I don't remember much about my dad. I remember being afraid of him. My mom was always quick to bring up my past with him. It was as if she never wanted me to have any sort of relationship with Dad again, and knowing what he did to me, I honestly don't blame her.

For the first three years of my life, my dad was abusing me in almost every way possible. When my mom was around, he treated me like a normal father would treat their son. She didn't see a lot of signs because she was away a lot on business. She was a great surgeon. She never knew the truth until my dad refused to take me to my doctor's appointments. Child Protective Services had become suspicious because my dad skipped all my doctor's appointments since I had been almost two. My mom never noticed.

When the truth finally came out, my mom was the one to finally take me to the doctor. Everyone was shocked to see my scarred, tortured body. My dad was a heavy smoker, and he had put cigarette butts out all around my private areas. He molested me in ways my mom couldn't even begin to describe.

In fact, the trauma I endured was mostly around my private areas. It had been evident that my dad had forced himself on top of me many times. It seemed my dad had shaken me too, most likely to get me to stop crying. I was defenseless and no one would've thought that my dad was this type of scum that any true caring parents would fear of.

All the evidence against my dad was overwhelming. He pleaded guilty to his crimes and was sentenced to 15-25 years in prison. When asked why he did this, my sick, twisted father replied, "Because I just couldn't help myself. He was perfect. Soft skin and beautiful, blue eyes. I can't help my desires. I tried to hurt my little boy to make him less appealing to the eye. But every bruise, burn, mark, scar, anything would just make me aroused at the sound of his taunting cries. I would do it again and I deserve to be put away. Goodbye, Mason."

My name is Mason and if you think the abuse ended there, you are so wrong.

When my dad was locked away, my mom and I moved out of our old house and in with my grandpa. I had never met my grandma. Mom and Grandpa told me that she died before I was born. I couldn't really be upset about this because I never knew or got to meet her, I did feel bad for my grandfather. I knew he must have missed his wife and lifelong partner. I tried never to bring it up even though I was quite curious.

Just like before, my mom was gone a lot, and I was proud of her. She was saving lives and making a great income for our family. My grandpa became my father figure. He was my best friend.

We went fishing almost every day. He had his own lake. I was six years old when he taught me how to play baseball. I even joined a Little League team in my school district, and Grandpa came to all of my games. Where one would expect all the pictures of a son and his dad to be hanging on the wall of your house, the pictures of my grandpa and me were in their place. My mom was so thankful to my grandfather, and who could blame her? He was always there to help his beloved daughter and grandson.

Grandpa had an old shed beside his lake. It looked run down and untouched for years. However, I did see Grandpa go into the shed at times when I was playing inside. The one window that was beside the door had been covered up from the inside. I had always been curious about the shed.

I was eight years old when I had finally asked about what the shed was for while we were fishing. Grandpa said that he kept tools in there and that they were mostly for yard and house work. I asked if I could go in there because I had never seen the inside before. He said no because there were many sharp objects that could hurt me. I guessed that he was probably right. I had no reason not to trust my grandpa, so I took his word for it.

I curiously watched my grandpa enter in and out of the shed for years. The funny thing was that I never saw him come out of the shed with his so-called tools for yard and house work. The tools I saw him use for those kind of things were always taken out of the garage. I continued to grow more suspicious every day.

There was a point when my mom was home and I had asked her the same thing I asked Grandpa. She said she didn't know what the shed was exactly for. I told her what Grandpa told me and she said he was most likely telling the truth. I continued to share my suspicions, but Mom just denied them all. She said I was silly and my imagination was tricking me. She wanted me to stop harassing her and Grandpa about the old shed, but I knew there was something wrong. I knew I wasn't crazy.

When I was eleven years old, I went outside to practice baseball. I had a big tournament coming up. Grandpa was inside taking a nap. I proceeded to hit grounders by myself just for a little warmup.

When I smacked my first dinger of the day, it went the one place I hoped it wouldn't go. The ball smashed through the window of the shed and fell to the bottom of the tarp that had been covering the window. I checked my surroundings. Grandpa was nowhere in sight.

I walked closer to the door. It seemed the closer I walked, the slower I got. I began getting scared. I stopped completely in my tracks. I just couldn't defy my grandpa. I didn't want to disappoint him.

Another part of me was also afraid of what could be in the shed. Why would Grandpa be so concerned about me going inside? But I also knew that my grandfather was a gentleman and nothing could be too terrible. I allowed my courage to gather up once again.

