When she looked up from the book she was reading, her mouth opened wide in a soundless scream as she jumped to her feet. It seemed like just a moment had passed since she last checked on him, but her son was sitting in the street, completely oblivious to the large truck bearing down on him.

She sat rooted where she was, partly because of the shock, but also because she knew instinctively that she was unlikely to make it in time. All she could do now was pray.

The driver of the truck had not noticed the toddler. Soon, what used to be a human being would be crushed under his tires.

The boy tottered to his feet at the last moment and halted the truck. He simply reached out and stopped it as he would a toy. His deformed right hand seemed to grow, extending and shattering the windshield of the truck.

She watched in horror as he pulled screaming the driver out of cab and slammed him repeatedly on the blacktop until he stopped moving. That done, he turned away and began to walk towards his mother.

“Don’t come,” she said in a tone that was little more than a whisper.

He was grinning, the missing teeth in his mouth giving him a look that was both innocent and fiendish.

“You’re not my son,” she said aloud, not only to convince herself, but also to reason with the creature making its way towards her. She was sure he could at least understand her.

“Mama,” said her son. He appeared to be struggling, his face alternating between a grin and a look of pain.

She took a step back. He could kill her — he had needed no reason in the case of the driver.

“H-Help…” he said in one of the moments of pain.

“Who are you?” she asked, taking another step back.

“Dark Half,” her son said. His right hand twitched…