My Gift and My Curse - WIP from 2012

Prologue- 

I always dread these days. Mondays are always the worst. You go from just being all alone, by yourself, peace and quiet; To having everything overwhelm you in the blink of an eye.

My straight black hair was wet and hanging in my face, as usual. My Black hoodie, although it had the hood up, was completely soaked through. It was raining, but I didn’t care. It was peaceful to me. The walk to school always got longer and longer. I dreaded that walk. every single day. Again, going from being alone, quiet, no pain or anger going through my head, to being back in this evil place. Being called an “emo freak” every day wasn’t exactly easy.

I don’t have any friends. everyone teases me. I’m an automatic target. I usually just sat there, wishing the emotions would go away, I barely heard their mocking remarks. Until they start throwing paper balls at my head. I just explode. I have too many emotions running through my head. I don’t have time to think.

I’ve had to transfer schools three times in the past two years. I get sent to the principal’s office almost every other day. It isn’t my fault. I’m driven to this, and I can’t help it. The voices, the pain. It never stops. Unless I’m just sitting alone, in the farthest corner of my room crying or sketching. It helped me release pain. Some think I’m depressed. truth is, it’s just my image. I actually choose to have no friends. I choose to stay in my room. I choose the exiled outcast life. I have been to a counsellor multiple times, they usually give me a prescription for depression medication. Which, I guess I have to admit, I am depressed. But I don’t want to fix it, so I don’t take my medication. Ever. Even when my parents make me, i hide the pills under my tongue and spit them out. It helps people to stay away from me.

I’m a monster. You think I’m crazy? Most do. The voices drive me to that. They never go away. They are toned down when I am alone in my room, In the corner farthest from any windows or doors. But the only time that i really and truly CAN get away from them, is simply plugging in some headphones and turning up my music. Then, I’m at peace. happy. but, It isn’t quite good enough. Because, It isn’t like i can talk to people even then. The music has to be loud enough to drown things out. I wear my earbuds to school, They really do help. But once class starts, I feel like a small little kid, stuck in the woods. Lost. With no one around, but fear.

I’ve had my headphones confiscated before. That was before the first time I had to switch schools they were taken away, and this stuck up little jerk came over to me, bent low and started to whisper in my ear. “Oh. Is mommy’s lullaby getting taken away again?” She started to walk away, laughing, But I was crying. I stood up, grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her backward. Her head slammed down into the floor and she was unconscious I got sent to the office, only to be told I was suspended. But even when I was, the voices and emotion continued to overwhelm me, incidents just kept happening, so I had to leave.

The school I was at now was the worst, and it was only High School. So many dreadful emotions. Sometimes when they are overwhelming enough, I just embarrass myself. Just last week, This girl named Samantha in my class, she has the hots for this guy named Mike. I could hear her thoughts. She wanted to kiss him, really badly. She was sitting right next to me, Mike on the other side. Once she started thinking about kissing him, I couldn’t help it. I lost control and leaned over and next thing I knew, I was kissing him. Once I pulled away, all I was thinking is “Oh Crap” So I was then feeling Samantha’s anger, When she got up and slapped me, I just left class. Yes, I skipped. I went into the bathroom and cried my eyes out. The voices were still there. I could hear them from and entire room away. No matter how much I screamed for them to just go away and leave me alone. Anger, Sadness, Frustration...

Now. Again, you all probably think I’m insane. talking about these “Voices” and how I’m manipulated by them. How I’m exiled, an outcast, and I choose it. Truth is, I’m not crazy. These voices aren’t in my head. Well they are, but they aren’t made up by my mind. They’re real. All of them have names. I can account for every single one. No, these voices aren’t my creations. They are everyone else’s thoughts and emotions...

                                                           I can just hear them.

​

August 27 - Diary Log

I got into the classroom, my iPod blaring. The emotions hadn’t come yet, which was a small victory for me. Sadly, I’ve lost my ability to be truly happy a long time ago when I slipped into the depression I am in. The only time I feel happiness is if someone around me is feeling it. I may smile a bit, or possibly let out a little giggle, but unfortunately it doesn’t last long, considering I am considered the ‘Gothic Weirdo.’ If I made a noise relating to happiness, everyone all of a sudden gets quiet and just stared in my direction, then the whispers start for a minute or so, until the girls just turn into themselves, prissy and pink, and the guys go back to what they do best. Being extremely annoying and checking out every female creature that steps foot into the classroom. Then I become depressed again. Feeling people’s emotions may not sound like a very big deal, but just think about it. I don’t just feel one emotion, twenty-three people were in my class. I could feel every single one of their emotions. It just gets jumbled and causes stress and headaches. When I feel one specific emotion, it is because one person very close to me, maybe even one seat over, is feeling that emotion very deeply. But again, it fades quickly. I don’t expect any of you to understand. I’m only writing in this journal because everyone else would judge me. That, and my counsellor thinks it’s a good idea. I never take the depression meds that are prescribed to me. I just embrace it most of the time. I’m an empath. And no matter what anyone tries to get me to do, that will not change. Anyways, I got into my classroom, music playing, and dumped my books onto my desk. I put the unneeded ones back in my locker, along with my soaked hoodie and dripping wet black and red backpack. After taking off my hoodie, I looked at myself. I was bitty. Little, scrawny, short. I guess my self esteem wasn’t that high either. After all, I’d been dealing with this power for a few years now, and been depressed around the same amount of time. Oh, great, here they come..

I look up, and notice ‘The Populars’ coming toward me. I quickly shut the notebook, and hide it under my black binder.

“Hey, look! It’s little miss vampire princess!” Rose Medley. She was the leader of that stupid popular group, and you guessed it! Cheer captain.

I ignored her, like usual. She was right behind me as I walked into the classroom. Her two little twins training behind her. Sasha Melantop, and Christina White. They all looked the exact same. Every day. Short jean shorts, tight-fitting short sleeved tops, and their long hair down, with a headband in. They wore different colors. Today their colors were green, blue, and purple. Rose wore green, Sasha in blue, and Christina in purple. I had reached my desk and just sat down, turning my music up even louder to drown her out. She stood right next to me, still talking, although I couldn’t hear her. She then seemed to look angry. That’s when it happened. She bent down and ripped out my earbuds, with her perfectly manicured hands. She threw them down on the ground and stomped them with her designer shoes.

“WHAT DID YOU-” I began, my scream stopping abruptly as the thoughts seeped into my head. I screamed, but no sound came. Or maybe I just couldn’t hear myself.

Freak. Psycho. Ugly.

The hurtful words filled my mind, soon followed by actual phrases.

She’s just looking for attention. What a weirdo! What’s going on? What is that freak doing on the ground?

I had to get out of there, and fast. I didn’t even realize I had gone down on the ground. Then the worst of it happened. The emotions.

Anger. Disgust. Confusion. Sympathy. Pity. Remorse. Amusement.

“STOP! JUST STOP!” I shrieked at the top of my lungs.

Everyone was laughing, except for a select few. Those few looked like they were sympathetic for me, but if they were sympathetic, why weren’t they doing anything? I got up and ran out of the classroom, into the girl’s bathroom. I didn’t have my ear buds anymore, they were gone. What was I going to do? I was in the back of the bathroom, I just sat there crying for at least two periods.