I began walking, but I was so slow, it was like I was going nowhere. I finally reached the shed. I put my hand on the doorknob and froze. I was reluctant about this whole situation. As I slowly began turning the knob, something grabbed me from behind. I took a deep breath in, getting ready to scream, but a hand had come across my face to stop me.

"What did I say about the shed? You're in trouble now."

It was my grandpa. He proceeded to drag me back to the house. This was the first time I had ever seen true anger inside of my grandpa. I was crying. I wanted to scream so badly, but his large hand was wrapped around the bottom half of my face. Tears were streaming down, and I began to panic.

This was one of the only moments in my life where I saw my true father inside of someone else. A moment where I could flashback to all the abuse. It seemed like I could feel every cigarette butt burn holes into my body once again. I tried to thrash and jerk around, I tried to kick him, and I tried to punch him, but he was just too strong. I finally gave into his wicked grip and waited for my fate. He opened the door, carried me inside, sat me on the counter, and finally took his hand off my mouth. I begged and begged.

"Please Grandpa. I'm sorry. It will never happen again..." He slapped my face. I screamed. He stared me in the eyes as I cried and whispered:

"You can be sorry all you want. I have given you very few rules while you live under this roof. And one of them has been the same for years. What was that rule Mason?" I couldn't speak. I was terrified. He slapped me once again.

"WHAT WAS IT, MASON?" He shook me violently and I just kept crying. I finally managed to utter a few words of fear.

"You told me not to go in that shed...because I-I-I could get hurt in there..."

I acknowledged that I had done wrong. I tried everything to apologize, but he was not pleased. He continued to shake me and scream. He stopped and stared down at me. He was out of breath. It was like he was taking a break and getting ready to throw another tantrum. Before he could do anything else, I quietly cried out one word.


Grandpa immediately stopped. It was like I snapped him out of it. He gently wiped my tears from my cheeks. I didn't know what to think.

He looked into my eyes and said,

"I'm so sorry Mason. I'm just terrified of losing you like I lost your grandma. I love you. Please forgive me, buddy."

I was so shaken. He began to cry.

"Forgive me, Mason," he whispered as his voice shamefully trailed off.

"Ok, Grandpa..."

He kissed my head and put me on the ground. I ran to my room and laid in bed trying to recap what just happened. I kept crying and I just couldn't stop. Just then, my door opened. I jumped. It was my grandpa again. He had one more thing to say.

"Let's just not mention this to your mother."

I nodded as he closed the door and left. He knew what he was doing was wrong. He didn't want anyone to know.

I was thirteen years old. My mother had suffered a heart attack. Doctors believed it to be from all the stress she had of constantly working. My mother was in critical condition and Grandpa decided to pull the plug because it had been many months and she seemed to be getting worse every day.

Now, it was just me with Grandpa. I was honestly terrified now. I didn't have my mother to stop my grandpa from doing the unthinkable to me. My grandpa started trusting me to be home alone while he would run errands.

I always thought about finally going out to see the shed. I was beginning to form a deep down hatred for my grandpa. I didn't trust him anymore. I missed my mom so much. I needed her back, but you can't bring back the dead.

I always just thought of her standing beside me whenever I had to talk to Grandpa. I thought of her holding my hand. I thought of her rubbing my back as I cried in bed telling me that I was strong and I would get through this. I prayed every night that I would see her again.

I had full conversations with "her" at times. Just basically thinking about what she would really say if she could hear me. I swear one day when I was staring at that damned shed from my bedroom window, I heard her. I swear I did.

"Go to the shed," she said.

I was not frightened. It was my mom's sweet voice that I had missed forever.

"I will, Mom," I whispered.

I waited for Grandpa to leave again. I waited for days. Then, he finally left to buy us food. He gave me permission to watch T.V. and left.

I waited for his car to reach the end of the block. I literally jumped up and ran outside as fast as I could. I didn't want him to come back before I was finished. I ran to the shed and stopped, out of breath.

I looked to my side and felt my mom's presence. I told her I loved her and wanted to believe she was holding my hand once again. I reached the door for the second time of my ten years of living with Grandpa. I grabbed the knob, closed my eyes, and said a prayer.

This time, I made the door fly open. I covered my face expecting something evil to pop out at me. Nothing happened. I uncovered my face and got a huge whiff of the air. I quickly jumped back. It was the worst smell I have ever smelt in my life. I can still remember it.

