The Battle Of The Ghouls

Chapter One

      I stared in disbelief at my parents as they stood towering in front of me like some sort of all powerful beings.

      Technically, they were powerful beings. And by that I mean they had total control over me.

      For instance, they get to decide every morning if what I'm wearing is 'decent'. Which means shirts up to my neck and pants down to my knees, even at 15 years old.

      They get to decide if I am allowed out in public during the weekends, all because of how I look.

      Well, the public isn't used to seeing an elf from the Forests Of Zephyr everyday, are they? At least that's what my parents tell me.

      And it just so happens to be the reason why they're sending me to a rundown summer camp for school break.

      I mean, what kind of parents do that?

      "You're sending me where?" I demanded, glaring up at my parents from the couch. My mom's crystal blue eyes were filled with sympathy, but my dad was the opposite. The literal opposite.

      While my mom had light beautiful features, my dad's were more refined. Especially his night black hair and misty grey eyes. I've always wondered why his eyes were that color, I usually didn't see any other eyes that shade.

      The only person who had grey eyes that I knew of, was my dad's friend, Alaric. And surprisingly, he had black hair as well. Even more surprising, they weren't related in any way.

      Believe me when I say you'd be surprised that they're not brothers. They practically look like twins.

      My mom, however, had a soft face. Her light blonde hair and blue eyes went perfectly with her bubbly personality. And her pointy elf ears.

      For all I knew, she was the only one in the family who passed the elf trait onto me. My dad's ears were completely flat.

      "I'm sorry, Ilya, it's just that--" my mom started calmly, but was cut off by my dad.

      "You're going." My father's voice rumbled powerfully,"I suggest you start packing,"

      My dad was like that, he made decisions for the whole family. "I'm not going," I clenched my fists. I couldn't leave, not this year.

      They sent me to a different summer camp every single year since I was 7. They never worked out. I was an outcast there.

      And it was all because of my ears. Usually, my parents made me wear a hat or tuck my hair over my ears, but it was amazingly uncomfortable.

      So at camp, when my parents weren't there, I showed my ears as proudly as I could.

      "Go." My father commanded again. I glared at him as I stood up, storming past him and my mom as I walked down the hallway to my room. I slammed the door and stumbled angrily to the windowsill.

      I looked out at our peaceful backyard, where a willow tree was swaying in the calm breeze. Everything was moving so slowly, so beautifully. Nothing could disturb the wonderful nature. The life so perfectly blooming.

At least that's what I thought.

At the very corner of our property, where my mom's beautiful rose garden was resting, I saw something moving. Something, humanlike. No, not human.

A hunchbacked man with pale skin and torn clothes hobbled around the garden. There were scratches down his face and arms, with crusted blood lining them as if he didn't bother to clean himself.

But what was the most odd, were his eyes. His ghastly haunted grey eyes full of pain, revenge, and murder.

      The roses around him wilted instantly and dried up. The bright red pigment faded to grey as the petals fell to the ground.

      I squinted and took another look at the man. He had patches of dark brown hair along his bruised scalp. There were no shoes upon his feet, but I could tell it didn't bother him when he stepped on the stones and thorns in the garden.

      But what still caught my attention, were his dead set eyes.

      He stopped slowly walking and turned to look at me straight at me.

      His silent glare pierced my heart. There was still murder written across his expression, but I could see more than that.

      Regret. So much regret. Regret piled up over the years of agony and sorrow.

      His eyes were calling me, beckoning me to come closer. To release him of the regret. With revenge.

      And I was obeying.

      I turned away from him, just for a minute, and walked to the door of my room.

      Somewhere inside of me, there was a small voice yelling frantically at me not to trust this man.

      This strange man in my backyard. This man dressed in rags. This man full of old cuts and bruises. This man who killed flowers and living things just by breathing.

      Still, I walked to the door.

      I placed my hand on the cool steel handle and slightly turned it and pushed out.

      I poked my head out into the hallway, and was shocked to see my father facing the opposite direction from me standing at the end of the hallway.

      I quickly ducked back inside and quietly shut the door.

      That was close, I told myself and locked the door.

      I gathered myself together and walked back to the window. I placed my hands on the windowsill and scanned the garden a few times. Then the whole backyard.

      My dark brows knitted together.

      The roses were still wilted, but there was no other trace of the man.