“Why me..?” I whispered, tears flushing my eyes.

“What have I ever done to deserve this...” I whimpered alone.

People would come and go out of the bathroom, while listening to my pain, my tears. I could feel them, there was worry and confusion.

I quickly opened up my journal and began to write, leaking my feelings.

What did I do? What have I ever done? What is the point of me out of all people having this gift.. this curse...

I cried so much. The tears filled my eyes, and slid down my face, onto my notebook, leaving smudges in the ink. My mascara and eyeliner, was coming down my face too, black filling it.

After the tears, and internal pain, I knew what I’d do. No one cared anymore. My teachers, my peers, no one. My parents just sat there and watched me tear myself apart. I quickly decided to walk home. It is awhile, but it was better than being here. I was still crying, but I went back to my locker, grabbed my things, put on my hoodie, pulled up my still damp hood, and walked home, still under the rain cloud that surrounded my being.

​

I got home, and of course, my parents were at work still. It didn’t matter though. I went to my room, slammed the door behind me, turned on my radio, (all the way) and just curled up on my bed to cry. I was so sick of going to that school. People were so judgemental, if only I could tell them, which I could, except for the fact that no one would believe me. I haven’t even told my parents, but I’ve seen the way they look at me. They think I could break any moment, and completely cause a huge scene that would get me sent to a mental ward. I also see in their eyes, they wished I was a normal teenage girl, that wore pretty pink clothing and smiled. Was social, had friends, a boyfriend. Truth is, I was already broken. Everything was just too much. day after day I cried, but now, I didn’t have one of the things that kept me sane. They destroyed it, they destroyed me. Letting all of this hate just sink in, I drifted off to sleep.

“Sabrina...” i heard the voice clear as day, saying my name. a female voice. Calm and gentle. I couldn’t see anything, it was dark. I think I was in a room. My room. The voice was echoing.

“Sabrina!” The voice was closer now, almost right in front of me.

“Who’s there? What do you want? How do you know me?  The questions came spewing out of my mouth, I was eager to know. Was this some kind of sick joke put on by the people I went to school with?

“It’s not a joke, My child.”

“Did you just read my mind?

I then saw a light. A weird little yellowish glow in the middle of my room. I squinted my eyes in confusion, looking at the light, but not moving any closer to it.  It then started seemingly getting larger… wait. It was getting larger. It was in a tall oval now. The light burst, so bright I had to cover my eyes. When I  opened my eyes, there was a beautiful woman standing there. She looked about 20 years old, platinum blonde hair, flowing in beautiful waves around her neck and shoulders. Her eyes were an electrifying, glowing emerald. They seemed to pierce through me, I felt as though she knew all of my secrets, everything about me, yet I had never even met her. I wasn’t afraid of her though, I knew I probably should be, but I just wasn’t. I stood up, not breaking eye contact with her, she was smiling. A slight curl of her perfect lips, as she began to speak, with a voice as kind and gentle as an angel.

“Hello, child. Oh how long it has been!”

“Do I know you?”

I asked, although I already knew the answer before it was spoken out loud.

“Yes, my beautiful girl. It has been many years. But oh, what a joy it is to see you again!”

A sudden fear appeared in the back of my mind. Not a fear of her, but a fear of what I had just witnessed. She just appeared in my room, right in front of my eyes.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t remember me?”

She finished my sentence, then still smiling, took a few steps towards me, placing both of her hands gingerly on my shoulders.

“I suppose you have many questions. Don’t you, Sabrina?”

“YES! I mean-”

I realized I may have been a bit too enthusiastic in my response. She giggled.

“It’s alright, you aren’t out of line.”

“Can you… read my mind?”

She seemed to know everything I was feeling or wanting to say, I considered it a valid question.

“Well, not exactly… You see, I am, I suppose you could say, Your… guardian angel?”

“My what? You mean, you watch over me?”

“Yes, my sweet. I’ve been with you for many years, back to when you were born, and we knew, that you were special. You see, I am not like most ‘guardians’ I was sent here to look after you. You’re special, and I believe you personally already know this. You hear things others can’t hear, don’t you?”

It was more of an accusation than a question. In that moment I felt almost nauseous. She knew. She knew about my insanity.

“I’m crazy. Of course I hear things. I hear voices. Other people’s emotions. I don’t know, everyone in school, I pick up on all of them. It’s my own little curse. I feel like I can’t tell anyone about it, everyone thinks I’m a weirdo.”

​

​

An Open Letter to the First Man Who Broke my Heart

You have been in my life for years. Seems as though you were always there. Sometimes I wonder what you’re doing now.

Sometimes I blame myself.

Most of the time. I do.

When you’re young, you’re naive. You don’t completely know right from wrong, everyone is a good person.

You were my super hero.

I looked forward to your phone calls every night, looked forward to seeing you, looked forward to every email, every text, every road trip, every word that came out of your mouth was my own personal gospel.

You were my world.

But then you took it all away. My innocence, my world, my beautiful, beautiful childhood light.

You were my world.

But you took it away. How can a world take a world away?

How can you say all those things you said? How could you break my heart?

Everyone deserves to be loved, but genuinely, that wasn’t love.

I was property.

I was your trophy, your one good light among so many that burned out. You spoiled me, forced me to love you. Forced me to want to see you, like Pavlov and his dogs you conditioned me to come, to love you at the ring of a bell that was fear of confrontation.

Like an owner.

Who views the animal as not a part of the family unit, but a possession.

But when a dog is disobedient, they get beaten.

Battered.

And that’s what happened to me.

You beat me, robbed me, kicked me while I was down.

Not physically, no, you never left a trace.

You were manipulative. You beat me senseless until my brain wept tears of blood which then leaked through my wrists and drowned my common sense.

You beat me with a cat of nine words, bits of hopes and dreams embedded to sting even more upon the grazing of my fragile flesh.

I had high hopes.

I was naive.

I was your daughter.

“You are your mother’s daughter” But no, I was yours.

“At least you won’t be lying…” Well how’s this for the bitter truth?

That’s right.

My dearest audience, the first man to break my heart was not a silly boy who left me to fend for myself in this world, but my own daddy dearest.

A father should care about his daughter.

A father should care about her future, not try to win her over in a senseless selfish grudge battle that should’ve ended years ago,

But no.

You carry on and on like a senseless child needing attention,

Screaming and crying “I don’t want to!”

Until eventually, it circles back.

That was me, every time I had to see you.

My belly ached, the tears gripped my throat and made it hard for me to breathe.

I begged to not have to see you. I went to a woman named Barb.

She was supposed to help me, not confront me.

I was never wanting to confront you.

I wasn’t ready.

Not for another five years.

Then finally everything snapped. It had been quite awhile since I’d seen you, I made excuses.

I was sick, I was busy.

You had a talent for bringing out the worst in everyone.

You made me cry, and mom too.

We were both just pawns in your game that you manipulated and cheated, you twisted it.

You ruled the board with fear and fear alone.

You’d never hit me, but your presence made me feel so.

This game was called my head.

You’re a sick man, quite literally.

A narcissist.

I guess I have you to thank for giving me the passion to pursue a career of psychology.

Because I want to know how someone like you ticks.

I had a good few months, maybe a year.

I could do whatever I wanted.

