When Casey was born, she had a thumb on her thumb. That’s right: her thumb had its very own tiny thumb growing out of it, complete with knuckle and nail. It could even move. And I don’t mean like it moved because her other fingers and thumbs moved; I mean it could move on its own.

She was a beautiful baby who grew into a beautiful young woman. She was slim and small with dark auburn hair and black and beautiful eyes. There were even times throughout her life that she was able to forget her thumb’s thumb, but then it would twitch at the dinner table while she was passing the peas to her brother, Henry, and her mother, Mary, would clap a hand over her heart and make some remark about her affliction. Or she’d help her grandmother, Elizabeth, prune her garden and she’d look over and see the thumb’s thumb holding onto a weed and she’d tell her she’d been marked by the devil.

You may be wondering why they never had the thumb’s thumb removed if there were so revolted by it. Well, unlike Mary and Elizabeth, her father, Oliver, embraced her ever-so-slight abnormality. He didn’t think it was anything to worry about or even that noticeable for that matter, and even went so far as to say that her thumb’s thumb made her special.

In the delivery room, the nurses swaddled Casey before handing her to Mary. It had been an agonizing and bloody delivery; Mary was so exhausted and disoriented that by the time she actually got to see her hands, two full days had gone by. Her mother had been smiling, arms stretched wide, waiting for her baby. She took Casey and cradled her against her chest and lightly rested her chin on her smooth forehead. She lifted her daughter’s chubby appendages one by one to her lips, kissing and saying, “I love your left toes. I love your right toes. I love your left fingers…” but when she got to the right hand and saw the thumb’s thumb, she recoiled so violently that Casey could’ve fallen to the ground, had her Oliver not been there to catch her.

They wanted to have the thumb’s thumb removed before it could infect her nature. Oliver didn’t have any idea what they were talking about. They doctors said that Casey had been born polydactyly—that there was slight error in her fetal development, that it was merely a cosmetic issue, and that it wouldn’t impede on her life in the least bit. Mary and Elizabeth knew it was much more than that, but couldn’t find the words to make her father understand without sounding completely and totally insane, so they all agreed to let Casey decide the fate of her thumb’s thumb on her thirteenth birthday. Though they knew it would be too late by then, they agreed to what Oliver suggested and considered to be an arbitrary age, signifying nothing more than coming of age, if they were Jewish, which they were not.

Casey was a reserved child. She was quiet and even shy at times. She was respectful and caring, but she was also enigmatic and alluring. Even as a little girl, people were drawn to her. No one could figure out just why they wanted to be around her. She was pretty, but not show-stoppingly gorgeous. She was smart, but not a genius. She was funny, but she wasn’t going to sell out Carnegie Hall. Casey was just a regular kid. She was actually kind of boring at times. But still, people were drawn to her. And it wasn’t just members of the opposite sex. Women and girls also yearned to be by her side.

She was popular and she wasn’t popular. Everyone liked her and she wasn’t exclusive in her affections, making her friendship both coveted and achievable. Even teachers found themselves drawn to her, needing her approval to continue their lessons.

There were slight changes to her nature as the years went by. She became brilliant—skilled in both academia and the arts. Her father was proud of her. He said she studied hard and excelled where she had previously been lacking when her mother found this newfound brilliance dubious. Casey grew to be charming and witty in an elegant way that was so unlike the behavior of her peers. Her father attributed these qualities to a good upbringing by a loving family whose goal was to instill confidence in the younger generations when her grandmother tried to talk about just how profoundly different her character had become. Finally, Casey became opinionated and passionate about religion, politics, and even dancing. When Mary and Elizabeth questioned these new convictions, her father merely said that Casey was growing into her own woman, and she was a strong and capable one at that.

They were frustrated at his gross misunderstanding of their situation, but what could they do? He didn’t know the half of it, and they were certain he wouldn’t believe them if they tried to explain.

Then Casey sprouted a wen under her chin. It wasn’t so big at first, but when she woke up one morning, it was so large and obtrusive that she had to wear a turtleneck to school. Her mother took her  to the dermatologist to have it looked at and subsequently removed, but when the doctor said it was just cosmetic—that word again—like the thumb’s thumb, Casey chose to forego removal and said she’d stick to scarves and turtlenecks.

