When I was 8 years old, my family lived in a village. Our house was the last in the street. I was big enough to go to school by myself.

One afternoon I went home after school. I was jumping around as always. When I was close to the house, I stopped. I usually saw our car in front of the house, but this time the car was not there. Then I saw that the front door was open.

I told myself, ‘something is wrong here. My parents never leave the front door open.’ I went closer and saw blood everywhere! On the wall, on the door, on the grass. Our two dogs were also missing.

What happened here? I was thinking hard. Somebody came and took our dogs. Father didn’t let them go and they fought. Or someone came and took our car. Father didn’t let it go and they fought. The bad people killed everyone, even the dogs. They left the front door open and took our car. Or the people who killed my family are still in the house. I was very very afraid of blood and bad people. I started to walk towards the road. I didn't want to go into the house. I didn’t think about asking other people for help. I just walked and walked and could not even think. My family is gone, I thought, our dogs are gone, everything is gone.

I was walking on the road for an hour when a car stopped next to me. It was my dad in our car!

I started to cry when I saw him. "Where are you going", he asked. “We are looking for you everywhere."

“The blood…” I explained. He smiled and said: “It was an accident. I hit one of our dogs and we took both to the doctor. He is fine now. Let’s go home."

They left the front door open, because they wanted to drive to the doctor quickly.

I was very happy that everybody was fine, even the dogs, and nobody was killed.