Disclaimer: I own nothing. The wonderful Karen Marie Moning came up with this awesome story. I am just having some fun with her characters.
I changed Mac's parents…. Sorry. I hope everyone enjoys. I am changing this up completely, Mac very special in this story. Thank you for reading!
I feel something inside trying to claw its way to the surface. My skin feels too tight, like elastic that is being stretched to thin, and eventually a hole will form. I am afraid what will come through that hole. The feeling gets more frequently the closer I get to my 23rd birthday. I know I am different, but I don't know what to believe. Living in the middle of nowhere, in this small forsaken town seems as if they live off of superstitions. It seems like I found myself in the center of one of those crazy stories. Ones that a person only sees on the Twilight Zone, ha… not even then.
A demon baby, or so says the people that believed my crazy birth mother. People in town whisper when I walk by, saying she was seduced by the soul- stealing devil. My BM, yes, I call her BM, she is nothing to me.
The police reports said she was criminally insane with all her demon talk through her pregnancy. Doctors chalked it up to be stress and an on-set of depression. She found herself knocked-up after a trip to Ireland. When she was seven months pregnant with me, she cut me from her womb and tossed me in the dumpster behind the local Butcher's store.
The butcher, Dan Rain, came out that evening after cleaning up, and boy did he have the surprise of his life when he saw a baby that still had an umbilical cord still attached. I was lucky. He took me home, when he could have just left me in there.
The Rain's live on an open ranch in the middle of nowhere so it really makes this place even more out there. Weird. It was only Dan and his wife Lily, they found out a few years before I came along that Lily would never be able to carry a child to term.
At the time, they thought I was a blessing. I am positive their thoughts changed.
As I grew up, I was happy. I never wanted for anything, and I got all the love a child could possibly ask for, probably even more that what was required.
But when I turned 17, it seemed everything started to change. My mom would stare at me, almost thinking of the horrible stories that were said in town. When I was 17, I started feeling different.
I would look outside in longing, when a deer would pass by or the horses on the ranch ran after the cattle, I could hear the blood pumping through the veins. It made me excited.
I stopped eating cooked meat.
My dad caught me eating a piece of raw beef from the cow he just slaughtered; the heart to be specific.
After that, my parents said I moved differently. Like water running over a rock. What the hell does that mean anyway?
I started noticing I could hear a fly walking on the lamp in the downstairs living room.
My senior year of high school I took up track…. That did not turn out so well on my part. I ran so fast I found up at the starting point before everyone left there spot. No one saw it. They just thought I didn't move at all, but I knew. The next morning, I woke up with tattoos running down my back and left arm, the tattoo ended by twisting around my ring finger. It was like nothing I ever seen before. It was in tribal symbols and a language long dead.
I showed my mom, for the next few years, my parents dead-bolted their door at night. They thought I didn't know, but I could hear the sound click of a thick lock sliding into place. Not once did they tell me they didn't love me, but they did not trust me, nor did they treat me as they did before all the weirdness started.
"Last call for flight 245, to Dublin, Ireland"
I buckled my seat as the last passenger entered the plane. The stewardess closed the door and placed the lock.
I stuck my ear buds in, blasted Linking Park; my anger music.
The plane taxied down the run way, the vibrations of the plane as it started to lift off the ground wound up my arms. The plane hung to the left to make a circle.
I read somewhere, if I wanted to find out something, the best place to look is the birthplace of that object. Ireland is my best bet; don't ask me where I am looking because I have the foggiest idea. I just need to get away for the first time in my life where no one knows me, and hopefully I can find out what is clawing at the inside of my eyelids that wants to take control so bad.
