The Secret Keeper

“Sit down, guys,” Mom said, wearing a grim expression – one that she really shouldn’t have been wearing on Christmas morning. I don’t care how old you are, Christmas is a happy day!

“We… have something to tell you guys,” Dad added, glancing at Mom.

Raising an eyebrow, Bo sat down at a stool at the kitchen island, and I followed suit.

After an awkward pause, Bo prodded, “Well?”

My foster parents glanced at each other before saying, “You’re not normal kids,” in unison.

I snorted. “Well, I think that’s-”

I stopped short when my dad threw me a death glare. It probably wasn’t wise to finish that sentence.

“What we mean,” My mom continued, with a roll of her eyes, “is that… well… your fate was decided the moment you two were born with that birthmark on your neck.”

Subconsciously, I reached up to feel the small patch of raised skin. I saw Bo do the same out of the corner of my eye. Since when did Bo have a birthmark? I mean, I covered mine up with makeup, but I didn’t think he would do something that drastic.

“I don’t understand,” Bo said. I nodded in agreement.

“This might work better if we just show you.”

Dad disappeared for a moment. My mom was looking at us with weary eyes, like she’d spent the entire night awake worrying about something. Bo looked just as confused as I’m sure I did.

When he came back, dad was carrying a large, dusty, old book in his hands. He set it on the table gently. “Bo, put you hand on this.” He did so with a questioning look. “Ok, Eve, put your hand on top of his.” I bit back the nasty retort and did what he said.

As soon as my hand came into contact with Bo’s, a huge burst of power erupted from the book.

I shielded my eyes with my other hand, trying to ease the effect of the electric blue glare. As I did so, I found that it was in vain. My vision was filled up with flashes of color. It took me a few minutes to realize that they were full scenes, each one its own level of gruesome.

The first few were of people that must’ve lived thousands of years ago. They were being torn apart, limb by limb, scream by blood curdling scream. I wanted to blink, to make the terrible thoughts go away, but no matter what I did the visions kept coming. I gripped Bo’s hand tighter because it was the only sanity I had to hold on to.

Then we came to the Middle Ages. Most of the scenes were red – a deep, sinister crimson that would haunt me forever. The color of blood. A LOT of blood. People were burned, decapitated, and tortured in every way imaginable. I felt tears prick my eyes when I saw a little girl getting her head torn off, and a little boy tied to a burning stake. It was horrible, terrible.

And we weren’t even done yet.

Suddenly we were in the colonies. More people were being burned, while others were being hanged, and others yet were being thrown into the ocean or lake or whatever. People were screaming out in pain, using all they had to stay alive.

That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part had to be when the Creatures, the ones from my Nightmares, appeared. Those black, haunting eyes scanned a crowd of frantic people, like they were hunting. Their gray, papery skin was falling off in places, revealing their maggot-infested flesh or, in some cases, rotting bone. One smiled as it took a middle-aged woman in his grasp, exposing a mouthful of stubby, black, moldy teeth.

It was the stuff of my Nightmares, but in a larger sense. They weren’t just attacking me anymore; they were destroying towns, families, even little babies. The Creatures had come to life.

I screamed. It sounded distant and muted, but I heard it. That made me a little less hysterical, but not much. I vaguely felt the hot tears rolling down my cheeks, and I heard myself whimpering, “Please. Please, don’t come closer. Help me, God. Please.”

The final scene was the one that hurt me the most.

There was a pack of Creatures. Ugly, zombie-like things. They were attacking a young couple, probably in their early thirties. Th man had dark brown, wave hair, and piercing blue eyes that were wide with fear. The woman had blonde hair, and bright hazel eyes. They were being tortured by the Creatures, being stabbed and slashed and all sorts of terrible things. The woman had a baby in her arms, which she was trying to protect from a particularly nasty Creature.

And the baby had a skull-shaped mark on its neck, just above the pink blanket.

The dying couple was my parents.

I sobbed. “MOM! DAD! NO!” I yelled, trying to get the creatures to back off. It didn’t work, though, as I knew it wouldn’t. But I had to try something.

Suddenly, as suddenly as it had started, everything went back to normal. I was sitting at the island, my hand over Bo’s, and the blue-ish glow slowly fading from the book.

And then I broke. I cried harder than I’d ever cried before, not caring that there were people watching. That had been my parents, right there, dying before my eyes.

My hand wrapped around something hard and cool – metal. I looked at my hand through blurry eyes and saw that it was a key. A very old-fashioned key, but a key nonetheless.

“W-w-what is this?” I squeaked, my voice hoarse from sobbing.

“It’s a symbol,” Mom said. “You and Bo are Secret Keepers.”