The rest of the weekend passes in a blur.

I don't remember doing anything else the rest of that Saturday, other than sitting in my room and mulling over what had happened. I did drift off to sleep for a few hours, and when I awoke, I had desperately hoped it had all been some cracked-up dream. But my greatest fears were confirmed when I looked down at my hand and vicious black claws sprouted from my fingertips when I willed them to. It hadn't been some sick, twisted dream. It was real.

I thought over what Angie said. A school for people like us. Delphi? More like the Special Institute for Monstery People. Hell no. I was never going to go there. As if I needed the constant reminder of what I was now.

I clutched the silver necklace with the cross pendant in my hand. The chain had snapped, but that was easy enough to fix, and I did so once I had gotten home. It was the only necklace I had ever worn. It was the last thing my mother gave me before she died.

Speaking of which . . .

It was her birthday in a few weeks.

I closed my eyes, letting out a low groan. It was the same every birthday; my father and I would go out to the graveyard and wish her a happy birthday, and then my dad would go out and drink every guy at the bar under the table. He always came home passed out, with his friends lugging him through the door and plopping him down on the sofa. I would then have to spend the next day helping him get over his hangover.

I tried to get him to stop, but he was a peculiar drunk; he was an incredibly sad drunk most of the time, but if provoked, he turned very violent very quickly. I stopped caring about him and his drinking habits long ago, harsh as that sounds. But sometimes I really can't blame him. He loved her unconditionally. And to lose someone so special was devastating.

But I had moved on. He still had to learn to let her go.

I slipped on my mother's necklace and headed downstairs to fix myself up some lunch. My father must have read my mind because he had already made grilled cheese sandwiches for the two of us. I forced a smile and took it, muttering a "thanks." He studied me silently as I ate my meal without much of a word, either.

"You're quiet today," he observed.

I shrugged. Yeah, you'd be awfully quiet, too, if you found out you can turn into a monster. "Nothing to talk about."

We eat in silence, and he eventually goes back to work on his computer. I just go back up to my room and lounge around.

I wasn't in the mood to do anything else.

Monday comes, and I go through the same routine as always for any other normal boring school day.

Only, I'm uneasy and nervous. Now that I have this animal inside of me, I'm paranoid about it coming out when I don't want it to. What if I suddenly turn in the middle of class? What if someone finds out my secret? I figured I could fight the change long enough to get myself to the nearest bathroom, but then what? Turn into a twenty-foot snake-lizard thing in the bathroom? What if there's someone else in the bathroom with me? All I can do is just hope I'll get lucky today.

My school isn't very far, so I usually walk. Today was no exception, with my dad taking our only car to work, and me not being old enough to even drive yet. It's a brisk day, but not too cold. I take my time, slowly thinking things over. I just had to remain calm and make sure I didn't do anything that could trigger a change. Angie told me the main things I had to worry about: Being in mortal danger, experiencing a very strong emotion, or just simply thinking about changing. The first one I had no need to worry about. As much of a nightmare high school was I didn't have to worry about someone threatening my life. The second, not so much. Although I'm a pretty calm and composed person, I take on an entirely different personality on the football field. I become quite aggressive and angry, which is what my coaches have always taught us to do. Get mean, get vicious, be a . . . well, be a total animal. I knew I could not afford to get too worked up in practice today. And as for the third, like I would ever willingly want to change.

I meet up with my best friend, Alex. We knew each other for practically as long as I can remember, and we've been friends for just as long. He was thin and kind of scrawny with black hair that never lay flat on his head. His small build prevented him from getting on the varsity football team with me, but he was one hell of a wrestler. He saw me in the halls, and gave me a quick wave. I managed a nod, but the bell rang to signal the start of classes. I hurried off to my first period class, and Alex went his own way. We didn't have class together until fourth period.

When fourth period finally rolls around, I'm about ready to collapse. It's like the school slowed down all of the clocks, and my paranoia has only been building. Alex notices how uncharacteristically grumpy I am behaving, and throws me a curious look.

"What's up?" he asks as he takes the desk next to mine. "You look down."

"I had a bit of a rough weekend," I said. I don't think I could tell him my secret either. Even though we're friends, Alex has been known to be the more . . . boisterous type. I couldn't trust him to keep something this big a secret.

"Rough? We had practically nothing this weekend. You didn't even have a football game!" he said. I rolled my eyes. "Well . . . we did have that massive six-page English paper to do, but that wasn't so bad."

Wait . . . what? And then, I remember. We had a paper to do over the weekend. Due today. My eyes go wide. And Alex notices my reaction.

"Oh, God. Please don't tell me you-"

"I completely forgot!" I say in a hushed whisper. English was next period. Shit, shit, shit.

"Just tell her you forgot it at home!" Alex said.

"She doesn't accept late papers!" I say. Now I'm really freaking out. I wasn't doing too hot in English to begin with, and this was going to definitely damage my current grade. Badly.

