Hello, gentle listener, and welcome to nocturnal transmissions, the fortnightly podcast that brings you dark tales both old and new, performed by voice artist Kristen Holland.

I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Whitney Houston.

Let's save the children, Marvin Gay. I want to kill people,

I want to rip their stomachs out and eat their children. Mike Tyson. Our featured tale this time around is entitled for the children.

Gentle listener, it is not.

We do hope you enjoy Holden Marses for the children.

He felt to heat flush his face, cheeks full of blood as he lumbered up the steps of the metal fire escape, a gas can in each hand.

His pulse grew erratic as the full realization of what he was there for sank in. He was having an out-of-body experience.

But he wasn't hovering over himself.

He was hundreds of yards away in the dark,

gazing through a telescope at his own feverish body.

He came back to his consciousness in a rush and found himself looking through a window at the family within.

Son, daughter, mother and infant.

Father.

They played a game together and enjoyed each other's presence, the room full of familial

spirit.

Suddenly, his heart grew heavy with regret for what he had to do.

He hesitated.

He knew he was sick. In the distance he heard the blades of a police helicopter chopping the brisk city air. Maybe he should turn himself in. They could get him help, get him a doctor.

Instantly, he was looking through a window made of time.

He saw himself in that room.

Just a child, as he looked down the barrel of a loaded revolver.

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