"I remember the day that I nearly died" I said in a voice that sounded too thin in the small room.

I looked at the man sitting across from me. The harsh florescent light made him look pasty, almost bland. He looked at me with intense blue eyes, and then looked at the tape recorder sitting between us on the Formica table. Looking down at my hands, I continued.

"My family and I were at a favourite picnic spot. It was isolated, but the drive was worth it. We went there all the time.

It was really warm, and I had gone off for a walk, while the rest of the family were setting out the food and drink.

I got back a while later, and everything was very quiet, except for the nearby river. Something was not quite right; I remember the air being very still. It's like those tales of the quiet before a disaster or something like that."

I looked up from staring at the sleeve of my orange overalls. The man across from me had not moved. It was as if he was a statue. The harshness of the light making him chiselled out of stone. "When I arrived back at the picnic site, my daughter was lying by the river, she was face down at the shoreline. My son was nowhere to be seen. My wife sat in the middle of the blanket on the ground, slumped. I could see a pool of what looked like blood spreading away from her.

I turned around, and there was my son. All he did was stare at me with a look of shock and fear. Then he pointed at me. I looked down and saw blood on my t-shirt, a lot of blood. I guess I must have fought off the attacker and been in shock, because I don't remember the details."

The man pushed back his chair, and leant forward; the first movement he had made. He whispered, "You murdered them. And I am going to make sure you pay". With the light above him, all I could see was his eyes, bright but cold.

He got up and left the room. I sat there, looking at the door, and thought back to the day that I nearly died.