Finally go to friends birthday parties, finally have better and healthier friendships.

And then one night I got a single text message that’s siren still rings in my dreams late at night.

I think about that day every one that I’m alive, Daddy.

Every fucking day of my life.

I’m told it's for the best, but I still remember trying to play it off like I didn’t care, maybe it was shock.

But within a couple hours I was on my bed, crying.

Hysterical.

The album I listened to still pains me to hear.

Just like that road to go see you still make me sick, wanting to throw up all the black that had settled in my stomach that tasted of bitter acid.

How I hate thinking about ever going to the state you reside in.

It’s classical conditioning.

Like a famous character from a novel I love,

I’m trapped inside the attic that is my mind, made sick by the music that is your memory.

I remember everything.

Yes, even the good.

Sometimes that hurts more.

The bad is what clings to my eyelids when I sleep at night.

I want to forget you.

Sometimes I wish you were dead because I hate you,

Then I want you better because I love you.

You disowned me two and a half years ago.

It still feels like one hour.

I want you out of my head.

But every day…

I

See

You

In

The

Mirror.

Autobiography - WIP

          I used to think that all people were good people. Pretty naive, right? But then again, that’s what all children are like. You only see the good in people regardless of what they do.  No one can do wrong. If I have one regret in my life it’s being that naive. But every kid does that, So why do I feel so guilty? To answer the question I’m not entirely sure. But I do know that I had to grow up fast and I was in for a rude awakening. Not everyone is a good person. Even those who should be. Those who should always be there for you and in your life. This story starts for me on the day I was born.

          I was introduced to my family in the evening of May 24th, 2000. Everyone was excited to see me, my grandparents from Arkansas even came up to Minnesota to see the girl they hadn’t ever met.  Everyone except one of the most important people in my life. My own father. No, he was at the nearest fast food place eating a burger and completely missed my birth. I was a small baby. I had jaundice, but nothing majorly wrong.

          I got to go home with my mom and my dad, Brian Peterson, before all that long. Sounds pretty perfect, right? Unfortunately I still bear his last name as a constant reminder of the shock I went through growing up. Let me give you some back story here.

          My mom, Crystal Podojil (Born Crystal LeAnn Bascue), had just gotten out of  her second marriage. It was a dark point and she wasn’t in the best state of mind. Before long, my mom met Brian and they hit it off. For a while, anyway. Before long my mom was pregnant with me and some bad things had already started to surface. Brian was abusive. I’m sure she was scared to tell him she was even pregnant with me. Supposedly she actually put her foot down and didn’t even give him say in my name: Madyson it’d be. She liked the unique spelling which I hated through my childhood, what kid doesn’t want a sippy cup with their name on it? I’ve come to love it. Brian actually told me once that “Had I been a boy he was going to name me Alexander.”

Thanks, dick.

          Anyway, He had this way of manipulating people into thinking he had power over them. Despite his sad excuse for a life. He was always able to make you think he’d hurt you if you didn’t make the right move. I felt like I was in danger around him most of my life. I still do, occasionally, even though he’s not in the picture anymore. As for me, he never physically did anything. My mom was another story. He used to throw things when he got angry. Even while she was pregnant.

          They lived in a small apartment at the time and my mom told me a few stories of his behavior when they were together.

          There was once when her parents (my grandparents) Jana Diane Bascue (Born Hoyle, which is now my middle name) and Marion Bascue, were coming to visit and they would arrive soon. She came home from work only to find him smoking a joint and doing nothing. He didn’t work. Still doesn’t, really. Another story is the time when my mom accidentally locked her keys in the car and called him for help, but he was at home playing a PC game and never answered the phone. She had to call a locksmith. So obviously you can see his neglectfulness and disrespect for everyone around him. He’s a narcissist and thinks he’s God’s gift to Earth. Anyway, there were obviously some issues in this relationship. When my mom became pregnant she was 27 years old and had already learned these horrible things about the father to her child. She was scared of him.

          She confessed to me later that she was scared and thought about an abortion. But  “the minute she saw me she fell in love with me and would’ve never done it.”

          My dad likes to put it out as that “She tried to kill me” which was just one of his many ways of trying to turn me against my mom. He continued being abusive to her and told her she was an “okay” mom but he was a “great” dad. She threatened to throw him out many times, but never actually did it until a few months after I was born. But it wasn’t as easy as it sounded. My mother ended up physically grabbing him and putting him outside the apartment door, then locking it behind him. And even though she may have been free from him, the hard part was hardly over. After my mom threw him out, he moved back in with his mom, Joan Peterson. (Born Joan Duarte) Now, her story is one to tell.

          My grammy was always a frail old woman. She typically had shoulder-length gray hair and she was a pretty quiet person. She was always short and skinny, and overall small. She’s also not been the most fortunate person I’ve ever known. Just to summarize, when she was a young girl, supposedly she witnessed her uncle blow out her aunt’s brains in front of the whole family. Now, this was told to me by my mom, who heard it from my dad, and I have tried to research it but haven’t been able to find a news story at all. So all in all I guess I don’t know if it’s true. However, she hardly ever sleeps because she apparently has nightmares. I know the non-sleeping part to be true. If she sleeps it’s really only a couple hours, and she drinks black coffee all hours of the day. It’d also explain her not-full mental soundness.

          When she met my grandpa, Dennis Peterson, I don’t know what it was like at first. I do know that he was harsh on their children though, one of them being Brian. The other was my aunt, Jennifer Hein (Born a Peterson). They were beaten by their parents, but honestly my grammy isn’t the most mentally stable so I’m not sure if she really had control over herself fully. Not that she was ever dangerous to me, she was one of the bright tunnels in my life and I love her. Dennis was emotionally and mentally abusive to her. He yelled at her and got mad when she hid his cigarettes when doctors ordered him to stop smoking due to a cancer threat, I believe (He had his toes amputated). Anyway, this on top of her lack of sleep and her one fucked up son was probably a burden.

          According to my dad, her relatives “kidnapped her once and took her to the hospital because she’s crazy.”

          I don’t know how true it is. I know she has problems but she isn’t dangerous. When she’s gone, I’ll miss her.

          As for my aunt, Jenny, she’s amazing. My dad claims she doesn’t know how to be a mom. But she’s really the normal one of the family. I still keep contact with her, actually.

          Her husband used to be a raging stoner and she’s now working three jobs, so she’s really not getting much sleep these days either but she still remains optimistic, at least when talking to me.

          There was once my dad tried to make me think she took one of grammy’s records, the soundtrack to West Side Story. When I jokingly mentioned it, (I was about eight or nine I think) she got a little angry and from what I understand, she never had it. My dad apparently sold it for cigarette money during one of the many times he’s been unemployed.

But that’s enough backstory on them for right now.

