Chapter One: Introducing Morgan, Classroom Terrorist Extraordinaire
Hearing voices wasn’t crazy… at least, not if they were there, right? That was what Morgan told himself. Of course, it wasn’t easy to believe that when there were people at every turn attempting to “fix” him.
One tiny little meltdown and they think you’ve gone absolutely bonkers. So what if he’d held his chemistry class hostage in the lab? They were really blowing the whole ordeal out of proportion a tad. Didn’t every teenager go through a rebellious phase? Sure, maybe Morgan’s was a bit more… extreme… than most others’ tended to be, but it had really sounded like a good idea at the time.
And it wasn’t like it had been his idea, either. That blame fell entirely on Xaphan.
Morgan had only wanted to be noticed, after all, and so he supposed that in that regard, the plan had succeeded. It was the rest of it that had dulled the joy of victory. Apparently holding a whole class hostage because someone they consider your “imaginary friend” suggested it gets you an immediate first-class flight to the loony bin, which was precisely how Morgan Kale Leicester found himself in the freaking Habersham Institute, despite not being insane at all.
“You held a class hostage,” Xaphan remarked with a cackle.
“Well, it was your brilliant fucking idea!” Morgan argued aloud.
“What idea, dearie?” an elderly lady across from him asked.
“Not you,” Morgan all but snarled. The woman just settled back down in her chair, her eyes focusing on something only she could see. Meanwhile, Morgan stood. He had to get out of here. Why didn’t they believe him? “I’ll just go tell them I’m not crazy, then,” he said, making to march over to one of the guards.
“Perhaps you should stop speaking to no one, then,” Xaphan suggested with a snicker.
“Perhaps you should fuck off,” Morgan retorted, more loudly. In retrospect, that wasn’t his best idea; the nearest worker immediately set his eyes on Morgan, who knew then that his plan had already failed. He wasn’t going anywhere if they kept catching him doing things that were... well, crazy, for lack of a better word.
It was bad enough that they refused to believe the voice was anything other than a creation of his own imagination. Add talking to himself aloud and holding classes hostage to his rap sheet, and he supposed that to an outsider, he must have looked pretty damn crazy.
But that didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t. Xaphan was real. His father said so, and his grandfather had said so, and Morgan was certain that if he’d ever had the chance, his great-grandfather would have agreed, as well. Morgan couldn’t say with any certainty what it was or why it was, but he knew that there was something about the Leicester family, something that must have attracted Xaphan.
Of course, he still wasn’t sure what Xaphan was or why he was, and Xaphan himself was far from helpful. The last time Morgan had asked him what he was, Xaphan had decided it was storytelling time. And Xaphan’s stories were far from pleasant. Now, Morgan knew all about genocide but still very little about what or who Xaphan was.
Sighing, Morgan leaned against one of the white walls. He knew that soon it would be time for everyone’s medicine. He never looked forward to medication.
When he wasn’t himself, Xaphan was stronger, and apparently Xaphan had made it his new goal to break Morgan. Whenever Morgan wasn’t completely in control, Xaphan could—and would—show him anything.
Morgan hadn’t said as much aloud, as if only thinking it would keep the information private, but he was petrified that one day, Xaphan would be able to do more than simply make him see something. He worried every time he took his medicine that this would be the day Xaphan took control over him. And maybe Morgan’s body wasn’t particularly huge or strong, but he didn’t doubt Xaphan’s ability to win in a fight. Xaphan wouldn’t use brute force; he used every weakness you had to his advantage, and he didn’t shy away from playing dirty. He broke your mind and soul, and then he broke your body. He made you think there was no hope so that you wouldn’t fight back or call for help. Xaphan was the most dangerous sort of nemesis.
As if cued, one of the nurses appeared with a tray of medicine cups filled with pills.
“Morgan Leicester, your medication,” she said, extending one of the cups to him.
“I don’t want any,” Morgan attempted. “I’m fine.” Sane, he added mentally.
The nurse, a broad older woman Morgan’s dad would have referred to as “an ol’ battleaxe of a woman,” stared at him, seemingly unimpressed. “Your medication,” she repeated, almost as if she were preprogrammed to say only that.
Morgan took the cup from her reluctantly. Hopefully she’d leave it at that, and later he could flush the pills. Apparently, though, the nurse didn’t approve of this plan; she’d probably seen it a thousand times before.
“Take your pills,” she demanded.
Morgan raised them to his mouth, and then he paused. He didn’t have many options. If he outright refused to take the pills, they’d probably use brute force, and they’d also think of him as more of a difficulty. Perhaps, in these circumstances, his best bet was to lay low and pretend to get better. Let them believe they’d “cured” him of whatever illness they’d decided he had.
Still, he didn’t want to give Xaphan the chance to try anything.
Morgan popped the pills into his mouth and stared at her, raising an eyebrow. He hoped she was satisfied now.
“Swallow,” she ordered.
Jesus, what the hell was this woman? The Spanish Inquisition?
With no small amount of hesitance and reluctance, Morgan obeyed her command. The pills scratched his throat uncomfortably, as he hadn’t been given any water to help them on their way down. In fact, he didn’t think he’d had anything to drink all day.
“Happy?” Morgan deadpanned.
“Exuberant,” she responded with absolutely no amount of joy whatsoever. Morgan was beginning to believe one of the prerequisites for these jobs was being soulless.
Morgan slid down against the wall to land on the ground with a soft thud; he didn’t want to be standing when the medicine began to work its magic. He really didn’t think it was even medicine; he suspected they were just being given weird-ass hallucinogens at this point.
It didn’t take long for the world to begin to melt. Colors gave way to white blurs. Grotesque shapes that were only vaguely human bustled past Morgan, all of them eyeless and wearing toothy grins. Skeletal wings blossomed from their shoulder blades, knobby and gnarled. They began to crowd around him, their maniacal grins widening.
“My turn, Morgan,” Xaphan whispered. Morgan could almost feel his cold breath at his ear, feel his presence darkening the room.
“No,” Morgan said weakly, clenching his eyes shut. “Don’t… you can’t…” He tried to stand, but the ground seemed to have disappeared. He had nothing to stand on.
“Watch me.”
Morgan’s eyes snapped open. The strange creatures continued to lumber toward him, their grins transforming as they began to laugh. Morgan tried to get away, but there was a barrier behind him, and he still couldn’t find the ground. He lurched to the side, but he missed and fell.
“Stop,” he pleaded. “Please stop.”
The room darkened, and then became black as Morgan lost the fight for control. And then it was just Xaphan’s voice amidst a chorus of screams.
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