THE torchlight was always the giveaway, the sure sign “they” were coming. Then
the footsteps would creak on the floorboards — softly, taking care not
to wake the other boys — before stopping short at one of the beds.
As
four-year-old David cried quietly in his bed at Swan Homes, an Anglican
orphanage in Middle Swan, he wondered if they had come for him again. But there was no solace if they took one of his friends, because he knew what horrors awaited them.