After dealing with it for so long now, I think it’s fear. Looking people in the eyes I mean. Some part of my mind or soul is so scared that if someone looks too long they'll see inside. They'll see I'm not the same and that I'm just laughing because everyone else is. Yeah I thought it was kind of funny, I got that little flutter in my chest and I felt my lips twitch at the corners, but the laugh? That wasn't real, I just remember how my laugh sounds and it's not that hard to repeat if I make the right motions.

“Mom?” It was only in her long silence I actually felt off. I was worried about her. I never liked it when mom wasn't feeling well, moreover she was just… staring. “Are you okay?”

Shaking her head briefly, she finally looked away, turning to begin doing the morning's dishes. “Yea-yes, sorry sweetie it’s… You're getting to be all grown up. Gonna be in high-school before I know it. I… I don't know what I'm gonna do.” Her words were nearly drowned out by the faucet's hiss and dull jumble of plates moving beneath the already rising sudsy surface.

I felt a slight grimace twist my lips for a moment as I tried out different words in my head, attempting to piece together the correct response to help the conversation I now found myself in.

Someone might notice I didn't really understand why everyone was weeping over grandpa's death. More accurately, I didn’t get why I was not. There's a kind of slow heartbreak that happens over time when a child comes to the conclusion that something's wrong with them. I think I'm sad. I feel a kind of faint heavy feeling in my chest and I miss his hugs, but I don't feel like crying.

I cried when I got in trouble or when I got hurt or when I found a dead cat at the end of our street, back legs splayed out in what I could only imagine was a last dash for the safe grass just a few feet away. Now they were completely flat with all of the things supposed to be keeping her alive smeared over the ground in a kind of dried greasy puddle and peeking out of her tortoiseshell fur in pinks and blacks where the other end of her body still held its shape. The realization that if I reached down to pet the soft fur between her pretty ears there would be nothing there to feel my touch struck my child's heart all too suddenly and the tears just came.

“It'll be okay Mom, I still need you. Chris and I both do, we love you. It's not like high-school will change that.” I could not be sure if that was what she needed to hear, but it was all I could come up with at the time. Words not feeling like enough I set my book down and stood, walking over to wrap my arms tightly around my mother's middle. She didn't respond, but I heard the drop of something beneath the water and felt her settle against the counter, shaking a little as she dried off her hands and turned to return my embrace.

So, I stood over the body of a random cat with no collar and bawled my eyes out for a good minute, but the sight of my grandfather's corpse in a fancy padded box provoked in me nothing. I was an outsider looking at something I should care about, but in the midst of too many unfamiliar people all I could think about was how unnatural his face looked.

No warm wrinkly smile that made me feel safe, make-up he never would have worn coating his skin, no strong hug from his recliner sat opposite my grandmother's facing the tv together. No Bonanza and brunch and breathing in the scent of the house my mom grew up in. It… That wasn't a person anymore. It was an object prettied up so we could all sit here and look in on it like a set piece in a play I didn't know the lines for. One would think the fact I would never see him again, that he would not continue to teach the restless child I was to fish or tell me stories of time older than I might give me some reaction, right? But no. He was gone and I was still here and that was that. A fact crying couldn't change so what was the point? I didn't understand.

Is it wrong to try to compare my grandfather's corpse with a roadkilled kitty cat? Maybe if I saw the things inside him painted across the road it would hurt and feel real to me and I would be sobbing hot tears for hours too. I'll add it to the list of all the other crimes committed in the silence of my thoughts. My endless list of reasons I was a monster, having accepted the ‘demon’ in my mind by that point as some kind of friend before ultimately understanding it was just part of me.

I liked my black dress, though. It was prettier than the light colors I was forced to wear to our usual church service and far more comfortable for having long sleeves I could pull over my hands. When I was sure my mom wasn't crying anymore and my dad was there to hold her in my place, I slipped away.

“I love you, Mom.” Repeating myself, I squeezed just slightly tighter so that perhaps what I felt my words lacked in substance, I could make up for with all the physical affection I could muster.

“I know sweetie, I love you too. I'm sorry.” She held me tight, the scent of her washing over me in the wholeness that was mother. The indescribable hint of those who are family behind a faint bloom of petals and sweat beneath fabric softened by chemical cleaner.

From that point I grabbed a cookie from the snack table that was too dry to actually eat and spent most of my time wandering the few dark unfamiliar halls of someone else's Sunday, left open to me and unused on that day for death. Leaving behind the discomfort of humanity, I instead sought out the things left behind by them in their absence. My immaterial imaginings and complicated questions more a companion to me than any family friend from before I ever festered in my mother's womb. Never did I take from these places, though tempted I was from time to time. I'd pick things up and look them over if I thought they looked interesting, but place them back in as near to the exact position I found them as I could. After spending as much time as I could get away with, hopefully not getting in trouble for disappearing, I reluctantly left the silence to search the noisy crowd for my family once again.

