Conceived in dream. Born a nightmare.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n There are a lot of things I know: story structure, Hollywood trivia, what makes a director great\u2026 It\u2019s the stuff I didn\u2019t know\u2013who my real father was, that my uncle is a demon, the fact that I\u2019m not human\u2013that\u2019s gotten me into so much trouble.<\/em><\/p>\n After ripping my crush\u2019s heart out\u2013literally\u2013I discover that I\u2019m not just a normal autistic seventeen-year-old. I\u2019m the daughter of the King of Nightmares, the cruel and excessively goth ruler of the Nether. Now, I\u2019m stuck at Miss Perkins\u2019s School for Girls, learning how to exist in a world where things really do go bump in the night.<\/em><\/p>\n Dangerous magic, treacherous enemies, unfairly hot vampires, and magic schools are all tropes I love in movies. But throw them into my real life? Hard pass. And I still have to deal with queen bees and bullies while unraveling a conspiracy that could crumble the very foundations of reality as we know it? That\u2019s bullsh\u2013<\/em><\/p>\n If you ever plan to tear someone\u2019s still-beating heart out of their chest and eat it, prepare to get tased. I know I\u2019m lucky that\u2019s all I got. Then again, the cops managed to take that rich cannibal guy into custody peacefully after he ate his neighbor\u2019s face right there in his driveway, so maybe I\u2019m not lucky. Maybe it\u2019s just procedure for when someone white eats somebody.<\/p>\n Oh yeah. If you ever plan to tear someone\u2019s still-beating heart out of their chest and eat it, prepare to be forcibly sedated, too. It isn\u2019t necessarily a bad thing; I know that when this stupid shot wears off, I\u2019ll be able to feel what I did. Everybody thinks autistic people have like, zero empathy, but that\u2019s not true. I have too much empathy. So much, I feel like it\u2019s going to crush me most of the time. Once I\u2019m hit with the full weight of what I did to Dakota\u2026<\/p>\n To his family\u2026<\/p>\n To my family.<\/p>\n I picture my mom\u2019s thin face, her freckled skin tinged green as they explain to her what I did. What I am. My memory swirls back to when I stole money from her purse when I was nine. \u201cDon\u2019t you feel bad for doing that? Iris, tell me that you know that what you did was wrong.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cI do know, Mommy,\u201d I say aloud, my tongue thick and dry. I try to sit up, but something stops me. The padded restraints around the gurney. Oh, right. I\u2019m not nine anymore. I\u2019m seventeen. And I\u2019m a murderer.<\/p>\n \u201cYou are not a murderer.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n I blink. The ceiling tiles multiply. When I turn my head, they become a cascade of squares. The room I\u2019m in is completely empty. The walls are bare. No one is here with me.<\/p>\n \u201cWho said that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ll find out.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n There\u2019s a door, but there\u2019s no handle on it. Just the outline of the frame and the shift from the bumpiness of the yellow walls to the smoothness of the metal that\u2019s probably been painted over and over a thousand times.<\/p>\n I know I\u2019m in jail. It\u2019s just weird how much it looks like a school.<\/p>\n Cuffed to a hospital bed, loopy on drugs, in some kind of cell for the criminally insane. That seems about right. It\u2019s where I\u2019ve always been pretty sure I\u2019d end up. I just never foresaw it being this early. Or under these circumstances. And I\u2019d kind of hoped it would be more like Arkham. But here I am. Strapped down and hearing voices.<\/p>\n I\u2019m so thirsty. I want a drink of water. I can\u2019t get one because I\u2019m tied down, and there\u2019s no way to call for help. What if they forget me? What if everyone forgets I\u2019m in here? What if I die in here?<\/em><\/p>\n Cold sweat stands out on my forehead. It runs into my eyes and I can\u2019t do anything but blink it away. I want to wipe my face. I want a drink of water. I want to sit up. I want my mom. I want to go home.<\/p>\n \u201cSomeone get me out of here!\u201d I scream, and it ricochets off the bare walls to hit me like a shockwave of agitation. My fingers grasp futilely; I can\u2019t reach anything. An itch at the back of my head becomes a burning pain that I can\u2019t ease. The thin sheet beneath me twists as I struggle. It bunches under my shoulder blades. I can\u2019t move. I can\u2019t move.<\/p>\n \u201cGet me out!\u201d<\/p>\n The door explodes off its hinges, narrowly missing me.<\/p>\n Did I do that with my mind? Can I use the Force?<\/em><\/p>\n The lights overhead flicker; the ones in the hall beyond the door do, too, but the darkness is darker and the brightness is brighter, and I realize that I\u2019m seeing sparks. The lights in the hall haven\u2019t flickered, they\u2019ve burst. A figure wreathed in a cloud of white smoke steps through. As the bulbs overhead buzz back on, I stare in confusion. \u201cUncle Abe?\u201d<\/p>\n My Uncle Abe has never been a suit-and-tie kind of guy, but that\u2019s how he\u2019s dressed now. Instead of his usual Adidas tracksuit\u2014he has them in every color\u2014and a heavy gold chain around his neck, he wears a full three-piece jacket-vest-pants combo with pinstripes and a long, tan coat that swirls around his legs as he strides into the room. He still looks like a stereotypical Italian guy. Just a different kind of stereotypical Italian guy.<\/p>\n He gestures toward me, and the restraints around my wrists and ankles release their grip, the belts sliding from the buckles of their own volition. I lift my hands and stare at them in disbelief.<\/p>\n \u201cWe gotta go!\u201d Uncle Abe says, glancing into the hallway. There are shouts and running feet, but I can\u2019t tell how close they might be because the room is still spinning. Especially, when I sit up.<\/p>\n \u201cIris, get your ass moving, we gotta get out of here.