Midnight Academy. Born at midnight

I could boast of a figure no worse than my mother’s, and, probably, it was for this reason that I suddenly gained popularity at the new school. Now every second person wanted to make friends with me, and the guys kept asking me to go out after class.

But it was impossible. My mother watched like a hawk to ensure that I strictly followed her stupid rules. For example, we had a strict ban on creating accounts on social networks and accessing the Internet not in Incognito mode. I shouldn’t have invited any of my classmates to visit us, even if it was required for a joint project and threatened with failure for the assignment. I couldn’t have friends at all and every time we moved, I cut off absolutely all contacts. I was prohibited from personal communication with anyone, much less meeting outside of school hours.

However, my mother could not keep an eye on me at school.

It was there that I first felt that my hearing had changed. When concentrating on one thing – for example, a raven flying in the sky – I could hear the flapping of its wings. Or the conversation of classmates on the other side of the street when they were discussing someone too frivolously. Or…

In fact, I could clearly hear anything within a radius of about thirty meters, but this required real concentration, without being distracted by anything else for a split second. It was impossible to eat and listen at the same time, or walk and listen, but I rejoiced even at this advantage. It kept me from doing something stupid in high school, when I briefly became rebellious.

Pretending that I diligently went to bed, I ran out of the house through the window to go to the next party thrown by one of my classmates. Crazy dancing, loud music, nasty colorful cocktails and secluded corners where guys took their girls to kiss for a long time.

And not just kissing. Out of curiosity, having overheard the intentions of my “boyfriend” in his conversation with a friend, I left that last party for me before everyone else. Because she couldn't afford to fall so low. Yes, I didn’t want to – it’s not like that and not with him. I hoped that one day I would meet the one worthy, but with our nomadic life, even casual acquaintances were not possible.

When someone spoke to me on the street or in a shopping center, I silently turned around and walked in the opposite direction, even if the guy turned out to be handsome as God and had a damn incredible voice.

Any of the random passers-by could turn out to be the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood, who at all costs wanted to devour both the grandmother and granddaughter.

I discovered my second change in myself. I became curious if I had any other powers along with the superheroes from movies and comics. I tried to fly, I tried to jump far, run fast and even turn into a werewolf, which scared the neighbor’s ginger cat, who came for a walk on our balcony in another rented apartment.

So, through trial and error, I realized that my vision is still much better than that of completely healthy people. Where others only saw the big picture, I could see the smallest details. I looked at the number of the approaching bus about a hundred meters before it stopped, and if in the house opposite there was a woman reading in a chair by the window, then I confidently saw the text on the pages.

But this also required narrow concentration, which was not at all easy. I got tired too quickly and could fall asleep for several hours right in broad daylight. At the same time, my periodic slipping into a coma was not at all surprising to my mother. She was often busy working, staying at her laptop until late at night, or creating yet another escape plan.

Moreover, she always had several options in case something unexpected happened.

Until about ten years old, I sincerely believed that she was a former spy from some sophisticated intelligence agency, who cut off all ties with the birth of her daughter. But time passed, and we just ran away, never meeting our pursuer face to face.

It was precisely because my mother already had enough reasons to be nervous that I did not talk about my discoveries. I didn’t want to worry her even more, seeing how difficult it was already for her. And now she was even glad that she managed to keep everything a secret.

Because I didn't like this place at all. I didn't like it as soon as I saw it.

Outside the gates a gloomy, dark fa?ade awaited us. Stone gargoyles on the sloping roofs precisely followed our every step, and cobwebs and dust wafted from the stained glass windows. A wide porch with a dozen steps was greeted with a black carpet, and the spacious hall of the educational institution was greeted with mirrored walls from the middle to the ceiling.

The lower part was covered with dark wood, which only added to the creepiness. The staircase to the second floor seemed to be intertwined with steps into the wall, as if the tree was alive and was trying to crawl with roots and branches to the floor and ceiling.

The corridor in which I stood did not have a friendly interior either. On one side along its entire length there were semicircular windows, letting in yellow light from street lamps into the twilight. On the other side there were identical doors and several metal benches of bizarre curved shapes. The light from the lamps seemed dim, muffled, and the ceiling and wall lamps themselves looked like antique candelabra.

All this designer rebellion sent herds of goosebumps down my spine. I didn't want to stay here. Everything inside me was against this and… parting with my mother. We lived for eighteen years side by side, without being separated even for a day. I always knew where she was and what she was doing, but now how?

I prayed that Madame Pelisay would refuse us. No, no and NO!

Yes, I still couldn’t believe my eyes. I didn’t believe my hands, my legs, or even my head. The chance that I had simply lost my mind was extremely high, but I would rather have preferred a strong nightmare, where everything that surrounded me was the delirium of my fevered imagination.