Then Casey grew a snaggletooth overnight. It was two weeks before her thirteenth birthday and there was a new tooth protruding through her upper lip. Her grandmother took her to the dentist to get it pulled, but Casey said she liked how it made her look when she smiled, like Patricia Arquette, so it stayed intact.

Her beauty wasn’t cheapened by these deformities; rather, it was enhanced. With her olive skin, dark eyes, and long hair, she needed these little affects to break up her visual perfection.

Then she turned thirteen. She blew out the candles on her birthday cake and passed out the pieces with her right hand—her thumb’s thumbnail painted a glittery and festive pink like the rest of her nails, pointing at the faces of her mother and grandmother. The family sat eating cake and exchanging pleasantries until finally Mary told her it was time to rid herself of that ridiculous thumb’s thumb, atrocious wen, and disgusting snaggletooth. The thumb’s thumb clenched the thumb so tightly that its small knuckle turned white, horrifying the matriarchs. Casey said firmly and absolutely that she would continue living with her so-called afflictions because they were part of her very being. That’s what they were afraid of.

After cake and presents, Casey said she was going to her room to get changed. Henry considered family time to be over and retired to the couch with his iPhone to text his friends endlessly for the rest of the night. Elizabeth sat down in her rocking chair and resumed knitting her Christmas afghan. Her parents made popcorn and settled down on the couch opposite her brother to watch “The Bucket List,” which was inexplicably Casey’s favorite movie.

She came down the stairs with an air of regality. She had braided her hair into a crown around her head and hanging down like a rope at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a long white flannel nightgown with a neckline that ended just under her chin in a soft flutter of lace. She was walking just a bit more gracefully than usual, holding her head higher than usual, and carrying a long, thick bowie knife.

She stood in front of the television with Morgan Freeman’s smiling face peeking out over her shoulder.

“Treason,” she said in a loud, clear voice.

Everyone looked at her, the men were confused, the women were horrified.

“What, Honey?” asked Oliver as Mary grasped his arm in terror and understanding.

“Treason,” she said in the same measured tone.

“Baby, what are you talking about? Why are you holding my hunting knife?” he asked and Henry dropped his phone on the hard wood floor, shattering the screen.

She pointed the tip at her mother and then at her grandmother and said, “Ask them.”

It was time to explain. Elizabeth took the lead.

 “We are descendants of Thomas Cromwell, the man who orchestrated the demise of Anne Boleyn. There had been tales during her lifetime that she was a witch, but no one knew for certain with the religious fervor of the time. The night before her execution, Cromwell visited her in her cell, alone, no doubt to gloat about his triumphs and her inevitable death, and that’s when she hexed him. “

Casey stood quietly sneering as Mary continued:

“Anne smiled and lifted her head so he could only see the whites of her eyes and told him that she would have her revenge. She told him that a child would be born—a girl—with her affliction, thumb on thumb, and that will be a small piece of Anne herself. Through the thumb’s thumb, she would condition the girl throughout her childhood, slowly taking root, and eventually taking over her very existence. The child would assume all of Anne’s characteristics, and in turn, Anne would assume her body. And she would kill the last of the Cromwells.”

“This is insane,” said Oliver.

“Listen,” said Casey.

Elizabeth went on, “For generations, girls were born with the thumb’s thumb, but for generations, vanity took hold and the devil’s mark was always removed. Until Casey was born. We underestimated you, Oliver. We all thought your own vanity would take hold and you wouldn’t let the devil in, but that’s not so.”

“You wanted Casey to be able to make her own decisions, never realizing that she would soon become Anne,” said Mary.

“I don’t…understand. Casey, honey? Are you okay?” asked Oliver.

“Daddy, Casey isn’t here right now. It’s me, Anne. Casey will be back very soon. But first I have to do something.”

He and Henry were in shock. She walked over to her grandmother and slit her throat. Then she walked over to her mother and stabbed her in the heart.

She pushed her mother’s body off of the couch and sat in her spot while her blood pooled on the floor under her feet.

She said, “Well, there goes the last item on my bucket list” and played the movie.