The day my mum died kinda sucked.
Okay it really sucked but surprisingly it wasn't the worst day of my life so far.
No that came exactly two weeks later at 3AM.
It had only been 3 days since I had moved into my aunts house in Denver, leaving behind everything I had ever known. It was a cold night and when I had woken up I had thought I was still dreaming.
That's what everyone would think when they saw their supposedly dead mother leaning over them, right?
That or they're crazy. Which was definitely my second thought.
Now seeing my dead mother was absolutely insane in the first place but the next thing that happened was probably the tipping point.
So seeing my mother staring down at me while I slept obviously freaked me out a bit, so as any rational person would do... I totally freaked out, quietly of course because at this stage I still believed I was dreaming.
Anyway. Here I was sitting bolt upright in my bed having a staring competition with my mother, whose funeral prosession song was still stuck in my head, and she whispers something along the lines "I choose you." Or "You're the one I have chosen." Something along those lines.
And here's the worst part. She grabs my arm (and that's when I realise that this actually isn't a dream) and it felt like fire burning through her touch, moving quickly through my body. I couldn't help the screams from coming out of my mouth as I tried to pull myself out of her grasp but she held strong.
It was as if every memory we had ever had together played on a recording in my brain, each memory intensifying the burning in my body, until the last one. The one where I had found her lifeless body laying on the living room floor. It almost could've looked as if she was sleeping if there wasn't a large pool of red liquid flowing from her abdomen.
The pain of her touch was-still is-the worst pain I have ever felt.
It was only a few moments until she completely disappeared from in front of me, my aunt bursting into my room only seconds after my screams waking her up.
I told her it was just a dream. A nightmare.
And that's what I made myself believe. Until 3 days later when it happened again. Except this time it wasn't my mother who grabbed me but a stranger. He was in his mid-50s salt and pepper hair adorning his scalp. But it was his bright golden eyes and razor sharp teeth tipped me off that he exactly human.
It was in the girls bathroom at my new school and when he had entered I thought he was going to kill me.
But he did the exact same thing my mother did. He grabbed my arm, sending the familiar fire up it, but no memories came along with this one and the pain was slightly more bearable. Moments later he had dissapeared too.
This seemed to be a common accurance for me after that night. Creatures of nightmares, werewolves. ect. would find me and grab my arm, but no one else could see them.
I knew nothing about my condition. That was until I met a real werewolf. An alive one. Derek Hale and he helped me understand.
I was an anchor. The achor. The gateway for supernatural creatures to pass over after death. My mother was the achor before me, and had passed it on when she died. I didn't know much else besides that.
My life was so much easier when all I had to worry about was where my hair ribbon was and if Stiles and Scott had stolen my barbie. But life doesn't work that way.
After my mother's death I never thought I'd go back to Beacon Hills but when Laura Hale turned up at my house a solemn expression that was commonly associated with the newly departed supernatural I knew there was something going on.
And that's why I was on my way back. To Beacon Hills. 4 years since I had last entered my house, since I had played dress up with Lydia Martin, or rode my bike with Scott McCall or had Stiles Stilinski pull my hair.
And we were all in for a huge freaking supernatural surprise.
My favourite.