The Right Sort: The First Faerie Orphan Tale

The first in a series of tales entitled, "Home for the Little Wonderers." Little Ranelle undertakes a dark quest to discover her identity within the enchanted Orphanage of St. John's. A faerie story.

                Once, on a rainy night, a tall man and a little girl dressed in the biggest water-boots and holding the pinkest of flowers crossed the orphanage grounds. The girl’s name was Ranelle, and in a most unfortunate chain of events had lost her mother in a tragic motor accident when taking Ranelle to school. The little girl had awoken later than usual on that day, and had never forgiven herself for it. Her father had left them when she was born, leaving no clue as to his whereabouts. That meant of course the girl was now an orphan.

Ranelle trudged through the rain miserably. She was very small, and she did not smile often, yet upon her sight of the scraggily Mr. Stephens opening the door rather abruptly in his colorful night-gown, she made false attempts to sneeze into her flowerpot to keep herself from giggling.

                “Ah yes! Mr. Hubert is here again. And Ranelle is it?” Mr. Stephens said as he tamed his beard. “You mustn’t stay outside any longer! You are already catching cold!”

                “Oh sir you mustn’t say that,” the man named Hubert said. “It’s as much a trial to convince her to go outside as it is, especially when it is raining. She prefers indoors and exploring her nooks and cubbies.”

                “But I’m sure she hasn’t been any trouble,” Mr. Stephens said.

                “Oh not at all, sir. I brought her from the station as quick as I could. She’s a sweet girl and will do whatever task you give her. Her immediate needs have been well met up to this point but—”

                “Well she needs to get dry is what she needs!” Mr. Stephens cried. He closed the door behind the pair and shuffled off to lead them on a late-night tour. "I'm Mr. Stevens, the head director" he said as the two followed behind, "And this, is St. John's Orphanage." He sweeped his hand out as if showing off a new piece of artwork.

                The tour went on longer than expected. Mr. Stephens lost his way only twice throughout the cavernous house, but Ranelle did not mind. She thought the orphanage to be a treasure of mysterious creaks and knocks after hours. The dark corners and cold shadows motioned her to explore the place, but she forced herself to stay in the welcoming circle of the warm lamplight. Her large boots tramped along the dusty, wooden planks of the floor and caught occasionally on a loose beam. As they passed a train of windows soft, purple curtains brushed against her cheek as if introducing themselves to her one by one. She liked hearing the sound of Mr. Stephens mellow voice calming the shaking walls of the orphanage as the thunder began to clap outside. She hated thunder, and she hated rain; she could not stand anyone who loved the outdoors.

                Lost in thought, she bumped into Mr. Stephens who had just stopped to kneel in front of her. His eyes twinkled in the light of the flashes of lightning. “Now listen little Miss,” his voice came slow, “This is your home now. We will feed you, clothe you, dress you, but make no mistake, our orphanage has a way of choosing only the right sort of child.” His face came close, and his beard flowed in different directions. “Do you think you are the right sort?” he asked curiously. The little girl sneezed into her flowerpot once more.  

                After gathering the rest of her belongings Ranelle was quickly shown to her new room on the second floor, east wing. Her door was the closest to the staircase and rattled in its place at the sound of the approaching thunder. Upon Ranelle stating her dislike of rattling doors, Mr. Stephens assured her that it was merely anxious to be opened, for no one had as yet occupied the room. Ranelle liked the way his eyes twinkled when he said this, and it calmed her enough to step through.

                Aside from a dripping leak in the corner and another set of purple curtains in the window, the room seemed rather drab. A deep bed lounged in just the right spot for a nice view out of the window and a dusty chest of drawers stood indifferently in the corner. Ranelle found the room comforting in a humble sort of way. The sweetened smell of wood gave her a strange but pleasant sense, like suddenly being included in a secret that no one else could know about.

“Do you need anything before I fill out the papers, Ranelle?” Mr. Hubert poked his head into the room. The little girl placed herself and the flower upon the bed and bounced her water boots against the side of the wood; it was her sign to her parents that all she wanted was to be alone. Mr. Stephens gave her a reassuring smile and led his companion down the long staircase to the office.

Once her belongings had been settled Ranelle huddled in one of the corners and playfully twirled the leaves of her pink flower. She could never sleep during the rain. The droplets on the window all reminded her of tears, and she tugged the purple curtains over the glass to cover her sadness.

Mr. Stevens had been kind enough to leave a small lamp flickering on the floor near the bedside, and as much as Ranelle was fond of her dark corners, she was grateful for it. It seemed to her to give a life to the room, and she pushed her pink flower beside the flame as though she were introducing two friends.  She liked her little flower; she would never allow anyone to touch it. Her mother had given it to her from their garden just days before the accident. “Take good care of it, Ranelle!” her mother had said, “It’s our special flower! And don’t forget to water it! You know you always forget to water our garden. But always remember…” She had said something more. What was it?