"Just ask her if you can bring it in like, really early next morning! Just something! At least ask for partial credit!" Alex is persistent. And right now, getting on my knees and begging to turn in my paper late was my only option. The bell rings, and I swallow hard as I set off for English class.

English teachers are total assholes.

I asked nicely. I tell her I forgot it and I just need to go home and give it to her tomorrow. I pretty much beg her to let me turn it in late and dock off points for turning it in late.

But she refused. And now I just got a zero on a big paper. I hate my life so much right now.

And if that wasn't enough, I still had this monster, this beast just underneath my skin to be worrying about. I had to get this off my chest. I needed to talk to someone about it. But I couldn't go to my dad; he'd never believe me. And if I did . . . show him, he'd freak out. No, I couldn't tell him. And not Alex. He would believe me, eventually, but I couldn't trust him to keep it secret. Who could I talk to? Maybe Angie? No . . .

The answer then came to me, literally. On my way to and from school, I have to pass by a church. I glance up at its towering steeples and marble steps, and I find myself thinking. I could go to confession and talk to the priest, and I could trust him to keep my secret. But I haven't been going to church for months. I stopped going regularly after my mother died. I had lost my faith, and refused to believe the Christian god I had worshipped was capable of such heartless things as taking an innocent woman from her loving family.

I stopped just outside the church doors, contemplating. Even though I had lost faith, I hadn't stopped believing altogether. And where else could I go? I shake my head, and step inside.

I approach one of the side rooms reserved for confessions, and I step inside. A screen separates me from the priest, and I get on my knees and make the sign of the cross over myself. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been a very long time since my last confession." I let out a weak laugh.

"Logan, is that you?" the priest asks eagerly. "My, it has been a while! Welcome back, my son! So, what does bring you back again?"

I take a deep breath. There was no going back now. "I . . . I have to get something off my chest."

"I see." The priest's voice is now very serious, almost as if he could sense we were going to discuss something very personal. "Please, tell me everything." His voice is gentle, and comforting.

I pause, trying to think of the best way to phrase my concerns. "I . . . God, this is going to sound crazy. I hope I'm crazy. I can't believe it for myself . . . but the truth is that I recently found out I'm not even human." I wait, for a comment, a question, anything. But the priest is silent, so I go on. "Everything had been a lie. I found out I'm a monster and there's nothing I can do about it! And the worst part is that I'm . . . I'm incredibly dangerous. I can kill someone if I'm not careful. I'm terrified of myself, and what I am now. How can anyone accept a burden like this?" I take a deep breath. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to be like this, but I have to. I can't ignore this, but I don't want to accept the fact that I'm just a freak."

The priest lets out a soft chuckle. "So, I take it you have recently transformed into a non-human."

I jump. I had been waiting for the priest to call me crazy, for him to ask if I was taking any drugs, to ask me everything except that. It took me a few moments to compose myself. "Wait, are you a non-human, too?" I ask in a stunned voice.

"Me? No. But you are not the first non-human to come to me seeking guidance," he explained. I allow myself to relax. This was surprisingly going much smoother than I anticipated. "And I am very happy you came to me for help. This will be a very difficult and trying time for you, no doubt, but I am more than happy to help you however I can. But the first thing you must learn to do is to accept and embrace your true form. After that, everything else will be easy. Now, tell me, Logan, what non-human are you?"

I close my eyes. "I'm . . . I'm a basilisk."

Saying those three words out loud was a very strange thing. I was admitting I was a monster. I am a basilisk. Those simple three words resounded like a kell inside of my head.

The priest is silent for a second. "A basilisk?" He's surprised. I can hear the fear in his voice. "Pardon my shock but . . . I would have never thought."

"You're telling me," I grumble. "I don't want to be like this!"

His voice grows serious again. "A friend once told me 'We cannot choose who or what we are. We can only choose what we become.' You could not have stopped your transformation from happening. And now, you are a basilisk, however much you do not wish to be. And, as harsh as this may sound, there is nothing you can do about that. The only thing you can do now is to embrace this new power of yours. Accept it, and learn to control this. And remember, God is always with you."

I close my eyes for a moment, and stand. "Thank you for talking to me. I have to get going," I said quietly.

"Of course. Come back whenever you need to talk again. Your secret is safe with me."

I leave the church and continue on my way. So there really is no going back. But I don't want to accept this. I don't want to be a monster. I just want to be human. But his warning, and Angie's, still ring in my head, and with a heavy heart, I know they are right. I have to accept this. Sooner or later.

And, if I'm a basilisk, I should probably get myself some of that potion. When I get home, I pull out the phone numbers Angie gave me and dial it on my cellphone. It rings a few times before someone picks up.

"Laverne's Antique Shop, how may I help ya?" a female voice with a heavy southern accent says.

