Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Rosie stifled a gasp as the dusty pink smoky swirls of ancient power released her, and her feet hit the creaky wooden floor beneath her. She quickly turned her head from left to right to survey her new surroundings. How very odd, to be in one’s parlour room enjoying a rather good cup of tea and suddenly engulfed into magic smoke and dropped into what looked like a dusty old attic. Rosie came to a conclusion very quickly.

She had been summoned.

This certainly was no area in hell. She was in the mortal realm. Earth.

To say she was stunned was an understatement. Rosie was still fairly new to her Overlord status and the power which came with the title. Not that she lacked any confidence in using it or throwing her influence around her district of the Pride Ring. But to be summoned by a human was rare, especially now in what some people were labelling the beginning of ‘Godless Times.’ Yet here she was about to potentially make a deal for a human’s soul for the first time and damn them to hell.

What fun!

Rosie dawned her best (and least intimating) smile to greet the mortal who had sought her out. The smoky swirls faded away completely, and Rosie’s eyes widened in total astonishment. She froze as the human in question looked up at her from his position on the floor.

“Are you my guardian angel?” asked a small voice.

Alastor had been born in the South of New Orleans, close to nature and wildlife. His parents were young, his mother naive, and his father foolish. And that was all anyone had to say about that. Well, not all…that was something that could be said for many young parents and children born outside of wedlock, but not in Alastor’s case, because his father was white and his mother was black. Whilst not a sin in itself, this was a ‘societal sin’ in the early 1900’s. One through no fault of his own, Alastor had to carry from birth.

Despite his affliction of caramel coloured skin, Alastor recalls a fairly happy and contented infancy and young childhood. Even though Alastor came to her under circumstances less than ideal, Alastor’s mother was thrilled with the arrival of her healthy baby boy and took to motherhood instantly. She made their tiny home, which was little more than a wooden shack, into a rustic haven which was always clean, comforting and welcoming.

Being so close to the bayou, one of Alastor’s earliest memories is holding his mother’s hand on a warm day whilst they walked through the forested area. He recalls smiling as his mother bent down to his level and pointed out animals to him, squirrels dancing up trees, rabbits running across the grass and even deer gazing off in the distance.

It had been magical.

Just her and him.

Alastor doesn’t have similar memories with his father. But then, he wasn’t always there. The man came and went. Popped up occasionally and disappeared very quickly. Never hanging around more than a day or so. Alastor was naturally curious about the man his mama referred to as his ‘daddy.’ As in; “We’re going to have gumbo tonight, just how your daddy likes it!” or; “I must clean those windows or your daddy will think I can’t keep a clean house!”

His mother was always kind and pleasant, but especially where Alastor’s father was concerned. Having observed this from babyhood, Alastor mimicked her behaviour and tried to be the charming child who easily won over neighbours and acquaintances with just a smile.

But his father wasn’t easily won.

In fact during a particularly awkward visit when Alastor addressed his father as such, the man squirmed in his chair and his face turned a strange shade of pink, not looking Alastor in the eye. He behaved as though Alastor had accused him of something disgusting instead of merely calling his father for what he was.

He never did it again.

From then on Alastor politely addressed the man as ‘sir.’

Alastor soon decided he didn’t enjoy when his father visited. Not only was it strange to him (the other kids’ dad lived with them), but it was terribly boring. He couldn’t play properly with his toys, and his mother wouldn’t or couldn’t play with him. He felt he couldn’t be himself, his mother certainly wasn’t herself, and any conversation was terribly drab and sparse.

His father also seemed to have a quick temper. A roll of the eyes or slip of the tongue earned Alastor a swift smack around the ear. This was hurtful and embarrassing to Alastor, to be belittled by this odd man who popped so casually in and out of their lives, never making any positive impression.

Alastor was also tucked into bed earlier on the nights of his father’s visits. His mother would wish him sweet dreams a little faster than usual, but no less lovingly. During the time he would try to fall asleep he would hear the murmurs of his mother and father talking. They always talked more when he wasn’t around, which was a little cutting. They never talked as openly in his presence. On occasion he would hear his father’s voice raise and sound angry followed by his mother’s desperate attempts to gently calm him.

A loud thump usually followed.

Back then Alastor had tried to convince himself that his cross father banged the table or kitchen counter in bad temper. He wouldn’t hit his mother, right? Not his lovely mama.

Things were always great when Alastor’s father ‘disappeared’ again. Not only was it just him and mama again but his mother would seem more relaxed and she often replenished the cupboards with fresh food or purchased new shoes or clothes for Alastor. On some lucky occasions he received a new toy or book.

Alastor didn’t wonder about the correlation between his father’s visits and the purchases of additional food and clothes until he was a little older.

Things changed a lot around the time Alastor was nine. His father stopped showing up altogether. Alastor certainly didn’t miss his visits, though he noticed his mama was less care free than usual. She desperately tried to get more cleaning jobs from the people in the town and squeezed in as many piano lessons to children as possible.

They didn’t own a piano in their humble home, but their church trusted and permitted his mother to use theirs during suitable hours. Despite her flaws, his mother was a God-fearing woman and was quite devoted to the church. She ensured she and her son were there every Sunday and tried to be as helpful as possible to the church elders, offering any service she could.

Alastor didn’t really like church, he especially hated having to put on his sweet and charming act for when anyone approached him and his mother. It grew tiresome and people were always invading his space just because he was little. Especially the old ladies who liked to pinch cheeks!

He endured it though, because it made his mama happy.

“The church never turned their back on me and I’ll never forget that.” She’d told him, “These are good people of God and I shall repay their kindness anyway I can. Please be polite and respectful, Alastor.”

She didn’t go into detail with Alastor with what she had meant. He was too young and didn’t need to know that his conception had led to the loss of many friends and family for her. She decided that wasn’t his cross to bear, but wanted him to understand the importance of kindness and compassion. Something which clearly didn’t come naturally to him.

Alastor couldn’t really remember when it had started but he remembered when it finished. The War. People were suddenly ecstatic, cheerful conversations were everywhere and newspapers were flying off the presses. The big thing Alastor recalls from it is he heard a man speak about peace, only coming from a wooden box. He had been fascinated, and thought it was magic. His mama told him it had been a radio broadcast, and that the host had been discussing the end of the war and ‘their boys were coming home.’  

Alastor had felt indifferent when his mama told him that his father had gone to war, to fight. But he wouldn’t be with the ones coming home. He’d heard the phrase ‘all gave some, some gave all.’ He realised his father had been someone who ‘gave all’ and that was that.

He was glad that there would be no more smacks around the ear to receive or awkward dinners to endure. But he didn’t share that harsh opinion with his mama.

Alastor’s mother did not appear to grieve for the father of her child. But she worried. She worried a lot. She became particular about clothes, sewing and resewing. Alastor began to feel self-conscious about how nearly all of his outfits were too small or had patches. The pretty vibrant coloured dresses his mama wore weren’t replaced or updated when necessary either and they became faded and frayed. She looked sad when Alastor stated his too-small shoes were hurting him, and she out-right cried when his glasses broke and needed replacing.

