My name is Ken Waters. Ever since I was born, people have noticed strange things about me. I was born on the thirteenth of March in 1998. Every single March 13th since then has since some strange occurrences. Let me start from the beginning.
It began, as I understand it, as my father drove to the hospital after receiving the call from my aunt that my mother was going into labor. He had left work, and was driving as quickly as he legally could to get there on time when a heavy load carried on eighteen wheels slammed into an apartment building thirty yards ahead of him. He slammed his foot onto the brakes in order to stop the car before colliding with someone else who was also stopping short. The truck tipped over as people flooded out of the apartment building in blind panic. A couple were crushed under the weight. Seeing that there was no getting around the accident, and a detour would be difficult due to the buildup of cars behind him, my father left his car and continued toward the hospital on foot.
He made it there just in time for my birth. After the celebration calmed down, my father and my aunt sat outside the hospital on a bench, drinking soda and Gatoraide, respectively, and talking in strained, yet relieved, voices.
My dad explained why he had shown up so out of breath and sweaty, and my aunt gazed at him in stunned silence, her face turning pale. "What?" asked my father. "I'm alive, right?"
"Yeah," she said, "but isn't that your car in the parking lot?" she asked, pointing to a Volkswagen Polo several spaces down.
"What?" my dad asked. "I mean, it's a pretty common model."
"Sure," my aunt said. "But that one has the exact same scratch near the bumper." She stood up and they walked a little closer. And the same stupid solar panel dancing flower thing."
"Weird," my dad said. "I mean...maybe someone we know brought it over? The keys are on the seat and everything."
"Or maybe it got towed?"
"Nah," my dad said. "I don't know." He tugged on the door handle, but it wouldn't open. It was locked.
Over the next few years, nothing major happened. On my birthday, someone would usually catch their sleeve on a candle or something, which never happened on anyone else's birthday. By the time I could walk, I wound up on top of the oven once, in the sink once, and in the refrigerator once (with the door still slightly open). Nobody ever found out how.
My first day of school was a doozy. By simple math, I must have been six. Five or six. I remember calling my teacher by name before she wrote it on the board--and my memory was horrible. I knew the names of other kids before they seemed to know what grade they were in. I got in a fight, once. Over a puzzle, I think. Yeah, a puzzle of a jack o' lantern, as I recall it. He wanted to help, but I had done the puzzle thrice previously. So, I politely declined. He insisted, and so I called him a know-it-all. He pushed my over, and I started crying. As soon as the teacher picked me up and set me down in a chair whilst scolding the other kid, my opponent tripped over his shoelaces and got a bloody nose. I had to talk to our principle about it, which isn't really a big deal in Kindergarten, but I hated it anyway because he creeped me out for some reason, like he was just...off.
I bumped heads with a few kids--not metaphorically, though--our heads literally collided. It hurt like hell, obviously, but I never got a bruise. Just a couple of tears and some ice for a nonexistent injury. The other kid would get anything from a bruise to an egg, and I always got off easy.
Third grade was fun. By that point, I had realized that I couldn't be touched. Kind of like how one might feel after living in a bubble all their life--like a deer raised around humans before being put into a hunting ground. I didn't care about who I pissed off, because they would swing at me and fall into mud, or tattle on me and get detention for chewing gum or speaking without raising a hand.
Fifth was nice, because it was where I met my closest friends--like, ever. Nicole and Riley. They were nice from the get-go, though I hadn't spoken to them at all until fifth grade. We were already pretty close by the time the jocks saw fit to pick on Riley. They pushed him around and made fun of him, but when I walked him away from them, one got stung by a wasp and broke out in hives, one got suspended for cursing out loud when the wasp came too close for comfort.
Also, that was the first year since my actual birth that my birthday had a significant event. Riley and Nicole were over, which I was thrilled about, and everything was going fine until the pinata incident.
You see where this is going.
So, I was standing next to my cousin Grayson when he was up at bat. He swung, missed, skimmed Nicole's shoulder, and sent the bat flying into our neighbor's window.
This in and of itself is not so bad, right? Well, it just so happens, our neighbor was near that window, and so he saw it break. That meant we had to take the blame.
But as he was crossing the street to give us a strict talking-to, he got hit by a car travelling at a low speed.
He suffered a hip fracture and a torn knee, along with a moderate concussion, but at least he forgot about our role in the window breaking incident.
For the next three years, nothing major happened. On the fourth, our oven caught fire and we had to buy a new one. On the fifth, me, Riley, and Nicole accidentally lit a few bushed on fire while playing with matches. On the sixth, we almost drowned at an indoor pool when we got tangled in the net that separated the deep end from the shallow end. The manager was coming over to help when the net broke and we swam to the surface. He looked at us with confusion, setting my hair on edge for some reason. And then he walked away. It's currently a month after the sixth, which makes me eighteen.
I had something strange happen to me last week, which is why I'm writing this. I was approached by a man in a black vehicle that was longer than a car but shorter than a limousine. He rolled down his window and leaned out the window with his arm resting halfway out the door. "Hello," he said, "Ken."
"How do you know my name?" I asked, well beyond my years of being taught about "stranger danger." "Fuck off, man."
"What a waste that would be," he said, inching his car forward slowly as I continued on my way. "I've been following you, Mr. Waters. For eighteen years now. I remember when you could fit in my palm."
"Get the fuck away before I call the police, fuckrag," I said, my hand hovering over my pocket knife.
"You see," he said, "I'm afraid I can't do that. I collect people like you--anomalies."
"The fuck do you mean?" I asked, feeling as though I knew what he meant--everyone in my family had always known there was something special about me--and not just in the way that every child is special in his or her own way. I was special for real. Still am.
"We can't have that attitude, now can we?" he asked. "Come with me, won't you?"
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice more controlled than it had been. I turned to face him, and he smiled, showing off his coffee-stained teeth.
"My name is Professor Whitfield. I'm pleased to finally meet you properly."
I took a step back. "You're my old principal, aren't you?" I asked.
His smile widened. "You finally made the connection. But you've seen me elsewhere. The pool...and you were too young to remember, but I do believe I had a role in bringing you into this world, so you really do owe me, and I request now that you get into my car."
"How can I trust you of all people?" I asked.
"I was your principal," he said. "That's all you need to know."
"Fuck off."
"How about this, then: I am like you."
"Pssh," I said. "Yeah right."
"No, really," he said. "How would you like to see something beautiful?"
"Amaze me," I said.
He opened his mouth, put an index finger in each corner, and pulled back--his face turned inside out and was replaced by a red, pulpy mass with two empty, dead, black eyes and long, but not very sharp, teeth. "Get in the car, kid," he said. "Before I have to show you something REALLY beautiful."
I turned around and ran the fuck to Riley's house. I called my parents and let them know I was spending the night. I told Riley bits of what happened, but for the most part, he's in the dark as much as my parents are. I plan to tell Nicole too. But for now, that's all I have to say. I'm scared, guys. Because this guy know who I am--WHAT I am.
An anomaly.
Submitted April 01, 2017 at 08:53AM by TheCrystalGem http://ift.tt/2nGdTF9 nosleep
