New Idea! Bear With Me People!
Technically, I don't have a name. I mean I died, so I no longer exist. It was about 7 years ago that I ceased to be. I lived in a little town in Nevada called Willow Creek. My father was a drunkard accountant, and my mother was a druggie secretary. To the public, they were just Jen and Phil. Jenny was nicest young lady you could ever meet, always happy, always smiling. She never raised her voice nor came close to losing her temper. Phil was a charming, dashing young gentleman. He was never to busy for anyone, not the Little League Baseball Team, not the PTA, and certainly not The New Interns. Well, at least that's what everyone saw outside the house, even inside the house. It was what was under the house that would surprise you.
Everyday, after their Nine-to-Five jobs, Jenny and Phillip would bring us kids down for 'family time'. It was always so fun, yet so strange, when we were young. I would see the other kids at school with their parents, and I thought it was normal for 'mommy and daddy' to touch us like that. I would remember when my sister was young and my parents would wash them. Then I grew older, and 'family time' began to be more strange then fun. The other parents wouldn't touch their kids like that anymore. For a time, I thought nothing of it; I liked being a Daddy's Girl. Then I started to notice things that I hadn't before. Mom would always be snorting white stuff or stepping outside and coming back smelling like ashes. Dad would always have stinky breath after dinner or when he came late he'd always be wrinkled in his clothes.
By that time, I was 9 years old. I was extremely smart at that age, even skipped a few grades. I would always be with the older kids, so I figured it out soon enough. Mom was a drug addict; dad was a drunk, and they were both pedophiles. I went into shock for hours; it was so alarming that the teacher had to call my father to come and calm me, but that didn't help. When I finally snapped out of it, I wouldn't let anyone touch me. I played sick so I wouldn't have to go to the basement. Soon, though, I was fearing for my life. "What if they discover I know? What if they try to kill me when I'm older?" I would think. It was then that I decided to act obliviously. I did so for a year,'enjoying' family time. When I turned 10, I became shut off with my family, pretending to go through my 'teenage phase'. The truth was that I couldn't handle the pretending anymore. I was not ignorant of their crimes, but my sister was. I couldn't keep her from them; she loved them to much.
On that day, April 16, I set fire to the house. I'd made sure both of them were in the basement, and I locked the door. I'd turned on the gas stove, and lit matches all over. It was the perfect cover up; everyone would think the fire originated in the kitchen. Like I said, I was extremely smart, 10 years old in the seventh grade. I was always to curious for my own good, so I learned how to do... illegal things. I made fakes for my sister and I, and packed us large duffle bags. Because my parents had to keep a facade, they always had spare cash in large amounts. I emptied out the safes, mattresses, every place I knew they had money.
Everything was perfect, exactly how it should have been. Nothing could have gone wrong. There was a problem in my plan, though. I didn't remember my sister's humanity, her love for our parents. She ran back inside before I could stop her. I chased after her, tried to pull her back outside, but she was insistent. By the time I had her on the lawn, she was dead from smoke inhalation. The Fire Department was there in 10 minutes, but by then, I was already gone.
Because there were only three bodies in the house, I was considered missing. They sent out search parties, and for three months, no one stopped looking. My Aunt Mary even moved into town, stayed for three years. It didn't matter, though, because by the third month, I was starting again. The first stop was New Mexico. I didn't really know how to care for myself, but I got lucky. A family there had taken me in, and soon, they were teaching me there lifestyle. They were like me, Navajo Native Americans, and they taught me about our culture. The most important thing they taught me, though, was the origins of my family line.
Like many with deep heritage, the Manaba family had kept their traditions. When the Patriarch decided I was trustworthy, he explained to me their ability to shape shift, connect to the spirits, and slay monsters. It was not long after this that I had asked to be trained by him. It took years of intense training, mediation, and focus, but I had done it. By the age of 16, It was time to move on. Beacon Hills was surprised to wake up one day and find a little native bunch moving things into the ever-vacant blue house down the street, but they didn't approach us or ask questions.
It was a little strange for me, having to be on my own, but I soon fell into a cycle. By the end of the summer, I was prepared for High School. Against the Administrations advice, I stayed within my age group instead of jumping to my senior year. With everything out of the way, I was completely confident walking into school that first day of my sophomore year- until I smelled a werewolf.
I just realized you still don't know the OC's name, but it's in the Summary and the next chapter and the chapters after that and so on...