The scariest thing was his mother didn’t seem to cook as much anymore. Her delicious dinners were much smaller and severely lacking in tasty and nutritious ingredients. Alastor never commented on this or the fact that his mother always had the smaller portion, or none at all. He did see though that his mama, who was already a small build, seemed to be getting smaller by the day. Her faded dresses now hung off her frame.

It was during the summer time, when Alastor was only nine, that he understood that money was becoming an issue for them. It was clear that his mother was working desperately hard just to put food on the table. So he tried to stop being jealous of the other children his mama taught piano to, and decided to help her. Alastor began to make himself known in the local town and offered services of his own for a small fee, to help his mother.

The local townspeople would see Alastor delivering newspapers or groceries, shoe shining, and even the fishermen would have him help catch crawfish. Alastor had used his charm to convince people he could be trusted to do a job and do it well and he developed an excellent reputation in his town.

Alastor saved up for weeks the money he’d been earning and presented the jar of coins to his mother one morning in the kitchen, and told her what he’d been doing whilst she was busy at work (whilst he was meant to be with the neighbours or playing with other children). His mother burst into tears.

“Why are you sad, mama?” Alastor asked, “Isn’t it enough? Maybe I could sweep chimneys too?”

“No, it isn’t that, mon cher.” She said, wiping her eyes and leaning down to hug him. “I’m just so happy I have you in my life. You don’t have to worry, darling. Things will get better.”

Alastor had believed her.

He’s still angry about it, but he doesn’t think she meant to lie to him.

An illness crept its way across the country a few months later. A type of flu. Alastor remembered he’d had the flu once when he was smaller. His mama had fed him soup and sang to him all night long when his fever kept him awake and upset. He didn’t want it again, but he didn’t fear it either.

The grown-ups did though. His teacher, mean old bag that she was, lectured them about hygiene. Silly things that he and classmates already knew. Gossip floated through the town too,

“So-and-so isn’t well, do you think it’s…”

“…Died on Tuesday. The wife thinks…”

“My doctor said there’s no medicine!”

“Apparently there’s no cure!”

“No cure!”

“No cure, what nonsense!” Alastor’s mother said as they walked further into the bayou together. Much further than usual, so much so that Alastor’s feet started to ache and he struggled to keep up with his mother’s stride. “There’s a cure for everything Alastor. One just has to know where to look.”

“Then why is everyone so worried?” Alastor asked as he watched the tall grass flow with the gentle cold wind.

“Well darling, not everyone has the same way of thinking when it comes to medicine.” She answered. “Or other things for that matter.” She added under her breath.

“Where are we going? How much longer?” Alastor demanded, becoming bored and impatient.

“Just a bit further, my love. You’re being very good.” She replied with a smile.

Mother and son walked another mile or so into the woods. They went off track and had to navigate several difficult slopes, rocks, streams and brambles. Both lost their balance several times, his mother tore the hem of her skirt on a branch and Alastor scraped his knee. It stung a lot. Both were filthy.

Alastor’s mother stopped suddenly and seemed to really be studying her surroundings. Alastor sat down on the ground, taking this opportunity to rest for a few seconds. He looked at the cut on his knee and the dirt that covered his clothes and skin. He was really fighting the urge to scream and cry at his mother to take him home immediately.

“This way sweetheart.” His mother said suddenly, bending down and taking his hand. She pulled him to his feet and they walked on.

The air abruptly became misty, and almost felt damp. The area seemed to quieten also, as if the wind didn’t touch this part and all the animals had gone to sleep. It was eerie.

Alastor clutched his mother’s hand tighter. “Mama, I don’t like this place. I want to go home.” He said quietly.

“It’s okay Alastor, there’s nothing to fear.” She said softly. “Look.”

She pointed and when Alastor squinted he could make out a tiny house. A very odd shaped one which seemed to be made entirely of wood and what looked like mud.

“We’re here.” Mother smiled.

They approached the old wooden door and she knocked confidently.

Several seconds passed before the door opened. A small black woman stood before them. Her silver-grey hair was long and had several braids with an assortment of beads and feathers around her head. She had multiple necklaces with various symbols settling on her chest. Bracelets of various shapes and materials clung to her wrists and rings with beautiful stones framed her fingers.

Alastor would have been amazed by this woman’s eccentric sense of fashion, had he not been so taken aback by her eyes. This lady had a brown eye. Not a warm chestnut brown like he and his mother had, but a brown so dark that it was almost black. Like there was a tiny hole into her head. The other was pure white. The iris and pupil clouded over like the mist surrounding her home.

Alastor tried not to stare, he knew it was impolite and was sure that this woman must be blind in at least one eye. But he had never seen someone quite as unusual before!

The woman studied Alastor’s mother for a second, then smiled knowingly.

“Tis yerself.” She said in a voice deep with age. She then looked down at Alastor who was leaning more into his mother. Her smile widened.

“I knowed it were a boy. I told ye.”

“Yes. This is my Alastor.” She replied proudly, placing a hand on Alastor’s wavy hair. “May we come in?”

The woman opened the door widely and gestured for the two to enter. Alastor’s senses were assaulted as soon as he stepped inside. He didn’t know he could smell so many things at once, both bad and good battling for dominance in his nose. A mixture of damp rotted wood, spices, flowers (both fresh and dead) and something that he could only describe as ‘animal.’ The room, which appeared to be the living area and kitchen, was dimly lit with several candles. The small singular window didn’t let in much natural light. The candlelight reflected off mirrors, crystals and stones cluttered all around the room. Jars upon jars with various products sat on every surface. Along with a black cat who stared, behaving as though it were guarding the contents.

Alastor couldn’t believe it. How could anyone live like this? Why did his mother, who kept their house so clean and proper, bring him to a place like this? He was so confused and a little frightened of this strange environment.

The woman closed the door and walked passed them, approaching her table.

“Don keep me waitin girl.” She said, “Why you come knockin me door dis time?”

“Yes…S-sorry.” Alastor’s mother stammered. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, I’ll be quick. There’s an illness spreading over the country-”

“And it come to yer village,” The woman interrupted, “I know. Got dem doctors all in a twist. The men of science don like what they don understand. Don like what they can’t fix.”

The woman starts to open jars, and selecting particular sized spoons for measuring, she begins mixing different elements together in a bowl. Well, she clearly wasn’t blind after all. To Alastor it looks like a mixture of spices for cooking and different kinds of dirt from outside. He doesn’t think that’s right though. That there has to be more to it than that.

“They say there’s no cure.” Alastor’s mother continues, “That if you catch it you may die, they don’t know why or how to stop it.”

“They wait for a problem to fix. I say stop problem in first instance.” She finishes mixing her substances together then holds the bowl up for Alastor’s mother to look at. “This makes the body strong, healthy. No contagion will upset the body’s defence.”

Alastor’s mother bites her lip. “How much?”

The woman gives a full smile. Alastor sees it’s not a genuine smile, but a nasty one. She looks mean, like a bully on the playground stealing a little kid’s toy.

She names her price for the concoction she created.

Alastor’s mother winces and shakes her head. She’s quiet for a few seconds, thinking. Alastor thinks it’s incredibly unfair, he heard the price and he knows it’s a lot, especially for what looks like spices and dirt. That can’t cost much right? But then Alastor doesn’t know what the woman would want with all his mama’s money. Perhaps she just wanted a fancy new ring for her unusually long fingers.

