A/N: Hey guys. Okay. So this story is kinda based on the Maximum Ride series, and if you haven't read it, you should. James Patterson is amazing. Just a heads up, the first part of this story is a little dark, I think. It's not exactly horror, though. It's not AHS. But let it be known that I do not condone child abuse or anything like that. This is purely fictional. Any coincidences with anyone, living or dead, is unintentional.
"Hush little baby don't you cry
I'm just gonna stick a needle in your thigh"
This song is stuck in my head all the time. The song is sick, there's no denying that. But I can't get it out of my head, either. It's like a disgusting creature hiding in the darkness of small corners in my brain, grabbing the walls with its long, sharp, needle-like fingernails whenever I try to pull it from my head. It gives me headaches. Sometimes it gives me headaches even without me trying to mentally banish it.
You probably don't understand. I should explain. Beware, though, my past is so deep and dark that you can't dwell in there, because even I find it hard to release myself from the clutches of evil sometimes. Or maybe I'm just being a little over-dramatic.
My father was a pilot, so I was told. I never knew him. His name is Richard Henderson and I will never know him, because he died, on that fateful day, on my 1st birthday. My mother loved him like he was the world to her, which he was. She was too saddened by the news, apparently. So shocked was she that she forgot how to function. She forgot about my existence, except for when I cried and she'd throw me a toy or give me a bowl of oat and she'd go back to staring at nothing.
One day her sister, Marie, visited her and told her that it was going on for too long. Sure, her husband was dead, but she still had a child to care for. Instead of spiking her sister's emotions and pulling her out of her haze like Marie had hoped, she just handed Marie a card she had gotten from the side of the road. It was for a babysitter.
And so there was the babysitter. Her name was Elaine. She looked about 25 and sometimes had fits or did things in a drunken stupor. And she was weird. She seemed pretty on the outside, but only God knows how ugly she was on the inside.
She came to take care of me everyday. Then soon, with my mother's permission, she brought me back to her big villa. It seems she was a babysitter to other kids too. Some were older, some were just infants. There were about 25 of us. After about a week, she lined us up and brought us to her basement. There she strapped us in baby chairs, and did things to us. Horrible things. A needle here, a potion there. Sometimes she even drugged us, and when we woke up, parts of our bodies hurt.
I know for a fact that all of us kids had complained to our parents - or in my case, parent - at least once. Needless to say, they didn't believe us.
Some of them might have asked Elaine about it, just to humour us. Elaine told the same thing to everyone, every time: that we just woke up with bad dreams, and sometimes those dreams were so vivid that we felt it after we woke up, too.
She would then give us the evil eye, and the next day she'd poke a few extra needles in various parts of our bodies. This went on often enough that we knew, surreptiously, that our parents couldn't save us, no one could, and we just had to sit it out, with only each other for comfort.
You might ask how I could remember all these things, considering I was just an infant. You might doubt me. But when things like that are done to you, the memories get ingrained in your mind. You never really forget. You never really move on.
