The school counselor looked at me with a blank expression. “And how do you feel today, Sam?” She asked in her monotone voice.

”Emotions are human and can only bring pain.” I replied mocking her tone. “But if you want the illusion of stability I’ll gladly give it to you.”

”I didn’t ask for a sadistic comment, Samantha.”

"You didn’t not ask for one either."

"She placed her head in her hands. You can’t draw things like this in school." She held the sketch in front of her as if it were covered in a sickening substance.

"It’s art." I said starring at her void of all emotion.

"It’s a monstrosity!" she said, shocked at my words. That seemed to be the only time I had ever heard feeling in her voice. It took four years, but I finally got under her skin enough to show something other than her robotic exterior.

I took the paper out of her hand and held it front of my face. I admired the complexities of my so-called monstrosity. That was really my only joy in life, drawing. The form of expressing yourself through imagery, no matter how disturbing those images may be, is art. As hard as I tried I couldn’t get that through to Mrs. Dean. The only thing that saved me from being held in that cramped space was the 3:10 bell to go home.

Home wasn’t anymore tolerable. The same basic rules still applied. Normal was sacred and anything out of the ordinary was rejected and feared. I was feared. My parents were respected members of society, and were proud to say they had three children. Alex was the true definition of a jock. She, being the oldest, was very competitive. Joel, the second eldest give or take a minute, was preppy right down to matching argyle socks he wore. Then there was little Chrissie. She was the youngest of all of us and the most educationally determined. My parents were proud of them all.

Then there was me. Like the art I had drawn in school, I was the monstrosity. Outcast, I was never really a member in my family. I only lived there, just a residence in the basement.

I walked through the door of my home, and took a deep breath. Forever I shall know the smell of hell to be the forty dollar pulpery my mother buys from her favorite store. I quickly made my way to the basement stairs before the smell stuck in my sinuses. But unfortunately I was stopped before I could reach my goal.

"Samantha, I just got a call from Mrs. Dean again." My mother stated.

"Yes."

"Would you like to explain why she was so upset?"

"Not really."

"Sam, you really don’t need to draw these things,” she said, attempting to look into my eyes, but then darted her gaze away. "Why do you have to be this way?"

"There is pain in your eyes." I said robotically "You feel as if you’ve lost a child, when the truth is, you never really had her to begin with."

Tears threatened to spill over. “Who are you?”

I pushed past her leaving her staring in disbelief, as I made my way to my sanctuary.

I closed the door behind me and threw my backpack on the couch. I switched my stereo on, and threw myself on my bed. So much for getting to my room before the smell caught in my nose forever I thought.

I didn't take offence to my mother's lack of eye contact. The truth was no one could really meet my gaze and hold it. I guess you could say that I never lost at blinking contests, but in reality I had no time to play such childish games. Maybe I never had anyone to play games with. You may have to stretch you imagination a bit, but people like me don’t attract humans. I was never the “social butterfly” I was supposed to be.

“Oh well.” I said to no one

And it was there between complete human disgust and the heavy bass pounding in my ears that I drifted into unconsciousness.

I woke up confused. Had I opened my eyes? I swore I had. Shit, I’m blind I thought. But my thought process was interrupted by another intruding question.  The ground beneath me was hard and cold. Concrete? Yes, I decided as I felt the tiny bumps under my fingers. At least my sight seemed to be the only thing hindered at the moment…I hoped.

The next question was where the hell was I? One question, that unless I had my vision, I was unable to answer. So I strained my ears against the buzzing the silence to still hear nothing. So that’s another one of my five senses that was useless to me. Then it occurred to me I can use my cell phone to see where I am.  It was worth a shot. I reached my hand into the pocket of my pants and felt around for it, nothing. I thought back to the last time I had it. Damn, it’s on the charger in my room.  Of course I wouldn’t have it when I actually need it.

“Hello?” I yelled.
No answer.

Again “Hello? Is anyone in here?”

There was no reply but as my ears adjusted to the silence I could hear heavy breathing that wasn’t my own.  

“Hello? I know you’re there.”

“Get away from us you monster!” came a frantic voice from behind me.

“Alex?” I whispered confused.

This was followed by a blinding light. So I’m not blind. I thought. “Get that out of my eyes!” I screamed at her. It looked like we were in the boiler room of the basement; this room was connected to mine and was almost as big. “What’s going on? Why are we down here?” then I recognized the look she gave me. Fear, she was afraid. I started towards her, but she backed up against the wall. This look wasn’t the regular look people gave me when they were freaked out, but real genuine fear, as if for her life.

“She’s going to kill us, just like she did them.”

“Shut up, Chrissie.” I heard Joel snap.

I turned to see Chrissie holding herself, tears flowing down her puffy, red face. And Joel in front of her as if trying to protect her from…but that didn’t make any sense. Why were they acting like this?
     
“What’s wrong? Who’s going to kill you?” I asked, but somewhere in the back of my mind I knew the answer.

“You’re going to kill us just like you did them!” Chrissie screamed through her sobs.  

“What?” I was completely confused. Then something clicked. “Killed who?”

They looked at each other confused but not hiding any of their fear. When they didn’t answer I turned around. There, covered in their own blood, were my parents. I looked down at myself. My black shirt had wet patches on it and when I touched them my fingers came back red. Holy shit. “I couldn’t have, I didn’t.” I was babbling and at that second I didn’t know, nor did I care, if I was speaking out loud or not. At that moment I knew what I had to do. Amongst all the confusion and the sniffling I knew I wasn’t done.  They were witnesses and I couldn’t let them go. No, my secret would die with them whether they put up a fight or just let the inevitable happen, they would die. No, not just die, become my next masterpiece the vision I put on paper come to life. They would join our parents, a sacrifice for art. Yes, I must sacrifice everything for my art. And they would help me. Yes, they would be come so much more. So…much…more…

“Samantha, I’m so sorry for your loss.” said another unknown stranger.

This had happened for the past year and a half strange people I never knew offering their condolences for people they had never met. After the horrible death of my family, the neighbors who had known them took me in long enough for me to finish high school. The Police asked me questions and I told them the truth. I didn’t know. The last thing I remembered was walking through my front door and nobody was home, I went down stairs and found my family slaughtered in the boiler room of the basement. They believed me, but something in me doubted my story.

After high school I moved into the house again. Everything was how they had left it. The air was stale from lack of circulation, but it still held the smell of mom’s favorite forty dollar polpery. Ah the wonderful smell of hell.