At first glance I'm like any other teen on the street but once you get close you can see. I'm not a monster. But I'm not human either. There really is no name for what I am.

My hair is brown but in certain light it appears blond, it sticks out in every direction no matter how hard you try to get it to lay flat. My eyes shine an abnormally bright green which marks me as their own. I wear basketball shorts and t-shirts but looks can be deceiving.

I have magic like none other.

At birth I was cursed. Cast out. My mother was mortal. She never wanted a baby so she handed me over to the magic creatures—the goblins, trolls, dragons, unicorns, gremlins. They fought over which kingdom I should be raised, after all it's not often they are given a mortal child. In the end the goblins won. They gave me the "blessing" of magic. But mortals aren't strong enough to withhold the power of sorcery. It grew and eventually took over.

So I was sent away. The child every magical creature wanted was suddenly an outcast. Undesirable. Abandoned. Practically criminal.

You say this is a long shot? You say this is just a story? Well I envy anyone who can go through life believing that.

I am the Goblin Child.

And when a whole army of magical animals, beasts and creatures are hunting you down there is no way to go on pretending they are nothing more than scary stories and nightmares.

Very few mortals can see anything that has to do with magic. It's everywhere, all around. In the air we breathe. The crowded city streets. Maybe even right next door. All you have to do is open your eyes.

But it's costly.

Those who have the sight of magic never live a normal life or even die a peaceful death. They are forced to witness not only the beauty of magic but also its darkness. Eventually they always get pushed too far. They see one monster too many and suddenly they are no more. They're consumed with fear. My mother had sight. I suppose that's why I was handed over to be raised by the goblins. I inherited her eyes and now I too pay the price.

I can already feel myself slipping away. I've already begun to follow the path my mother, and all people like us, took. I'm going quicker than most. I am fourteen years old but the cost for my sight is far heavier than anyone else's. Because I have goblin magic too. But I never asked for any of this. Born to a mortal. Raised by the goblins. Abandoned by both. And now hunted like some kind of monster. My life hangs by a thread and yet no one cares. No one knows. No one sees.

The path my mother gave me is a lonely one. But the path the goblins gave me is a cold one.

I live in the city—or more accurately hide in the city. I can easily blend in to the crowds and the rush of people but that only means they too can hide. I live in fear. Every day is a new challenge whether it's moving on so I'm not an easy target, a battle with the goblins who betrayed me or a mental fight for my sanity. Either way I have to keep moving. Because if I stop they're sure to find me. And if they catch up with me then it's only a matter of time before the insanity does too.

So I run, fight and keep going. I've been in the city only a week and still I fear they know where I am and where to find me. They never remain oblivious to my location for long. They caught me in Mississippi, Tennessee, Iowa, Missouri, Organ, Washington and every other state whose name is lost in my long list of safe havens all around the US.

But they never get me. Even the King of the Goblin's magic was no match for the power that possesses me. However, when they finally get me that small shred of sanity I cling to will not be spared. First they will weaken me—torture me. Then will begin the long and excruciating procedure to extract my magic. And once that is gone I will be worthless to them.

I was once their kin, but those days are history. It is not the first time they have turned on their children. Goblins are menacing, deceiving and ruthless. If a young goblin cannot prove his worth then he is as good as dead.

When I was young my best friend was a goblin named Lester. He was selfless which is a trait that goblins don't take pride in having. Still, he put others before himself. By the time a goblin reaches the age of eleven he is to prove himself worthy in front of the King. Lester—true to himself as always—refused to act in the way the King should expect from his kin. Lester was himself right down to the bitter end.

I however am a different story. I was a mortal child. The goblins take pride in their own kind but they also take pride in taking innocence, like the child I was, and turning it into what they are—monsters. So they cursed me with magic. When it came time for my own Redemption Ceremony, as they called it, I tried to harness the gift given to me. But all that happened was destruction. I can't remember anything except waking up in the rubble.

I was a phony, a fraud. Because I'm not brave. Not like Lester was.

Upon my awakening I knew what had happened instantly. The painful surgery I under took to be able to have goblin magic failed. So I ran, with only the clothes on my back, and I never returned. Once everyone got over the fact that had happened they began their search for the dreadful criminal who ended their King's reign.

My name is Oliver, I am the Goblin Child.