“What about enough just for Alastor?” she asks, “Just enough for a boy? What’s the price then?”

“Hmm.” The woman responds. She can tell this mother is desperate and is tempted to ask how much she has just to take the lot. But she looks at Alastor and sees him staring back, hating her. She smiles.

“Leave.” She snaps at Alastor’s mother. “I want to speak with the chil.”

Both Alastor and his mother stare in surprise.

“B-but…I” His mother stammers, gripping Alastor’s hand tight.

“Now. Or I feed ‘the cure’ to da cat.” The woman says menacingly.

“Alright, alright.” Alastor’s mother replies worriedly. She looks at her son. “Alastor, this kind lady wants to talk with you, mind your manners okay? I’ll be just outside.”

She quickly lets go of Alastor’s hand and heads for the door, frightened of angering the old woman. Alastor turns around and starts to follow.

“But mama!” He reaches out and grabs her dress.

“I’ll be right outside darling, it’s okay! Just talk with her, like you do with the ladies at church.” She smiles at him, though it looks a little desperate. “That’s my good boy.” She says as she opens the door and closes it behind her.

Alastor stills for a second. Something is wrong. Why in the world would his mama leave him in this strange hut with this even stranger woman? The fact that she’s only on the other side of the door is of little comfort.

“Good boy, ha! If only she knew!” The woman laughs behind him.

Alastor turns and looks at the old woman. He hates the way she’s looking at him, laughing at him, trying to un-nerve him. She’s not like the old ladies from church, he can’t read her like he can them.

“Awful quiet boy…I expected otherwise…” She teases.

Alastor glares at her, who does she think she is? She doesn’t know him, yet she taunts him, upsets his mother. He hates her. Alastor folds his arms across his chest defiantly, not letting up his glare. He wanted to scold the woman, argue with her and belittle her right back.

But he wasn’t going to do that.

That’s what she expected of him.

And Alastor would be damned if he was going to give this bizarre rude woman what she wanted. Not after how she treated his mama.

The woman watched him for a few seconds, studying his rebellious expression. Then she chuckles.

“Oh mon cher…has the devil got a sight for ye.”

Alastor was taken aback by this statement. He didn’t know exactly what it meant. The devil had a sight for him…was he watching him? Waiting for him? Alastor wasn’t that bad.

Was he?

No, Alastor was good. His mama told him so. Plus he went to church, and the grown-ups seemed to like him. They didn’t like bad children.

But then Alastor knew how to play the part, and he played it well. But this woman didn’t know that.

Right?

Questions bombarded through Alastor’s head by the second. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable, and even frightened. He needed to leave this awful place and get away from this woman. But he won’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d unnerved him. He won’t.

Alastor stood his ground, remaining silent. He adverted his gaze from her, looking around the room, acting as though she bored him. His eyes fell onto a very unseemly handmade doll. It wasn’t like the comforting pretty dolls he saw little girls playing with, it was grotesque and sewn together with big ugly stitches.

There were pins stabbed into it.

“You’s a tricky one.” The woman declared, her tone low as though she were speaking her thoughts.

Fuck you, Alastor thought. Swearing was something Alastor never did. Lest he want to end up in the corner with a bar of soap in his mouth again. His mother described swearing as uncouth and pointless. Alastor agreed to an extent, it seemed he only witnessed idiots and drunks use curse words in nearly every sentence. Clearly the ones who swore the most lacked the capacity to argue with intelligent words.

That didn’t stop him from screaming obscenities in his head when he was angry or frustrated though.

“Such demand for control. Even at an age so young.” The woman continued.

She was speaking nonsense. Alastor had no control over anything, he was only nine. He had to do exactly as he was told or he was punished, same as every other child.

Control? He couldn’t even stop his mother from leaving him alone with this witch. He was sure she was a witch, she matched all the descriptors from fairy tale stories.

But Alastor observed and made note of his surroundings. He saw what adults did. What made them happy, what made them sad, what made a person a success or a failure. Living in a society was like playing a strategic game. A game that requires a level of control to win.

Alastor decided a long time ago that when he grew up he would find a way to have control. Everyone else be damned.

“Tell me chil, do you trust in angels?” She asked, a twinkle in her eye.

A question. Damn, he had to answer. His choice to be silent had been taken from him. He had to be polite, his mother told him so. This bitch just took away what little control Alastor had of the situation.

“No.” He replied bluntly.

It was honest. Alastor didn’t trust in angels because he didn’t believe in them. He associated them with the fairy tales his mother told him, a comforting myth that made people smile. Sure it was nice to think that everyone had a guardian angel watching over them, and that a band of kind, winged, magic humans would greet you when you died and went to heaven.

But it couldn’t be factual. Angels were just a comforting fairy tale for adults. Like Santa Claus was for children.

“Hmm. It seems there are many paths where you is concerned.” The woman said, moving her fingers through the air as if tracing the paths in question. “What I do for ye now on dis day will have big impact.”

Alastor was certain this woman was crazy.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Alastor replied politely, hoping for clarification without angering her.

“Do you think what awaits for ye in the afterlife is important? That it matters?” The woman asked sharply.

Alastor thought for a moment. Was she talking about angels again? He remembered things his mother had told him and what he had heard in church.

“Yes, it is important.” Alastor answered, mimicking what he had heard adults say. “It’s where our soul goes forever so it matters much more than what happens here on earth.”

“Hmm.” was all the response he received. Alastor wasn’t sure if she’d believed him or not. She started spooning a fraction of the concoction from the bowl into a small jar, and sealed it.

She took the jar and walked towards Alastor.

“Come chil, yer mother’s waitin.” She said with a smile, guiding him towards the door. “Jus remember to be wary of dem angels.” She added in a low tone.

Alastor’s mother jumped when the door swung open and Alastor rushed to her side once more. She looked at the woman who was standing with a jar of contents and a tight smile. She reached out and placed the jar in her hands.

“Mix dis into a broth.” She instructed. “Make sure he consumes all.”

“Th-thank you!” Alastor’s mother gasped with a smile. “And the cost?”

The woman shakes her head.

“You should purchase citrus foods.” She stated. “And pray to yer God.”

The woman then slammed the door closed on Alastor and his mother. Leaving them both feeling shocked, a little vulnerable, and with a desperate desire to go home.

Alastor’s mother never asked him what he and the old woman talked about.

Mother and son had returned to their small home at the edge of the bayou minutes before the heavens opened and rained battered across the land. Alastor slumped on a chair by the table and let out a sigh of relief. His legs ached like they’d never ached before.

His mother continued to busy herself, boiling water, arranging pots and pans and cutting up vegetables. Alastor barely noticed her, enjoying his rest, she was clearly just making dinner for the two of them. As it started to cook the broth smelled delicious. Alastor keenly sat up when he saw his mother place two bowls down on the countertop and began to transfer the broth from the large cooking pot into them.

When the meal was ready she paused, then picked up the jar with the contents the old lady had given her. She glanced at Alastor, then slowly mixed the contents into one of the bowls. Alastor saw this.

Finished, his mother walked over to the table with the two bowls. She set the one with the questionable contents in front of Alastor.

