Chapter 1

Humans have never been exactly nice to new and different things - especially when those things have the ability to harm them. Times had never been that silent. People kept close watches on their neighbors and friends, tried not to let any of their own secrets leak out, yet wanted to know everything about those whom they feared. If trust existed in places other than fables, I couldn't see it, and soon I would have trouble having it.

A huge monster of a man stomped into the fair grounds. It bellowed with horror as its crustacean-like legs pierced the ground. At sight of the genetic monstrosity, men and women alike, screamed like little school girls as they ran in terror. The maroon speckled monster tore through the tents with incredible lightning sped jabs of his feet. A trail of destruction and holes in the ground followed every step his bow-legs took. He threw a sign that said, "Mutant Spray: keep those pesky mutants away." The now bent metal missile flew through the air with incredible force. It hit a running man on the back of his bald head, causing him to fall like he was dead. The mutant continued to stomp through the craft fair. Finally, it had caught up with its oppressors. He lifted a man into the air with one hand. His scaly muscles hardly tensed. The man was petrified, almost to the point of death. He violently quaked as the monster's hot, steamy breath fogged his glasses.
"Please! Please!" cried the man almost silently. "Don't kill me!"
The mutant laughed as spit flew from his mouth. His grip tightened on the man's arm, and with a loud Pop the man dangled from his own arm like a rag doll. The creature tossed the man aside, and with one continuous wail, the man landed on his back.
The special effects of this movie were awesome. Everything looked and sounded so real, yet the plot seemed like someone had recycled an old fifty's monster movie script. Everyone in the Regal Theater was screaming, gasping, or closing their eyes. What for? I don't know. The whole story was nothing like what was happening in the real world. The only excuse for most of the viewers' fright was the spectacular computer-generated images and the great sound effects.
The story was about how Timmy Rogers was born to an everyday, run-of- the-mill family. He had an older sister, Katherine, who adored him, parents who loved him, and a life of luxury as the high school quarter back. One day, though, he had a horrible time with almost all of his joints. (Especially in his feet and ribs) One day, after school, he waited after football was over and everyone had left the changing room. Then he took his cleats off to find that some thing red was piercing his socks. He tore the socks off and found that it was his toenail. His toenail was growing; growing into some kind of huge claw, and as it got longer the tip got redder and then more maroon. At first he asked himself how this could happen to him. He knew what he was becoming. At that instant, his padding shuffled. He wrestled his padding off to only be followed by wailing in distress. Falling on the floor, he rolled and moaned. His torso shifted. The left side began to swell and then the right started. Timmy's skin started to stretch. After a few minutes of turmoil, Timmy was fine, all except for his feet. That day the Hollywood mutant walked back home hunched over. The next day, Timmy had found himself in the same pain in the lunch line at school and the next day in the fitting room at the mall. Timmy knew what was happening. Three days after his first encounter; Timmy started praying for his first time. He wanted to check all bases that he wouldn't have another run-in with his Mr. Hyde on the day of his big game. So, Timmy played the first quarter. Everything was going fine. He had scored two touchdowns, and almost got a third. Of course, the movie's star couldn't be a bad player. I thought it would have been a funnier show if he was. The game continued and continued. The second quarter ended, but no points were added for Timmy's team, and then finally, it happened. In the middle of a play, Timmy started rolling on the ground. He screamed in distress as his pads became more and more uncomfortable. The wimp started crying as his dreams of pro-football disappeared on that field. He tried to shuffle out of his pads again, but it was too late. One side cracked as his ribs became something of a shell. The other side popped off as his ribs unified and his big toes' nails grew longer and more claw like. He wailed and wailed as more and more people came to watch the hometown monster emerge. He could see his family watch him in disgust as he showed them what he really was. The reptilian crustacean had arrived. Timmy no longer looked too human. He definitely had increased strength and defense, but he wasn't satisfied. He wanted to be just like everyone else. Everyone tried to show the past sports hero that they didn't care about his looks, but you could tell that his family and friends were embarrassed of him. Their fake kindness only brought his rage out more. By the end of the movie, Timmy was a psychopathic mutant without a reason other than he wanted to be like everyone else. So by the end of the movie, his hometown became a ghost town. No longer was it the fruitful Texan suburb. Now it was the desolate home of a suicidal mutant. Even though the movie, Mutants II: Hometown Monster, was "supposed" to be an instant classic, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to what the real mutants thought of this movie. After the Sunday matinee, I stood outside waiting for my brother to pick me up. "You want a ride?" asked Ryan, the guy who invited me to the 'instant classic.' "Nah, Ian'll be here soon," I answered in half confidence. "You sure?" "Yeah, I'm positive." Finally, his used Ford truck pulled into view. "What took you so long?" I asked, expecting some pathetic answer
"I told you," he said, now pointing to a tarp that had been stretched to protect some box in the bed, "I had to get my amp."