 

Remember…remember…

 

She gave it up. “I don’t remember how to take care of anything,” Ranelle hugged her knees and whimpered, “No one’s here to take care of me.” She laid her head onto the dusty boards and stared into the dancing flame until her eyes became heavy. The light drew her close, and she huddled near the lamp feeling pleasantly warm, as though she were in the arms of her mother once again. Strange as the feeling was, it seemed to her that the room itself was holding her tightly, protecting her.

The sound of rain seemed to grow nearer, and a refreshing sense like a mother’s touch caressed her cheek, yet the touch felt cold and sent a chill all the way down to her small, water-booted feet. She opened her eyes and looked above her to see water dripping nearby. “Dreadful leak!” she breathed and looked to move from her pitiful spot. She wiped her face but found it to be curiously dry. The loudest clap of thunder filled the room for a deafening moment, and she started at the sudden force of the rain. As Ranelle hesitantly poked her head through the curtains she was shocked to find the window wide open.

Her eyes trembled in fright and the wonderful sense she felt from her first entering the room began to fade. She thought of creeping shadows and haunted rooms, of dark fairytale creatures that devoured happy endings. The feeling was not altogether frightening to her. She wondered at the death of her mother and why her father left them. After all, was it not she who stole the happy endings from them? Father abandoned mother because of her. Mother would not have traveled if not for her. She wiped away a tear and suddenly felt a new sense in her dark room, filled with her thoughts of fairytale monsters. Perhaps she was home after all.

She dried the thoughts away as another thunderclap rattled the room. Rainwater pattered and soaked Ranelle’s shirt before she was finally able to bring the glass down with difficulty. The sound of the rain immediately died, and she turned back to her dark corner to think about the window. You can imagine her surprise when she found the corner to be already occupied by the tallest woman she had ever seen. The wonderful sense she felt from her first entering the room vanished completely as the eyes of her dead mother stared back at her. 

The woman draped herself in the darkness of the corner, and her skin flushed with a hue of blue. “Good evening, Ranelle,” the pale woman tilted her head the way her mother always did. “You must forgive me. It was never my intention to startle a little darling like yourself. I only came to see that you are comfortable here. This room can sometimes have a life of its own they say.”

Ranelle shook her head, flinging out water drops as she struggled to find her voice. She knew this was not her mother. How could it be? She was too tall, too blue, too frightening.

“Oh dear, why are you trembling?” the woman floated from her corner and circled around the lamplight. Ranelle tapped her water-boots against the floor.

 “I’m….you remind me…of my mother,” she began. She felt tears welling in her eyes but shook them away. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come in. And I didn’t mean to let all the water inside. I was just trying to push the window down.” She felt a sudden desire to hold her flower and sit in the light. “Are you the mistress?” she asked. Mr. Stevens had said nothing about a mistress.

 “You may call me that if you like,” her strong voice filled the room, “I visit the children here quite often, but not very many notice me. In fact you have been the first in a very long time. And that is a wonderful thing.”

Ranelle did not know how the woman could go unnoticed by any seeing child. Her nobility was very apparent, and there was no need to sneeze into a flowerpot to hide a laugh. Ranelle hugged her pinkest of flowers.

“That’s a pretty thing,” the lady said.

“It was a gift from my mother,” Ranelle answered. She liked her flower very much.

“You miss her, my dear?”

Ranelle nodded.

“Do you like magic?”

Ranelle sniffed. That was a sudden question. “What kind of magic?” she asked. The lady laughed.

“Magic that will make you see what you really are,” the pale woman whispered. “Magic that can give you a home where you belong. Not some run-down orphanage! No, you are too special for that. You see, my magic will turn this place into a wonderful kingdom! There, you will be a princess of the night! A wonder to behold! At my home there is no more rain and no more tears. There, you will have a mother, and brothers, and sisters.”

Ranelle thought that very wonderful. “What will I be if I stay here?” she asked.

“At this home, all you will be is an orphan. Motherless and unwanted.”

Ranelle did not like that at all and held back new tears. “But how can there be any home for someone like me?” she asked.

The dark woman entered the light and knelt down next to Ranelle, who shifted uncomfortably. “You are a very special child, Ranelle! The orphanage is an enchanted place, and you have been chosen to share in it. Unfortunately, it is not always a friendly place.”

“But why me?” Ranelle asked incredulously.

“Who can say?” the lady answered. She was silent for a moment and stared long at the girl. “But I have chosen you to share with my magic. I had a special daughter once, and you remind me so much of her! Your pretty hair, your eyes…”

“I’m not a good daughter,” Ranelle mumbled.

“You blame yourself for your mother’s death,” the woman stated flatly. It was not a question. Ranelle began to sob. The pale woman placed a shrouded arm over the weeping girl and cradled her head, humming a soft lullaby.

