If I must, I'll do this. If you read the summary, then you already know my name. And the nightmare known as my father. Think I'm exaggerating? Listen.

He never really responded when I called him Father. So I either called him Oogie or sir. He preffered sir over anything. So that's what I called him. If it wasn't for my mom, I never would've survived the first few years of my life.

Mom was a human, like me. She even looked a lot like me: red hair, pale skin, tall, skinny. But her eyes were gray, mine are green. Mom loved me. I was pushed away.

Anyways, let's go back six years-when I was seven. Father always sent me into town to do the shopping every week. He'd hurt Mom otherwise.

So I had done the usual-bought the ton of stuff on the list, ignored everything the rest of the town did because they hate me. Then came the bad part. I was walking along with the billion pounds of stuff blocking my view when I tripped. Probably because of one of the townspeople. Everything spilled...

...and it just had to be on the Pumpkin Queen.

From what I know, Sally's typically a calm person. But when I spilled that stuff on her..oh, she was mad. It made my heart skip a beat when she grabbed my wrist and pulled me home. I still remember what she said right before she left me to deal with Father:

"I'm not telling him. You are."

That night, Father forced Mom to watch him beat the fudge out me. No matter how hard I cried or how much I begged him to stop, he wouldn't. The conversation that took place is still a clear picture:

"Ah, grow up!"


That night, I cried myself into a dreamless sleep. But it didn't last long. It ended at around one in the morning when I heard a scream. I followed it to the kitchen and nearly screamed myself.

For Mom had committed suicide.

She was still waiting for her final breath. She looked up after hearing my footsteps. The vividness in her eyes was fading. I felt her blood drip onto my hands. I didn't feel too much pain, but our finer words to each other hurt more than any beating Father had ever put me through...

"Mom! Wh-why did you do this?"

"I love you, Evangeline..."


"...but I don't regret a thing."

And that was it. Mom had killed herself with no regrets of it. I felt like I couldn't move. So I laid down and fell asleep a little while later. Father didn't even care! He just told me to get Mom's body away from the house or be punished! How insensitive could a guy be?!

Then there's Lock, Shock, and Barrel.

They weren't as bad as Father (is that even possible?) was, but they were a close second, third, and fourth. Not because they never let me in on their games or shared the rewards of their candy runs. It was because they pranked me, bullied me, beat me, teased me, the list goes on for day. They even spiked my drink once!

(I caught it before I drank it, but I've never trusted them since.)

Then there was the prank...

That hurt.

Let me explain.

It was a normal night. I was cleaning off some of those robot-gunmen by routine, trying not to get any part of me caught between them. Lock, Shock, and Barrel approached me. Lock and Shock kept some dang good poker faces with Barrel...not so much. I was on edge immediately. Shock was the one who actually came up to me. Here's exactly what was said:

"Yo! Emaline!"


"Whatever. Oogie said he wants you to clean the barrels of the guns. Interior."

"Not gonna happen."

"No food for five days and a beating."

"It's gonna happen."

I started to clean out the guns when they started shooting! Not actual bullets-thank God-but throwing darts. When tens of needles are being shot at you at rapid speed, it hurts. A lot. I eventually moved. Lock, Shock, and Barrel walked away, laughing. And I was certain that Father wasn't going to do crap about it. Sure enough, he didn't acknowledge it. Or the mess on the floor. He didn't care.


I could go on and on about things that've happenedover the past thirteen years. Like the time my arm was broken because I tried to run away. Or the time I got a second-degree burn because I accidentally made bad snake-and-spider stew for Father. But you'd get bored.

My suffering ends here.

Everyone hates me.

The one person who did love me killed herself.

I'm abused every day.

This ends now.

I'm telling this story from the kitchen. Where Mom killed herself. I've got a knife. The one that Mom killed herself with. Lock, Shock, and Barrel are out pranking people. Father's gambling or whatever he does down in his lair. I'm picking up the knife, aiming...