In the heart of Pendle, just a stone’s throw from the venerable Church of Saint Lucien, stood the Children of Lux orphanage—an aging sentinel of history. This four-story Victorian mansion, a grand relic from nearly a century past, was originally crafted by the ambitious Sir Geoffrey Davis. Hidden within the embrace of the woods to the east of Pendle, it was conceived as a serene escape for weary souls seeking refuge from the clatter of city life.
Alas, the mansion’s dreams of tranquility were short-lived. After a mere decade of operation, it succumbed to the crushing weight of financial mismanagement, plunging the Davis household into a chasm of debt. The once-cherished retreat was seized as collateral, a bitter reminder of dreams dashed against the rocks of reality. Over the next forty years, the mansion passed through a series of owners, each hoping to restore it to its former glory, but the ravages of time proved relentless.
Then came the fateful day when the Church of Lux claimed the property in a spirited auction, envisioning a new purpose for the decaying structure. By that time, the mansion was a shadow of its former self, its grandeur eclipsed by peeling paint and crumbling walls, requiring a Herculean effort to breathe life back into its haunted halls. One could almost hear Sir Geoffrey’s ghostly gasp at the sight of his beloved resort in such disarray, had he not departed this world in the comforting embrace of his own bed—surrounded by the very loved ones who cursed him in hushed tones for squandering their fortunes.
Once a majestic refuge with twenty-five elegantly adorned bedrooms, five inviting living rooms, and three grand dining rooms, the mansion had now turned into a bittersweet memory. Time had worn its beauty thin, leaving behind just ten weary bedrooms, a single forsaken living room, and one dingy dining room still standing. The rest had succumbed to decay, too damaged to be safely occupied. In a bid to preserve what remained, the church opted for minor repairs in the east wing, sealing off the rest of the building to protect its vulnerable residents.
The surviving sections, though diminished, still held enough space to shelter around fifty children, yet rarely did more than twenty call this place home at any given time. Tonight, around ten children were nestled within its walls, their laughter and chatter filling the air, the warm light spilling from the dining room illuminating their evening supper. Yet one child was absent from the gathering.
If you cast your gaze towards the upper reaches of the east wing, a faint glow flickered from the furthest room—a soft, solitary beacon against the encroaching darkness. There, under a thin, threadbare blanket, a young boy wept silently, his heartache echoing in the stillness of the old mansion. At that moment, the world outside felt distant, and his cries merged with the shadows, a poignant reminder of the sorrow that lingered beneath the surface of this once-vibrant home.
Nyla stopped at the closed door and listened. She could hear a small sobbing coming from inside. The sobbing stopped for a moment when she opened the door and then continued. The room was covered in a blanket of darkness. From the sliver of light coming from the hallway, she could see two single beds. The one on the left was neatly made, waiting for its owner, while the one on the right was already in use. The occupant was no one except Billy who was sent to bed without supper. She walked to the bed, placed the tray she was holding on the nightstand and turned on the lamp. The room was filled with warm yellow light pushing the darkness to the corners of the room and displaying an old tan wallpaper with tiny cowboy hats on it. She walked back to the door and closed it then returned to Billy’s bedside. She gently patted the bundle hiding under the blanket.
“Billy, are you still crying?” she asked softly, her voice a gentle whisper in the stillness.
“G... Go aw...way!” he sobbed, his words punctuated by stutters.
“Are you sure you want me to go? I sneaked out some chocolate pudding and was hoping to share it with someone special… Well, I suppose I could just keep it all to myself…” She teased, trying to coax him with the promise of his favorite dessert.
At the mention of pudding, the sound of his weeping ceased, and a small face timidly peeked out from beneath the blanket.
“W... with whipped c… cream?” he asked, a flicker of hope sparking in his brown eyes.
“Lots of it,” she assured him with a warm smile.
Encouraged by her words, Billy pushed the blanket aside and sat up, revealing his tousled golden blond hair and the remnants of tears that stained his cheeks. His nose was red from all the crying, and he looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and yearning.
She pulled a tissue from her pocket, settling down on the edge of the bed to gently wipe away the tears and snot from his face. With tender care, she placed a tray on his lap, adorned with a couple of sandwiches and a generous bowl of chocolate pudding crowned with a fluffy layer of whipped cream.