“Mother used to hum that way to me every night,” Ranelle murmured. She could not remember the last time someone held her close. Her mother had, long ago, but now all she saw in her memories were accusing eyes. She desperately wished for a mother, any mother. She needed to feel her touch, needed to know that she could feel anything. She embraced the lady with a small cry until every drop of loneliness and sorrow emptied from her eyes. 

 The dark woman’s arms surrounded her small body like immovable, black gates, and Ranelle lost herself in the shadows. Guilt did not follow her; loneliness could not find her. The accusing memories of her mother began to fade, and all she felt was a chilling sensation of affection within the dark folds of the dress. The blistering glow of the lamp stung her eyes, and she turned her face away to cool her skin with the woman’s icy touch. She shivered, but she did not draw away. It was almost soothing.  

The light was becoming unbearable. She felt exposed, bare. Guilt and Loneliness were bound to find her again soon.

“I…I don’t like the light anymore,” she stammered. “It makes me feel awful!”

“You did not know that it is an enchanted light,” the lady whispered softly and shielded Ranelle. “It hypnotizes you, draws you close, burns you with the guilt of your faults. It is a barrier that holds back my magic from the house.”

“So it is my fault that mother and father are gone,” Ranelle looked up at the woman.

“Yes, little one. The light burns you because of it.”

“How is it that it doesn’t burn you?”

The lady was silent for a moment. “It does.”

Ranelle knew by the look of the woman’s eyes that something was demanded of her. “What should I do?” she asked bravely.

“Put it out,” the pale woman hissed. Her teeth were sharp. “Put out all these enchanted lights in the house! They cannot be blown out like fire but must be drowned in shadows.” She pulled out a large, purple vial from her robes, uncorked it, and dipped it into her shadow as though it were a pool of dark water. The woman continued: “Once all the lights in this house are out, only then will you be at home with me. Put do it quickly! Before the night is through!” Ranelle took the vial with a careful hand. It was cold to the touch, just like the woman, and her fingers stuck to the icy glass. Slowly she pulled away from the lap of the woman and entered into the lamplight.

                Immediately, she felt a heat scorching her eyes and skin. She cried out but willed her large water-boots forward. Her long strands of hair burned against her shirt; her nails felt like scorching metal. Only the bottle still kept cold.

“It hurts!” Ranelle shouted.

“Put it out! Put it out! Do not turn back!” the woman yelled.

 With another shout Ranelle fell in front of the lamp and shut her eyes at its brilliance. Her skin was being singed away. Uncorking the bottle with red fingers, she doused the light with shadow and immediately the room hissed into a cold black silence. All sense of burning left her. Coolness enveloped Ranelle’s shaking limbs once more, and she found herself back in the arms of the pale woman.

                “Shhh,” the woman held her close. “There’s a good girl. You were very remarkable.” Ranelle stopped whimpering. “There are only three more lights to put out! You mustn’t waste any time!”

                Ranelle shuddered to think of being burned by the enchanted lights again. The shadows felt so cool to the touch. “Will you come with me?” she begged.

                “Oh how I wish I could!” the woman moaned. “But you must do this alone. The enchantments of the house are against me. It is all I can do to stay in this room with you! The orphanage chooses whomever to reveal its enchantments, and it too will be against you. Yet my magic is greater still. That is why I need you to venture throughout the house. Put out these lights! No longer will you be an orphan! And no longer will I be bound! I will be mistress of the house, and you will be my daughter, my only daughter.”

                Ranelle found it difficult to pull herself away from the woman, yet at the sight of her pink flower sitting in the middle of the darkness, alone and untended, she reached for it. How could she have forgotten it? “May I take this with me then?” she asked, hugging the flowerpot.

                “It is nothing that you need,” the woman stated coldly. “It will be best to leave it here.”

                “Please, it will remind me of you,” Ranelle answered.

                “Very well, but do not let it keep you from your task! Now off you go, little one! But be brave! These lights may not always be in the form of lamps.”

                “What if someone sees me?”

                “Do not worry. The enchantment puts all to sleep but you.”

                Ranelle made her way to the door with the flower tucked under her arm. She liked her flower very very much. As she fumbled for the doorknob, she felt the door rattle in its place at the sound of thunder. Her ears rang painfully.  

                The pale woman vanished into shadows, leaving one last warning: “And remember, the orphanage will find someway to prevent you from carrying out your task. Be careful!”

                Ranelle nodded, tightened her water boots, and opened the door.  What was it her mother had said to her?

 

Remember honey…remember honey…

               

                “Oh I hate the rain!” Ranelle groaned as her little shirt became spotted, then soaked with drops. A great wind slammed the door behind her and whistled far down the east wing. She glanced upward as a great torrent of rain fell inside the once, silent hall, and she wondered to herself if anyone had ever seen rain clouds in their own home before. Well the orphanage is certainly ruined now, she said to herself and then she thought of Mr. Stevens. He certainly was a nice man, and she was sorry to see his orphanage become ruined because of her task. It was just one more thing she knew she was to blame. 