"WHAT IS THAT?" I shouted in disgust.

I started coughing uncontrollably. I fell to the ground and puked. I was having a mental breakdown. I finally wiped the remaining bits of puke and tears off my face and stood up. I walked straight in the shed and tried so hard not to faint from the stench. I scanned the tiny room.

"Hello?" I whispered. "Is anyone in here?"

Nothing. There was a desk on the other side of the room. I walked towards it. On the desk where pictures. They were of Grandpa and another woman. "Grandma?" I asked as if I was going to get a response.

They looked so happy. The pictures showed them aging together. But then, they seemed to just stop. I shuffled around the items on the desk and found what looked like a newspaper. The headline was about a woman that had been missing for months with no trace found.

The woman who I assumed to be my grandma was pictured right below it. I unfolded the newspaper and another photo that was taken from a polaroid camera fell out. I picked it up and was shocked. My grandfather had taken the picture. He had turned the camera around to him and my grandma...but my grandma....wasn't...alive...

It had been taken in this shed. I could tell. And under the desk, I found the polaroid camera it was taken with. This picture seemed pretty recent.

I examined the photo and slowly turned to the corner on the other side of the room. A white, stained blanket was concealing something. I reluctantly inched toward the suspicious cover. I closed my eyes when I was there.

I grabbed the blanket. I pulled it off like a bandaid and threw it across the room. The smell was even worse now. I fell to the floor and puked once again. I knew what this smell was now. It was the smell of death. I opened my eyes, but before I could even scream at the sight of my dead grandmother, I felt my head crack and I let out one final gag before I was knocked unconscious.

I awoke on the ground with my head was killing me. It was raining. I rubbed my eyes and touched my head where it hurt. I was bleeding just a little. I tried to rise, but I couldn't. The pain was unbearable.

I turned my head and saw my grandpa. He was digging. I realized what was going on. My grandpa was going to put me in that hole.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I touched my face. He had covered my mouth with duct tape. I began to panic.

My grandpa noticed me waking up and casually walked over to me. He brought his shovel up behind his head and I knew what was coming next. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed to God to reunite me with my mother. Then....BANG!

I looked up and my grandpa dropped the shovel. There was an expression of shock on his face. He took one final breath and fell on top of me. I winced and squirmed. He was dead.

I heard the shouts of people. I tried to call for help, but the duct tape wouldn't budge. They ran to my side and moved my grandpa's body off of me. It was the police.

They slowly peeled off the tape, which hurt like hell, but I didn't care. It was nothing compared to the hell I had gone through during the first thirteen years of my life. I cried and grabbed the first officer I saw. He picked me up and held me.

For once, I felt true comfort since my mother had died. He gently carried me to an ambulance as I screamed and wailed. I wondered how they had found me, but I didn't care. I wanted to get the hell out of there.

I was at the hospital for three days. My head injury was minor. I was going to be just fine.

The officer that had carried me to the ambulance had come to visit me. He had so much to explain. About fourteen years ago, my grandma had gone missing, and there was no trace of her left. People eventually gave up looking for her after a year, because they assumed her to be dead.

The missing person's report was filed by my grandfather, himself, but he was the kidnapper. My grandfather held my grandma captive in that trashy shed for fourteen years. He kept her as his sex slave. He had logged everything in a journal found in the shed.

My grandma was threatening to leave him and he refused to have this happen. He imprisoned her for "her own good." He thought he was protecting her from the world, but she eventually died of exhaustion, starvation, and dehydration because of his neglect.

Sadly, she had survived for most of the time spent in that shed. She didn't die until just recently. It showed in her autopsy.

She had suffered. She didn't get to live her golden years and peace and beauty as one should. My heart was absolutely broken for her. I never knew her, but if my grandfather weren't the deranged lunatic that my father was, I would have. I missed out on getting to know a beautiful person and someone who could have heavily influenced my life. I am still in shock to this day.

After I left the hospital, I was taken to a foster family. I was terrified of them for quite a while until I finally realized they were perfect. My foster mother was just like my birth mother and it made my heart melt. I learned what a true dad is. I had foster brothers and foster sisters. I could finally live a normal life.

I went to school and studied hard. I got decent grades and went to college on a baseball scholarship. I even found love, marrying my high school sweetheart, Mary Jane just last year. I'm twenty-one now. Mary Jane and I are expecting our first child and I am prepared to make sure our new baby girl gets the beautiful life that she deserves.