Chilling tales for the restless night

Freak

In a small town during the early 2000s, there was a boy named Owen. He was twelve years old but looked much younger. His skinny frame and quiet nature made him an easy target for the cruel jokes of his classmates. Owen's life hadn't been easy. He had never known his mother. She had died giving birth to him, leaving Owen to grow up under the care of his father, a man who seemed to hold nothing but resentment for his only child.

From as far back as Owen could remember, his father's harsh words and angry outbursts filled their home. "You're the reason she's gone!" his father would yell, and though Owen didn't understand it fully, he felt the weight of blame press down on his shoulders.

At school, things were no better. Peter, the class bully, and his group of friends never missed an opportunity to make Owen's life miserable. They teased him for his size, his silence, and anything they could think of. Owen didn't speak up, not to the teachers or anyone else. He had grown used to the cruelty of others.

But there was one person who saw Owen for who he was—Mrs. Jane, his kind-hearted teacher. She noticed the bruises on his arms, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way he never seemed to bring lunch. She never pushed him to explain, but when she could, she defended him from the taunts of his classmates, especially Peter.

"Owen, come sit with me," Mrs. Jane would say during lunch. She always shared her food with him, and for those brief moments, Owen felt a glimmer of warmth, like the sun shining through the clouds of his life. He adored Mrs. Jane, and in return, he would often collect small feathers during his walk home through the woods, giving them to her as little gifts. Mrs. Jane always smiled and thanked him, treating the feathers as though they were treasures.

One evening, as the autumn sun dipped below the horizon, Owen was walking home through the woods, his usual path. He lingered longer than usual, playing with rocks and collecting feathers, when something caught his eye. In the hollow of an old tree, something shiny glimmered faintly. Curious, Owen leaned in, but it was just out of reach. He stretched his arm as far as it would go but couldn't quite grasp it.

Frustrated but determined, Owen focused all his attention on the shiny object, wishing with all his might that it would come to him. And then, to his astonishment, the object began to move. Slowly, it floated toward him until it landed softly in his hand. Owen stared at it, wide-eyed, unsure of what had just happened. He tried again, this time with a nearby stick. It, too, moved as if obeying his thoughts. Owen realized he had the ability to move objects—he had powers.

His mind raced with excitement, and he spent the next few hours experimenting with his new ability, moving small stones and leaves, forgetting entirely that he was supposed to be home. By the time he returned, it was late, and his father was furious.

"Where have you been?" his father shouted, his voice booming through their small house. Owen shrunk under his father's anger, and though he didn't say a word, his silence was met with a harsh slap, leaving bruises on his thin arms.

The next day, Owen came to school as usual. Mrs. Jane noticed the bruises but didn't ask. Instead, Owen showed her the shiny object he had found in the woods and the feathers he had collected. As Mrs. Jane admired them, Peter and his gang of bullies began their usual taunts.

"Nice bruises, Owen. Did your daddy give those to you?" Tyler, Peter's friend, sneered. Owen didn't respond, but Mrs. Jane's face darkened with anger.

"That's enough, Tyler!" she shouted, her voice sharp and protective. The room fell silent. Tyler, humiliated by being scolded in front of everyone, glared at Owen. His face twisted in anger. He wasn't going to let this go.

Later that afternoon, after school, Tyler and his friends decided to follow Owen. They were tired of Mrs. Jane always sticking up for him, and they wanted to see where the strange, quiet boy went after school. They watched from a distance as Owen walked into the woods, following the same path he always took.

But what they saw next left them stunned. Hidden behind a tree, they watched as Owen stood still, his hand outstretched. They saw him move things—rocks, sticks—without touching them. It was as if he had control over the very air itself.

Tyler's eyes widened. "Did you see that?" he whispered, but his voice was filled with something other than awe—fear. They had thought Owen was weak, but now they knew better. He was something else, something powerful.

From that day on, Owen's world would never be the same. He had discovered his powers, but the bullies had seen too much. The question was, what would they do next?

In the quiet woods, Owen stood alone, unaware that his secret had been uncovered. His powers were growing, but so were the dangers that came with them.

It was one of those gloomy atternoons, with the rain pouring down relentlessly.
Owen was trudging home from school, head low, feeling the weight of the world on his small, bony shoulders. He had just survived another day of Peter and Tyler's bullying-his usual routine.
As the rain dripped from his messy hair, his eyes caught something huddled under a bush near the sidewalk. A tiny kitten, soaking wet, shivering, and helpless.

Owen knelt down and carefully picked up the trembling creature. Its fur was matted, and its green eyes were wide with fear.

He pressed the kitten close to his chest under his jacket, whispering softly, "Shh... I'll take care of you.

But you have to stay quiet. If my dad finds out, he'll... he'll..." He swallowed hard, too familiar with the consequences of his father's rage.