Present Day, 2010

  "Finally!" Mikey yelled at the small TV screen in his room while doing a little victory dance. A heavy blizzard had been passing through Buffalo the last three days, and the news had listed his new high school as closed for the day. It was three days too late, but Buffalo never closed for weather unless you had eighty feet of snow.

  Mikey never minded snow or the cold; he always felt warm, even when it was freezing. The only thing that ever bothered him was being around other people. His whole childhood was spent being tossed from foster home to foster home. What was he supposed to do when he was radioactive, and every living thing around him would become sick, then die?

  It varied, but as far as Mikey could tell, people would become agitated within an hour of being next to him. After a week, they'd feel like they were in the middle of a bad flu. After a month—well, Mikey never lasted more than a month.

  Several families had accused him of poisoning them. They had gone to the hospital, but the doctors couldn't find anything wrong. Their bodies were just deteriorating. Environmental testers checked for heavy metals in the water, radon, and all the other things that might be causing it. Nothing was ever found.

  But it hadn't stopped them from sending Mikey back to the children's home. Families heard about the kid secretly poisoning those he lived with, and the fostering stopped altogether. Even though they couldn't prove Mikey did anything wrong, he was kept isolated and locked away from the other kids and staff. Mikey couldn't blame them, though—he was cursed.

  In his loneliness, Mikey often thought back on the monsters and what his mother had said that night. She had called him special. As if slowly killing anything near him was a gift. Instead, it made him so lonely sometimes he wanted to end it all. Mikey hated that part of himself and that he had no idea what had happened that night. But it made sense his parents kept him away from others his whole life. Mikey couldn't remember ever being around anybody other than his mom and dad.

  He was told that deer hunters had found him wandering the woods the following day, crying about monsters. When police arrived at the scene, they found the wreckage of a terrible car accident; no bodies were recovered. The best explanation for the circle of death was a chemical spill or gas leak. Strangely, no records of Mikey or his parents ever existed.

  Mikey glanced up at the drawings pinned up on his wall. The glowing eyes he would never forget. 'Night Prowlers,' he called them. Putting those eyes on paper had started his journey into art. Monsters and the macabre had become his way of combating the almost crippling anxiety of his everyday existence and coping with his lonely life. It was also another way to keep those memories alive.

  The only friend Mikey had ever really had since his parent's murder had been his new foster father, Arthur Cafferty. He was a sixty-three-year-old mailman with mostly grey hair who always had a smile and wave for everyone. The adoption happened so quickly that Mikey was still amazed it had ever happened. After years of being locked away, he thought he'd never find a home.

  He'd been walking to the children's home after school while Arthur was on his mail route. Some of his classmates had followed Mikey and cornered him in an alleyway, claiming he was cursing them with his monster drawings. They pushed him to the ground and took turns kicking and hitting him. It had been a typical routine throughout his life. People would instinctively figure out he was doing something to them, and they'd lash out. The punches and kicks never caused him any actual physical pain. It just cemented what Mikey knew already: he'd never belong.

  He'd often curse his fate, being shortchanged in the superpowers department. If he was so 'special,' he should've at least gotten some webs to shoot out of his arms or the ability to read minds.

  But during the attack, Mikey felt warm pressure around him. The kicks stopped as one of his classmates yelled, "Let's get out of here!" When Mikey opened his eyes and looked up, standing before him was an out-of-breath Arthur, staring at Mikey like he had seen a ghost. Instead of going about ignoring him like everyone else, Arthur stayed. He asked questions, and they chatted for an hour that day. Afterward, Arthur was always there on his route when Mikey walked home from school to make sure he was safe.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  A short time later, he asked Mikey if he could foster him. The adoption was unorthodox due to Arthur's age. No one else had wanted to for years. Even the social workers at the children's home steered clear. Still, he had a stable job and was well-liked within the community. Arthur was required to foster Mikey for three months, but after, his adoption was approved. The incredible thing was, somehow, his radioactivity didn't seem to bother Arthur.

  It had been two years since then. Arthur was offered a postmaster job in Buffalo that was too good an opportunity, so here they were. Mikey had started his first week at a new high school. He begged to be home-schooled, but Arthur said being stuck alone with him as a 'youngin' wasn't the right way to bring up a teenager. Mikey needed to learn to interact with other kids and adults or at least see how everyone else does. He begrudgingly accepted Arthur's request, not wanting to cause a fuss. Going to high school was a small price for a real home.

  Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Mikey glanced at the clock, which read six a.m. Arthur would be up. After delivering mail for over a decade, he had the early morning schedule mapped into his body. Walking downstairs, he saw Arthur was already making himself some coffee in the kitchen.

  "Hey, bud. I just saw the news. Though I would've gathered from the dancing upstairs, you got your snow day."

  "Yeah. At this rate, I thought they would make us shovel our way to school."

  "Back in my day—"

  "Yeah, yeah, you used to swim through the snow uphill both ways with no socks or shoes on. I know how hard you old fogeys had it 'back in the day.'"

  At that, Arthur handed Mikey a mug, "Well, in celebration of your momentary freedom, I made you a delicious black coffee."

  Mikey grabbed the cup and crinkled his nose questioningly until he caught the sweet aroma of hot cocoa. He looked up just in time to see Arthur's smirk disappear.

  "Only seems right for the occasion."

  "Thanks, Arthur!" Mikey beamed. It was the perfect way to start the snow day. "I'm about to whip up my famous strawberry frosted Pop-Tarts straight from the box if you want some. It has real fruit filling!"

  Making fun of silly advertising claims was an inside joke between the two. Like when a cleaning product says something like, 'now with 33% more cleaning power.'

  "Well, sign me up for a package, Chef Black."

  Mikey walked over to the cupboard sipping on the cocoa, and grabbed the Pop-Tarty breakfast box of champions.

  They sat at their small dining table and quietly ate breakfast. This was the wonderful thing about being with Arthur. They were content with just each other's company. In the living room, another news channel droned on. "This blizzard was a doozy, but it looks like everything will probably be back open tomorrow morning," the local weatherwoman announced.

  Who starts school back on a Friday?

  "So much for a snow day tomorrow too." Mikey slumped. He'd never told Arthur about his aura of death. Mikey didn't want to scare him away. But secondly, it didn't seem to affect Arthur anyway. It put certain constraints on their relationship with Mikey's aversion to being around other people.

  "Look, I know it sucks, and you don't get along with other kids, but that isn't your fault…." Arthur paused, seeming to struggle with what to say.

  Mikey was sure Arthur wanted him to be more sociable but didn't want to push.

  "Just get through school, and after you graduate, you should focus on your art. See if you can become a cartoonist like you want. Who knows, this school might be different. The first couple of days have been fine, right?" Arthur tried to put a positive spin on the situation.

  "Yeah, I've been able to pass by unseen, thankfully. But you know it is only a matter of time before someone decides to harass the quiet monster-art dork."

  Arthur just sighed and nodded, a familiar torn look on his face.

  Unfortunately, the snow day flew by. He and Arthur played board games, watched TV, and then went out and shoveled the driveway.

  Mikey worked on a ten-eyed tentacle monster drawing for the rest of the night before heading to bed. It looked like a grey and black octopus with six muscular legs. Its four-pronged beak, filled with serrated teeth, took up most of the creature's bulbous head.

  What a looker.

  Nodding in satisfaction at his newest abomination, Mikey tried to squash down his anxiety for the next day. He put away his art supplies and crawled into bed. "Here's to an uneventful Friday," he muttered.