Antique shop? I thought. Must be a cover-up. "Um, hi, do you sell any . . . er, potions?" I feel stupid just asking it.

"I do have a fine selection of brandy-" the woman says.

I smack my hands over my eyes. "Not that kind of potions! I mean magic potions!"

"What 'choo smokin', boy?"

If this was some lame joke Angie set me up for, I'm going to kill her. "Look, never mind. Can you just give me the address to your shop and I'll come by tomorrow?"

"Sure thing!" She pronounces thing like thang. "Gotta pen handy?"

I reach for oe of my notebooks and grab a pencil. "Yeah, go ahead." She rattles off the address, and I nearly drop my phone. "Your shop is where?!"

I consider the pretty large town I live in to be fairly pleasant, with a few exceptions of course. One of those exceptions was the northern-most district of our town, which was a very shady and downright dirty place. Many people from the other parts of town usually didn't visit there, which is why I found myself wondering why I was standing in the middle of a cracked street, staring at a tiny little shack of a place barely standing upright with its quickly decaying brick walls.

Oh yeah, that's right. This is the only place I can ge that special potion so I don't kill anyone.

I force myself to enter the building. I'm not an easy guy to scare, but this was just a plain old creepy place. And I didn't like it. I push open the filthy glass doors, and heara windchime tinlke as I enter.

"Hello? Anyone here?" I ask. I glance around. The inside was a total mess. Tables and shelves filled with all sorts of weird stuff were scattered all over the place. Strange lamps and dripping candles hung from the ceiling, giving the place a very musky smell. There's a few things that catch my attention, like a large crystal ball as big as a grapefruit and an old astronomy book. Pieces of paper are littered around the place as well. Ugh, I was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea.

I hear someone come up behind me. HAnds grasp onto my shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin. "So nice to see you! I have been waitin' for ya!"

Wait, that voice. It was the shop owner. I spin around and find myself face-to-face with a tall, built African-American wman with pitch-black hair and incredibly dark eyes. The white ot her eyes almost seems to glow against her darkskin and eyes. Her clothing catches my attention; bright fabrics and sashes cover her body, and several large beeded necklaces drape around her neck and shoulder. Her fingers are also covered in gaudy rings. She looked like a gypsy.

She lifts up my chin and stares intently into my eyes. Now she's really starting to creep me out. "I can sense the beast within! Basilisk! King of serpents!"

"How did you know that?!" I blurt out.

"Laverne knows her stuff, suga'! I knew eva since ya called! Been waitin' for ya! I ain't neva seen a basilisk in person! Rare creatures, they are!"

"Wonderful," I mutter. "Um, do you have a . . . that potion that . . ."

"The Isidore potion, I believe is what you're referrin' to! The only thing that can thwart the basilisk's deadly gaze!" she says excitedly. Almost too excitedly for my liking. "I can whip it up for ya in a jiffy!"

She runs off into the back of her shop, and I make my way around the vast array of crap in my way to try to follow her. She goes into a back room, and I enter to see what looked like a storage room. She pulls out a burner, a stand, a small pot, and a few assorted ingredients. Lighting the burner, she places the pot on the stand and throws something into the pot. Upon closer inspection, I found the label said Ground Eye of Newt.

"Eyeballs?!" I exclaim. "That potion is made of lizard eyeballs?!"

"Eye of newt is a very powerful magic substance!" Laverne explains in her same peppy, excited voice. "It is used in almost every potion!" She dashes a few more things into the pot as well; an acid-green gelitin blob, a large piece of tree bark, and what looked like cat hair. I can only stand there stupidly as Laverne feverishly throws all this . . . stuff into the pot.

After a few minutes of boiling and stirring, the mixture turns into a watery substance with a very nice light-blue color. Laverne nods in approval and pours out the contents into a vile.

"Awright, you listen here, boy," she said. "You must inject yourself with 50 miligrams of this stuff before you change. That will last you twenty minutes. Now, even if you take 100 miligrams at one time, it will still only last twenty minutes, so it's important you take only fifty so you waste none. Got it?" I nod. "Good boy! You can inject yourself with more after twenty minutes to give yourself more time, but you shouldn't need any longer than that. Any questions? Do you know how to prepare a syringe?"

This is way too crazy to believe, I thought. I'm going to be injecting myself with ground up lizard eyes and boiled cat hair. How lovely. "Yeah, I know, just . . . how much?"

"Fifteen dollars!" she says. "And since I'm nice, I'll give you a syringe for free!"

She leads me over to the front desk and pulls out a perfectly new and clean syringe and hands it to me gently. I take it and, with the same amount of care, I place it in my backpack.

"I'll be seeing you soon, boy!" she says.

"You'll be lucky if you see me within the next three months," I growl.

"See you soon, then!"

"Crazy psycho voodoo lady," I mutter under my breath as I walk out the door.