The boy looked at his meal, and then to his mother. “Mama, what did you put in mine?”

“It’s a natural remedy Alastor. Something that people have used to fight off illness for hundreds of years. It’s good for you. Please eat it all.” She answered confidently.

Alastor had expected some form of half-truth but his mother actually sounded like she believed what she had just told him. But where had she based this information from? The old witch hadn’t said any of this, and she’s the one who should know. Alastor continued to look at his mother, and hadn’t picked up his spoon.

“I didn’t like that lady.” Alastor stated flatly, hoping this was enough to inform his mother that he didn’t trust what she’d given them and didn’t want to eat it.

“I know she seemed…a little odd.” His mother said patiently. “But we can trust her Alastor. That lady has helped so many people with all sorts of ailments and complaints, going back to whenever my grandmother was a girl. If she says what’s in that broth can protect you from this sickness, then it’s true. She…she has a gift you see, a special talent. Please eat it all darling.”

At least his mother didn’t simply have blind faith in the old witch, there was history there to back it up. A long history. His mother trusted that woman, and Alastor trusted his mama.

He ate the broth.

When dinner was done and everything was cleared away, Alastor’s mother insisted he have a bath. She had lit a roaring fire and filled their metal cleaning tub with water. Once Alastor was in the tub and starting to wash off she took his dirty clothes away for laundry and returned with another jug of water.

“I’m going to wash your hair dear.” She said softly, sitting down beside the tub.

“Fine.” Alastor replied, scrubbing his leg.

His mother noticed the cut.

“Mon cher, you’re hurt!” She cried inspecting the injury closer.

“It’s alright, it’s not deep.” Alastor told her, “I hit a rock earlier when I tripped over.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice. I’ll dress it for you when you’re clean.” She told him.

She smiled to herself as Alastor obediently put his head back to have his hair washed. She was gentle to prevent her fingers tangling in his thick hair. Alastor’s curls were very loose compared to her own. More like waves than curls. She was grateful on his behalf, having her hair washed as a child was a painful, dreaded experience because of her tight curls. Aside from this difference Alastor and his mother looked quite alike. In fact she had to avoid herself from becoming angry when someone once commented that he was like a diluted version of her.

After his bath Alastor was sat in an arm chair close to the fireplace and draped in a big towel. His mother returned with a clean nightshirt for him and a box containing cloth wrap and safety pins. Alastor pulled on his nightshirt and his mother wrapped the cloth around his cut knee. She cut when there was enough and pinned it in place. Content that the wound would now be kept clean, she smiled, bent forward and ‘kissed it better’ making Alastor giggle.

Before going to bed, Alastor insisted on helping his mother to empty the tub, on the promise to be careful and not spill muddy water everywhere. She had agreed, knowing he was only trying to delay his bedtime. She was actually glad of the help, she was tired. Tonight was an evening were she wished Alastor was still small enough to share a bath with. It would have easier, quicker and she had missed those times from when he was little. But time ticked on and Alastor was fast approaching an age when he should have complete privacy for bathing.

With the bath now refilled and waiting for her, she took her sons hand and led him out of the room.

“Time for bed, my darling, you’ve had a long day.” She said sweetly.

Alastor followed without protest, he was very tired. As he hopped into bed he didn’t badger his mother for a story, he was ready for sleep.

“Goodnight mama.” Alastor said quietly with a smile as his mother tucked him in.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “Goodnight my love. Sweet dreams and God bless.”

“I hate her!” Alastor grumbled to himself as he watched his mother.

His mother was lying in bed, shivering and was taking trembled breathes. She opened her eyes slowly as Alastor wiped her sweaty brow with a damp cloth. See was hot to the touch.

She hadn’t heard what Alastor had said, but he was referring to the witch they’d met in the woods a couple of weeks prior. He was furious with her, this was her fault. She hadn’t given them enough ‘old remedy’ and now his mama was sick with that flu everyone was scared of.

Very sick.

Alastor had felt terrible. He should have insisted his mother have had some of the broth that contained the remedy. He could have asked, demanded, shouted, cried, or throw an outright tantrum. But he hadn’t done any of that. He’d simply eaten it all without a second thought.

“Mon cher,” His mother rasped. “Why are you not at school?”

It wasn’t even a school day.

“Mama, you’re sick.” Alastor stated. “Can you tell me how to get back to the strange old lady’s house in the woods? I forget and we need ‘remedy’ so you can feel better again.”

“Alastor no! It’s too dangerous.” She replied firmly.

“But the medicine the doctor’s given you isn’t working!” Alastor whined. “And you need to be better for church tomorrow.” He added, thinking this would help his argument.

“Listen to me Alastor,” His mother said sternly. “You are forbidden from going into the bayou by yourself, do you understand?”

His mother always had a fear about Alastor and the bayou. She’d have nightmares of him wondering off, never to be seen again. The jaws of a rogue alligator clamping down on him and pulling him under the murky water. Even the images of a hunter’s stray bullet hitting him instead of their intended target.

No, Alastor would not go into the woods or bayou alone.

“Yes mama.” Alastor replied dejectedly, feeling useless.

For days he’d watched his mother deteriorate, going from a headache to a fever to breathlessness. Now she struggled to get out of bed. Alastor had been able to find a doctor in town the day prior, but he refused to come out to the home. Alastor was furious with him to start with, but when the angry demands turned into unhappy pleads the doctor had given him a bottle of medicine and told him he’d send the bill. Alastor didn’t know or care what he’d meant, just took the bottle and rushed home.

The medicine had had mixed results with patients the doctor believed had the illness Alastor described to him. It wasn’t a miracle cure.

The rest of that day Alastor spent trying to get his mother well. But he didn’t really know what to do. His mother had always known what to do. So he just tried to help her feel comfortable, offering her food and water, helping her in and out of bed when she needed the chamber pot…emptying said chamber pot. When she was awake he diligently used a damp cloth to cool her and tried to cheer her up by telling her narrations of his experiences in the playground.

When she was able, she genuinely laughed at his tales. “Alastor you are a character! I swear they will hear you talk on the radio one day.”

They. Not I.

That night Alastor refused to go to his bed. He didn’t want to leave his mother, her breathing had become so laboured. So he climbed on to the other side of the bed and held her hand.

When she opened her eyes and looked him, he smiled at her.

“My Alastor…You have the most sweet smile.” She murmured. “I wish I could take it with me for when I go and meet the angels…”

Alastor tilted his head. He figured the fever must be making his mother sleepy and confused. He remembered that horrible feeling from when he’d been sick.

His mother had sang to him to make him feel better. He could do that too.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

His mother closed her eyes smiling, listening to Alastor sing.

Alastor repeated the verse a few times before he himself fell asleep holding his mother’s hand. He was still holding it when he woke up the next morning. He knew right away something was wrong.

Her hand was cold.

Alastor approached the first grown up he recognised when he got to the church.

“My my, young Alastor.” The man greeted him with a smile. “Where’s your mother then?”

“I need help.” Alastor said sadly. “She won’t wake up.”

Alastor despised asking for help but he really had no idea what to do now. The church handled this problem and had done for hundreds of years.

Death.

Alastor wasn’t stupid. He knew his mother had died in her bed. Had died holding his hand. But he couldn’t bear to say it out loud yet;

My mother is dead.

