Prologue
It was a dark, cold, october night. The rain came down like bullets, spraying water up as it crashed against the pavement. A woman ran stealthy through the streets, her grey torn up cloak flopping in the harsh breeze. In her arms, she carried a crying baby. The baby fidgeted as she ran, trying to find a comfortable position, but ultimately failing.
"Hush, child!" Commanded the woman in a loud whisper. "You'll draw attention to us!" The baby looked up at its mother, its big blue eyes shining in the glow of the streetlamp. She looked away in disgust and continued to run as fast as she could out of the city. Eventually, she made it to a large church-like building on a brown grassy hill just on the outside of the city. She lifted the gargoyle-faced knocker and slammed it against the door quickly and repeatedly.
"Grandmother!" Called the woman. "Grandmother, please! Open the door!" A few moments later, a tall, skinny, and elderly woman opened the door and stood staring down at the young woman. She was dressed in a long black dress the covered any trace of skin on her body with grey gloves to match. Across her neck she wore a golden cross and had glasses with the words "Jesus is watching" engraved on the side.
"Karen," she said, her voice raspy and sinister, "what are you doing here?"
"Grandmother," said Karen panting, "I-I have made a terrible mistake and I cannot bear the consequences of my actions." The old woman raised her grey eyebrow at her granddaughter.
"What are you talking about?" A flash of lightning and a boom of thunder echoed frightened the baby in Karen's arms, making it squeal and cry. Karen sighed and revealed the small, dark-haired, blue-eyed baby to her grandmother.
"Please, Grandmother," begged Karen, "you must take it from me! I won't survive as long as it is in my possession. The burden is too much for me!" Karen's grandmother stared down at the infant, who winced and hid its face in its mother's chest at the sight of the ancient woman.
"Cowardly little beasty," said the old woman. She looked up back at Karen and said, "Where is its father?"
"He abandoned me," replied Karen, tears building up in her eyes. "I tried leaving it with Mother, but she refused and told me it was my own fault. Please, Grandmother, you are all the hope I have left. Take the child, please! I'll die if I have to raise it! It will only rob me of food and strength. At least here it can take care of you in your old age. Please, please! You must help!" The old woman scowled at her granddaughter in disappointment, then took the infant in her arms.
"You seem truly penitent for your sin, Granddaughter. I will do what Jesus would have done and take your child in as my own."
"Thank you, Grandmother," said Karen, a smile growing on her face. "I owe you a huge debt. Bless you."
"May God have mercy on your soul, Karen." Karen kissed her Grandmother's hand and bowed to her, showing her respect and gratitude. The elderly woman looked down at the infant, who was reaching for his mother and looking at her longingly. "What is the child's name?" Karen, who was just about to leave, turned back around to face her grandmother and sighed.
"Jonathan," she replied, "Jonathan Crane."
"Hmm," said the old woman, lifting up the baby, who was still struggling to get back to his mother, "a name that means 'God has given'...perhaps this child was meant to be with me." The old woman scowled at her granddaughter. "Get out of here, Karen. Now!" Karen nodded and fled into the darkness of the night. Her son, Jonathan, cried and fidgeted, reaching out his hands for his mother as he watched her leave.
"Silence, child!" Screamed the old woman as she shook the baby. Terrified, the baby winced and trembled at the sound of his great-grandmother's voice. "There's a good lad," she said and lowered him down onto an old, dusty, and rotting wood crib in the attic of her medieval home. She placed a torn quilt over the baby and gently ran her bony fingers across the baby's forehead. Jonathan whimpered and sobbed lightly, calling for his mother the only way an infant could.
"Hush now, little Jonathan," said his great-grandmother, "Jesus will protect you as you dream. Now you must keep quiet, or you will attract the spiders that make their home in this attic." The baby cooed, slowly closing its eyes and drifting off to sleep. "Sweet dreams, beasty," mumbled the old woman, closing the door to the attic, "Tomorrow your new life begins."
The next morning, baby Jonathan's great-grandmother, Marion Keeny, woke him up at exactly 5:00am with the banging of cooking pans. The baby cried in surprise, confused and scared of the loud unknown noise that awoke him. Marion, impatient and angry, covered the child's mouth with her hand until it stopped crying from lack of oxygen.
"Time to pray, Jonathan," she said, a crooked smile on her face. "You must pray if you wish to go to heaven." The infant yawned and rubbed his bright blue eyes with his tiny fists. Marion carried the child into a dark flame-lit room and laid him down on the carpet in front of the fireplace, right next to her. She readied herself to pray and tried to make Jonathan do the same. However, the child would fuss and, being as small as he was, did not understand what was being asked of him. Frustrated, the old woman found a piece of rope and used it to tie the baby's hands together, making it look like he was ready to pray. In pain and discomfort, the baby cried while his great-grandmother tried to pray.
"No, Jonathan!" She slapped the infant across his face and growled. "You must listen to the word of God in silence! DO NOT MAKE A SOUND!" The baby cried in pain and the woman slapped him yet again.
Days went on like this, then weeks, then months, then years, each day repeating the cycle of pain and suffering for the young infant. Eventually, after two years, Jonathan learned to remain quiet and not make any sort of noise at all, let alone cry. And Jonathan would continue to grow and change into something much more than his mother or his great-grandmother could have ever imagined.