\u201d He gestures urgently at me, and finally, I manage to put my feet on the floor and stand.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d I ask him, but he doesn\u2019t answer. He grabs my arm and steers me toward the door. Just outside, a group of uniformed officers has nearly reached us. They draw their weapons, and I flinch, trying to raise my hands to signal I\u2019m no threat.<\/p>\n Uncle Abe throws his arm out and yells, \u201cBack off!\u201d<\/p>\n The police topple backward like a collapsing house of cards.<\/p>\n What the\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n Uncle Abe\u2019s grip on my arm tightens and he drags me in the other direction, toward a security door with a coded lock. Just as we reach it, it bursts open. More officers in bulletproof vests crash through. Abe swears and releases me. He reaches out with both hands and grabs hold of nothing as if struggling to pry the air in front of him apart like a pair of stuck elevator doors. There\u2019s a tear and a vertical scar of light rips reality open. Without explanation, he shoves me into the blazing beam. It feels like I\u2019m being burned alive and frozen at the same time. A roar like a tornado hitting a train fills my head. The noise pops off, and I wonder if I\u2019m deaf or dead from the explosion. My ears ring, my vision clears, and I\u2019m standing in the living room of our house.<\/p>\n Mom looks up from where she\u2019s been sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, feet up, body folded around a tattered throw-pillow. Her eyes are red and hollow, and she blinks at me as if she\u2019s seeing a ghost.<\/p>\n I realize that my uncle stands behind me. I catch a glimpse of the hallway we\u2019ve just left before the rift in the air closes, sucking all the light backward. When I face my mom again, she\u2019s already on her feet, running to hold me.<\/p>\n \u201cThey said there was\u2014\u201d her voice breaks off as she presses her lips to my forehead. \u201c\u2014an attack at the county jail? Was it you, Abe?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat does it look like?\u201d He turns to me and says gruffly, \u201cWe\u2019ve got about twenty minutes. Maybe less. Pack a bag.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPack a\u2026\u201d I can\u2019t focus on anything. The sedatives are still at work and I can\u2019t tell what\u2019s real and what\u2019s not because nothing<\/em> feels real. Am I dreaming? Having a delusion? Is my mind stuck in one of my daydreams permanently?<\/p>\n When I snap out of it, will what happened at school go away?<\/p>\n My hands are covered with dried blood.<\/p>\n \u201cMove,\u201d Uncle Abe commands. \u201cThe less you bring with you, the better.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere are we going?\u201d I ask, my tongue thick in my mouth. I\u2019m still so thirsty.<\/p>\n He and my mother share a look. Her face goes pale. \u201cAbe…no\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid you think you were going to be able to keep her forever?\u201d he asks, in a tone I\u2019ve never heard him use with her before. He\u2019s never used it with either of us. He sounds like a stranger. Like a judge passing a righteously harsh sentence.<\/p>\n Mom shakes her head. \u201cNo. No, we made a deal! He promised me!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe promised you that you could keep your human child,\u201d Uncle Abe says, his voice cold. He can\u2019t be the same guy who calls Mom \u201cGabby\u201d and asks if she needs money when she leaves for work.<\/p>\n And what does he mean\u2026 \u201cHuman child?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cI said get your stuff!\u201d For the first time, I\u2019m truly afraid of Uncle Abe. Of the look on his face, his anger, the finally-fed-up written on every feature in big enough print that even I can recognize it.<\/p>\n But I\u2019m not scared enough to back down. After everything else that\u2019s happened, he isn\u2019t going to be the one to break me.<\/p>\n \u201cNo!\u201d I try to stamp my foot, but I\u2019m still not steady, so all I accomplish is rolling my ankle. But I don\u2019t look away. \u201cWhat did you mean, \u2018human\u2019? Why do I have to leave?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you kidding?\u201d Uncle Abe roars at me. \u201cYou ripped a kid\u2019s heart out and ate it. Fill in the blanks!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAbbadon!\u201d Mom shouts over him. A tense silence falls. I\u2019ve never heard her use that name before. I always assumed his name was Abraham and that he was just too embarrassed to admit it. But neither of them say anything, until Mom rasps, tears filling her eyes, \u201cPlease. Let me be the one to tell her. At least, let me say goodbye.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMom?\u201d My voice trembles. \u201cWhy would you say goodbye?\u201d<\/p>\n She puts her arms around me and hugs me tight.<\/p>\n Please don\u2019t let me go.<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019ve seen my mom cry maybe three times in my life. It has felt weird every time, but this time it\u2019s so, so much worse. She steps back and takes a big gulp of air. Then she fakes a smile like I\u2019ll fall for it the way I did when I was a kid. When I don\u2019t, she gives up.<\/p>\n \u201cMom?\u201d I ask again.<\/p>\n \u201cI have something\u2026\u201d She closes her eyes and a tear rolls down her cheek. \u201cI haven\u2019t been honest with you. About your father.\u201d<\/p>\n Available now in e-book and paperback*! Amazon<\/a><\/span>\u00a0\u2022 Barnes & Noble<\/a><\/span>\u00a0\u2022 Smashwords\u00a0<\/a>\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n *currently available on Amazon. Further retailers to come.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It’s me again! Here to tell you about a book I wrote on Radish and is now available as an e-book and a paperback. That’s…<\/p>\n
\n![\"The](\"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/nightmareborn-683x1024.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n
\n