The darkened clouds floated high above her head in thick, black rolls, obscuring the tall roof of the orphanage and bursting into such loud cracks and booms that the little girl squealed with fright. The wooden boards became slippery, but her water-boots gripped the wood securely, and Ranelle was thankful for them. She tucked the small flowerpot underneath her clinging shirt and poked out the droopy flower so that it nestled itself near her neck like a child resting against her mother. It stayed very nicely.

There was no light to be seen within the confines of the hall save for a bit of lightning that flashed every nook and cranny into her sight. Her eyes began to throb at the sudden change, and she bumped clumsily into the walls and nightstands as she ran through the downpour. Her bare arms felt the hard drops endlessly barraging her skin, yet her boots sloshed determinedly through puddles that formed in uneven places. She even became comfortable enough to make a game of jumping into each one from time to time. Perhaps the rain is not so bad after all, she thought.  

As she turned another corner within the labyrinth of hallways she stopped abruptly and wiped the dripping rain and hair from her eyes. She could faintly see a closed door through the haze of the storm, and a brilliant light shone from inside. “Oh no,” Ranelle whispered. A sign on the door read, “Head Director Stevens.”

The girl made her way quickly to the door but hesitated to open it. She knew an enchanted light lay within the Director’s bedroom (her feet burned in the light underneath the doorway), and hoped that the light would be as far from the sleeping old man as possible.

Suddenly the crack in the door became dark, and she knew this was her chance. Brushing away the raindrops from her cheek she turned the wet doorknob and peeked inside.

The man sprawled upon the sleepy battleground that was once a mattress; his sheets were tangled and thrown about everywhere except his own bed. His nightcap sat tight around his head, and his snoring seemed to challenge the thunder outside the room. More importantly, the scorching light shone from Mr. Stevens’s comical beard. Ranelle groaned.

The light illuminated half the room depending on which direction Mr. Stevens faced, and unfortunately for Ranelle, when she tiptoed near his dark side, he turned his sleeping face towards her casually. 

Immediately a feeling like fire overwhelmed the poor girl. The old man’s beard became a bonfire of heat against her frail cheeks as she tried to cover her face with the dark bottle of shadow. Her hands felt hopelessly sunburnt, her toes became trapped in volcanic boots that erupted in fits of flame. Yet even as she rushed to Mr. Stevens’ bedside and doused his wiry beard into chilly darkness, she became aware that in her brief time in the light, a darkness had not left her body.

Ranelle stepped around the snoring bed and into the moonlight that shone briefly from Mr. Stevens’s window. A tangible darkness, like thick vapor, enveloped her legs and arms, coating them with a slight frost. Her hands had become paler than the moon and she could only wonder as to her face. What was happening to her? What was she becoming?

 

Magic that will make you see what you really are…the woman had said.

 

Remember honey, you are…..Remember honey, you are….

 

A great snore brought her back to reality. The lights, the task. She needed a mother. She wanted to be home.  Two more to go, she thought to herself. Quickly she adjusted her flowerpot in her shirt. It seemed to have lost its brilliance after the ordeal and poked out of her shirt limply, but there was no time to tend it. Water was seeping below the bedroom door. With a glance to Mr. Stevens, a kiss on his sleepy check, and a soft apology, she left the room in complete darkness.

The rain had not stopped falling within the hallway. When Ranelle attempted to close the door she found herself waist deep in rainwater and instantly swept off her feet. She clung to the doorknob with her free hand and kicked about to gain a new footing without success. Her shouting proved just as pointless. Shortly her fingers became numb and she soon found herself carried along a violent flood rushing throughout the long, black hallways from which she had first come.

Staying afloat proved difficult as rain and floodwater invaded Ranelle’s mouth with every gasp. She held onto her bottle of shadow tightly and secured her flowerpot beneath her shirt with her other arm. She was not a good swimmer and even less so as both arms were occupied. She had never heard the good advice of placing your feet in front of you when traveling down a swift current, so it should not come as a surprise that her poor shoulder slammed into every wall and corner before she found herself washed down the stairwell along with various pieces of furniture and wall hangings. The great rush of water overturned her flailing body onto the steps and carried her down into a large sitting room. Before reaching the last step she felt a thick pain as her head knocked against the last post; her vision blackened for only moment, however her hearing remained unhurt. Amidst the thunder that continually pounded her ears, she heard what sounded like a flowerpot breaking beneath her shirt.

  Water continued to rush down the stairwell and over a looming balcony while Ranelle dragged herself into a long hallway. The flood began to fill the lower story of the orphanage, leaving her lying down in a small pool that rose above her arms. The broken pot shards floated about her as her breaths came short and quick, yet the storm took no notice. It raged against her soft cheeks and bellowed loudly in triumph at her poor state. Each boom of thunder pounded two words constantly into her mind: Give up! the storm cracked and choked, Give up!

                Ranelle’s tears mixed with the rain: “I won’t,” her answer became drowned in a burst of angry rumbles, “I can’t. I need a mother!” she shouted. The soft petals of her battered, pink flower tickled her neck as she struggled back onto her feet and trudged down the lonely hallway, holding her head in pain and ever watchful for light.