It was too frightening, too real, too final.

The next few days were a blur for Alastor and they all rolled into one huge nightmare. There was no family to help. Alastor’s mother had moved away from her ‘family’ when she was expecting Alastor. Nobody in the community knew how to contact either side of Alastor’s family or even where to start.

So he was passed around. A day here, a night there. Neighbours and members of the church were happy to help out, on a temporary basis.

It was the Christian thing to do after all.

Alastor had no idea how but one day he found himself present at his mother’s funeral. He supposed the grown-ups who knew and liked his mother had arranged it. He was taken along with a neighbour.

Most people thought the funeral was nice, dignified, and that the eulogy was sweet and respectable.

Alastor hated it. Everyone thought his eyes were welled with tears from grief and sadness. It was actually because he was so angry…plus some sadness too.

He didn’t see any of her favourite flower, they didn’t sing her favourite hymn and there was nothing said about how she sang songs when she was happy or knew how to cook jambalaya the right way when the priest spoke about her. It’s like they didn’t know her at all. Not like Alastor did.

And they put her in the ground. In the dark. Where he would never be able to see her again.

Alastor hated the damn angels his mother had spoken wistfully about. Those winged assholes now had his mother with them. If they were real, that is.

A few days after the funeral Alastor was taken back to the church. The priest who ran the parish wanted to talk to him. Alastor had a few choice words for him too but decided it was wiser to hold his tongue. Along with the priest stood two nuns Alastor didn’t recognise. They were wearing false smiles.

The conversation began with them dancing around Alastor’s loss and the death of his mother. He zoned out for this bit and didn’t tune in again until they reached the real topic of why they had beckoned Alastor.

Where he was going to live.

Alastor was an orphan now. A mixed raced orphan with no family and living in a society still recovering after the war.

Shit.

Alastor realised he’d really dropped the ball here. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. He had been so entangled in his grief and processing everything he didn’t even consider this problem. He had been foolish enough just to go along with what the adults wanted, stay with this family, eat with this person, say please and thank you…It was so obvious he wouldn’t be returning to his little house by the bayou. Not on his own or with anyone else. But he had been so lost in his own head, he’d lost track of the obvious things. He’d let control slip.

The bomb was suddenly dropped that Alastor would be leaving. He would be getting on a train with these two nuns and going to stay at some children’s institution organised and ran by the church miles and miles away from the area he was born into.

Many things could be said to describe young Alastor, good and bad. Some of the bad may include; cunning, sneaky, manipulative, and self-important. However violent wouldn’t have been on the list.

Until today.

This wasn’t your average childish meltdown of a young person who was overwhelmed or over stimulated. This was pure rage. Alastor had screamed his disapproval at the religious figureheads and escalated when they chastised him for his outburst. They believed he should be grateful for the help and care being offered to him.

He threw a chair which smashed a window.

When the priest approached him in attempt to restrain Alastor had bit him. Hard.

In the end, the adults had to leave the room and close Alastor in, to protect themselves more than anything. Alastor trashed the room and screamed until his throat hurt. They didn’t re-enter until Alastor had gone quiet for several minutes. He’d exhausted himself and had resorted to the docile state he had been in previously. Quiet and compliant.

Reluctantly, the nuns took him. Alastor’s memory is patchy regarding his leaving home and travelling to The Institution. He does remember tuning in at one point though and hearing one sister say to the other;

“Another incident like that and he’ll end up in the lunatic asylum.”

Fuck.

So Alastor decided to be quiet and polite. He didn’t need anyone to accuse him of being crazy. He did consider apologising for his behaviour but decided that was beneath him, and his reaction was truly justified. On reflection, months later, Alastor regrets that he didn’t fight harder to stay away from this hellhole which was now his home.

Alastor’s new residence was literally an Institution. That’s what everyone called it rather than its official name. An old brick building where poor, unwanted, unloved waifs came to be raised right by men and women of God. It was more like a prison for children, whose crimes were they lacked capable parents.

Alastor was placed in a dormitory with a handful of other boys his age. They didn’t want to be friends. Which was just fine by Alastor, but the weird thing was they weren’t friends with each other either. They just sort of existed together, passing the odd comment to one another. One boy had been nice enough to show Alastor around, seeing as a nun just left him in the dorm after forcing him through a rigorous ‘hygiene inspection’ where Alastor had been stripped, scrubbed raw and checked for head lice. It was humiliating.

The boy, Benjamin, showed Alastor the bathrooms, dining area, living area, infirmary, where his classroom would be (many of the nuns who lived on site and ‘cared’ for the children were qualified teachers or nurses), the chapel, and just the layout of the building in general.

Alastor begrudgingly thanked Benjamin when the tour was over and he felt sick to his stomach. When Alastor turned to return to his dorm room Benjamin suddenly whispered;

“Hey…Just…Look out for Brother Jenkins and Brother Price, okay?”

Okay? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Why, are those two loose with the leather strap?” Alastor asked, knowing that ‘spare the rod spoil the child’ would be riff in this joint.

“Umm…yeah.” Benjamin answered.

Alastor nodded taking note but not overly concerned and took his leave. He needed solitude to ponder his current situation.

Alastor settled in quick at The Institution. He had to. He learned fast. For starters his new teacher, Sister Mary Agnes, was a bitch. Not only did the kids not like her, many were frightened of her. She often shouted and if it was directed at one individual child they often cried. She ruled her classroom with fear and shame. One wrong spelling and you were in the corner with the dunce cap, a badly timed smirk or chuckle earned you several thwacks on the back of the hand with the pointing stick. It was a particularly thin stick too, so it could break skin. Alastor soon learned the feeling of bloody knuckles.

But woe betide any child who was sent to the Mother Superior. She was pretty much the nun in charge, or, Queen Bitch as Alastor thought. She kept bamboo rods in her office and any child sent there would suffer the pain and humiliation of bending over and being smacked above the back of the knee a number of times at her discretion.

Alastor promised himself once was enough after his first experience, but sometimes it was hard to keep his quick tongue in check. Not to mention he was naturally curious, who wouldn’t want to know if Jonah had matches to see inside the whale? It must have been dark after all?

The Brothers at The Institute were just as bad as the nuns. They would smack hard around the ear just as Alastor’s father had done a long time ago, and they were quick with the leather straps they always had on their person for chastisement. Again, aimed for the back of the legs.

It took some time, as Alastor was highly focused on survival and the ability to avoid the violent hands of his ‘caregivers,’ but he started to tune into something very wrong at The Institute, something dark.

First he noticed many of the children had blank stares or ‘glassy eyes.’ Alastor put it down to struggling to cope in an environment where they tried to beat the ignorance and evilness out of you. But the more he paid attention, the more correlations he noticed.

Like a glassy-eyed kid appeared after cleaning the Brothers quarters.

Or a kid crying after choir practice.

Some kids wet the bed only on nights when certain staff were allocated to their dorm.

Alastor saw these things but he didn’t understand what caused it. And it scared him. If he couldn’t understand it then he was vulnerable to it. He didn’t want to end up a glassy-eyed kid with wet sheets.

