"You can not tell that I am writing. But I hope that someone finds this. Please, I need help. My mum left me with scary people today, she said she was glad to be rid of me. She called me a monster, I do not understand but she is gone now and I am alone with these people. They smile at me, but not nice smiles, mean smiles. They locked me in a really small cage. It's cold and I'm scared. Please, if someone finds this... help me. They hurt me, people come and laugh at me. When I try to hide they hurt me and tie me up. They took my mask away, I do not like people looking at me. Mum always told me to hide it. She said that it shamed her, I shamed her. I do not want to shame her. I do not want these people to hurt me anymore. I do not want to be here, I am afraid. Someone, anyone, please... please help me. My name is Erik Destler, and I am a prisoner in this gypsy camp."
It has been 25 years since I wrote this letter, crying out in vain for help that would never come. Many things have happened since that day, few of which I care to remember. I do not completely understand what it is I hope to achieve in writing this, I know it is already too late and you have made your choice. However… you asked me once what my story was and I said that in time perhaps I would tell you. Well Christine… I am going to tell you now.
I had always been alone, since the moment I was born. My mother took one look at me and threw me away like trash. My mother and father were well respected in my small home town in Alsace, if it had become known that they had been cursed with a demon for a son their reputations would have been shattered. My father was a composer and my mother was a teacher. She was hired to tutor children in art, literature, history and politics. Despite her profession she had no desire to instruct me in any of these areas. My father was the only person who seemed to be at least somewhat on my side. He would come to me while my mother was out at market or at work, and he would talk to me about the only thing he felt he could talk to me about… music. He taught me composition and the finery of creating beautiful music and bringing it to life. My mother did not approve of this and I remember hearing them on many occasions arguing about me and what to do with me.
"He is a disgrace Charles! I cannot bear to look at him anymore!" My mother would cry, the hatred and disgust in her voice pierced my heart like a knife.
"He is still a human being Elizabeth! He needs to be taught, he needs to learn so that when he is an adult he can make a living for himself." My father replied flatly, there was a note of exasperation in his voice, as if standing up for me was more trouble than it was worth. Nevertheless, he continued to instruct me in the language of music, I loved him for it. Although I could not read or write words it was of no consequence to me. I knew how to read and write in a language all my own, the music spoke to me in a way that no one else did.
After my father fell victim to one of the many epidemics that always swept through the little society everything changed. My mother hardly ever let me out of my makeshift room in the cellar, I heard her tell any guests she had that her son had also perished along with her husband. It hurt me, and to this day I still cannot be certain why. She had been so cold to me since my birth, yet I still craved her acceptance. Why is it that even the most abussed and neglected children still yearn for the love of their parents? I was great full that she left me in the cellar, all of my father's instruments and compositions we there along with a few of the pieces we had composed together. I always wondered if my mother had thought of that when she put me there, but I doubted it. I would listen to my mother's lessons and I attempted to learn to read and write, but doing so proved difficult, much more difficult than music. Every now and then I would sneak out from the cellar and steal some of my mother's books. I taught myself how to read and write and soon I mastered the art. Then I began to steal books on history and art, I even found a few books about music. I spent my days and nights learning about all sorts of things, however nothing held my attention for long and I was soon back to composing and teaching myself to play all of my father's instruments. Life was not perfect, but I was able to do what I loved… then my mother's work took a turn for the worse.
She lost many of her clients, she started drinking more often than not. Whenever she was drunk she would always come into the cellar and start yelling at me. She would curse me for all of her misfortune, she would call me a demon from Hell sent to torture her. At first it was simply verbal, then she started beating and throwing things at me. She would bring the poker from the fireplace and bring it down on me again and again. Cowering in a corner I would beg her to stop, but it only made her scream louder and hit harder. I remember wondering why she hated me so, I wondered what I had done to wrong her so and wished that she would tell me so that I could apologize. One day, my mother came down wish an empty bottle in one hand and with the other she pulled on my hair so that my face was even with hers. I remember feeling the tears stinging my eyes and hearing her biting words cut into my flesh. As she screamed she dragged me over to my father's instruments and began to destroy them all before my eyes. I cried out and begged for her to stop but it only made her tear harder at my hair.
