Thirteen and Doomed

Chapter 01

October 17, The year of our Dark Lord (i.e., every year), 1235

My parents were killed when I was five. They were killed by the Dark Lord. The one and only — my uncle.

They were doing his bidding, of course. The thing is, he’s a volatile kind of guy, an exact and precise one, too, and so when people fall a bit short of the mark… well, he kills them. There’s no point beating round the bush, so to speak.

I’ve grown up around this kind of thing my whole life. After he put an end to dear Mum and Dad, The Dark Lord took me in. He took me under his wing, as it were. I became his nephew-apprentice.

You might be thinking, “Revenge?” But revenge is futile when it comes to Uncle Death. He’s the Dark Lord for a reason, you see. He’s the most powerful Dark Lord since Dark Lords began. One small wiggle of his little finger in the wrong direction and, ‘Blam’ — lights out, goodnight, and goodbye.

Apparently, I have my mother’s blue eyes and my father’s black hair, but nobody is quite sure where I got my height from. My parents were relatively short ones, according to my Aunt — she liked to tell me about them before my uncle wiggled his little finger at her, if you catch my meaning — but I shot up to almost six feet tall before my twelfth birthday. Not that we celebrate birthdays around here. I miss my Aunt, but again, entertaining the hint of a thought about revenge would be, you guessed it, futile.

My Aunt and Uncle never had kids. Sometimes I think that’s the only reason the Dark Lord took me in. He really sees me as some kind of heir to his throne or something. I’m the one who’ll carry on the family legacy. I struggle to keep up with all the high and mighty talk that flows so effortlessly from his great and powerful gob.

There’s nothing I can do about my situation. I live in what I assume used to be a prison cell, complete with rusty iron bars, in the main tower of an evil lair. Dark Lords love an evil lair. Although, one thing I’ve never understood is that a lair is supposed to be secret and secluded and hidden away, but this place is very obvious and easy to find. For one thing, it’s a giant castle made from black stone with a huge skull-entrance-thing that has a drawbridge coming out of the skeleton’s mouth. And then there’s the fact that it’s on top of a hill. It stands out like a sore thumb. It screams, “This is an evil lair if ever there was one.”

I’m writing this on the eve of my thirteenth birthday. It’s the only birthday I’ll get to celebrate while living here with dear old Uncle Cuddles. The reason for this is that when those born into an evil family turn thirteen years of age, they finally develop their evil powers. Can you imagine? I can’t wait. No one knows how powerful they’ll be, but here’s hoping I get lucky and win the evil-powers lottery. One thing’s for sure, if I’m powerful enough to wiggle my little finger at my beloved uncle, I’ll be making some changes to the decor around here. That skull-drawbridge thing’ll be the first to go.

Anyway, that’s enough for now.

Yours unfaithfully,
Benito.