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Jackson Jekyll could see Monsters. He could always see them. Jackson was not born alone - something else was born with him, festering hot and burying itself within him like a parasite that refused to let go. Jackson knew why he cried as a baby - it was because he was cold. He was always cold.
When Jackson was six years old, he built a fort with his mother. It was crudely constructed of chairs and a blanket but they didn’t care. From the floor of the dark abyss he looked up towards his mother as she clicked on the projector. It roared to life and the dark was illuminated with bright stars of all kinds.
“Why can’t I see the real stars?” He asked his mother. Sydney Jekyll cupped his cheek in her hand and rubbed it with her thumb gently.
His Mother looked away and contemplated. “I don’t know, Jackie,” she lied. “The doctors don’t know.”
He didn’t want to tell his mother that the Doctor was a Monster too, with skin that was just slightly too pale and teeth that were unnaturally sharp. “Monster’s aren’t real,” She would laugh him off when he told about the thing in his house that watched him.
When he was eight years old Jackson was bullied for wearing glasses. It wasn’t his fault for his poor eyesight, it was this body of his that betrayed him. His favorite band was a rock band his father was in during his prime, a rock band. Jackson loved rock music. He wanted to be a rock star.
One of his friends pointed to a drawing of him in crayon, in a red leather jacket. “Who’s that?” She asked.
“That’s me,” He said. “I’m gonna be a rock star like my dad!” The child laughed.
“Your dad’s a rock star? That’s so cool!”
Jackson beamed, proudly showing her the CD that he always kept in his backpack. “He used to be in a band called Ash and the Holts .”
When he was nine years old, Jackson was thrust awake at the crack of dawn, confused. His body was trembling and every human instinct in him was telling him to run and hide . Something was watching him, he knew it.
Jackson put on his glasses and looked at his bedroom door. His mother stood there, in the doorway. She was…wrong. She was so wrong - her eyes were too dark, she was too tall and her neck slouched like it was broken. Her knees were bent at an ungodly angle and her hair seemed to float in place like she was swimming. She was still. Still as a statue, watching him.
That wasn't his mommy, where was his mommy? Jackson felt like he was drowning. This thing inside his house, mimicking his mother groaned and a crooked smile broke through her face, her skin crackling as the smile seemed to etch itself into her. He shut his eyes tight and repeated Monsters aren’t real over and over in his head as hot, burning tears streamed down his face. He opened his eyes.
The thing he thought was copying his mother was gone.
His father’s ears were too pointed. His eyes were too yellow, and his red hair and beard seemed to glow from the portly man in the dark. But that wasn’t what made him a monster to Jackson. No, what made his father a monster was the screaming matches he would get into when he was drunk - shouting to his mother as she screamed back at him, her voice seeming to double at times like something else was speaking through her.
“I do too much for this shit!” Ash yelled from the first floor. Jackson gripped the banister at the top of the stairs and held his breath. His glasses were falling off his face but he was too scared to move.
He heard his mother scoff. “Oh please, you never work! The only thing you ever do is reminisce about your glory days in your band and how you used to do blow over this glass coffee table that our sons now eat off of , and how you can’t believe you married some hag over some chick you met thirty years ago !” And they continued screaming. Jackson started crying. The house felt hot, and he could swear he saw smoke coming from the kitchen where they yelled.
He thought they were burning the food. He yelled for them to not let it burn and the house went quiet. Jackson couldn’t help the sob that escaped him.
Finally his father’s voice rang out towards him, soft. Gentle. Almost as scared as he was. “Jackson?” In a second the two rushed over to him and knelt down.
The Monsters wanted to comfort the crying child. It took a long time for him to forgive his father, despite the fact that he entered rehab that week. Things did get better after that day, however. Jackson would remember it forever. There was a voice, a voice like his own telling that he needed to leave and shut his bedroom door. The voice promised to protect him.
He never heard the voice again until he was sixteen.
When he was ten years old his parents finally told him the truth about New Salem, a town infested by creatures that were abandoned by society long ago. His parents were Monsters in the literal sense, and what was he?
Jackson dated monsters. At least three, he was sure of.
At fifteen, everything changed for him. He couldn’t listen to his dad’s CD anymore - the headaches were too much. Searing pain that ran through him from toe to head. There was something wrong with him.
He was lucky to have Laura, his girlfriend. He met her when they moved to a new house near the edge of New Salem that was situated next to a cathedral church that had been renovated and turned into a home. Laura was beautiful, with pale pink skin and black hair tied into a ponytail. He’d always remember kissing her, caressing the pink heart on her cheek and remarking just how cold and stiff she felt.
She was dead. He knew that. And yet it still amazed him. When she smiled, his heart melted despite the fangs protruding from her top teeth.
Some loves burn too hot, too fast. They were passionate. They asked too much of each other. Jackson was surrounded by Monsters and he was the odd one out. He was stared at everywhere he went now, like he didn’t belong in this neighborhood.
He went to her one night. At the edge of the cathedral rooftop, her home, they met. He begged her to bite him so they could be together, her nails digging into him nervously as the words poured out of him. He wanted to be a Monster like her. Like his mother and father.
He can still hear the sob in her throat, her mouth covered in his blood as she pulled away - gagging and sputtering. She barely punctured him, not enough to turn but enough to leave a mark that would forever stain his neck. She apologized, he realized what he had done to her and they broke up right then, right there so they could both be healthy.
She became a vegetarian permanently after that, he learned.
When he attended Monster High at sixteen, he met her again as her true self, Draculaura. It was at this school he also met his next two girlfriends.
Frankie Stein. He was in love with her from the moment he saw her. It was with her he met the voice again and it all fell apart as Holt Hyde had fully inserted himself into his life. Despite this he and Frankie resolved to still go out. Three dates in, they were at his house and she lay on top of him, slowly removing his shirt and then hers. She smelled of formaldehyde and the perfume trying to cover it up. They never went further that night, as Frankie’s father wanted her home by nightfall and they were already over that time limit. Secretly he was glad - he couldn’t get that chemical smell out of his head.
They broke up soon after when he and Holt became too much. He did not blame her.
His current girlfriend rested her head on his chest while they lie on his bed. Her ears swiveled to him and she turned his head to look at her as he smiled.
He loved Toralei. God, he loved her. But her eyes scared him. A primal part of him, suppressed from thousands of years of evolution. Vestigial almost. He was staring at a predator, a tiger waiting to pounce.
He kissed her anyway.
Jackson looked up towards the mirror beside his door, facing them. Anyone looking at him would think he was a completely normal person at a glance - but he ran too hot and was always cold. His eyes were too blue, and his ability to go completely still would surprise most. His ears were just slightly off in the back, like they were pinched at the very edge.
There were no humans at Monster High. He knew that as he stared at himself in the mirror.
Jackson Jekyll could see Monsters.