Because that doesn't happen. Not in real life!

As if having overheard my thoughts, the gargoyle guarding the fountain working at that hour slowly turned its terrible fanged muzzle towards me, looked at the very window next to which I was standing, and winked. Apparently, me too.

Well, I winked at her in response, apparently for the first time in my life, earning myself a nervous tic.

Due to zeal, the lens slipped off my eye. I miraculously managed to catch it at the chin, but I couldn’t put it on now after touching it with my hands. It was necessary to rinse with a special solution and leave for at least two hours, which I simply could not do in this corridor, and therefore I removed the second one to put both in a napkin. All our belongings, including our lens case, were still in the rental car on the other side of the city library.

At the entrance that existed in the normal world.

In the ordinary world, in which, apparently, there was no longer a place for me.

I didn’t know who had been stalking my mother so manically for many years. I didn’t know what he needed from us. But three days ago he showed up again, although we lived happily without his presence for the last six months. In a wonderful town called Shepwell, where all the neighbors on the street knew each other.

We rented a small two-bedroom apartment on the second floor of an old five-story building. At night, through the thin ceilings, the steps of the neighbor who lived on the floor above could be heard, and behind the wall at night the water was constantly turned on. But there was a certain amount of comfort in all of this. It was as if we were not alone in the whole world, which was only confirmed as soon as one of us left the apartment.

In Shepwell it was customary to greet neighbors and always find out how they were doing. An elderly woman living across the street would ask me to go to the store, and the neighbor downstairs would always treat me to candy, which I would throw into the trash bin two houses away every time.

I loved sweets, but I couldn’t afford to accept anything from strangers.

Actually, I was just about to leave the house when I saw, through the gap between the thick curtains and the window, a black jeep pulling up at our entrance. It was not parked, the engine was running, as were the headlights, but it would not have been possible to see who was hiding inside even if one wanted to.

The car turned out to be tightly tinted all around.

“Mom…” I called quietly, first turning up the volume on the TV almost to maximum.

Having taken my place, she also did not move the curtains, but as soon as she saw the jeep, she quickly pulled me by the hand, dragging me away from the window. I knew the next steps in advance, having lived through each stage many, many times.

Whatever we were doing at that moment, as soon as a threat appeared, we dropped absolutely everything. The parent only took the laptop and bag in case of escape, and I took the e-reader and backpack. Things, food, water – the minimum set was available in each pre-prepared car. Well, my mother carried money and documents with her, preferring to keep them closer to her hands.

Pull on cloaks, put on hoods. We didn't even take the time to lock the door. They either climbed out through the window or went down the stairs if there was a second exit at the entrance.

There were usually pre-rented cars parked on each side of the house. Of course, in financial terms, such reinsurance cost a large sum, but more than once it came to the rescue and saved us from an immediate meeting with the pursuer.

– Mom, maybe it’s just someone else’s car? Did any of the neighbors or guests come to someone? – I asked, sitting down in the front seat and buckling up. – Maybe this maniac has long forgotten about us, huh? And he lives his quiet maniacal life somewhere in a quiet place.

– Don't be stupid, Sally! – she said sternly, sharply backing up and turning the steering wheel.

I had thought before that my parent was simply sick. The older I got, the less I believed in the invisible pursuer who never caught up with us. Moreover, my mother said almost nothing about her childhood and youth.

What if she spent them in some asylum? Maybe all these years she needed special medicine, the help of qualified specialists, and year after year I mindlessly continued to support her illness?

“Mom, maybe we should just stop and find out what he or she needs from us?” At the same time, we’ll understand if someone is following us…” I suggested carefully, trying to track her emotions.

Focused, confident, gloomy. She didn't look like she was mentally ill.

– Never! – she hissed, no worse than a snake, clutching the steering wheel with incredible strength until it creaked. – Do you hear? Never dare to even think about it!

I wanted to say something else, but in the rearview mirror I noticed that same black jeep. Exactly the same one, because I had a good look at the numbers, first trying to concentrate and at least see something through the tint. The car confidently increased speed and threatened to catch up with our car, but my mother did not give up. She pressed the gas pedal to the floor, driving out onto a suburban highway, mired on both sides in green fields, electrical towers and tall trees.

There the car was rushing at great speed along a flat road, almost imperceptibly. But the road was easier for the jeep too. He was practically breathing into our trunk.

– Mom, train! – I shouted, hearing the growing roar of the express rushing along the railway.

Ahead at the crossing, a barrier was slowly lowering, serving as a barrier device. The traffic light was blinking hysterically with a prohibitory light. The train driver sounded a sound signal using a typhon.