed me into Building One. Inside, there were at least a dozen children in what certainly looked like cages to me. They told me it would be best if I stayed out there from then on. They led me to the "bed" that was to be mine. The fourth crate on the top row. I scraped my leg on a nail as I climbed up into it. I turned to ask for a band-aid, but they were gone.

I didn't see them again until dinner time, which brought a ham sandwich and water. I asked if there was going to be any apple pie tonight and got "shushed" by all the other kids.

Joan turned to me and said, "We don't like apple pie." And stalked out.

It went like that for the next two days. I woke up at 5:30 AM, and was let out of my crate to do chores. All of us who had to climb down would gouge our legs on nails and splinters, we let the blood run until we were done with our chores, and then we'd sneak to the back of Building Two and would run our legs under the water pump. Those of us who'd been able to hold it during the night, would rush around back to the outhouse to use the bathroom. Many of us didn't make it. Then, we'd eat lunch outside. This was the best time of day. We were allowed to talk and as long as we were quiet, we could sneak and play jump rope or jacks. We then were led back into our beds, where we were given reflection time. We'd reflect until 6:00, when dinner was served. We'd eat and then go to bed.

Everything was the same until one day, we were woken at 4:00 to take showers. We showered, and then sat at a long table in a room with a chalk board. At 6:00, a man whose name was Luke came to teach us. Luke was our tutor until I was about 8, and that's when he got suspicious. Then we got a lady called Mary, and I liked her a lot. She was an oblivious old lady and stayed until I was around 14, and she noticed the cuts on our legs. We then got Jason. Jason was much too young to be certified, he was only about 17, and boy, was he ever gorgeous. We'd flirt all the time. I was his quickest learner. One day, Jason had me stay after. He kissed me in the schoolroom, and then led me out to his truck. We laid in the bed of the truck for awhile, and I started kissing him again. I had learned of sex through the older kids at the home, all of them having moved out long ago. I asked Jason if we could have sex and he laughed at me.

"Do you really think I'm going to say no?"

We made love in his truck and it was the most beautiful thing ever. The blossoms off the cherry tree fell off in a gust of wind and landed all around our bodies. It was so amazing. Until Lanny came out when he saw Jason's truck still in the drive. He ripped me and Jason out of the truck, not even letting us put our clothes back on. He beat on Jason something awful, and told him to leave and never come back. When Jason was out the door he turned to me. He punched me in the face and in the stomach. He then punched my most sensitive area, and threw me onto the table. He shoved himself into me as I screamed. He yelled right back at me.

"You're gettin whatchyou deserve, little lady. The only man who's ever allowed to touch you that way is me, you hear? And if you scream one more time, I'ma rip yer vocal box out, so shut that mouth o' yers."

I never said a word to him again. Every other night or so, he'd pull me out of my crate and rape me. Sierra, my closest little sister came in one night, scared, because I wasn't' t there, and he stepped on her throat, and choked her to death. That was possibly the lowest point in my life.

My brothers, Javan and Jake were tormented as bad as me. It seemed they had it in for us the most. Maybe because we had minds of our own. Maybe because we knew life wasn't supposed to be this way, and that we were determined to get out. I'd kicked the hole in my crate trying to get out after they'd locked it one night, and Javan couldn't pick it. I know now that the three of us were what started the twenty year long process of getting these people behind bars. One day, there was a rapping at my crate. I looked and it was Jason. He'd come to, well, spring me. I told him I wouldn't leave without Javan or Jake. He pulled us out of our beds and led us out to his truck. He tore away quicker than lightning and soon we were at his college dorm. He kissed me and felt at my stomach.

"How long has it been since you've had your period?"

It had been months. Two, to be exact. I'd already feared what he was thinking. I'd rattled to Javan and Jake about how I thought I was pregnant with Lanny's baby.

"Have you--"

"She's been a good girl, Jason. Fuckhead's been raping her ever since you left." Jake grimly wiped off the dried blood on his arms and legs.

"We've been trying to get a test for her, Jay...we can't get away. I'll go to the drugstore now."

"Javan...don't leave. You can't be seen, someone might find out that you 'belong' to the Beverly's.." Jason got up and grabbed some money off his dresser and walked to the door, "I'll be right back. Do not leave this room. If a guy called Matt comes, let him in, but no one else."

Jason's kindness overwhelmed us. He came back with the test and food. It turns out I was pregnant. He took me to the doctor, and moved us in to NYC. I married Jason, and had the baby. It was a girl, and we named her Sierra. Javan and Jake got married as well, and we remain close to this day. I swore that I'd never, ever go back to that place, under any circumstances.

I was wrong.

Here I am, today, writing this article. This article may seem more like the story of my escape from tragedy, but I know that it's similar to every single child who walked through the doors of Building One. Some of them never made it out of that mini-internment camp. Others are still there today, riding out the court battle.

One of them is a New York Times reporter.