Friend Of The Dead

Prologue

Author's note----the first few chapters are unedited, therefore cringey and full of typos. I am working on making them better, so I hope that you don't give up on this book. Please bear with me. Thank you.

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Let me start with this, from the day I was born, I was unusual. There was no denying that. An unusual baby with unusual stillness and unusual eyes and unusual habits that had my parents deeply concerned. Oh no, they didn't deny it like those other delusional parents who wanted the perfect kid with perfect grades and perfect stuff and all the other perfect bullshit. My parents did something even stranger; they didn't put me in a mental institution. They did what all normal parents do, they held on to me and loved me and tried---and failed---to ignore my strangeness.

They never denied the strangeness, no, they weren't that naive. They tried their best to overlook it. But you can't keep up an oblivious act forever, at some point that facade cracks. And in my case, it cracked sooner than it should have, but they still kept me. And once again, they collected the broken pieces and repaired that facade.

Okay, I have to give them credit for the first few months of my existence. They ignored it and succeeded. It isn't hard to stop yourself from seeing the strange acts in the person you love. They all just laughed at the barbecue parties and grinned brightly at the extended family who came to see the new baby. They waved it all off, saying that 'Oh, she's just a baby, and they're all unique, she'll grow out of it in a few years.'

Except I didn't.

And pretty soon, it was kind of hard to stop yourself from detecting my unusual acts from other babies. For one, I didn't cry as much---this was a benefit for my parents who had to deal with two babies. But it became concerning when I didn't test out my vocal cords as much as normal babies did about eight to nine times a day---not including the nights.

Secondly, I slept too much. About twenty hours out of the twenty-four hours. Maybe it should have been a concern, after the first few months. After all when babies are born, technically all they do is sleep. But they should lessen it when they turn four months old, right? If it is right then my parents weren't all that good, because they just wrote me off as lazy.

Thirdly, I was quiet, incredibly. I was possessed child in a horror movie silent. I wasn't possessed, though that would explain some things. But I just didn't want to talk. It wasn't a necessity to me, it was a chore. You know that tearful moment in a parents life when the 'mama' or 'dada' accidentally and out of the blue slips out of their six months' old child's mouth? Yeah, that moment arrived for my parents when I was around two and a half years old. It was a surprise, and before that many doctor appointments had been arranged to see if I was a mute or if something was wrong with my vocal cords---there wasn't---so it was a relief when finally they heard me say a complete word.

I usually observed, I had my mother's light blue eyes, except I had larger eyes. Too large. Abnormally large. And when I observed they would become wide and innocent, and I would just blink at the strangers on the street that stopped momentarily to say, "Aww, what a cute baby!"

Light brown hair, guileless blue eyes, basically emitting innocence, my mom said I could get away with murder.

Now you may think, what strangeness is she talking about? Is she just exaggerating?

But no, I wish.

The rare times that I cried was when my small, soft baby hands came in contact with human skin. Now that would be like sending off a hand-grenade. Bad things happened when my skin came in contact with others. Particularly my hands. I would scream and shriek like all of holy hell was after me. It would go on and on until I would just run out of energy and tears and just go to sleep after finally finishing the bottle of milk; it had become quite the routine for my mother.