One morning he and Benjamin were cleaning floors in a hallway as instructed. They were approaching the ‘maybe door.’ As in maybe it was locked and maybe it wasn’t. Alastor tried the handle. Today it was locked. The door opened to an old passage way which led to a rickety staircase leading up to the bell tower.

Children were strictly forbidden. So naturally Alastor had gone to explore one day he’d found the maybe door unlocked. The bell tower (the bell no longer in operation) was like a massive squared attic with two opposite walls missing and open to the world. At least they would have been if not for the tarp which completely sealed up the walls in the quickest way possible. Alastor was able to peek out around the edge of one of the tarps and see the entire courtyard down below. The space in the bell tower now seemed old and abandoned and used for storing useless junk.

Curiosity satisfied, Alastor had returned to his chores that day, only to be sent to the Mother Superior for falling behind on his chores and accused of being lazy.

Benjamin shot Alastor a look, he didn’t want any trouble. Alastor just smiled and kept pushing the mop. A few moments pass and Brother Jenkins strolls along the hallway.

“Working hard boys?” Brother Jenkins asked cheerfully. He approached Alastor.

“How are you this fine morning Alastor?” He asked, closing in so Alastor struggled to move the mop properly.

“Very well, thank you sir.” Alastor answered politely.

“Are you sure?” Brother Jenkins asked, “You look tired, are you sleeping okay at night?”

Brother Jenkins then did something very odd. He placed his hands on Alastor’s shoulders and started rubbing and squeezing them. Alastor was immediately uncomfortable.

“Maybe I should check on you next time I’m assigned to your dorm room?”

Okay, this was unbelievably weird, and needed to stop this instant.

“Ahaha! No need for that Brother Jenkins!” Alastor said with a laugh whilst shaking free from the man. “Why I sleep like the dead. Isn’t that right Benjamin?”

Alastor and Brother Jenkins directed their attention to the other boy in the hallway. Benjamin looked like he’d seen a ghost, and nodded dumbly in response to the question.

“There, see. Nothing to be concerned about!” Alastor said happily. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Benjamin and I must get this corridor clean. Don’t want a storm with the matron now do we?”

“Yes, well…” Brother Jenkins mumbled, surprised by Alastor’s quick responses. “I’ll be off then. Things to do boys, idle hands are the devils play things you know!”

And with that comment the man wondered off.

“Uh! Did you see that? Does he always do that?” Alastor demanded in disgust when he was sure the Brother was out of earshot. “What a creep!”

Benjamin was breathing slightly heavier, and he looked at Alastor worriedly. “You’re in trouble Alastor.”

Alastor had no idea what Benjamin meant and was furious when the boy refused to give details. It worried Alastor. Worried him enough for him to struggle to get to sleep some nights. One night when it was late, he heard the door of the dormitory open. It was Brother Price. He was assigned to be available to their dorm that night in case a child needed help in the night. What did he want? Everyone else was asleep.

Alastor hadn’t had much comings and goings with Brother Price since he came to The Institute. But he knew the man was a nasty prick with a quick temper. He certainly was fast and loose with the leather strap.

Alastor could take the strap, he could tolerate pain. Physical pain at least. But on Alastor’s tenth birthday, his first birthday without his mother, Brother Price had approached him.

“I understand it’s your birthday today Alastor.” The man had said in a seemingly nice tone.

“Yes sir,” Alastor replied. “I am ten today.”

“Hm. Don’t think the likes of you should expect many cards.” He’d said dryly, then walked off.

Nasty prick.

Alastor silently watched as Brother Price approached one of the boy’s bed. He shook the boy awake, and silently pulled him up and walked him out of the room. The boy went with silent compliance but hung his head low.

Where the hell was he taking him?

Unable to sleep Alastor remained awake, waiting for Price and the boy to return. Not too long had passed when Brother Price quietly pushed the door open, watched the boy climb into his bed again and closed the door.

A few seconds later Alastor heard the sound of muffled crying breaking the silence. What had happened? Had the boy received bad news? Alastor desperately wanted to know but he knew if he got up and was caught out of bed for no good reason he would be punished. It was smarter to wait until morning.

The next day the matron was furious because yet again a few of the boys had wet their beds. Alastor, relieved he wasn’t one of the poor wretches receiving the matron’s wrath, approached the boy he’d seen last night.

His eyes were puffy.

“Where did you go last night?” Alastor asked, straight to the point.

“What?”

“Last night, with Brother Price. He came, you left with him and you came back. Where did you go?”

“None of your damn business.” The boy hissed.

“You were crying when you got back.” Alastor pressed. “I heard you.”

“Yeah, well…You would cry too if it happened to you.” The boy mumbled and tried to walk away from Alastor.

“Well that’s just it!” Alastor snapped, following the boy. “Brother Jenkins has basically said that he’s going to ‘check’ on me one of these nights. I’d like to know what these ‘checks’ entail!”

The boy stopped, and looked at Alastor with sad eyes. “I…I can’t say.” The boy says quietly. “I know you ain’t been here that long Alastor, but Brother Price and Jenkins, everyone knows what they’re like. Why do you think so many kids piss themselves at night when they’re on duty? No one wants to go to the bathroom in case they’re hanging about, waiting.”

Fuck, this was bad. Too scared to get up to go to the bathroom? Did the Brothers’ turn into some kind of monsters?

“Can’t we stop them?” Alastor asked, thinking hard.

“What? A bunch of ratbag kids try to take down men of the church?” He scoffed, “Get real Alastor! They’re bigger, stronger and more important than us. If we try to say or do anything against them they’ll throw us away for good in the loony bin!”

Alastor knew this wasn’t a lie he’d heard one of the nuns say something similar when they brought him here after all. Alastor already had at least one strike against his name for his outburst that day.

“All you can do is pray.” The boy said, walking off, clearly becoming overwhelmed by the conversation.

Alastor ran off too, to find somewhere quiet. When he found an empty room he began pacing around like a wild animal he felt he was. Locked away in some evil zoo where no one came to look because no one cared. He was shaking with anger. Pray? Pray! He recalled how his mother was grateful to God and the church for not turning their backs on her for her sins. So why were they turning their back on Alastor? What sin had he committed?

Was it because he killed his mother? For taking the remedy that could have spared her life? These questions tormented him greatly. Was he being punished?

He dropped to the floor missing his mother desperately. She would know what to do, she would never let this happen, she would protect him. But who would protect him now? His days were numbered, Brother Jenkins was coming to get him some night soon. If Price didn’t beat him to it.

Feeling ridiculously overwhelmed Alastor started humming to calm himself. He hummed ‘You are my Sunshine.’ He remembered his mama singing it, he remembered singing it to her. Before she went to meet the angels…

Angels.

His mama seemed so content even though she knew she was dying. She was meeting the angels, she felt safe. Protected.

Alastor thought angels were a myth, a story. But his mother believed in them. And he believed in his mother. She had been right when he had questioned her about the witch’s weird remedy. He took it and it had probably saved him from that deadly flu that had killed his mother and countless others.

Alastor was desperate at this point. He wondered if there was a way meet the angels, without dying of course. Maybe even his guardian angel. Would they protect him until he was old enough to leave this hellhole?

