The Voice In My Head Tells Me...

Prologue???

In 1914, October 12, the day he was born, Evan had little attention from his family. His mother was an alcoholic and his father left on his sixth birthday. Since then, his four older and two younger siblings would pick on him, beat him, ignore him, and use him as their own source of entertainment. He would wake up in the basement, hungry, and his mother wouldn't allow him to eat until he had the broom in is hand, sweeping for hours until his arms gave. He would return to his basement every night covered in wounds, and thought to himself "It can't get any worse."

He was stuck inside his basement during Halloween that year while his siblings roamed the town together as their mother went over to a bar with her friends to drink until they passed out. With no access to any other part of the house and no one to talk to, he wrote on the walls of the dimly lit basement with a needle that, from what he could remember, was always in the far left corner of the room. He wrote new words that he hadn't heard before, and it was important to him as it was the only thing to him occupied, as he didn't know anyone outside his house and had never gone to school. He would practice speaking these words and writing them out correctly and read anything he could find inside the house. Every time he wrote, he could've sworn he heard the tiniest of whispers. He thought it was best to just not mind it.

After his family had come back home, they went straight to bed, as he sat still on his small wooden bed, and thought what could happen in Christmas. Of course he had no hope of receiving anything, and didn't have anyone worthy to give a present to, and even if he did, he had no materials or items to make a gift. He had been thinking of what all the other children would be receiving and how they would hang out and play with their friends. He imagined a happy family inside a big spacious house with a large tree in their biggest room, covered in shiny and wonderful decorations, mostly red and green ornaments. After a while, he just sighed and fell into bed.

Two months pass, and Christmas spirit goes around the town, as newspapers fly everywhere about a festival that would take place near the city hall. Cookies and milk, chocolates and other sweets, eggnog and beer, and tons of games to play with the neighbor next door. Evan had barely learned of his on Christmas Eve, when the festival began. A single tear came out because he knew he wouldn't be able to go. He left the newspaper on the kitchen table after having his small morning meal, a small slice of bread and a little bit of pasta. He went to his wall and scratched in a few new words. Excitement, annual, aesthetic. As soon as he wrote that last word on his wall covered in vocabulary, he heard a loud scream that sounded like it came from a young girl. His heart skipped a beat and started beating rapidly as he covered his face, turning around, having only one eye partially open, and braced himself for whatever horror would be at the door.