As I stepped into the truck, the same nagging headache that I'd been getting all month started. It screeched with searing pain even as I grabbed the back of my head and stumbled back onto the sidewalk.
"You okay Dane?" asked Ian with what seemed to be true sympathy.
"Yeah," I answered, closing my eyes from the pain while I climbed back in the truck.
And With the slam of the truck door, another sudden spring down pour started in northern Virginia. I cautiously let one hand creep off the back of my head, and waited for the pain to cool down as I listened to Ian's music.
Trying to put my mind on something else, I changed the radio station, and ended on some news.
".Famous billionaire and conglomerate owner, Ned Buckman, has been found dead at his spring home in Switzerland. Robert Sedwick has more to say:"
A deep and 'matter-a-fact' voice aired next, "Thanks Bill. Here in Geneva, Switzerland, off of Geneva Lake lies a lavishely decorated mansion owned by the late Edward Buckman. According to reports, a maid came into the dining room where Buckman was working and having breakfast and she found him with his face collapsed on his food.
"I don't know what happened!" said a strongly accented woman. "I had just left to go get some more milk, and when I came back, Oh, there he was with his face lying on his eggs! It was horrible! He looked like all the energy had been sucked right from his body!"
"There you go. That was his maid, Gertrude. We'll have more for you later," and that was it from that reporter.
"On other news," said the first speaker, "Local girl, Monica McFarely, is still missing, but police think they have found a lead." At the name, Monica McFarely, Ian swirved the truck over, and listened with his whole mind focused on the radio's voices.
"According to chief police officer, Charles Roder, a man has come forward with some possible evidence. From what he has given us, we know that there is a video recording of her with an extremely elderly woman around Ontario, Canada."
Tears of what seemed like joy formed in Ian's eyes. "Ontario," he repeated in what sounded like dreamy happiness. I hadn't seen Ian this happy in a good while. Ever since this Monica McFarely had disappeared from her ballet recital, Ian had been grieving. It struck everyone as such a shock. One second Ian's girlfriend had been there tip-toeing off the stage, and the next she was gone. No one knew what happened to her, where she had gone, or if she was alive, but this broadcast, this gleam of hope; it was an answer to the McFarely family's and Ian's prayers.

The truck rolled up the driveway of a peach house with three hanging baskets that were already filled to the brim with red poppies. The spring downpour continued and my head ache kept stinging. It was considerably lighter but any headache was lighter than this one.
I walked up to the door with my left hand still grasping my pain. There had to be a reason for these headaches. Right? Just to insure that, my parents had scheduled an appointment to find the cause of these headaches. I was going to miss school the next day, and have some tests done to find the cause or causes.
Ian carried his amp up the stairs, to his room. A musician at heart, he would spend his whole life picking guitars if he could.
Three hours past and my family was back at the church for the second service that Sunday. Our Penacostle church was one of those crazy churches. It was a huge three room building with a pastor that would stand at the door all night before starting the service. Reason was, he made it his goal to shake hands and talk with everyone in his congregation.
Once I passed the front two wooden doors, I came into the sanctuary. It was a huge plain room with a big rugged cross that hung on the wall. Pews were already filled with clucking women and men talking about the bucks they "almost" shot that week.
The few high schoolers that did go to my church had two social classes; those that played in the church band and those whom didn't. The band playing teens would sit behind the preacher, waiting for praise and worship to start, while the non-band playing teens sat in the balcony alone. The parents didn't really care what we did, as long as Matthew McCartney didn't use his suspenders as bungee cords again.