          Anyway, so, he moved back into his mom’s house for awhile. A long time, actually. Life was hard. My mom really didn’t make much money, and even though my dad had signed a certificate of parentage (meaning he was really only financially responsible for me, otherwise he couldn’t care less) and still had visitation rights, I needed a babysitter while she was at work. Keep in mind although he’s financially responsible, he doesn’t pay child support almost ever. So he was pretty much useless. But he was a free babysitter. My mom still lived in the apartment, and her daily life was pretty much as follows:

          She would wake up, get ready, then get me up and dressed. She would drive me over to Grammy’s house (which is where my dad lived) and I would stay there all day and get spoiled by my dad, all so I would favor him despite my mom’s hard work. She’d get to work at around 8:00 a.m. and would work until her one hour lunch break, and because her office was only about ten minutes from our apartment, she would typically go home to eat and have her only alone time for about 45 minutes before returning to work. When her day was finally over, she came to get me, and here’s where it can sometimes differ. If my mom did go grocery shopping with me, since she couldn’t leave me in the car or the apartment unattended while she got the groceries and I couldn’t walk yet, she could only really carry one bag up. So, because of that, this lead to having to go grocery shopping about every other day or so. If she got lucky, she could go shopping before getting me, or on her lunch break. But by the time we got home, she played with me for a little bit, gave me a bath, and put me to bed. By now it was about 10 p.m., and she’d have about five minutes to herself before falling asleep. Only to wake up and do it all over again.

          Whenever I think back on those days, of course I can’t remember all that much but I do remember hiding in my Grammy’s house and throwing a fit when my mom came to get me. I didn’t want to go home, and I regret that. I feel horrible about that, and I can’t believe that I would’ve done it. But I did, because I loved him. He spoiled me, I thought he was a good person because no one can do wrong at that age.

          However, Brian may have spoiled me, but my mom worked hard. She scraped up change to put a 99 cent package of noodles on the table for us to share as a dinner. Sometimes we’d get fancy and get Hamburger Helper instead of the generic noodle packets.

          I know she doesn’t blame me, and hell, she knew I had more fun there. But at this point, she was still afraid of him. She thought he could do things like run off with me one day. And let’s be honest, how many kids get abducted every year by one of their parents? She could tell the police but it might be unlikely for anyone to help.

          My dad was never a good person. He claims my mom was the one who was mean to him, that she’s a “selfish bitch” and only wants money from him. Like I said, he’s narcissistic and thinks he’s smarter than everyone else. He’s told me I’m brainwashed my my mother, her side of the family, and her “standard lies that she tells absolutely everyone she comes into contact with”. That he was

abusive

an alcoholic

violent

that he had anger issues

          But the truth is, my mom never once told me these things until I was older and had already figured most of them out on my own. She never once spoke down on him to me, but he did it all the time, trying to tell me mom was a terrible human being.

To me, it was always obvious who was lying.

          I can’t help but think that some of his problems came from his parents’ abuse at times, but then again, Jenny is just fine, and she visits my grammy regularly. She cried when her dad died (Cancer). Brian lives with his mother yet never even comes out of the basement to say hello, according to Jenny. Yet despite not acknowledging his mother’s existence, he gladly lives in her home and eats out of her pocket. You can see how this would confuse me through my entire life. Not exactly knowing for sure what’s right and wrong, what if what I thought was what was wrong? I have no way of knowing.

          Anyway, after she threw him out, he moved back in with his mother, and I went over there to be babysat, it didn’t take long for my mom to meet Scott Podojil.

          Scott grew up in Arizona and is the son of a sailor. He graduated high school and went into the Navy at 17 years old, where he was eventually stationed overseas to fight in Desert Storm. His family didn’t even really know where he was for a while when he was over there, and he was expecting to die. Scott had been a smoker since age fifteen, and was a ladies’ man all through his teenage and young adult years. He spent some time in Japan and went to college in Hawaii, which he claims he hated. And that’s just a rough outline.

          They met when I was two years old, I believe. They met online and hit it off. My mom had met my dad online too, but their relationship was obviously less successful, even though she moved away from her hometown in Arkansas to move in with my dad all the way up North in Minnesota.

          Scott and my mom were together for awhile, when they first moved in together, we were all still in Minnesota and rented a house on a farm. Our landlord (and neighbor) had cows, sheep, and chickens. He actually used to slaughter the chickens and bring them to us to eat. I didn’t understand that the chicken on the table came out of the coop when I was little, so I just got confused one day when all the chickens were gone.  

          Our yellow lab, Max, used to “mark” the sheep, and the cows would constantly get out and eat my mother’s flowers. To get them back into the gated area, we actually had to hit them over the head with a baseball bat, and much to our surprise, you had to do it pretty hard otherwise the dumb things wouldn’t budge.

          I loved that farm. My mom was a dental assistant at the time and I still continued going to my Grammy’s house every day for awhile.

          Eventually, when my mom and Scott started to talk about getting married, Scott was having to move to Des Moines, Iowa for his job. So we did. We moved to Iowa and we rented a house on Madison Avenue, which I loved because I thought it was named just for me. Our neighbors, especially across the street, weren’t the nicest people.

          The lady across the street was constantly rude, and actually backed into my mom’s tail light and broke it at one point without even saying sorry. I didn’t have any friends in Minnesota, so moving was a perfect thing for me, I was so excited. At this point is when my mom contacted our case worker and we arranged that I would go to my dad’s every other weekend, alternating holidays.

          Looking back, I’m glad my mom did that. I always felt like I had a designated home, I wasn’t constantly bouncing around from household to household. Plus, it gave me an opportunity to actually make friends and go to school and be happpy.

          I had a pretty normal childhood for a long time. I was small, I didn’t really see the big picture and I was even excited to go to my dad’s, I had fun. But coming home was always fun too. I had no real preference. I used to actually play dress up with my dog, Max, all the time. I even put play makeup on him. This and cutting up my sheets to make capes for my stuffed animals were my two favorite things to do. And I did all of it with my two imaginary friends, Jana and Lisa.

          I still remember how I pictured them. Lisa was my favorite but I played with both of them. But Max was really the one thing I was inseparable with. I loved that dog more than I loved anything else. He was my best friend, he slept with me every night and sometimes I’d use him as a pillow.

          When we’d been in Iowa for a bit, my mom and Scott had a surprise wedding in our backyard when I was three. I got to be the flower girl, obviously, and during the ceremony, a baby of one of my mom’s friend’s started crying, so I sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to it. That was definitely a fun day.

          They had champagne glasses filled with pastel chocolate mints, and I made myself sick eating them. My best friend at the time, Kayli Karkiainen, was there with her family, and so were my mom’s friends, and Scott’s brother Alan, who brought his wife, Tammy,  and daughter, Taeler.

          It was a hot day, and we had a big kiddie pool full of ice that we put beverages in. All of the kids who were there helped max to get cans of soda out, which he would bust with his teeth and lap up. Later, Max actually fell asleep with his head in the ice.

          Mom and Scott sure were happy, and they did the classic shoving of the cake into each other’s faces. I say it was a surprise wedding because basically they told everyone it was just going to be a big barbecue, and then poof! They got married. My mom’s dress wasn’t anything fancy, she got married barefoot in our backyard and everyone was in casual dress.

          It was a fun day though. A bit boring for me during the ceremony, but nonetheless, I remember being happy. I don’t exactly remember how it ended but I’m sure I fell asleep and was taken to bed.

​

          When I was three or four, I joined dance classes with Kayli. We were in tap, ballet, and jazz together at Betty Hill Dance Studio, and we always performed at the Civic Center of Des Moines for our recitals. The first time I had a recital, I wore a cute little white leotard and matching tutu that had thin white feathers on the rim. I also wore white tights, white ballet slippers, and a white hat that had a big rim and was lined with feathers to match the tutu. My makeup was bright blue eyeshadow, pink blush, and red lipstick. My mom curled my hair and made it all pretty, and I was set to go. Even if I got my ear a little bit  burnt by the curling iron.