"You little monster!" She slurred, "You know naught of how I suffer because of you! You brat! You cur! You freak! Let us just see how you like having to look at that wicked face of yours!" With these words she threw me aside and stumbled over to the giant, covered mirror and tore the covering from it. After I was born my mother had all the mirrors in the house brought down to the cellar. Now she uncovered all of the mirrors making the room extremely disorienting. My mother laughed viciously and staggered over to me, I tried to escape from her, but I had never seen a mirror before and they had succeeded in completely dulling my senses. My mother then violently ripped my homemade mask from my face and laughed between coughs as she retreated upstairs, leaving me shaking and sobbing in the middle of the room. When I at last decided to look up the mirrors reflected the image of my hideous face over the entire room, it terrified me. There were so many emotions flooding through my mind; horror, despair… anger. I was so angry, angry at my mother for destroying what little I had left of the one person who ever tried to care for me. The tears of sorrow in my eyes turned to tears of hatred. I rose and stalked over to the shattered instruments. I stared down at them, my fists clenched. How could she? What had I done? I would not forgive her for this, she had stollen my only means of happiness. I picked up the broken neck of my father's violin, it had been both his and my favorite. I held it delicately in my hands gently stroking the severed strings. I walked over to one of the many mirrors starring at my ugly, deformed face. I hated my mother, but even more than her I hated myself. I hated the way I looked, I wished that I could disappear, I wanted to escape from myself. With a scream I shattered the mirror with the neck of the broken violin, one by one I destroyed every mirror in the cellar until I was left alone in a room with nothing but broken dreams and shattered glass.
The next morning my mother called for me from the upstairs. I did not want to go to her, but something about her voice intrigued me and pulled me towards the stairs. Remembering that I did not have my mask I covered my face with my hands. My mother was in the kitchen preparing breakfast, when she saw me she smiled. Her smile was beautiful, I wished it did not give me such an uneasy feeling, I wished that I could rejoice in the warmth of seeing my mother smile at me for the first time.
"Good morning darling," she said "Did you sleep well?" The beautiful smile still on her face. I simply stood at the thresh hold of the kitchen eyeing her suspiciously. She laughed cheerfully at me and crossed the kitchen towards me. I flinched back, but she simply held out my mask. I was reluctant for a moment, but her smile warmed me and I reached out my hand and took it. I turned my back and replaced my mask. My mother's hands wrapped around me and caused me to panic.
"Hush my darling, calm down. I just want to embrace you. I want to hold you." She cooed, her arms held me tight, her warmth sunk deep within me and seemed to wash away all the wrong she had done me. Tears began to fall down my checks an very slowly I wrapped my arms around her. She held me at arms length and looked my up and down.
"I'm so sorry for the other night my darling, I feel awful, and today I want to make it up to you."
I didn't know what to think, I was confused and unbelievably happy at the same time. She took me upstairs and washed me an dressed me in the best clothes that she could find that would fit me.
"You look so handsome." She said with another lovely smile.
She brought me outside for the first time that day. The fresh air hit me like a stone, the sunlight made me squint and shrink back. It was beautiful! I never knew that there was such a world beyond the boundaries of the basement. My mother took me around the town and showed me all the sights and sounds if which I had never seen nor heard. She even took me to church! I had always wanted to go, but she had always refused. It was even more breathtaking than I imagined and the music! Oh it was entrancing. I had never heard such beauty in my life. That morning was so magnificent. My mother and I had such a wonderful time, and then… the evening came.
My mother took me to a traveling fair, I didn't think anything of it until I saw the people. Freaks. Flame eaters, sword swallowers, bearded women, dwarfs, snake men, among many others were gathered around showing themselves off to the crowds and collecting coins. I started to back away, I knew what my mother was planing, I tried to run, but she caught me by my collar. I kicked and screamed for her to release me. Why had I trusted her? I was such a fool. She dragged me over to a man and a woman, the man was very big and burly, he had long disgusting hair and an equally long an disgusting beard. His eyes we dumb but frightening. The woman, on the other hand, was small and petite in figure. She was beautiful, but her eyes were sharp and cold. She smiled down at me, but her smile was vile and cruel.
"This is the son you were talking about Lizza?" Asked the woman, my mother nodded but said nothing. I looked at her pleadingly, but she refused to look at me.
"Well, show us that we're not wasting our time with him." Said the woman. My mother grabbed my hair and forced me to my knees before these frightening people. Then in an instant, before I even had time to react, she had reached down and ripped my mask off. The man backed away, but the woman knelt down and stared awe struck at my hideous face. I tried to hid from her, but my mother held my head up and the woman held my hands.
"Magnificent." She said, and looked up at my mother. "We'll take him." My mother let out a relieve sigh, threw me at their feet and began to walk away. I shouted for her to stay, not to leave me but her pace only quickened.
"Damn you Elizabeth!" I screamed at her, tears falling down my face "The next time I see you it will either be in Hell, or I will be sending you there! I promise you!" That was the last time I saw my mother, and my life for the next few years could not have been farther from pleasant.