About forty-five minutes passed, Pastor Almande walked up to the pulpit, and the non-band playing high schoolers walked behind the stage and up the stairs to the balcony. To our surprise, someone was already up there. A strange looking guy, along the ages of twenty to twenty four, sat looking like he was waiting for someone. Never before had anyone been in the balcony before the teens, but this wasn't the most usual of days.
The guy had slicked back hair with a young goatee. He grinned at me as I sat. I thought he must have been some weird guy that had just gotten out of school for the year. Trying to keep my thoughts on what the preacher was saying, I tried to erase the peculiar young man from my mind.
"Job was a man that even God was proud of!" announced Pastor Almande in his deep, southern accent. "He was a man of integrity and faithfulness!"
Elderly women had already started saying, "Amen!" and, "Yes he was!"
"Everyone could stand to be a little bit more like Job!" started the pastor again. "Job had everything taken away from him! He had his wealth, his health, and his children taken from him, but guess what. He still kept his faith in God!"
"Preach it brother!" said the blubbery truck driver in the front row.
"He loved God enough, so that when everything was taken from him; he still worshipped Him! Yes, he got depressed, but he still thought of God. And when his wife said, 'Curse God and die!' he told her that he wouldn't give up his integrity and love for God for anything that Lucifer could throw at him. He loved God enough to think of Him even though he had leprosy. And what do you think ole' Satan was doin' now? He was going stir crazy, because he thought Job would surely throw his faith down the drain by now. Oh, but no, Job wasn't gonna give up that easily. God, himself, had called Job blameless and upright. And if God knew that about Job, you knew it was right?
People were yelling "hmm," "Preach it"and"Oh yes, thank you Lord," like all good Penacostle churches did when they got a soul riveting sermon started. People were just itching to get singing and dancing.
"So, if that fallen angel ever comes your way again, you just say, 'Satan leave me now, because I am in Jesus and He is in me!'" And that was how that good sermon ended.

All of the people would have jumped to get up if their joints would have let them. My church had a righteous praise and worship experience that night. We were singing, "When sorrows like sea billows roll; What ever my lot, thou hast taught me to say It is well, it is well with my soul." when I turned to see what that strange man was doing. In the midst of the song, he was shuffling a stack of cards. It was kind of peculiar. He did just about every trick out there. He would throw them up from one hand, and they would land back on the other. Next he started juggling the cards while shuffling them at the same time. Every other card would go to the other hand but the odd ones would stay in his right hand. I changed my focus and decided to listen to what Gladys McCartney, one of the elderly that didn't trust teens, was saying. I thought she was saying that everyone should give more money, but I didn't know. I came into the talk to late.
At that moment, the sprinklers went off in the building. All the women and children scrambled out of the building. After them, the teens clambered down the staircase. "There's no fire!" said my father as he walked out soaking. Once everyone was out they all looked at Matthew McCartney, thinking he had snuck out of the balcony and held a lighter up to a sprinkler again. "What? It wasn't me?" said Mathew.
All the adults gave him real suspicious looks. "You come right here Matthew Louis McCartney!" said his grandmother Gladys. "You just wait until we get home. Your hind'll be as red as my roses. You won't be able to sit for weeks!" said his grandmother as she pulled him to their car. "I'm so sorry y'all."
I looked around to make sure everyone was their. At first I thought they were, but I realized that shuffling man wasn't. I looked over everyone, but once again, he wasn't there. Where was he?
