Nathanial Magrush was twenty three years of age when his parents discovered he was no longer aging. He couldn't help it, and as far as he knew had done nothing to earn it. There had been no strange occurrences in his simple farm life, and yet he became the strange occurrence himself. The year was 1860, and there were rumors of a war in the air. Nathanial was not exceptionally tall, nor stocky, nor smart, nor handsome; he was exceptionally plain. He was twenty three, but looked as though he were still eighteen, not a day older. Four upper front teeth, permanent teeth at that, grew back after a fall from the hay loft, and Nathanial's mother proclaimed he was not aging.
Nathanial went to the war in the name of South, being from Eastern Georgia as he was, and he fought poorly, his aim being bad, and was shot a total of fifteen times on ten separate occasions. Three in the legs, twice in his chest, one to graze his neck, one in the shoulder, seven times in the back while running from heavy fire, and one should-have-been-the-show-stopper bullet straight through his head, from above one ear to and out the other. Nathanial never considered he was immortal, until he spoke to his mother about the shootings after the war. He had felt it was a matter of luck, and luck alone.
His father did die during the war, back on the farm, from a heart attack. Barry Magrush fell over in a field of corn on a hot summer day at the ripe age of fifty seven, and never had the pleasure of knowing Lee would surrender. Last thoughts to go through his mind were of the cow in the far pasture with a bad foot, and its funny limp; he died with a smile on his face. Nathanial never received word of his father's passing until after coming back home from the war. He didn't cry on that day as his mother thought he should, and she wondered if the bullet through his brain may have scrambled his compassion. It's an interesting theory indeed.
Nathanial still looked to be twenty three years old, with that disgusting scar where his left ear should have been, when his mother was buried. She lived to be a hard ninety four years old. Hardly anyone knew who Nathanial was at the funeral, for his mother made him stay on the farm and had explained to him how people would not accept his eternal youth and immortality. She said they would only put it to the test, "Didn't gittin shot in the head hurt, Nathan?" He agreed it most certainly did. "They'll do all they kin to see if you are killable. I don't want my son to be tortured so."
A few recognized Nathanial at the funeral, and they spoke in secret, and they conspired to the only rational outcome that he was from the devil. Within their little circle of fear, they went over some doubt that it was Nathanial, but Doc Roke said he had fought alongside Nathanial in the war, and he remembered that impossible shot to the head and how quickly it had healed. He said he would never forget it. Doc was fifty four years old, and he spewed even more hate at the fact of Nathanial looking to still be only eighteen. What was Nathanial doing all this time on the farm? Why did he never come to town? What sort of deal with the devil had he made to stay alive forever?
So, being Nathanial went to the funeral, against every one of his mother's last wishes, the panicked little group did exactly what Nathanial's mother said they would do. They put it to the test.
On October the 17th of 1894, the little mob burned Nathanial's home down in the middle of the night while Nathanial slept. The intent was to send him to Hell where he belonged with hell fire itself. They felt they had succeeded, for there was no trace of Nathanial in the ash. Nathanial, though, lived on. He healed to a point, as did that butchered ear from the war, but only to a livable point. He carried the atrocious burn scars over his complete body. After this, he heeded his mother's warning, and never left the abandoned barn several acres away on the edge of the wooded field: except for a few times.
Twenty years passed, and during that time, Nathanial tried to take his own life a couple of times. He spent nine days hanging by the neck from a tree on one attempt, and had a heck of a time getting back down. There was also the drowning episode; it was terribly uncomfortable, his head felt it was going to explode, but he didn't die. It is well to say, coughing up water is painful regardless. The consideration of chopping his own head off was dismissed; he had no pleasure imagining his head living on apart from his body.
He was simply tired of being alone. There was no doubt in his mind of ever being accepted by the people of the small town in which he lived. He considered his own appearance enough of an insult to the shallow sensitivities of most, and he had no yearning to be 'put to the test again.' But, he was very lonely.
The first kidnapping Nathanial performed was Doc Roke's granddaughter, and she put up a furious fight. But over time, she came to see Nathanial meant her no harm, but she also came to see he would never let her go. She was never allowed to speak to look upon anyone else but Nathanial for the rest of her living days. Her name was Adelle, she was taken at the age of twenty, and she died at the age of seventy four. Nathanial still lingered on appearing to be eighteen.
There would be more kidnappings as time went on, and not always were they women. Once, Nathanial kidnapped fifty year old Robert Sway, because he missed his father. He kidnapped two dogs, four other women, and a small baby, (which he returned to its crib.) There would be phases of no kidnapping, but the loneliness would settle back in, and there was no real compassion for the wants of the abductees who wished to go back home. Compassion had been shot and burned away.
Anyone who wanders in the forests of Northern Georgia, and should be followed in footstep, or should happen upon a dilapidated old barn, keep your distance and keep your wits, or Nathanial Magrush may just keep you.