The History of the Phantom

New Home, New Beatings

It wasn't until I was seven when my mom gave up on raising me. She has taken me to a couple of carnivals but it wasn't to please me. She only did it to use me as a tourist attraction. She would make people pay her for me to take off my mask for them. My mom actually did make a good amount of money each time we went so it was smart but sickening at the same time. However, I did take quite a bit of an interest to the music in the background. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I would sneak into a nearby church late at night so I could play the organ in that specific tune. I started to play so much that I even taught myself how to write my own songs. Playing the organ and creating new lovely sounds quickly turned into my biggest passion. If there is one decent thing my devilish mother did is she opened me up to a place that inspired me to do what I love the most.

Back to my original point, my mom quit being my parent when I was seven. She told me we were visiting another carnival and this made me more than excited. I always looked forward to listening to new music during these events. When we arrived, she told me to take off my mask which isn't something she normally told me to do considering my face is horrifying. This instantly gave me a weird feeling deep in my gut and I knew something was up.

She took my hand and walked up to a tall man that looked as skinny as a stick. The man was wearing black leather boots and a black suit. As we were walking up to him, my disfigured face immediately caught his eye. I would know because he turned his head so sharply towards us. He stared at me in awe. I was so shocked that this man was looking at me like my face was stunning beauty. Usually people screamed and ran the other direction. This was the nicest change, or so I thought.

"My goodness, Madame. What a lovely boy you have there," The man gasped in delight.

"Lovely isn't something I would describe him but unique, yes," My mom said as she flashed a smile at me. I couldn't tell if that was a compliment or an insult. The sad thing is is that was the nicest comment she has said about me.

"Madame, this young fellow has a face nobody could ever imagine. It's truly an art the Gods created themselves." He bends down as he takes a closer look at the right side of my face. I feel a bit uncomfortable as he stares at every detail of my open wounds, thin yellow skin, and swollen eye. He was so near my head that I could feel his breath.

"Thank you sir," I told him.

My mom kneeled down so she can get to my height level. She placed my hand on the right side of my face so she can look at me.

"Son, I have talked to this kind man yesterday. I told him everything about you. We both decided to put you in a traveling faire that he is hosting tomorrow." At the time, I thought my mom was talking about my love for music. I was too young and naive to understand that she didn't care as much as she did so I told her all about my passion. I believed she told this man that I was talented enough to play songs for them. Little did I know, she didn't listen to a single word I said. My writing for notes and tunes weren't the reason why he or she wanted me here.

"Does that mean I get to live here for a while?!" I exclaimed.

"It means you can live here for as long as you want," She said.

"Can I live here forever?!"

"Yes." The moment when she said yes was the first time I ever saw relief in my mom's eyes.

"Thank you mommy!" I shouted joyfully as I leaned in for a hug, but she quickly shoved me backwards. The man put his arm around my shoulders as if we were the best of friends when he walked into a building right next to us. That was the last time I ever saw my mom.

When I entered, I saw everyone around us were just like me. They were all different and disfigured in their own way. One person had no arms, a woman had a long beard, there was a psychic with a glass ball and a large pointy nose. There were so many people that had something that made them look a little off. However, my deformity topped all of them. When I walked inside, everyone turned their heads to look at me as if I was the most famous celebrity.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new person," He announced loudly and clearly. This is when he took me to a room with a large cage that could fit three grown men in the back of the building. If I had known what that cage was holding for me, I would've run out of that place. I looked up and saw a sign dangling from the ceiling. Devil's Child was what was written on the sign.

Long story short, I came to the realization that I was nothing more than just a tourist attraction. You may be thinking, weren't you one even before you came here? Well, yes but my mother never physically abused me like these people did. The first night I was there, they hit me with a wooden stick but only once. As the shows went on, they gradually beat me more than just one time. Eventually it became two, three, four, five... eight... finally ten. Sometimes they would hit me slightly less or slightly more, but overall ten was the estimated amount. Each show there was a huge crowd that cheered and roared in excitement. All for what? All for a seven year old boy getting beat up.