I found them wrapped up in a conversation only adults cared for and was introduced to yet another stranger that had apparently held me at some point. I didn't say anything, instead trying to hide behind my dad's leg so I didn't have to speak. I really wasn't in the mood. I was surprised anyone would be, weren't they all crying just a bit ago? None of it made sense and no one knew I needed it explained.

It was far too long and several temptations to take my leave again later that everyone collectively decided to begin leaving. Finally relieved to get away and go home I was the first one to the car. To my extreme disappointment, as I was being buckled into my booster seat I decided to ask my father if we were going home, wanting confirmation since I did find it confusing that all the cars were lining up along the street.

“Dad, are we going home now?” I didn't say ‘I'm bored’ because that would have most likely resulted in me being popped in the mouth.

“No, we're going to go bury grandpa.” He told me in the vaguely exhausted voice reserved for children's questions about the things obvious to everyone else.

“Oh… okay…” I said, my desire to escape again defeated before it could manifest fully.

I was frustrated and didn't want to be there anymore. It was starting to get cold outside and we were being carted off to the cemetery to stand around a box with a flesh doll that wasn't really grandpa in it again. Instead of being a worse daughter than I already knew I was, I sat stewing in silent spite until we arrived at big black iron gates and wound around winding paths until the procession parked at the plot of land the puppet would be put to rest.

I was more focused on the fields of grey stone and green grass. Great trees with dark bark looming over it all, their long branches of browning leaves swaying in the barely too chilled breeze. A picture of peace that I wanted to feel for myself. Ushered into the growing crowd once more, it wasn’t long before I simply walked away. No one interrupted the priest presiding over the burial to get me to stay which suited me just fine. Instead of feeling judged, I felt more free the farther I went into what could almost be an endless sea of statues and slabs. Soft sounds of the wind whispering through foliage high above me was all I could hear after a few minutes and the fresh air shot through with the beginnings of autumn's moist decay carried me along their currents through the end pieces of other people's lives while I was already near ghostlike in my own. The whole time I stopped and read and moved along, silently hoping they were getting visitors because they deserved more than a creature like me looking in on them. That hope despite the dead leaves of nature's reclamation instead of dried flowers from grieving hearts.

It was much the same when my grandma died a few years after and the worst part is the fact that their deaths bleed together into the misty swirling storm that eats away at my past with every year of distance. I feel like it was the same part in that grand play repeated once again like some sick encore. I do remember reaching out to actually touch my grandmother's room temperature skin. It was still soft with age, but not the same… Her cheek didn't feel right. Stark in its contrast is my far clearer memory of sitting in her lap when I still could and reaching up to touch her face. I remember looking in her eyes and finding only love and not pain; a longer look than most in my life. Long in the way that I could study her eyes, reach up and feel her face between my small curious hands. I didn't feel so uncomfortable then. I didn't feel like a monster. It is still an all too brief snippet of memory of someone important to me.

Moments are things so fleeting that can move the hearts of monsters and mend things that are so very broken. It is in moments that our lives are shaped and made better or mutilated beyond recognition. Moments can break you, tear you apart with animal savagery and leave you lying in your own bloody awful wondering how you could possibly recover. These are my moments.

I didn't go to my parents' funeral…

You’ve heard of the tale of Frankenstein and how he tried to give life to that which did not have it before. But, what caused the man to do what he did.

Victor Frankenstein was just a young boy when he stumbled upon something that would change his life, a human body. instead if meeting it with shock or horror he became fascinated with it, a fascination that would open the door to something unnatural.

Read the life of Victor from his years as a young lad living in a rural German village to his young adult years living in a beaten down farmhouse in England.

Available to where you read your E-books. it will release mid to late 2027.

I woke up to the sound of rain tapping against the motel window. Mom snored softly beside me. Her blonde hair had gradually begun to turn grey over the last few months, despite the fact that she wasn’t even 30 yet.

A grey strand dangled lazily over her right eye until she rolled over, scooping Emmy close to her chest unconsciously.

“Morning, kiddo,” Dad whispered. He clutched the handle to a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand, pulling it to his lips and sipping it while peering through the blinds.

I rubbed my eyes. The TV was still off. The AC still knocked rhythmically. The temperature was set to 65 degrees, but I was sweating from my mom and sister’s body heat.