                She opened every door and rummaged through every drawer; mostly she found rooms resting in a pitch black darkness that flashed occasionally with bolts of lightning. Ranelle thought they struck much too near.

 At last she opened the door into the hall of curtains she had passed when touring the orphanage with Mr. Stephens. The well-acquainted curtains blew with the storming wind in blurs of purple, save one which shone down the hall with a brilliance that covered half the hallway.

Ranelle took a deep breath and shook the pain from her head. This was going to hurt; there was no way to avoid it, but she would be quick. She would sprint down the hallway, ignore the pain. She would douse the curtains and if it needed another soak, she could return to the shadow to recover for another sprint. It would be over soon. “Here I go,” she muttered to herself.

Raising her water-boots above the rising water, the shadow of a girl picked up her speed and burst through the falling rain. She held her flower secure and watched the hallway pass by her in a haze of purple and blackness. The light was close!

Before another thought came to her mind she felt the scorching heat against her darkened face. The rain evaporated from her skin in an instant as the light immediately singed her nose and eyes. Her thoughts seemed to be flames within her head, burning her mind and searing her judgment. It seemed to her that the lighted curtains were so close, yet she was no longer coming nearer to them. She was a snail fleeing the scorching heat of day, slowly, slowly, ever so slowly. It was useless. She had stopped completely in her sprint. What was wrong? She glanced about herself against the waves of heat; her eyes widened. The nearest purple curtains had reached and entangled themselves about the poor, burning girl, leaving her trapped in the light.

“Let me go! Let me go!” Ranelle squirmed but the orphanage held her tight. Heat spread throughout her limbs, and she shouted as one who was being burned alive. She saw her mother and father’s accusing eyes piercing through her mind like flaming arrows. Every nerve burned; every thought blazed. She could take it no longer.

Desperately she uncorked the bottle of shadow and doused herself with darkness. The cool shade flowed down her face and cooled her thoughts for a time. Her skin grew paler and the darkness did not dissipate. The claw of curtains recoiled at the creature it held and released the girl in flutters of disappointment. Hastily Ranelle reached the lighted curtains and poured the shadows onto the cloth. Night returned to the hallway as she corked the bottle once more, and the sound of the storm returned to her ears. There was only one more light to go.

The dark girl felt different as she waded through the flooding orphanage. Her arms shivered from frequent chills that froze the water as she passed. She took advantage of the frequent flashes of lightning to observe the darkness that floated about her like thick, slender strands of mist. She knew she was becoming the pale woman’s daughter, and the thought reminded her of their cold embrace. There were no feelings of guilt; she would no longer be alone. But why then did she still feel so wretched?

A bolt of lightning startled her back to reality. Soon the water reached such a height that Ranelle’s wading arms soon became frantic paddles. The cold bottle of shadows froze the water about her as she struggled for air; her heavy boots no longer touched the floorboards but kicked about to keep her afloat against the rising flood.

Slowly she swam towards what she remembered to be the front entrance. As she turned the corner the last light shimmered against the wooden walls and draperies that was once the great hall. Every vacant piece of furniture, decoration, and hanging seemed to be drawn within the room, swirling about in the light of the illuminated doorway. The girl had found her last light and the orphanage knew it.

At that moment, everything became a blur of chaotic thunders, flashes, and roaring. The rushing water became violent waves and began to turn the living room into a devastating current. Ranelle grasped the corner of the hallway with her free hand and looked back towards the lit doorway. Her eyes widened at the sight of a giant whirlpool churning within the center of the room.

Chaos erupted from all sides as walls crashed at the force of the water; the wind howled; thunder blasted; lightning became so constant that the room never rested in darkness. Amidst the great pieces of debris that circled into the void, the poor little shadow held on with all the might her five fingers could possess. Even so, as her grip loosened she heard a familiar, noble voice speak into her ear, yet no one was near her.

“Freeze the water child! My magic is almost restored!”

It was the pale woman’s voice. It sounded shrill and urgent. Strange feelings and thoughts overtook Ranelle as the words reached her ears. Why was she doing this? How many other orphans had gone before her?

“Do it!” the voice screamed.

Ranelle promptly dipped the shadow bottle below the depths of the water. As the sound of rushing water soon gave way to frozen creaks, thick sheets of white frost permeated the darkened flood and stilled the flowing furniture into place. Immediately the waves slowed in their torrents, and the churning grew less as the entire room became a hole of ice. The tumultuous rain and thunder ceased for a moment as though shocked at the breach of its final defense.

