Library of the Damned Account #43; Scrolls A-D, F-H

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My life has kind of been one mess after another, even by demigod standards. My dad actually said he felt bad for me, which ought to put into perspective how much bullshit I've gone through. If a Greek god takes the time to pity you, your life is rotten.

Sorry, I don't mean to make this a complaint. I'm supposed to tell the scribe my fucking story, so I guess that's what your magical quill or whatever the fuck it is is doing. Dancing around on that scroll like a bloody clown. Did it seriously just write 'Bloody Clown?'

[Scribe: Twice. Now please get to the story.]

Yeah, whatever. I'm dead already, and I'll get on with it when I damn well feel like it.

[Raises middle finger at scribe]

Alright. Anyways. I guess my story begins on my eighth birthday...

“Zachariah!” called my mum from the dining room, slurring her words as usual. Even though I was eight, I felt bad for her. She used to be a commander in the British Royal Navy, traveling around the world, especially to America. My best guess is that's where my dad knocked her up. She lost everything when she had me. She left the force and took up a job as a bartender, working to feed me, before turning to alcohol. And now she didn't even know it was my birthday.

Still, my heart soared when I heard her call my name, and I thought maybe, just maybe, she remembered.

I walked into the dining room, the smell of gin hitting my nostrils, bringing memories of many other nights she had spent passed out on our couch.

“Zach...come here.” I obeyed. “I have to work tonight, so I'm getting you a babysitter, alright?”

I sighed. Well, despite her alcoholism, at least she thought to get a sitter for me. Most of the time.

I nodded, and left the room to return to the comfort of my books. It was later that night when the sitter arrived. She was an old lady, and I instantly hated her. She looked older than time itself, and she smelled like dust.

“Well hello there, dearest,” she said sweetly, smiling kindly. “What's your name?”

I told her it was Go Away.

“Well isn't that a lovely name.” She turned away and muttered something about crazy new names. “A couple thousand years ago we didn't get crazy names like that.”
I blinked, but my eight-year-old mind didn't put too much meaning to her words.

As soon as my mom left, the sitter brought me a cup of tea. “Wouldn't you like something to drink?” she asked me.

“Fuck off.” You know, in hindsight, I rather like eight-year-old me.

She looked at me disapprovingly. “That was a naughty thing to say. Naughty children should be punished.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Naughty children should be eaten.” She smiled again.

I rolled my eyes again, and then her words registered. WHAT?

I turned to look at her with wide eyes, and saw that the lower half of her face was gone, replaced with a circular row of sawing teeth, sharp as daggers.

I screamed, and backed up, reaching around for something, anything to defend myself with. Luckily, my hand found a letter opener, and I was able to face off against the monster, holding it like I'd seen spies and ninjas do on TV.

She shrieked, laughing at me in an utterly terrifying display of what her vocal chords could do. She sprung forward, reaching out at me, but I sidestepped her grasp and plunged the letter opener into the base of her skull as her momentum carried her past me. She died choking on her own blood and spinal fluid. Don't ask me why a plain and normal weapon worked on a monster, to this day I don't know. I guess it was a one-time blessing from my dad or something. First thing that asswipe's done for me that's actually useful. Hey, don't look at me like that. It's true.

Anyways, looking at the dead body on my floor, I knew I had to get out. I was damn right precocious for a young lad, so I left. I wandered the streets of London for a long time. Probably a solid three months or so, living off food scavenged from back alleys and the like. I don't know how I survived, I guess things just seemed to go my way. Anyways, before too long I ran into my next monster.

It was a manticore, actually, and it was hell-bent on killing me. I mean gods, the lengths that bloke went to to skewer my head were absolutely mad. It stalked me day and night as I hid in public places, using mortals as my cover. Of course, I didn't know what a mortal was at the time, I just knew I only had to keep an eye out for flying spikes when I was by myself. Still, it was only a matter of time before it cornered me.

I was hiding in a dumpster when I heard him laughing at me from outside.

“Come out, come out, little demigod...I won't hurt ya!” he called in an American accent. It was the first one I'd heard outside television, and he sounded bloody ridiculous.

I had been carrying a penknife around for a while at that point, but I doubted it would have much effect.

I was sobbing because I thought I was going to die, absolutely terrified. Then he cried out in pain. “Argh! No! How did you find me?!” He wailed, screaming in pain as several audible -thwack- noises issued from outside the dumpster.

After the noises (and the manticore's screams) stopped, I heard voices from outside.

“Did you hear that thing say demigod?” asked a girl's voice, also with an American accent.

“Yeah, but there's no one here, Thalia. Plus, we followed this thing all the way to England. Monsters don't ever travel this far; it's probably a little scrambled in the noggin.”

The first voice grunted. I heard more footsteps approach, and when I peered out of the dumpster, I saw a group of teenage women carrying bows and arrows. I also saw that the manticore was dead, with several arrows emerging from its body.

Unfortunately (well, actually fortunately, I guess), one of the hunters spotted me peering out of my hidey-hole.

“Hey!” She drew her bow, and I ducked quickly, letting the lid slam behind me, and I winced, once again fearing for my life.

There was a scuffle of movement outside, and then a bright light as the lid to the dumpster was thrust open.

“What the hell?” asked a voice. “It's just a kid.”

“Enough, Thalia,” a new voice commanded. “Why is he here?”

I looked up to see a girl that looked like she was twelve looking calmly at me. She was beautiful, and she exuded an aura of power that I could recognize even at eight years old.

“Huntress, I believe the manticore we were chasing was attacking this demigod.” Yet another girl's voice. I didn't really like girls back then, I suppose, but theses ones had to be trustworthy, I reasoned. After all, they had saved me.

“I'm Zachariah,” I told the girl who was still studying me. “Th-thanks for saving me.” I think I probably blushed a little. That's embarrassing, especially now that I know who that was. Sorry 'bout that, Artemis.

“My name is Artemis, goddess of the Hunt. Well met, Zachariah.”

“Who are you guys?”

She smiled at me. “I think that would be better explained by a certain camp counselor I know of.”

From there, she arranged for a girl named Thalia to take me to the United States. You might think completely uprooting my life would give me some pause, but I had literally nothing to live for, so I just kind of went along with it.

We took a passenger ship across the Atlantic, and I made friends with my companion, listening to lots of Green Day and drawing pictures of things together. It was like having a mother for once, albeit a weird punk-rocker one, and I clung to her. She was someone who was nice to me, and I hadn't really had that before in my life.

That might have sounded like a whirlwind, and that's because it was for me. I don't really remember a whole lot of that time, but eventually I made it to camp safely, obviously. It was pretty weird, what with everyone talking with American accents and being older than me, so my initial reaction wasn't very good. But my dad claimed me pretty quick, and everyone was really nice to me, so that was right and well I guess. I adjusted pretty quickly. Anyways, do you want me to go over that whole part, or can I fast-forward a couple years?

[Scribe: Please provide a complete record of your experience.]

Aw, fuck you. Seriouly, mate, do I have to? To Hell with it then. Just gimme a break first. My throat's getting dry.

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