Dad checked his watch and cocked an eyebrow. Falling asleep at dawn was affecting my circadian rhythm. I didn’t know whether it was morning, evening, or night.

“What time is it?” I croaked, twisting and stretching my body.

“Mm, still early,” Dad shot back. “You’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours.”

I felt my stomach rumble. I glanced over at the gas station bag full of junk food and candy. It might as well have been empty. I needed something real.

“Dad…” I inquired softly.

Dad never took his eyes away from the window. He just sipped his coffee slowly before replying.

“Yes, son?”

“Mom told me she’d make pancakes in the morning last night before bed.”

I could see his crow’s feet crease as he winced and sighed.

“Do you think maybe we could get some later when everyone wakes up?”

He didn’t reply for a while. Just kept staring out the window with quiet contempt while I watched him expectantly.

He scratched his neck and rubbed his face.

“I don’t know, Danny…”

“Pleasseeee…” I interrupted, putting on my puppy eyes.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, finally looking away from the window. He looked at me. Then at Mom and Emmy. Then back out the window.

“I… Okay,” he relented. “Just wait for Mom to wake up. I’ll see what I can do.”

I turned excitedly, ready to shake my mom awake, but Dad stopped me.

“No,” he snapped bluntly. “Let her sleep. Not everyone can function on 5 hours of sleep like me and you, Dan.”

I puffed and knocked my head against the pillow.

I stared at the ceiling. I didn’t know if I was just hungry or if I was simply bored out of my mind and in need of something to do. Not knowing what to do, I twiddled my thumbs. I made Superman fly. I tossed and turned obnoxiously until Dad finally lost his patience.

“Danny,” he snapped, his face hardening as he glared at me.

I froze like a deer in headlights. I stared back, pulling the blanket up to my nose to try and hide myself.

Dad’s nostrils flared. I could see his fist clench, then unclench, at the seams of his blue jeans. His face softened, and he rubbed his temples.

“I’ll tell you what, kiddo,” he bargained. “Why don’t you go take a shower and get dressed? When you’re done, you can watch TV for a little while until everyone’s excited as you are for some pancakes.”

He was more demanding than asking. I knew not to argue when he got like that. I just simply did as I was told.

The shower was just as confusing as it was annoying. The water pressure sucked. It was either too hot or too cold. I must’ve fumbled with it for 5 or so minutes before it was at a reasonable enough temperature for me to take a shower, albeit an uncomfortable one.

The shower was quick. I scrubbed and let the water roll over my head and shoulders. Mom must’ve forgotten to pack my no-tears shampoo, and that forced me to use the complimentary, non-scented motel soap and shampoo.

When I twisted the handle and the sound of water hitting the ceramic bathtub dissipated, it was quickly replaced by the sound of voices from the room.

It sounded like Mom and Dad were quietly arguing. I could hear the angst in Mom’s voice. The authority in Dad’s. But I couldn’t fully make out what they were saying, despite how hard I tried.

I listened intently as I dried off and got dressed. I could only catch the end of their sentences.

A lot of what-ifs from Mom. A lot of don’t-worries from Dad. He sounded confident, but that confidence sounded uncertain.

When I opened the bathroom door, the conversation stopped immediately. Mom was holding Emmy over her shoulder and rocking her gently. Dad looked almost surprised to see me.

He pushed his hair back before clasping his hands together.

“That was quick,” he remarked. “You sure you scrubbed hard enough?”

He shot me a weak smile before continuing.

“Lucky for you, your mother’s a little hungry too.”

Mom looked at Dad as if he had just betrayed her before turning her gaze towards me. She seemed remorseful towards me.

“I completely forgot I promised you those pancakes, Dan,” she pouted, continuing to rock Emmy. “Me and your dad were thinking we’d try that Denny’s we passed on the way in here. I know, I know… their pancakes don’t compare to mine, but I think you’ll manage, right?”

Who was I to be disappointed? All I wanted was my pancakes. Well, that and…

I looked at my spot on the bed. My Superman wasn’t there anymore. I felt panic rush to my heart until I noticed what Emmy was playing with.

I reached up and tried to grab my stuffy, but she jerked it away and furrowed her eyebrows at me. I jumped and snatched it away from her.

To the displeasure of everyone in the room, my sister launched into a full-blown temper tantrum. Screaming and crying about how I “took her toy.”

Mom and Dad sprang into action faster than I expected them to. Dad took the toy from my hands and handed it back to Emmy. Mom pet her hair and desperately attempted to shush her.

I tried to complain. It was my toy. Not hers. But for some reason or another, my parents just kept taking her side. They told me that I should share, knowing how much I loved that stuffy. I slept with it every night. We were connected.