Billy picked up a sandwich, his small hands trembling with eagerness, and devoured it in a few large bites, the comforting taste momentarily lifting the heaviness from his heart.
As Billy reached for his second sandwich, Nyla sensed it was the right moment to gently probe.
“What happened out there, Billy?” she asked, her voice soft and inviting. She wanted to reassure him that he wasn’t being accused; she was simply concerned.
He stared down at his sandwich, silence hanging heavily in the air, uncertainty clouding his brown eyes. It was as if he were weighing the trustworthiness of her intentions. Nyla waited patiently, her heart aching for the little boy who had been through so much. Less than an hour ago, after returning from the exhausting task of shoveling snow—something she loathed, but felt responsible for—she had overheard Maryam, the orphanage director scolding him for some unknown misdeed.
While preparing supper, Maryam had filled her in on the incident and asked Nyla to check on him. She had always been particularly sweet on Billy, perhaps because he reminded her so much of her own son, Matthew. Maryam couldn’t bear the thought of the child going to bed without supper, especially after whatever trouble he had encountered.
“I... I was playing with T… Tommy… and… I th...throw the ball at him…” Billy finally began to share, his voice a timid whisper.
Nyla noticed a slight improvement in his stutter compared to earlier; he was becoming more comfortable with her. He had come to the orphanage about a year ago, a small boy who had lost his entire family to a demon attack. In the beginning, no one could decipher his words, his pain manifesting as an almost incomprehensible jumble. Now, he managed to speak in full sentences, stuttering only once or twice, unless he was nervous—a testament to the small progress he had made in finding his voice amid the darkness that had surrounded him.
He paused, caught in a swirl of uncertainty about whether to continue.
“Then what happened?” Nyla gently urged, hoping to coax him further.
“H... He couldn’t c...catch the ball, and it hit the p...plates over the fireplace and b... broke them! But it w...wasn’t my f...fault!” Billy blurted out, his words tumbling over one another in a rush. “It was T... Tommy’s fault for not c...catching the ball! And then M... Mrs. Gordon got v...very angry and started y... yelling at me—for just some s... stupid ugly p... plates...”
As he spoke, his voice quickened, a desperate urgency underscoring his fear of interruption. Fresh tears welled in his eyes, shimmering like fragile droplets, and he turned his gaze back to the sandwich, nibbling at it in tiny bites, as if trying to consume not just the food but also the hurt that had bubbled to the surface.
Nyla watched him closely, her heart heavy with empathy. She could see the weight of his emotions pressing down on him, the unfairness of it all evident in his trembling frame. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on his back, offering silent support as he wrestled with the storm of feelings swirling within him.
When children play indoors, breakages are a foregone conclusion. Nyla and Maryam both understood this truth well; as long as no one was hurt, she wouldn’t get mad or punish the kids. And Billy was right—those plates were undoubtedly the ugliest things in the world. Yet, they were incredibly important to Maryam, probably her most cherished possession.
Nyla paused for a moment, contemplating whether to share the story behind the plates with him. In the end, she decided to reveal the truth. Maryam likely wouldn’t mind; perhaps it would help Billy understand the weight of his actions.
“Do you know what those plates really are, Billy?” she asked, her tone calm yet inviting.
“S… Some old ugly p… plates…” he replied hesitantly, picking up on the subtle shift in her voice
“True, but they are also gifts from Mrs. Gordon’s son. He made them for her when he was around your age,” she explained, a sad smile gracing her lips as she brushed a few strands of hair away from his brow.
Billy’s brow furrowed, confusion mingling with bitterness. “So, w… what?! H… He can make her s… some more!”
Nyla sighed, feeling the heaviness of the moment settle around them. “The thing is, Billy, her son passed away about four years ago... he died fighting a demon.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, the weight of the words hanging in the air. Talking about Matt was difficult; memories of his passing and the funeral with its empty casket still made her heart ache. He and Maryam had been like family to her, and losing him was one of the hardest trials she had ever faced—a pain she was all too familiar with, having endured a challenging life filled with loss.
Nyla took a moment to gather herself, letting the silence envelop them like a warm embrace. She wanted Billy to understand that while mistakes could be mended, some things, like love and memory, were irreplaceable.