Ranelle quickly dragged herself atop the frozen water just as her spot became thick with ice and she sprinted as quickly (and carefully) as her water-boots could manage towards the brilliant entrance. The final light blazed in protest as the shadow-girl neared and slipped into the scorching glow. Black mist covered the girl in chilly shadows, yet the burning heat peaked through the darkness and sizzled against Ranelle’s darkened skin. She clenched her fists; her boots stepped forward. Just when she knew she had reached her limit of pain, Ranelle smashed the door with her bottle of shadow, and in an instant, the once friendly orphanage altered into such a horrible state that Ranelle gagged after a moment’s sight.

The water had vanished, the storm gone, as if the whole night seemed only a horrible dream. Yet to Ranelle, she had awoken from one nightmare only to find a much worse reality. A pale moonlight gleamed through the windows, casting its creeping glow upon walls that seeped with a black liquid. Ranelle thought it might be blood. The walls seemed fleshy and breathed with frequent coughs that rattled the room. The once familiar furniture crawled about the floor like restless creatures in a constant state of hunger. It seemed to Ranelle that the orphanage had become a beast and that she had just been swallowed by it. The only familiar feature she recognized was a pale woman looming before her and grinning wildly.

“Oh well done my daughter!” the woman laughed and stretched out her arms. “Come! Come to your mother! You are home!”

Ranelle took small steps forward and whimpered in fright at her home. She stepped into waiting arms of her new mother and was raised up to her chest; she buried herself into the woman’s shoulder once more to hide from the disturbing sights.

It was not comforting. The black gown filled her head with thoughts that scurried about her mind like imps or fiends. She envisioned devilish creatures jeering and welcoming her as their new sister with whoops and hollers. “You’re a monster!” they yelled and licked their fangs, “A monster! A monster!”

Ranelle opened her eyes to escape the horrible vision. The woman held her tightly. “You need not struggle, Ranelle,” she whispered, “Your task is done, and the orphanage is ours.”

“What am I?” Ranelle sobbed fearfully.

“Come see for yourself.”

The pale woman led Ranelle to a dusty mirror that emerged out of the fleshy walls of the beast-house. As Ranelle stepped to face her reflection, she swooned at the sight. No cute, little girl stared back at her within the glass. There in the pale light of the moon stood a sinister void with bloodshot eyes and two sharp teeth. Her pale blue arms emerged from the darkness to scrape away the frost that covered her body only to find new ice beneath. The shadows around her flattened themselves to form a flowing gown that wriggled itself into a serpentine train and twisted about her water-boots.

 “I’m a…monster?” she saw her breath in the air.

The lady stood next to her new daughter and made a face that looked falsely remorseful, “Yes, my dear. That is what we are.”

“I don’t like this magic,” Ranelle stepped back from the monstrosity of her reflection, “I…I…I look so terrible! I feel so horrible!”

“Embrace it child!” the woman stepped forward, “Let it give you strength! You are no longer a weak little girl! You are no longer alone! You are my little lamia, my shadow! You will have brothers and sisters! The family you have desired!”

“I want things to go back to the way they were!” Ranelle shouted.

“And be forever scorched alive by those cursed lights?” the woman gave a moist laugh. “They would not take you, child. This is your only home. I am the only one who truly wants you. You are mine!” The woman eyed her hungrily but softened quickly: “Remember, you are my little shadow now. You are my daughter!”

 

Remember honey, you are…….Remember honey, you are

 

Ranelle looked back to the mirror once more, her mother’s words ringing in her ears. The horrible abyss of her gown still scrambled about her pale body like restless fiends. But there, deep within the blackness, something gleamed. Ranelle’s eyes burrowed past the shadows, pushed aside the entangled mass of darkness and ice, and delved deep into the reflection. There, beneath the mass of darkness, shown a bit of color. It was pink.

 

Remember honey, you are my little flower…..

 

“I’m a flower,” she breathed. The pale woman stopped just short of the wide-eyed girl.

“What did you just say?” the woman heaved.

“This isn’t my home! I’m not a shadow! I’m a flower!” Ranelle cried.

“Silence!” the woman screeched, “Your faults will never leave you!” she picked up Ranelle and shook her violently, but recoiled in pain as if she had just been burned.

“My only fault was trusting you!” Ranelle shouted.

At that moment a brilliant light shot forth from Ranelle’s shoulder and enveloped her in a blazing inferno, searing through every limb and thought. She was burning at the stake, surrounded by light, becoming the light. Everything became a heated white to her eyes. Her suffering became agonizing to her, yet deep down she knew, felt, believed that she was being remade. All that mattered to her in the scorching blaze were the thoughts of her mother, her real mother, staring at her with that loving light in her eye. That was the light that scorched every tangled strand of darkness; that melted every icicle. That was what the orphanage was trying to prevent her from putting out. In that moment, Ranelle had never felt so ashamed of herself, yet so absolved.  

Soon the light dimmed into a soft glow and the sudden, cool sensation of raindrops pattered lightly against Ranelle’s burning skin. The storm had returned in full force, yet it did not seem as though it were raging. Ranelle thought it seemed more like tears of laughter. The scorching pain soon fled from her renewed body as the water washed away every memory of ache and burn and chill. All flowers need to be watered, she thought to herself as she held out her hand and laughed in the puddles. No longer did she see an impish shadow in the mirror, but a blooming young girl, dressed in the largest water-boots and holding the pinkest of flowers. She liked her flower very very much.