Alastor snuck out of The Institute that morning, satchel hanging off his shoulder. He had considered running away completely but he had nowhere to go and they would almost certainly catch up to him very quickly. That’s why he had to act fast, he had maybe two to three hours before he was missed, another half hour after that when they figured out he was off grounds.

It was a good two miles to the nearest town, but it was a little quicker when not sticking to the main road. Alastor had been in the town with permission a couple of times for a ‘treat.’ It was a drab little place with drab people to match, but at least it had a library.

Alastor wondered into the building and walked towards the children’s area, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He pretended to look at the books, when really he was wondering where the right place to search really was.

A book about angels.

Where would that be? Alastor was very acquainted with the library in his home town. When he thought about the sections he was familiar with he knew he’d find nothing about the angels in them…therefore they would be in a section he’d never searched before!

He wondered around and began to wonder if this particular library had what he was hoping for. Sure enough, tucked away in at the back there it was.

The Restricted Section.

A tiny area for books only a select few were interested in. Not for the faint of hearted and certainly not for children.

Alastor made sure no one was watching then quickly dashed in. He looked at the categories this library’s restricted section had on offer;

Controversial Literature

Classic Erotica

Psychological texts

Occult Folklore.

He decided to start with the last one because even though he didn’t know what it meant (or what any of the categories meant) it was the smallest section and fastest to rule out if it did not have what he needed.

Now some people would argue that it was pure coincidence that the first book ten year old Alastor picked up that day was;

Grimoire of Angel and Demonic Pacts

Others may say it was fate. That he was meant to pick up that book. Alastor saw the word ‘Angel’ in the title and quickly skimmed through the book. He found a page subtitled;

Step by step guide to summoning.

Yes! This was it. This was exactly what he was looking for, Alastor could use this book to summon his guardian angel!

He couldn’t believe his luck.

He swiftly exited the restricted section, which had remained empty. No one wanted a book on classic erotica on a Saturday morning. Go-figure.

The rest of the library was fairly busy humming with people and children alike, selecting something to enjoy and relax with later that evening. Alastor was practically invisible. He quickly slipped the forbidden book into his satchel and simply walked out as if he owned the place, no one noticed, no one cared.

He was only borrowing the book, he would take it back, and this was not stealing. Or so Alastor told himself.

He promptly left the village. When he realised he had lots of time to spare he couldn’t wait, and sat down on a grassy knoll to read the book.

As he studied it he realised this might be harder than he thought. But with a little bit of luck he might be able to summon his angel tonight!

The thing that worried him the most was ‘the sacrifice’.

He would have to find a dead animal to get something called ‘the pentagram to work. The good news was this area was full of hares and rabbits. The bad news is Alastor had no way to catch one. He knew how, he’d learned a little about how to track and hunt small animals, they made for a nice stew, but he had no equipment for setting a trap.

And as if just to annoy him he spotted a handful of rabbits bobbing about several yards from where he sat. Just running around like little idiots.

Near the road.

Where the cars and trucks speed past.

Alastor smiled. He got up and ever so slowly crept closer and closer to where the rabbits were. He kept down low so the rabbits wouldn’t spot him. He waited, and listened. After a few seconds he heard the sound of a vehicle approaching.

He had to time this right.

He took a breath and took his chance. He fired the Grimoire hard and it landed with a bang startling the rabbits. They all fleeced in several directions. They’d spotted Alastor now, so they veered away from that direction.

Alastor waited until the vehicle had gone from sight. He stood up, wandered down the knoll and picked up the book which hadn’t been damaged. He walked towards the road.

Sure enough, lying still and slightly bloody was a tiny dead rabbit.

“Yes!” Cried Alastor in delight. He ran over and picked up his prize by the ears. He felt a fleeting pang of guilt, noting that the bunny was little more than a baby.

“Sorry,” Alastor sighed. “But it was either you or me.”

Wondering in the general direction of The Institute, Alastor read on. The book informed him he had to have something that would be ‘endearing’ to or ‘attract’ the entity (this must mean angel). Alastor decided the correct answer was flowers. Angels must like flowers. In some of the pictures illustrated in books angels had flowers in their hair. Plus…fairies lived in flower gardens and what was the difference between fairies and angels anyway?

There was a big rose bush that grew up the garden trellis in The Institute. It was pretty, made the place look like less of a prison camp. Alastor would pick a few roses from there.

The third thing Alastor needed was something he cherished to offer the entity/angel. There was nothing Alastor cherished. Not anymore. But there was something he enjoyed, the transistor radio that was in the common area. The radio still fascinated him and he always felt happy when it was on. Some of the sisters turned it off on him though. They called the hosts and the music blasphemous. They preferred it only to be used when songs of praise played on a Sunday evening.

He would offer the radio.

Once back at The Institute with his banned book and bloody bunny in his satchel, Alastor quickly collected three roses and stored them in his bag. He went to his empty dorm, took his book from the bag and read on. Cover face down on the bed of course. No one needed to see what Alastor was reading if they came in.

Alastor realised he would have to draw the special circle with the star to get the angel to come. It would have to be big enough for him to sit in. Alastor wondered where on earth he was going to do this without being disturbed. Everyone would wonder what he was doing with the radio, roses and a dead rabbit. Plus if his angel did come, he wasn’t sharing. It would have to be at night, when everyone was asleep. He could try the ‘maybe door.’ No one would see or disturb him in the bell tower.

Alastor could use red chalk to draw the circle on the old wooden floor up there. The picture in the book was red and the chalk would wipe away. He debated sneaking into the kitchen to steal salt for the ‘protection circle’ but children were not allowed in the kitchen, and it was either locked or full of adults. The likelihood of being caught and punished was high, so he decided against it.

The protection circle wasn’t needed anyway, he wasn’t going to hurt the angel!

The book suggested having certain symbols in place to strengthen the connection to the other realm. Alastor could make some of these symbols out of twigs and twine. He might even be able to hang them from a low beam in the bell tower, if there was something up there he could stand on.

So Alastor got to work. He pinched scissors, twine and the green and red chalk from the art table in the common room. Other kids saw this but they asked no questions. When it came to Alastor it was easier to let him be than ask questions. He ended up either confusing them or frightening them when he was confronted.

Alastor eyed up the radio on the other side of the room. It would be easier to leave it until later. Question would definitely be asked if he ran off with the radio. So he wondered around outside and collected twigs, took them back to his room and attempted to craft some of the symbols illustrated in the Grimoire.

Once he was satisfied, he stored everything in his satchel, ready for easy transportation to the bell tower. He quickly made his way to the corridor with the ‘maybe door.’ He made sure the coast was clear…and it was unlocked! He ran quickly up the corridor and darted up the stairs, adrenaline pumping, praying he wouldn’t be caught this time. When he reached the top he dropped his bag of offerings down and rushed back down the stairs. Once he made it safely back on the other side of the ‘maybe door,’ he gasped a sigh of relief.

Everything was in place and ready to be set up for tonight. So long as the ‘maybe door’ stayed unlocked, he might meet his guardian angel tonight!

At 9pm sharp Alastor walked along the corridor with the other boys to their dorm room. They went through their usual nightly rituals and climbs into their beds. Their carer for the night who would be sleeping in the staff bedroom nearby stepped into the dormitory.

“Good night boys, hope you all said your prayers!” He said with a grin.