You see Nyla was herself an orphan. She had been left on the doorsteps of this very orphanage, once affectionately called the “House of Joy.” About ten years ago, however, Father Francis deemed the name inappropriate and changed it to “Children of Lux,” believing that orphans needed religion more than joy.
On a frigid winter night, she had been abandoned with nothing but a thin blanket wrapped around her tiny body. Whoever left her hadn’t even bothered to ring the bell—most likely too afraid of being discovered in the dark woods surrounding the house. So, she had lain there, alone, until morning light.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
It was Matt who discovered her. He had ventured outside to check on the snowman he had built and found her, her small form nearly frozen, a half-blue hue coloring her delicate skin. Without a moment’s hesitation, he scooped her up and rushed inside to Maryam, who quickly took action. She hurried the tiny baby to the hospital, where everyone feared the worst, certain that Nyla wouldn’t survive the night.
But by some miracle, she did.
From that day on, Matt became her guardian angel, always by her side, protecting her and nurturing her through the trials of their shared childhood. In a world filled with uncertainty, he was her steadfast light, a bond forged in the fires of adversity that would forever shape her understanding of family and love.
Nyla searched Billy's eyes for a flicker of understanding. After all, he was one of the few who had faced a demon and experienced the chaos that followed its wake.
“I’ll ap...pologize to Mrs. Gordon t...tomorrow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that, love,” she replied, a warmth spreading in her chest. Billy had a reputation for being stubborn and a bit spoiled, so witnessing his newfound maturity filled her with pride.
Feeling a bit lighter, Billy pulled the bowl of chocolate pudding closer and began to devour it in generous spoonfuls. Nyla wiped his mouth with a napkin between bites as they chatted about the upcoming charity event. They were planning to build a massive snowman in the front yard to raise funds for their summer trip to the lake.
“Phew, that hit the sp...spot!” he exclaimed lazily, pushing the tray away and letting out a loud burp.
“Billy!” Nyla scolded gently, suppressing a smile.
“Sorry! But it’s better to let it out from the top than the bottom!” He grinned back at her, his mischief shining through.
“Seriously, you boys! Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” she reminded him, taking the tray back to the kitchen, her heart light. Having many boys in the home, she had grown accustomed to their antics.
With a groan, Billy trudged toward the bathroom. By the time Nyla returned, he was already finished and ready for bed. She helped him tuck in, raising her hand to turn off the light, casting a soft glow over the room as she watched him settle down, a satisfied smile lingering on his face.
“Can you tell me the hero’s story again?” Billy asked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Nyla’s hand froze in mid-air, then dropped slowly, hesitation washing over her. The tale he requested wasn’t one she relished recounting. It was a story of how demons once ravaged their world and of a legendary hero and his twelve companions who stood against them. This narrative contradicted everything the church had taught these children. Moreover, she wasn’t even supposed to know it; the teller had specifically asked her to keep it a secret.
Over the years, many children had come to stay at the orphanage. Some had lost their parents, while others couldn’t remain with theirs for various reasons. For most, their stay was temporary, and unlike Nyla, whose past was forever intertwined with the orphanage, these children would eventually be picked up by parents or relatives after a few months.
One boy in particular stood out in Nyla’s memory: Alvin. They were in the same grade, and Maryam had asked her to keep an eye on him, especially during school hours. To be honest, Nyla hadn’t liked school at that time. Initially, she was thrilled at the thought of attending the same school as Matt. However, her excitement turned to disappointment when she discovered that he was in a different grade. During recess, she would race to find him, only to see him surrounded by a throng of older children, his outgoing nature drawing them in.
Matt was kind and considerate, always trying to include her in his circle of friends, but she was too young and shy to fit in. As the weeks passed, Nyla realized she couldn’t rely on Matt at school and settled into a quiet acceptance of having him all to herself at home, cherishing those moments when it was just the two of them.
But Alvin was more like her—quiet and contemplative, often finding solace in the corners of the classroom while other kids played. Their friendship blossomed as they bonded over their shared experiences. One day, in a hushed voice, he recounted a secret story of legendary heroes and the demons they fought, insisting she never tell anyone. Nyla felt a thrill at being entrusted with such a secret, unaware that Alvin’s intention was to protect her from potential danger.