The orphanage had clearly returned to normal now that a new light gleamed in the night, and Ranelle could not be more joyful. She thanked the orphanage gladly, which thundered back a loud boom that might have sounded like “You’re welcome,” but Ranelle could not tell. It did not matter; she knew she was loved, and that the orphanage would never let her forget it

Yet at that moment, a chill overtook her shoulder and forced her to the ground. Amidst the cracking protests of thunder and rain, a hideous voice sounded behind her.

“You are a monster! You belong with us! YOU BELONG TO ME!”

Ranelle turned to face the monstrous woman who loomed over her. The pale woman’s mouth had grown long and covered a great amount of her noble face. Her eyes became listless as her gown hissed in the form of writhing, teeth-filled shadows. Her hand held Ranelle tightly.

“Only one light left, little Ranelle!” the vampiress hissed against the burning of the flower-light. “That is hardly enough to keep me away! Once I put it out, you will wish you never were my daughter!”

“I’m not your daughter!” Ranelle screamed and she flailed against the woman’s teeth with her boots. She felt her foot make contact with the woman’s eye and before she realized what had happened, she was on the floor racing throughout the storming orphanage, the vampiress close behind her.

The flower lit her way as she knocked over every pot, pan, and chair behind her. The vampiress appeared from every dark corner, writhing towards the fleeing girl and scrambling to hold her. With each sound of thunder Ranelle heard the words: “Up! Up! To the stairs!”

Ranelle looked behind her down the darkened corridor. No woman could be seen amidst the rain, but she did not stop running. She leaped in fright at every shadow, expecting her to appear in a fury of hisses and laughter yet no attack came. Finally, in a gasp of exhaustion she turned the hall to face the stairwell. The tall vampiress smiled from atop the steps.

“It ends here,” she spoke softly, like before. “Either the orphanage takes you,” she glanced behind her at Ranelle’s door, “or I do,” her mouth widened inhumanly. “It is useless, my little shadow. You will not pass.”

Ranelle wiped the battering rain from her eyes and hair and shifted the bright flower closer to her cheek. She heard the thunder crashing about her; the orphanage was pushing her on. She would pass the woman. It was going to end.

Without delay Ranelle’s boots scrambled up the steps. The woman did not flinch.

“Your mother’s death was your fault!” she screamed.

Ranelle kept climbing.

“Your father hated you!”

She shut her eyes.

“No one will love you!”

“She shook the thoughts away.

“YOU ARE A MONSTER!”

She was a flower.

Ranelle reached the top step and leapt for the door. The woman caught her easily by the legs. She was close! So close! Her fingertips tapped the handle. Water seeped underneath the doorway. The woman was clambering to her small waist. Ranelle gave a final heave and grasped the handle tightly.

Suddenly the door burst apart from its hinges. A great flood heaved out of the angry orphanage doorway and swirled about the hall before rushing towards Ranelle. Everything became a torrent of fuming water. Ranelle covered her face yet the violent water never touched her. She peeped through her fingers and glanced about her.

The flood kissed her cheeks with soft specks of water yet made sure not to overwhelm her. The vampiress struggled to stay hold of Ranelle as her waist became consumed in a crushing current of water and foam. Her listless eyes blazed frantically against the blossoming girl and her mouth struggled to form curses of dismay. Her waist became lost to the flood, then her chest and shoulders. With one last scramble, the woman lost herself into the rushing blue, taking Ranelle’s water-boots with her.  

The screaming water circled Ranelle for one last cycle before flushing itself down the stairwell and past the hall on to the dark depths of the orphanage that Mr. Stevens had purposefully neglected to show on his tour with Ranelle. Soon, all became still.

Ranelle gasped with relief and giggled in joy as she dragged herself into her dark room and fell onto the floorboards in exhaustion. The sweetened smell of wood gave her a strange but pleasant sense, like suddenly being included in a secret that no one else could know about. The walls seemed to close in on her in a pleasant way, as though she were being embraced. Her flower nestled beside her.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly before falling into a much-needed sleep.  

 

*              *              *              *              *

 

                “Now listen, director,” the repairman stammered the next morning. “I’ve repaired doors all my life, I’m telling you this door was blown off! Now I want to know how this happened!”

                Mr. Hubert and Mr. Stevens sat around the table. Various children ran about the kitchen playfully before being herded out into the sitting room. Mr. Stevens picked out a small piece of leftover breakfast from his wiry beard and munched on it thoughtfully. “Eh? Well we had a nasty storm last night, that’s what!” he shouted much too loudly, “I’ve got enough trouble making sure every child stays safe and sound. I’ve no time to be concerned about the mounting casualties of doors or windows!”