          My mom made a gesture for my first recital. She invited my Grammy and Brian. But things were wrong right from the start. Basically, they showed up, my dad came in the house, and sat down at our table while we were having dinner, just expecting to be fed. Pretty rude. Anyway, I didn’t notice too much.

          We then went to the recital and I was terrified but also excited about going on stage. Everything went well though. I remember not being able to see the audience very much, I tried to find everybody but the lights made a shadow and I could barely see who was in front of me. After we were done dancing, my parents came and picked me up and told me how good I did. But my dad wasn’t anywhere to be found.

          My mom took me into the next studio to watch “the bigger girls” dance. They were probably juniors or seniors in high school. They were putting on a performance of “Cats!” and I remember being completely awestruck by them. The way they danced and jumped around in their cat outfits, it was so amazing for an aspiring dancer (at the time) to see.

          Once they finished their performance, my dad reappeared. He had gone out to get me flowers. And again, at the time, I didn’t think he was a bad person, so I ran into his arms and got my flowers while my mom took our picture. We all visited for awhile but looking back on it, my dad didn’t really talk to anybody. He only talked to me.

          When we left I was exhausted and my feet hurt. So we got in the car and on the way out of the parking garage, we saw my dad and Grammy. We pulled up next to them so I could say bye. And that was that.

          I don’t remember any more of that night but similar to mom and Scott’s wedding, I’m sure I probably fell asleep in the car and was carried to bed. I honestly don’t remember a hell of a lot of my early childhood. memories stick out but I couldn’t tell you at what point in my life they happened.

Untitled (WIP)

Chapter 1

It was cold. A kind of cold that chilled my bones and sent a shiver up my spine. I could see my breath puff out in clouds, inches near my face.

“Megan”

I heard the voice. It’s always here. When I’m standing in this cold, I can’t see where I am. But the voice always comes. Always.

“Megan”

The voice is closer now, I can smell rancid breath and feel the whisper on the back of my neck. I’m paralyzed. I’m telling my legs to move but they just won’t.

Just then my surroundings become more clear, carnival music is playing. A creepy little children’s tune. Lights flash on, the groan of decades old carousels and ferris wheels beginning to move fill my ears. I see the entrance, a giant clown. It beckons me to step inside its gaping mouth. I can move now. I turn around, and no one is there. Just like the last time. I run, scared for my life, inside of that horrible clown’s mouth. Once I get inside, the gaping cave closes behind me and I begin to hear laughter.

“Gotcha.”

I screamed as I woke up, drenched in my own sweat.

“It was just a dream. I’m okay.”

I try to tell myself in between gasps of terror. Why do these dreams always come back to me? “Night Terrors” everyone says. They’re always the same thing, every night. I always dream that I’m stuck at the entrance of either a carnival, a freakshow, or a haunted scream park of some kind. I’m terrified of the damn things, I’m not sure why. I’ve never gone into one, my friends have tried to get me into them before because they think it’s hilarious to see me squirm. I always end up leaving. And just my luck, it’s almost Halloween.

I hear the catchy tune of my phone go off. I look at the clock and it’s eight in the morning, my message preview says that I have a message from my boyfriend, Shawn.

“Good morning, princess. I’ll see you in an hour. :)”

Shit. Sent fifteen minutes ago. I completely forgot to set an alarm.

I get out of bed, my nightly horrors aside, and go into my bathroom. I live in a small house. One story, two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and dining area. Living room too, although I don’t use that all too much. It’s not much but I get by. Shawn and I have talked about moving in together, but I’m not quite ready for that yet.

After doing my hair into a messy ponytail and putting on my black eyeliner and purple lipstick, I decide to wear a pair of black skinny jeans, a Led Zepplin tee, and my leather jacket with boots. You’d think I’d love scream parks and freakshows with the way I look. Everyone’s always surprised with my fear for them. Anyway, I grab my keys and head out to my Volkswagon parked in my tiny driveway. I get in, crank the stereo, and start to pull out. Luckily I only have to go a couple blocks to get to the cafe we agreed on, and as expected, Shawn is waiting at the door for me, checking his phone to probably see if I’ve responded to his good morning. Just then he turns to see me. I smile to match his own expression.

“Hey there stranger.” I say as I wrap my arms around his neck and pull back to meet his lips in a gentle ‘hello’ kiss.

“Hey there sleepyhead.”

“How’d you know I was sleeping?”

“C’mon Megan, you always sleep till at least ten on weekends.”

“You know me too well.” I say with a smile as he leans down to plant a last kiss on my forehead. I take his hand and we walk inside the cafe to sit, order coffee, and just chat. I’ve been so in love with him for the entirety of these three years we’ve been together. He’s perfect for me. Shawn has blond hair and green eyes. He wears a lip ring and is always wearing jeans and some band tee with converse. Practically the male version of myself, except that my eyes are a light golden hazel color.

“So…” He starts off after a short pause.

“Yes?” I say, slightly teasing him.

“There’s a Halloween theme park coming to the area next wee-”

“No.” I interrupt. I know it’s coming, and with these dreams I’m having, that’s my definite answer.

“Megan, come on. Maybe if you just let loose and tried to do something like this, you may discover you love it!”

“Why do you want to put yourself in an attraction where people are acting to murder you, Shawn? What the hell is fun about that?”

“It’s an adrenaline rush. Plus, they’re just actors.”

“How do you know that? They’re wearing masks and face paint, you don’t know who that person is! They could actually be trying to kill you, you’d have no clue.”

We sat in silence a few breaths. I looked at him from across the small table and saw his face, filled with regret about asking me, but also slight annoyance. I felt a bit like a bitch now. He’s only trying to help me get over the fear, right? I mean who knows, maybe one day I’ll be able to do that. But right now I can’t. At least now I know why I was called “princess” this morning and why he volunteered to pay for my coffee. No amount of buttering this girl up is going to make me want to go give myself a heart attack.

“I’m sorry.” I said. “I’m really sorry.”

“For what? I’m the one who should be sorry.”

I changed the subject, I didn’t really want to talk about this anymore. Once we geared away, everything went back to normal. We talked and laughed, life was great. We were just sat there in that cafe for about three hours.

“Well, I gotta go to work, Meggy.”

“I hate when you call me that you jerk.” I said jokingly, smacking him on the shoulder and laughing once we got to the door. He picked me up bridal style and carried me a few steps while I squealed and tried to get away.

“But I love when you laugh about it.” Then he kissed me goodbye. Passionately, he always knew how to make me fall even more in love with him after every kiss.

“I’ll see you later, baby.”

“I’ll see you tonight. Are we still gonna go meet up with Cora?” I asked.

“I am if you are. Pick you up at nine?”

“Sounds good.”