In a moment of youthful exuberance, Nyla couldn’t resist sharing the tale with Father Francis, the man who had always been a source of kindness, showering her with sweets and compliments. But his reaction was swift and brutal. Fury clouded his eyes, and he locked her in the basement, a dark space that felt like a prison. “The sadistic son of a bitch,” she thought bitterly, recalling the sharp sting of the switch he wielded on her calves, a punishment meant to break her spirit.
Days stretched into an eternity as she sat in the dimness, her throat dry and her heart heavy. The fear of the dark lingered, and the cold concrete felt like a reminder of her betrayal. When Father Francis finally released her, she emerged frail and shaken, carrying with her the weight of that betrayal and a deep-seated mistrust. Even now, the mere thought of basements sent a shiver through her, as the memories of fear and loneliness haunted her like a specter.
Later, Nyla discovered that Maryam had pleaded with Father Francis, desperation spilling from her voice, even threatening to reveal his cruelty to the higher authorities of the church. The Church of Lux, revered as the bastion of faith on the continent, instilled a chilling doctrine: demons were mere shadows of humanity's sins, unleashed by Lux, the god of light, to exact divine retribution. Followers were taught to embrace this suffering, viewing it as a sacred test of their piety. Any whisper of defiance, any tale that dared to challenge this dogma, was met with swift and merciless retribution—even a child's innocent story, woven from imagination and fear.
In Pendle, a town cloaked in the rigid embrace of piety, such transgressions were particularly dangerous. A century earlier, after the grand cathedral rose like a sentinel in the heart of the town, demon attacks had inexplicably vanished. The townspeople heralded this as a divine miracle, their faith solidifying into an unyielding wall against any dissent. Over the years, their devotion grew fervent; they even exiled the local branch of the Anti-Demon Association (ADA) to the shadowy woods, banishing them from the town’s embrace as if they were the very demons they sought to combat.
But in Pendle, the elderly formed the majority and children were cherished like fragile glass. The townsfolk could not fathom the idea of an innocent child suffering due to a mere story. Father Francis, eager to secure his position and win the hearts of the community, ultimately chose to release Nyla. His terms were laden with threat and consequence: she must erase the tale from her mind, bury it deep within her heart, and never let it slip from her lips again.
But Nyla understood the weight of that promise, the gravity of the secret now entwined with her soul. Each time she thought of the hero and his battle against the demons, she felt the truth coil around her heart like a viper, ready to strike if ever revealed. It was a burden she bore in silence, a testament to a world that shunned the light of truth, where shadows lingered just beyond the periphery, whispering secrets of bravery and resistance that could never find their voice.
After the incident with Father Francis, Nyla felt a chasm grow between them that could never be bridged. It wasn’t just her; the shift was palpable. Matt, once an enthusiastic parishioner, withdrew completely from the church, while Maryam's attendance dwindled to a mere formality. Nyla often wondered if Matt had joined the ADA after graduation, driven by a need to counter the oppressive silence of their past. Guilt wrapped around her heart like a vine, tightening with every thought of how her revelation had shattered their innocence.
Then came Billy, a boy lost in a storm of grief. Orphaned and adrift, he wept incessantly, his sorrow spilling into the lives of the other children. He couldn’t find solace in play or comfort in sleep, waking each night with screams that echoed through the orphanage. Nyla watched helplessly as the darkness consumed him, the joyful spark she knew was buried beneath layers of pain. With each tear he shed, Nyla felt the weight of her own unspoken story press against her.
In a moment of desperation, she shared the tale of the hero who battled demons, weaving a narrative of courage and hope. She had kept it locked away for so long, but the sight of Billy's suffering shattered her resolve.
And to her surprise, the boy’s tears dried up. The nightmares receded like shadows at dawn, and the laughter that emerged from him was a melody she thought she’d never hear again.
He blossomed, becoming a charming, bright-eyed boy who filled the orphanage with his laughter. Occasionally, he’d ask her to retell the story, a ritual she had initially embraced with trepidation but later welcomed with a warmth that filled her heart. Yet, as the months rolled by, those requests dwindled, and she believed that he had finally moved on from his sorrow, finding peace in the life he was beginning to rebuild.
