21

I first started asking questions when I was 13 years old. Unlike the majority of the people I knew at this age, I had never met my father nor did I ever quiz my mother on his name, features, history or current location - until now.
My mother was holding a glass in one hand, a carton of orange juice in the other as I allowed myself to finally inquire about my dad - at the mention of said person the glass slipped out my mother's hand and smashed against the floor. Her eyes went narrow, her face twisting into a look of anger and prosecution. Then she hit me. Again and again.
And again. Screaming to the point where blood spotted my face as the inside of her throat slit open through strain.
Whilst I cowered, my arms covering my face I managed to hear the word "Ördög". After what felt like an eternity of abuse she stopped. Cowering, she left. I never saw her again.
Years went on. How I survived is of no importance - the family I now shelter with is of little relevance to this.
However, after six years of searching the name Ördög in all kept records I could locate the area where I grew up with my mother - I came across this.
1991 - The year I was born. Twenty murders were committed. Each to a woman who on the day of their murder were celebrating their 21st birthday.
Each body was discovered intact, except that their eyes were hollowed out and their mouths were extended to the point where their jaws were completely broken. The intriguing thing was how their mouths couldn't be shut, as though an invisible force was forcing them to stay open.
These murders happened over the space of twenty days. One each day at exactly 9:00pm, from the 1st of December to the 20th of December. Exactly 9:00pm. Then they stopped - nobody knew why, and nobody questioned it. They just carried on with their lives.
I was born on the 21st December. Time of birth - 9:00pm.
My mother was meant to be the 21st victim, however she became the bearer of his child.
On your 21st birthday I will approach you. You will not see me until it's too late. The last thing you'll see is my hollow eyes as your own burn out your skull. Your soul will be mine for my father to feast on - if you're lucky.
If you're unlucky... If you were born on the 21st of any given month...
Well let's just say that a sibling is something I've always liked the sound of.
Category:Reality