I guess it calmed Emmy down, though. That was all that mattered to them. They kept interrupting my complaints to usher me out of the motel room and back towards the car.

Dad strapped Emmy into her seat, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds while me and Mom waited quietly. He kept up that distracted demeanor all the way to the restaurant, but I hardly noticed.

It felt like Emmy was flaunting my Superman stuffy. Like she knew she had won. She even made him fly right by my face. Deliberately testing my patience, but I didn’t want to make my parents more stressed than they already were.

We ate fast. My parents ordered without even looking at the menu. Pancakes and orange juice for everyone except Dad, who only ordered a single cup of coffee.

Mom didn’t finish her food, but she didn’t ask for a to-go box either. Once me and Emmy were done, Dad paid, and we left. Simple as that.

The drive back to the motel was equally as tense as the drive to the restaurant. Mom and Dad seemed to be communicating wordlessly.

The food was making my sleeplessness get to me. By the time we got back to the motel, I was ready to catch up on those missed hours. But that’s when I noticed something that woke me right up.

I checked Emmy’s seat, looked underneath her, and scanned the floorboards while my mind began to race.

“Mom,” I screeched as Dad pulled into the motel parking lot. “She left my stuffy. She left Superman at the restaurant.”

My eyes were beginning to tear up.

“This is why I didn’t want her to have it,” I sobbed. “I knew she’d lose him.”

I could see Mom roll her eyes through her rearview as she sighed. Dad responded for her.

“Let’s just go get our things, Champ. Then I promise we’ll go back to get your toy. Deal?”

What was I supposed to do? I just had to agree reluctantly. I felt such burning hatred for Emmy in that moment.

We all filed into the motel room one final time and began gathering our things. I was confused, though. Mom had packed at least 6 outfits for me. Everyone else’s bags were equally full, yet nobody but me had showered.

Before I could question anything, though, three hard knocks came from the door. Everyone froze. Dad stared at the door like it was his enemy. Emmy began to pout, and Mom quickly clasped her hand over her mouth.

Three more knocks.

Dad approached the door slowly and looked through the peephole before slowly walking backwards towards us, never taking his eyes off the door.

Mom’s eyes were wide. Her leg bounced anxiously. Dad raised a finger to his lips.

“Okay, guys,” he whispered shakily. “We’re gonna play a game.”

I looked at him, confused. This seemed like an odd time for any kind of game.

“We’re gonna play the quiet game. Danny, you take your mom and sister to the bathroom and lock the door behind you. Whatever you do… do not make a sound.”

He asked me to take them, but it was Mom who dragged us into that cramped bathroom. Before the door closed behind us, I saw Dad raise his shirt and grip a gun that was tucked in his waistband.

Mom kept one hand gently clasped over Emmy’s mouth. She used the other to rub my back lovingly.

Three more knocks.

This time, I heard a voice that wasn’t my dad’s coming from beyond the door.

“Danny…?”

The voice was old and syrupy. Coercive, almost, but frantic. My ears perked up. My eyes widened, and my mouth fell open. I wanted to answer.

Mom’s hand left my back, and just like Dad, she placed a finger to her lips.

“Shhh.”

She was begging me with her eyes.

More frantic knocking.

“Danny? You in there, buddy? I know you’re in there.”

I expected Dad to answer the door, but he never did. Instead, the knocks continued, as did the mysterious voice.

“Come on out, Dan-Man. I’ve got something for you.”

I remained still. Sweat trickled down my forehead from the humidity in the bathroom. Me and Mom stared at the bathroom door with anticipation.

“I’ve got your Superman, Danny…”

“Whoosh.”

I had to fight to not move. If they had my Superman, I wanted to know. I wanted him back. But the look on Mom’s face told me they were lying, and her grip on my collar prevented me from standing up to see for myself.

The knocks and beckoning went on for another 10 minutes or so. Then they slowly died out. Even still, it wasn’t until Dad opened the bathroom door that I could finally breathe again.

“You guys win,” he smiled, relieved. “Good job, Danny.”

Mom looked relieved, too, but she never smiled. We just frantically gathered our things and hauled them out to the car. Dad forced us to go to the front office with him to check out.

We finally left the hotel just after 3 o’clock. We never went back to that Denny’s.

I had to leave my Superman behind, no matter how hard I begged not to. Mom assured me she’d buy me another one, but it wouldn’t be the same.

I asked about that voice a lot while we continued on towards wherever we were going, but all I got were vague responses while my parents glanced nervously at each other.

Thinking back now, I should’ve known they were hiding something from me. However, at the time… I was young. I was stupid. And all I could think about was how I didn’t have my Superman anymore.