But tonight was different. Billy’s eyes sparkled with an eager light as he looked up at her, the anticipation evident in his voice as he asked,
A battle raged within Nyla. The story was more than just a tale; it was a fragile thread connecting her to a painful past. Could she risk it again? But looking into Billy’s trusting gaze, she felt the weight of her fears lift slightly. Maybe sharing the story once more wouldn’t just be a gift for him—it could be a way to heal, to reclaim a piece of herself she thought lost forever.
“All right, but you remember the rules, don’t you?” she asked, her fingers playfully ruffling his hair.
“Don’t t… tell anyone!” he exclaimed, his smile brightening the dim room.
“And?” she pressed, a teasing glint in her eye as she mirrored his grin.
“Sp… pecially not to F… Father F… Francis!” he replied eagerly, clearly proud of his grasp on the secret they were sharing.
“Good boy!” she said, her heart swelling with warmth as she gently patted his head, feeling a sense of camaraderie blossoming between them.
Then she settled back onto the bed, smoothing out his bedsheets as she gathered her thoughts. With a soft, soothing voice, she began to weave the tale of a magical world where demons originated—a realm shrouded in eternal night and filled with darkness. She described how the demons, feeling envious of the warm, beautiful world of humans, launched an attack, driven by their desire to seize it for themselves. Their might and strength made them formidable opponents, and for a time, it seemed they might succeed. But then came the oracle’s prophecy, proclaiming that in times of dire need, a hero would rise to unite humanity against the encroaching darkness. She told him the remarkable story of a small, seemingly useless boy who became that celebrated hero, leading the charge against the demons in an epic war. As she narrated the jubilant celebration that followed their victory, she noticed Billy's eyelids growing heavy, surrendering to the pull of sleep. With a tender smile, she tucked him in snugly under the blanket, switched off the light, and quietly slipped out the door, closing it gently behind her.
As she started to turn around, she suddenly felt a strange, ominous energy from the room. She instantly reached out to open the door and check on Billy but stopped instinctively. “Don’t open the door” a scared voice screamed in her head. But she was worried about Billy. As she struggled between logic and instinct, the ominous feeling grew stronger. Now she could feel it on the tip of her tongue and in the air around her. Even the hallway seemed darker than before. The cold sweat slid on her back and the hair on the back of her neck straightened while her hand was frozen on the doorknob.
Suddenly, she felt a tug at the back of her sweater, and it was as if a spell had been broken—the ominous feeling dissipated in an instant. Nyla swallowed hard, her mouth dry, and exhaled the air she had unknowingly been holding. She turned around to find Luke, the newest addition to the orphanage.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice cold and detached, his green eyes piercing beneath his jet-black hair. He appeared to be ten, but the way he carried himself, with an air of maturity, made him seem much older. Luke had arrived at the orphanage two months ago, alone and secretive, offering only his name and age, steadfastly refusing to divulge anything about his past. Maryam was still grappling with how to approach him. Nyla swallowed again, attempting a smile that felt forced.
“Yes, Luke. I just had a dizzy spell,” she replied, her voice quivering slightly. While any other child might have accepted her explanation, she sensed that Luke was not easily convinced. His gaze lingered on her as if he could see through the facade she had put up.
She released the doorknob, discreetly rubbing her sweating palms against her pocket, careful not to let Luke see her discomfort. As they stood there, more children began to filter into the hallway, laughing and chattering, accompanied by three young nuns trailing behind them. The nuns merely nodded at her and Luke, leaving him in her care without a second thought.
“Are you done with supper?” she asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a lighter direction, but Luke’s gaze remained fixed on her. It was as if he were on the verge of asking her something profound, but then he hesitated, nodding slowly instead.
“So, you must be tired. Here you go, off to bed,” she said, opening the door and giving him a gentle push inside. As she prepared to close the door, guilt washed over her, and she peeked at Billy’s bed. Relief flooded her as she saw him sleeping soundly, his peaceful expression resembling that of an angel. Perhaps the uneasy feeling she’d sensed earlier had just been a trick of her imagination, a product of fatigue.
“Good night, Luke,” she said, closing the door gently behind her. As she walked away, the memory of those piercing green eyes lingered in her mind, entwined with the unsettling feeling that still trailed her, refusing to fade.