He gave me one last peck on the cheek before heading off to his car. I walked to the opposite side of the building to get into mine, and then I drove the few minutes back to my house. I didn’t normally have many plans on the weekends, and usually I just had lazy days. When I got to my driveway, I saw a bright orange piece of paper folded into my front screen door. Stupid advertisements. I went over to unlock the door and grabbed the flyer from in between the door and the frame. I didn’t even look at it, those things never appealed to me, they were worthless. “Come get your windows cleaned! Family business for 50 years! only one hundred and sixty seven dollars for that window shine that will make a bird forget it’s there!” I set it down along with my keys on the kitchen counter and took my boots off. I went through my usual routine, got a snack from the fridge, took it back to my room and plopped on the bed. Nothing was really going on, no one was even texting me. Usually I’ve at least got that. After sitting in silence and boredom for God knows how long, I started thinking about my dreams again. So I decided to do some research. I grabbed my laptop and opened up a search engine.

“Okay Megan… What do we have to work off of here. Think.”

I had a habit of talking to myself when I’m all alone like this. I made up my mind and started with the simplest but most broad terms. “Night Terrors” “Illogical Fears”; neither of those got me anywhere.

“What am I doing.” I said to myself. I closed my laptop and buried my face in my hands. I was stressing out about stupid dreams. It’s not like I’m going crazy. I don’t feel different, they’re just dreams. I went back to my kitchen and as I was walking in, I stepped on something. It crinkled. I looked down to see the flyer I’d taken out of the door. There must have been a draft that blew it onto the floor while I was in my room. But I could’ve sworn my keys were on top of it.

I figured, what the hell. May as well at least look. And I immediately regretted making that choice. “Hell’s Playground”. It must’ve been that Halloween scream park that Shawn mentioned. There were no dates or hours listed on the flyer, just a giant logo. It looked like the devil. Pointed chin with two horns portruding from either side of the figure’s head, and not one forked tongue but two, splitting off from the center of a sinister sharp-toothed smile. The eyes of thing showed arms reaching through bars as the pupils. A tagline was also written below this logo. “Come if you dare to the playground of souls long sold.”

“What the hell…” This place seemed too extreme, even for this time of year. It appeared as some satanic meeting place, to be honest. It seemed utterly demonic, why would anyone, why would SHAWN want to go to this place? The answer was already no, but it was even more definite now. I wouldn’t even go within ten miles of that place, wherever it was. I crumpled up the flyer and threw it in the garbage. Then my phone rang.

“Jesus!” It scared me, I couldn’t believe how jumpy I was. I struggled to get the phone out of my pocket. Once I got the phone safely out, I looked at the screen. “Call from: Shawn”

“Hello?”

“Hey, Megs. Apparently my shift got cancelled today. At least the last half of it. They’re telling me I’m free to go, the casino must not be that busy. Can I swing by your place and we can chill for a bit before meeting up with Cora?”

“Uhm, yeah. sure. Of course.”

“Are you okay?”

Stay cool. Why are you so jumpy? “Yeah. Yes. I’m fine. I’ll see you in a bit.

“Okay….I love you.”

“Love you too, bye.”

I hung up the phone and took a deep breath.

“Get your shit together, Megan.” I was beating myself up inside. I went over to the sink and got a glass of water. I figured it would calm my nerves a bit.

I didnt’t have much to do while waiting for Shawn, so I went in my beaten and barren back yard. I gave up on it a long time ago, nothing grows there. I walked outside of the door and slumped down with my back resting on the house. My patio was just a concrete rectangle that could barely fit five people. I listened to my wind chime- my only yard decoration, blow through the breeze making a wonderful tinkling song. It seemed to calm me down as I closed my eyes and just relaxed. I felt something brush my hand, it felt like a leaf. I looked down.

It was the flyer.

I jumped back and smacked my head on the concrete only to hear a frantic

“Oh my god Megan, are you okay? Jesus I’m so sorry.”

It was Shawn. I stood up, breathing heavily.

“For fuck sake you asshole!.”

“Jesus I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to scare you, I tried to be gentle and quiet.”

I calmed my breathing and looked him in the eyes. He really did look sorry.

“What is that?”

He asked, gesturing to the flyer.

“Don’t play stupid with me.”

“What?”

“You brought it with you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The stupid flyer.”

He looked at me, puzzled, and bent down to pick up the orange slip of crumpled paper.

“Woah.”

“Y-you didn’t bring it with you? You’re telling me you didn’t just drop that on my hand.”

“No, why would I do that? This place looks rad.”

“Wasn’t that the park you talked about?”

“No, I was talking about the one put on by the county.”

Some of Us Just get the Privilege

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

A gray day.

Same as the rest, since she left.

Since she left this earth, that is.

She was my sunshine, my saving grace. Although we live far away from civilization, she was the only social interaction I ever needed.

Her hair, soft as silk. Like her mother's, but she's gone now.

She took after me, you know. Had her mother's hair but my nose, mouth, and eyes.

Those pretty green eyes. Never prettier than on her.

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

Her mother left too, but I think what kept the gray away was the fact that upon her leaving, she graced me with her. She was so beautiful.

She liked our life here. Just her and me against all those city folk. So busy with their cell phones and the classic city hustle bustle. She loved running through the fields in the fall, scared me half to death when she was out for more than a half hour, but I always got her back.

At least I know she left while she was happy, doing what she loved, playing in that field.

Her cat, a mangy thing really that she wouldn't let me shoot off the property, stopped coming around.

I almost wish the thing would, so that I could see just a bit more of her.

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

All of my days are the same now. I slowly make my way out of bed, place both feet on the floor. It usually takes me awhile to actually stand up, after all, I don't need to make her breakfast anymore.

Can't really recall the last time I had breakfast, probably that morning.

The morning she left.

I get up after what feels like a lifetime. That's what every minute feels like since she's been gone.

Why is she gone?

Oh, that's right.

Me.

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

The only meals I have anymore are whatever's growing in the yard and whatever liquor I have left. You don't stop feeling when you're drunk, you just feel better than being sober.

I suppose I should stop drinking. Her mother never did like it, though I was never violent toward either of them.

Honestly I'm not sure if I can say that anymore, as I think my nature has changed quite a bit.

I don't do much work on the farm anymore. I think I'm just waiting to file bankruptcy. Who knows, maybe I won't live that long.

I gaze out the window and the sun is shining, but it's still a gray day.

I walk outside and into the barn.

My rifle is in the corner, hay bales scattered about, mainly used for storage now since I sold all the animals to pay for the funeral of her mother. Since then we've been purely in the crop market.

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

I bring the weapon inside, I figure it will be safer in there than out here. Everything of value is in the house.

I still remember going into the field looking for her. I wasn't quite myself that day. I had my rifle just in case. You never know what could be hiding, or who.

Heading toward the clearing that she liked to lay down in to watch the clouds (She loved the clouds), I started to hear her giggle. I smiled, yelling out

"Where oh where can my baby be?" The Lord took her away from me. No. That was me.

She laughs and laughs.

Then it stops.

I call her name and she says nothing, I rear up my gun, still heading toward the clearing. I call her name again, but nothing. I start to move faster.

Faster.

Faster.

I hear rustling, something is approaching me. I yell for her but there's nothing.

"Where are you you son of a bitch?"

A scream from behind me.

I turn.

I shoot.

Red.

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

Red soaking her little blue dress.

Her eyes lost their brightness.

Her yellow hair turns gray.

Her rosy cheeks, pale white.

Her beautiful green eyes, my eyes, staring back at me. She's gone.