"I'm sorry, but it seems the rest of service won't happen. Sorry folks. Don't worry though, count on having service Wednesday"
The next morning, I awoke due to another headache. It felt like pressure was building up and up but nothing was letting out. Any second, it seemed like the back of my skull was going rip open and release the pressure out along with my brain. I gripped my head again even though I knew it wasn't going to do anything. An hour passed before the headache died down. They were getting longer and more common with everyday. Still, it didn't help that I had only gotten four hours of sleep that night. I had been praying that I would find the solution to these headaches, but it didn't seem like my prayers were doing anything. I finally got out of bed once the headache had started to pass but it lingered as I got ready for the surgery. Three more hours passed, and I was in the car with my parents, driving me to an IV-caused snooze on a surgery bed. "Hello, I'll be your nurse today Dane," said a plump, hardy faced women whose name tag read Mrs. Robinson. "Are you ready for the surgery?" I shook my head as I lay in the hospital gown on the surgery bed. "Good!" she said. "Have you eaten or drunk anything in the last twelve hours." This time I shook my head horizontally. "Now, I'm gonna have to give you this IV, so if you'd be so kind, would you clench your hand like this." Her hand formed the fist of a giant. I imitated her and she found a vein to insert the needle, and with a pinch- like sting, the needle pierced me. She taped it on, and turned a knob on the tube that led from the liquid pouch to the needle. Ice cold fluids rushed through my arms blood like a glacier in the Bahamas. It almost felt like crystals were forming in my blood. "Now it may feel a little cool because this is room temperature and you're a bit warmer than that." You're telling me I thought. It took a minute to get used to. It felt like the opposite of jumping into a cold pool. Instead of jumping in it, it felt like the freezing pool was jumping in me. Minutes passed as I faded in and out of consciousness. The last thing I remember is the doctor asking me to relax. The next thing I knew, my dad was poking me, joking that I was dead. "You alive in there?" he'd say. "Knock, Knock. Is anybody home?" I lifted my head as a pain shot through on the top of my neck. I felt around to feel a bandage right below my curly hair. It felt like a huge pinch, but it was nothing compared to the headaches. I tried to sit up and talk, but I was too tired due to whatever medicine they put in my IV. I felt like I had been on a hanging tire, spinning for the last few hours, and now I was dizzy and nauseous. The nurse had obviously taken my IV out already and patched my arm up with a bit of gauze and tape. Still wondering what the doctor did, I looked up at my parents. "What happened? Did they take something out?" I asked "No, we didn't take anything out, but we did take an Infared scan of you head, and there was this really red area. We went in to see if something was there, but all we found was that as soon as we got under you skin, there's a lot of heat and pressure. We're gonna send some stuff to be tested but don't expect any answers." "How soon can we expect the results from these tests," said my mother with the typical worried look of a mother when something is strange with her child. "'Bout a week and they will call us and we'll call you." The next week passed and it felt like I was being watched the whole time. Everything strange that week started on Wednesday. For the third day in a row, my head woke me with torturous pain. The pressure built up even more with every headache. Unfortunately, it was a reliable as the spring storms. There was one that was so bad that in the middle of my first period science class, I got another headache. It grew so rapidly that every single light or reflection of light acted as its own strobe light they glared so brightly until it seemed I was surrounded by trains. The pressure grew and I began to perspire. Sweat sopped from my palms as the air froze in my lungs. Every single smell and sound became more and more prominent from its former blandness. The girls' perfumes fumed from their necks. They wafted with elegant sweetness while at the same time bringing every ones foul body odor to my nose. Every single sound blared a constant babble. Every sense was consumed by overwhelming stress. The back of my head screeched with searing pain. Even though my skin was sweating like the rain was falling outside, my insides felt like a twisting roller coaster, and the next thing I knew, I was moaning in the nurse's office.
"Oh, tour awake now!" said a duck of a woman. She started talking, but her voice faded in and out with every movement of her bill-like lips.
"My baby, how are you?" said my mother with an extremely worried, motherly face. "Speak to me!" she said, clutching and holding me. I tried to but I couldn't breath. "Oh Hon', are you okay?" It was strange how I couldn't hear the quacking nurse yet I could understand every word my over- worried mother said.
"Maybe he would talk, if he could breath!" quacked the nurse as she pulled my mother off of me. My mother's look told the nurse how much of a nascence my mother though she was. The nurse just pouted and waddled back to her desk.
"Are you okay?" asked my mom, now a little more calmed.
I nodded to indicate yes but my ears were still adjusting.
"Okay, let's go," she said as she walked up to the nurse, and checked that it was okay.
"I'll help you get him to the car," said the nurse in agreement to my mother, but to their shock, I was already on my feet.
"Do you think you can walk to the car?" asked mother.
"Of course. I'm standing. Aren't I?" I said, starting towards the door at an unsure gait.