                “And what about the girl?” Mr. Hubert spoke up. “She was already frightened of storms before! Now she’s probably in a state of shock!”

“Oh no,” Mr. Stevens sipped on his cereal. “She’s outside at this very moment.”

“Mr. Stephens!” Mr. Hubert cried in disbelief and he glanced through the window. “But it’s still raining outside!”

“She’s found the flower garden,” the director laughed.

“I don’t suppose I’ll ever understand children,” Mr. Hubert slumped back into his chair.

“Well, St. John’s orphanage has an enchanting way of understanding children so you don’t have to,” Mr. Stephens said as he signed the bill for the damaged door. “Of course the orphanage isn’t enchanted or anything; what a silly thought!” he chuckled. Mr. Hubert and the repairman stared at Mr. Stevens. The director sipped his cereal.

Before long Mr. Stephens traded goodbyes and shuffled the two men out into the rainy mist of a morning. After they had gone he slipped to the outer east wing where a small courtyard rested like a peninsula jutting into the orphanage wall. A little girl was kneeling, patting the earth underneath her planted, pink flower.

“Ah there you are Ranelle!” he shouted loudly, “Now this is more fitting for you, out and about in the garden. You blend in with all the other flowers! But you simply must have a raincoat. You’ll catch a cold!” he held out his coat to the drenched girl.

“No thank you, Mr. Stevens,” she smiled politely. “I think I’ll be alright.”

Mr. Stevens nodded and placed the raincoat about his shoulders. “You won’t mind if I help you?” he asked, “Our gardener has just bought a tray of tulips, and I’m sure he won’t mind us planting them here.” 

Ranelle nodded eagerly and turned to finish burying the roots of her flower. Mr. Stephens knelt down next to her to admire her work. “A fine job, a fine job,” he chuckled as he placed his arm around her shoulder. The little girl laid her head onto his knee and smiled sweetly.

Ranelle’s thoughts wandered to her mother as she rested upon Mr. Stephens’s knee. With the biggest smile, she soaked in the pattering rain that gradually filled her with a wonderful state of feeling-at-home. Slowly, she held out her hand as if to catch every wonderful drop.

“Ah, there’s the sort,” Mr. Stephens thought to himself as he patted her dripping head. “Yes, that’s the sort alright.”

 

 

THE END

 

Author's Note

Please let me know if you enjoyed it!

Reviews

[COOKIES!!!!!]

good story!!i liked it!!but am weird that way.^_^

[fogisbeautiful]

I did enjoy this story, it had a dark element that I wasn't expecting at all. I thought you built up to the climax marvelously. I wasn't really sure what was up with the flower at first, but I love that it ended up playing such an important part in the story. All in all, wonderful, even if it was a bit longer than I normally like to read in a short story it held my attention and that's what matters!

[M.A. Hughes]

This story has a lot of potential and conveys the type of atmosphere that I believe you are trying to set-- namely a whimsical, magical feel that is usually present in YA stories. I'm not familiar with the recent market in young adult novels, but I don't recall reading or hearing of many stories which take place in an orphanage, so I think you have that working to your advantage.

As a reader, I thought there was some awkwardness to the flow of your story. I'll try to list the main ones here since I think that most things can be tweaked upon further revisions.

" On one rainy night, a tall man and a little girl dressed in the biggest water-boots and holding the pinkest of flowers crossed the orphanage grounds."

Start the story with the line above. It is preferable to start with the conflict/plot, especially if you are writing this for a younger audience. The information about the orphanage before that can be omitted because it does not add either to the plot or the protagonist, Ranelle (especially since you mention the "right sort" line a little later on).

As a reader, I was confused on how young Ranelle is supposed to be. From your introduction to her character, I imagined her to be quite young and shy. Her dialogue with the vampiress doesn't make sense to me for one her age, but that might be because of my assumptions. It would be best to state how old she is or allude to it more clearly. Another passage that confused me is the ending scene with Mr. Stephens and Ranelle in the garden. If it is raining, as the overseeing adult, I would suspect that he'd make Ranelle wear a raincoat regardless of whether she thought she needed one (especially being a young child). I remember from my own upbringing that I was always nagged about how I'd catch pneumonia if I didn't wear one. Overall, I think it would be best to go back and make sure that the comments and interactions are appropriate for the age range set in your story.

Last but not least, really heighten the magical element and the atmosphere of the story to your advantage. You have so much that you can work with here! Ranelle, as a child, probably has a very unique and interesting perspective on the place. Instead of calling the place cavernous, use another adjective that a child would use (ex. something out of the stories that her mom would have told her). The same can be applied to the room that Ranelle is staying in. Something like this is easy to fix with a little more description and word play.

I hope this review helps! Let me know if you'd like me to give a more detailed review. You can leave me a message and I'd be more than happy to help!

[Naomi Montana Walsh]

Just finished reading your story I did indeed enjoy it generally alot of stories online I give up on when they seem long,, but this one held me to the end..I bet illustration on this one would be fun.