But I wasn't myself that day. I see the red, see her expressionless face. I shoot again.

Again.

Again.

Why?

No Questions.

Again.

Again.

Again.

She's gone.

That's the day my skies turned gray. A whole 365 days ago. Her birthday is tomorrow.

I bring the rifle back into the house and head to the bathroom. I stare. I've lost weight. Alcoholism has caused my eyes to become dark holes, soulless as hers looked. I stare and I stare. I wasn't myself that day, no sir.

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

I look at myself deeper and deeper. There's no one home. No one.

She's gone. Her mother too. There's only me, a killer.

I'm not the same man I used to be. I'm not sure what caused the change. But I know she's sleeping now. She's happy. She's still in her field.

I leave the bathroom and walk out to the field, I rub my face and feel the stubble build up around it. Have my wrinkles gotten deeper?

I walk the same path I did on the day I sent my baby to heaven. I visit her often.

Then I see her.

Her hair is still there, has it gotten its shine back?

Her black body and black holes for eyes lay perfectly still. Her chest is in pieces, my bad.

I see her smiling at me, see where her two front teeth are still missing.

"Hi baby."

The wind blows the corn around us, and I notice there's a bit of pale blue cloth still on her, caught on what I think is her rib. I pick it up and smell it, it's her.

I lay down next to her and stroke her face.

"I'm Sorry"

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

I sit there for what seems like hours. I kiss her face.

"I'll see you soon."

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

I make the long walk back into the house, and back into the bathroom. I gaze at myself again. I suppose I'm taking after her with all of the weight I've lost. I stare for awhile.

Just stare.

Then I pick it up.

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

The gun feels heavy in my hands, it wasn't that heavy on the day I wasn't quite myself.

I'm not quite myself now.

I look down the barrel, seems to be in working condition.

I look back to my reflection.

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

I look down the barrel again. I place the barrel on my forehead.

Red.

​

No one asks to be a worker of God. Some of us just get the privilege.

​

Demons - A Short Story (Like, Really Short)

          Have you ever been alone in your house, looking in the mirror or simply walking down a hallway, when suddenly you swear you can see something out of the corner of your eye? You suddenly feel a rush of adrenaline thinking of what it must be. Demons. Monsters, An intruder.

But the moment you turn around, nothing is there. It was as if you imagined the whole thing. You just turn back to what you were doing, and excuse the whole thing for your wild imagination. “Silly me.”

          But what if I told you that your mind isn’t playing tricks on you? What if I told you that it isn’t your imagination, and that what you saw… was real? Maybe you’d think I’m the crazy one, maybe you’d say I’m a genius. Maybe you’d say I’m a blasphemer who is involved in the wiccan and excuse my statements. But it makes you think. If there are all of these stories of The Blessed Virgin appearing to mortals, and the saints descending from the sky to be made visible, why wouldn’t we be able to see the demons as well? My philosophy is that we can. We just don’t remember.

          If saints and angels have all of these healing powers, and can perform miracles at will, keep in mind children, that the devil was once an angel himself. It only makes sense that Lucifer and all of his followers would have some powers of their own. Aside from just being able to haunt and possess the living. Our guardian angels are right next to us, yet we can’t see them because they don’t want us to. My view is that demons are the same way. We can’t ever see them unless they want us to, or they mess up.

           So back to my original statement. When you’re alone, and you see something from the corner of your eye, it isn’t just your imagination. It isn’t your mind playing tricks on you. Instead, it’s really the demons that roam this earth, not wanting to be seen by you. I believe that every demon has the power of invisibility to the mortal eye, and because we are unaware of the magic surrounding us, we think not to question it, making it easier for those who choose to toy with our memories. And how do I know all of this? Well, my friends, that is the question. The truth is, I don’t. However I am a questioning mind, and one who always needs answers. I don’t want to tell people what to think, I just want them to think.

          But what happens when you know about these magical powers being used to toy with your memory? Well, I’d imagine they don’t want their secret getting out. What happens when they know that you know? I used to think they’d just go away, find another person’s brain to toy with. But truth is, they want you dead. They want your head on a spike adorning their bedroom wall. Everyone has secrets, and the soldiers of the underworld are no different. They’ll never stop hunting you. not until you’re dead.

          Whenever you see a figure from the corner of your eye, never let it catch you. Demons are real, and they are the shadowy, unclear figures in the night. But listen, my friends. You are coming to the end of my entry. Think about what you just read. You now know their secret and are less susceptible to them. Just like me. I presume I’ll be found dead before this night is through. They’ve found me, they’re coming for me. The devil works in mysterious ways, and you know now what your imagination is not creating. And if you’d like to see how many demons follow you daily…

… Just look up.

Cameron Malone (WIP)

"This is stupid. Why do I have to go?"

Cameron Malone mumbled to his father on the way to their new home in god knows where. This was the third move in two years.

"Because you're only fifteen which makes you a minor and considering I'm your guardian, you have to stay with me, bud. But don't worry about it, you'll make new friends and I really think this is permanent!"

"Yeah. Just like the last time, right?"

With that, Cameron snapped his headphones back into place and drowned out his father's lecture.

After about an hour more of driving and sulking in the passenger's seat, Cameron and his father arrived at their new home. It was a smaller, cozy type one floor house that was white with dark green shutters on the windows.

"Wow dad, didn't know you booked us into a Disney movie!"

He acknowledged a warning look from his father and started unloading boxes. He picked a random room on the far East side of the house to be his bedroom and plopped down on the bed that the movers had already brought to the house. Looking up at the ceiling, Cameron started thinking about how life had changed with his father's new job. What was the point of making friends or keeping up grades when they were just going to move again?

After Cameron finished helping his father with the last bits of unloading, he locked himself in his new bedroom the rest of the night and organized his things, including the family picture that had been taken about a year ago, before his parent's divorce. As he set down the photo on his nightstand, something caught his eye out the window. It was a small boy, couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve, looking back at him from across the street. The boy was somewhat scrawny, had a pale face and pale blond hair. Cameron couldn’t see his face, but still felt like his eyes were boring into him. This went on for a few seconds, before it just became too odd to bear.

"Weirdo."

Cameron muttered under his breath. He shut the blinds and dismissed the incident, putting his headphones back on in time to hear the electric lullaby from his favorite band, The Flying Turtles. Cameron was just about to fall asleep when he heard the muffled shout from his father. He bolted upright and ripped the headset off of his ears to see his father standing with his arms crossed in the doorway.

"Do you have to keep that thing cranked so loud?"

"Sorry, dad."

With a disapproving look, his father continued.

"I found a good high school for you, it's only a few blocks away, walking distance. Would you be okay walking? My hours are a bit hard to work around this week."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Good. You'll start there tomorrow..."

He started to walk away but then turned back to face his son.

"Just try, kiddo."

"Try to what?"

"I think you know."

Cameron didn't respond and just looked down at his hands, pretending to fidget with something. His father looked at him for a few seconds and walked away.

The rest of the night, his father never bothered him, and it wasn't long until Cameron went to sleep.

Cameron woke up to the sound of his alarm, telling him he should get ready for his first day at a new school. Again. When he realized his father had already left for work, he calculated on his smart phone how long it would take to walk to this place.

