Breaking Point

These horrifying episodes continued to occur. Be it from hunger to teething, growing pains to being startled by something like thunder; every time something like that occurred, there was a chance I would turn. And every time I did, it took a serious toll on my parents.

But what made it even harder was making sure no one found out about it. Being isolated in the woods did help, but that didn't mean no one came by. The village doctor, for example, would make his rounds every now and again to check on how I was doing.

Every time he visited, my parent's were clearly on edge, watching over me to make sure absolutely nothing could trigger an episode.He actually found it quite amusing, thinking they were the typical overprotective parents, as most are with their first child, never imagining there was an underlying reason for there behavior. 

But he did notice my mother missing a finger, which she had forgotten to hide. He asked them about it, but all they said was that mom was careless when she went to check on father while he was chopping wood. He ended up buying their story and didn't dig any deeper that that.

Eventually he stopped showing up, perhaps because I was no longer a baby, or maybe he saw how healthy I, which meant my parents were doing their job properly. Regardless of what the reason may be, it gave my folks more breathing room, something they desperately needed.

But this wasn't the only good fortune they had gotten, as enough time had passed and I was now able to walk and sort of talk on my own. My baby teeth had grown in and I was able to feed myself as well. Having more autonomy meant I was frustrated less, and because of this, my outbursts decreased over time.

This was exactly what my parents were desperately hoping for, and for the first time in a long time, the tension in our household seemed to finally die down. At least, that was until that particular incident.

***

According to my father, my fourth birthday was just a few months away. My episodes had all but died down by this point, mostly occurring on stormy nights. But with the rain as a forewarning, my parents were given time to prepare for it.

I was given a bit more freedom, being allowed outside as long as there weren't any strangers nearby and as long as I didn't do anything dangerous. I took advantage of that by exploring the area around our yard, always making sure the house was in sight.

This became a daily routine of mine, but only after helping my mother around the house. They were small tasks, like putting my stuff away, wiping down the table and counters, and helping with laundry, since I was still rather small. She even tried to teach me how to feed our horse, but it seemed spooked by my very presence whenever I was near.

As much as I enjoyed exploring and playing, doing chores with my mom was also fun to me. She would tell me things about the outside world, like why Dad had to work, what money was and how it was used, what mountains and rivers were, and other facts about life. I didn't grasp all of her lessons immediately, since I was young and all, but it made no difference. I was happy enough just being able to spend time with her, who I felt was avoiding me until recently.

Then, one day, when I came back home from exploring, I heard my parents talking about something inside. It was probably my first time eavesdropping on them, but whatever they were talking about sounded serious, but not exactly in a bad way.

"Wait, are you serious? You're... pregnant?!" I heard my dad's voice say excitedly. I didn't hear a response from my mom, but even I can guess how she answered when my father excitedly shouted, "That's wonderful, honey!"

I couldn't believe it, either. I was going to have a little brother! Or maybe even a sister. I was so excited at the thought I didn't even bother hiding the fact I was eavesdropping and barged right in. There heads quickly turned to me, startled by my sudden entrance.

"Is it true? I'm going to have a little brother or sister?!" I asked as I ran towards them. I could see the warm look on their faces as they watched me approach them. Something I hadn't seen in so long. But then I tripped. Hard.

A loose floor board had caught my shoe, making me fall face first onto the floor. It hurt. Really bad. I could hear them ask if I was okay. I could feel their footsteps running to me to check on me. And then everything became dark like it used to before. 

Sounds were deafened, the world now dark as night, and the only things I could make out were their stringy silhouettes. The same glowing ones I was used to seeing whenever this would happen. I could see my father's grayish one move in front of my mother's pale green, like he was guarding her.

All while this was happening, I could feel myself thrashing about, the wails from my mouth ringing aloud, my hands grabbing and throwing what I could around me until I the pain eventually subsided. When it finally did, my vision slowly returned, only to show me a scene I wasn't prepared for.

What stood before me was my father, his sleeves slightly torn and his arms looking battered where the chair he was using as a shield didn't cover. And behind him, my mother, trembling in fear, her eyes shut tight, like she was too afraid to see what was happening.

And there I was, trying to process what was going on before a chill trickled down my spine. I noticed the clothes I was wearing were now on the floor, like they were ripped off me. And next to them were the shattered pieces of another chair, including a piece I was still holding in my hand.

That's when the realization hit me. I was the reason they were so stressed for so long, why they looked so tired, why they felt distant at times. I only vaguely knew about my episodes, but I thought it was something everyone went through.

They always told me it was okay, that everything was alright when I came back to my senses. But finally seeing the destruction in front of me, the looks on their faces, the scrapes on my father's arm, my mother, too scared to even look at me, her own son.

This was too much. I could feel tears start to well up from the overbearing guilt, knowing what I had just done-- no, for what I had been doing for years now. But before I had a chance to start crying, my father dropped the chair and rushed over to me, hugging me tight.

"Don't cry, Abel. Please, don't cry," he pleaded as he held me close to his chest. His words felt endearing, calming me down. The tears still flowed, but I didn't transform this time, as I apologized over and over.

But the entire time I was, I didn't get a chance to look at his face. If I was able to, I would have known it was not of a father trying to comfort his son, but rather that of someone who was afraid of what might happen if he didn't.

After a few minutes of this, I soon fell asleep from the warmth and comfort of his embrace, promising myself that I wouldn't let this happen again. As I did, he looked over to his wife, who had that same horrified look on her face that he saw almost three years ago. With another child on its way, he knew what they had to do.