"Walker lake high school, home of the wombats.... Why wombats? Isn't that some kind of rodent?" Cameron said quietly to himself. After finding that the school was, in fact, just up the road, he got dressed in a pair of black jeans and one of the many black metal band tees that he owned. He grabbed a quick bowl of cereal (completely forgetting to close up the box and put everything away), grabbed his old beat up backpack, and started walking. When he got about halfway there, he noticed a group of boys walking on the other side of the street. They looked about his age, and they were clearly talking about him. All three of them were pretty lanky and they were starting to weird Cameron out. He put on his headset and pretended to not notice them. And before long, he was at the doors.

The school looked as ordinary as any other school, a brick building with a flag pole out front. Before walking inside, Cameron looked behind him to see if the boys were still there only to find that they'd disappeared. He figured they'd probably slipped past him in the morning crowd.

First things first. Cameron maneuvered his way to the attendance office of the school to get his schedule for the day and quickly hurried to his first class, which was biology. Cameron actually enjoyed any type of science and loved learning about the human body.

He picked a desk in the far back corner next to the window and hoped that nobody would notice him. He didn't really want to be the one weird new kid that started the school year two weeks late. Luckily, none of the kids in the class acknowledge him. About a minute later, the teacher walks in. Cameron has to look at his schedule to remember her name.

"Hello class, today we have a new student starting at walker lake. Cameron Malone?"

Great. Cameron reluctantly raises his hand to show that he's here.

"Ah yes. Well Cameron, welcome to Walker! I'm Mrs. Stacy."

Cameron gives a weak smile in get direction and puts his hand down.

"If you need anything just let me know." She then goes back to addressing the class.

Cameron looks around at all of the students that keep glancing at him and decides to just look out the window. The rest of class drones on, all he absorbs is something about how a body's brain changes in the process of dying and is relieved when the bell rings to go to next period.

He walks to the next class with his bag still over his shoulder, not willing to go find his assigned locker. As he's walking through the hall, someone bumps into him and drops their books.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry man."

Cameron says as he picks up a notebook and hands it back to the boy that hit him. Upon making eye contact he realizes it's one of the boys from this morning.

"It's no problem at all." The boy says with a sneer. "It's Cameron, right? I'm josh. I think I saw you walking this morning."

"Uh yeah. Hi. How did you know?"

"Word gets around quick here. Anyway I've gotta get to class and so do you. Maybe I'll see you at lunch."

"Sure, yeah. See ya."

Cameron is a bit stunned with how nice josh seemed. But is a lot more concerned that everyone already knows there's a new kid and they know that it's him.

Cameron makes it to his next class with about two minutes to spare and introduces himself to his next teacher, Mr. Cory, and goes through the same routine as first period. This time a couple of girls are glancing back at him and giggling to themselves occasionally throughout the hour. When the bell rings, he goes on through the next two periods just as bored as the first two, and finally it's lunch time. Cameron finds it odd that he hasn't seen josh or either of the other two boys in the halls the whole day, but hopes to see them during lunch so he doesn't have to sit completely alone.

After going through the line and getting his meal, he quickly finds the table with the the boys in the back of the cafeteria and sits down with them.

"Hey Cameron!"

This comes from the shortest of the three boys, and Cameron acknowledges a smirk from josh.

"Hey."

"Cameron!" Josh starts off. "So I see you've become acquainted with Jojo, and that's Mitch."

The other boy, Mitch, waves slightly from across the table.

"Well, nice to know I'm not alone for lunch on my first day." Cameron says, not making eye contact with any of them.

The the boys let out quiet laughs and some girls at a nearby table give Cameron a strange look and begin gossiping.

Jojo notices Cameron looking at the laughing girls and says

"Dude, as long as you're hanging out with us, you're gonna get weird looks."

Cameron hears a low snickering from the rest of the boys and with one last glance at the giggling girls, finishes his lunch hardly saying a word.

Cameron trails behind the boys at the end of lunch while exiting the cafeteria, lost in his own thoughts. He finds himself looking down at his feet and thinking, what exactly was the point of befriending these guys when he was just going to move? And right then, he decided that he was going to make something of life this time around. After all, his father said to try, right? So try he would. And the first step is letting himself have a friend or two. Or three.

Just then, someone drops their tray on the tile floor somewhere behind Cameron, and he snaps out of his thoughts, and looking up, realizes that his new “friends” have dissappeared.

“Was I really that out of it?”

Cameron finished out his classes for the day in near silence, and was fairly certain he fell asleep for a few minutes in last period. He was relieved to hear the end of the day bell, which signalled it was time to leave. Cameron began his walk home, and when he was only a few yards away from the school, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey dude.”

It was Josh, and of course, Mitch and Jojo were with him.

“Uh.. hi Josh. What’s up?”

“Not much. But, hey. Are you busy?”

“Right now?”

“Well duh right now. Wanna come hang with us?”

“I don’t know if I should…”

Cameron thought about it and wondered if his dad would mind. But then again, he told him to make friends.

“C’mon man, it’ll be fun.”

“Sure. Why not.”

“Sweet! Follow me.”

Josh lead Cameron, Mitch and Jojo back toward Cameron’s house. None of the boys talked much on the way to their destination, and Cameron was getting uncomfortable.

“Where are we going?” Cameron asked, the curiosity was killing him.

“Nowhere.” Replied Mitch, with a slight devilish smirk and dead seriousness that made the hair on the back of Cameron’s neck stand up.

“What?”

“Seriously dude, that’s what the folks around here call it. The Nowhere Field. Some stupid legend that everyone here is told as a kid. It’s total garbage if you ask me.”

“Legend?”

“Yeah, man. Are you deaf or something?” It was Jojo this time, and he along with the rest of the boys laughed.

Cameron stayed silent, but still continued following. They had passed Cameron’s house a long way back, and had taken a turn toward a dead end street. The boys were ahead of cameron now, jumping around and snickering about something Josh said. They all looked back at him a few times. They had gone on past the end of the street, and all Cameron could think was that this place was, well, dead.

All of the grass in this feild was dead and crinkled when Cameron walked on it. It was a light brown color and the sky above was cloudless. It seemed as though time stood still, and the whole field was empty. Except for one large tree stump… and that was what they were headed for.

Cameron was very freaked out. He thought about going back, but what would that make him? Afraid. And that was never going to happen. The boys had gone back to barely talking and they had almost arrived at the stump, Cameron could see it more clearly now, and it’s roots were above ground. The color of the tree looked almost lifeless, it was twisted and gray, but then he saw him.

“What the hell?” Cameron muttered under his breath.

It was the boy from his window the previous day. Standing the same way as before, perfectly still, just intently staring.

Samhain - A Poem

Go put on your burlap sack

cover up your shell

Get your Razored candy bar

Your story I will tell

Samhain, the wiccan holiday

Sam the little ghoul

Comes out from hiding once a year

And the air around him cools

Enforcer of the spirit and rules

don’t blow out your candle

Check your candy, please stay safe

As he comes from his cradle

No larger than a tiny child,

but stronger than an ox

He never shows his face to you,

Be sure to check your locks

His name is Sam, he’s no devil

but demonic, yes indeed

His face a rotted pumpkin shell,

Pay him off and you’ll be freed

The serrated lollipop that glows

just below his grin

You see it flash then it's dark again,

The horrorshow begins.