Alastor froze. Oh God, it was Brother Jenkins.

Jenkins made a quick survey of the room from where he stood, when his gaze met Alastor’s his smile widened. Then he turned and walked out. Alastor glanced at Benjamin, at the boy who had been traumatised by Brother Price only the night before. They gave sad sympathetic looks, they knew what was going to happen to Alastor tonight, more than he did. But they couldn’t help him. No one could.

Alastor wanted to cry, wanted to run, wanted to find someone who could save him from this nightmare. What would Jenkins do to him? It frightened him so much that he didn’t even know what he was so scared of!

He tried to calculate in his head, roughly what time had Price come into the room last night? Was that an accurate time to go by? All he knew was he had to be gone before Jenkins came back into the room. Before he came back for Alastor.

He wasn’t sure how long had passed. Two hours? Three? All the other boys were asleep now, he knew that much. And that’s when Price had appeared.

It was now or never. Do or die.

Alastor slowly pushed his covers off and put his feet on the ground. One foot in front of the other, slowly. Slowly, don’t want the floor to creak. He got to the door and swallowed, He felt his hand tremble as he reached for the handle and turned it. He pulled the door open, just a small enough gap to let him through. The tiniest creak sounded. It was barely a noise at all, but to Alastor it was deafening. He escaped out of the dorm room, the door closing with a click.

He slowly walked on, holding his breath as he passed the door he knew Jenkins was behind. Once he was a fair distance away, Alastor quickened his pace, heading for the common area. The Institute was eerie when it was so empty and quiet. Alastor tried not to think about that, but to focus on his plan ahead. He struggled to see in the dark, barely making out shadows created from the moonlight.

He got to the common room with little trouble, made it to the mantelpiece where the radio perched and lifted it down. For some reason it felt heavier in his arms. He quickly moved on to the ‘maybe door’ hallway.

Alastor suddenly felt dread, that the door would be locked and his plan ruined. However the door opened with ease, uncaring to the safety lacking in a children’s home.

Alastor carefully walked up the wooden stairs, feeling uneasy and nervous the higher he climbed. Once he reached the top all his fear vanished, the hard part was done. The bell tower was silent, it was eerily calm. The tarp didn’t move an inch as there was no wind to move it.

Now to set up.

Alastor couldn’t hang his symbols from the ceiling or anywhere high up, so tied some around the loopholes in the tarp. He took his red chalk and carefully drew a large, neat pentagram. He illustrated a number of voodoo symbols with green chalk, surrounding the pentagram. He then placed the radio in front, placing a pink rose on either side of it and one in front. He put a couple of his twig symbols there too for good measure.

Alastor sat down in the centre of the pentagram with his book and his bunny, and read the ‘magic words’.

“I call on you voices of the afterlife,” Alastor spoke clearly.

A green hue glowed from the symbols drawn on the floor.

“I wish to make a deal with you!”

What could only be described as pink smoke suddenly erupted from the radio and roses. Alastor gasped and watched in awe as the swirls grew wider and larger.

When they started to die down after a few seconds, Alastor could see a figure was now standing before him.

A tall lady with silver skin.

She wore a floor length maroon dress with puffed sleeves and black ruffles. Her large matching hat with black feathers framed her white bob beautifully.

She was fancy.

And she was smiling.

Alastor had done it.

“Are you my guardian angel?” He asked softly.

There was silence as ‘angel’ and child stared at one another, not quite understanding or believing the situation they were in.

Rosie blinked at the little boy who was smiling sweetly up at her. Was this a joke?

“Your what?” She asked, confused.

“My guardian angel.” Alastor repeated. “Did you come from heaven?”

Rosie burst into a fit of laughter.

“Heaven! Haha! Angel!” Rosie clutched her side with one hand and wiped away a tear with the other. “Oh, kid, I think you dialled the wrong number!”

Alastor tilted his head in confusion. This angel was behaving very oddly, and she didn’t even have wings.

Rosie clocked the book that Alastor was holding. She turned in a circle, spotting the dead rabbit, pentagram, roses, radio and symbols.

“Ah, I see what you tried to do here.” Rosie commented. “This is adorable!”

The demon also noticed there was no protection surrounding the young mortal. There was nothing from stopping her from eating him whole! But she decided to bide her time, and get more details. Thoughts ticked through Rosie’s head. This human was a child but he had summoned her none the less, therefore bargaining for a deal was fair play. Souls didn’t have age restrictions.

“Are you not an angel?” Alastor asked, annoyed. “I need an angel! I did what the book said.”

Rosie chuckled again. “No sweetie, I am not an angel. What you want one of them for anyway?”

“I need protection from the Sisters and Brothers who work here.” Alastor told her.

Rosie’s eyes widened. Sisters and Brothers…as in nuns and priests? People of God. She finally saw the giant bell hanging from the ceiling. Holy hell, was she in a chapel? Had this kid seriously pulled her onto holy ground? How was she not going up in flames right now?

“They’re mean and they hurt us a lot.” Alastor continued. “Bad things are happening and I don’t know how to stop it. Mama always said that angels look after and protect us. She’s in heaven now and can’t protect me anymore. I thought an angel would help me because mama was good and believed in them.”

Rosie felt a pang of compassion for the boy. He looked so sad, and clearly something was scaring him so badly that he managed performing a demon summoning ritual to get him out of trouble. Albeit accidentally. When Rosie was alive she had heard many a rumour about scandalous activities carried out by certain religious individuals. People who had abused their position, who did things to children. Things that made her skin crawl thinking about it.

No wonder this boy was scared.

Rosie smiled genuinely and sat down on her knees in front of him.

“What’s your name, darling?”

“Alastor.” He replied, looking disheartened. His guardian angel hadn’t come.

“It’s nice to meet you Alastor. My name is Rosie.” She said pleasantly. “Now dear, I don’t qualify as an angel, but I still might be able to help you. You say you want protection?”

“You can protect me?” Alastor asked.

“Not personally of course, I have to return to…my home. However, I do have the ability to…let’s just say, cast a spell. And what that will do is ensure you are kept safe during times you are can’t protect yourself. It certainly sounds like you’re struggling to defend yourself now, is that right?”

Alastor nodded. He definitely felt powerless. He was at the mercy of people who had complete control over him. People with authority and nasty intentions. Wolves in sheep’s clothing.

“You can really do that?” Alastor asked, trying to dull the amazement in his voice. “You can make it so no one can hurt me?”

“That’s the general idea pumpkin!” Rosie said with a smile. “Now if you like what I’m offering, there is something I need from you. There’s no such thing as something for nothing you know.”

“I don’t really have anything…” Alastor replied, “You can take the radio if you like.”

Alastor would miss it, and there would be a storm with the staff if they suspected a thief among them. But they wouldn’t be able to pin it on Alastor, plus he would be protected anyway.

“No, no Alastor, you misunderstand.” Rosie stated patiently, though thinking it hilarious that the boy thought his radio was worth her talents. “You don’t need to give me anything right now. Let me try to explain. You know what happens when you die right? Your soul leaves your body, like you said your mother went to heaven.”

Alastor nodded, listening intently and trying to absorb the information.

“Well what I’m proposing is, when it’s your time, your soul will come to me as a deposit in payment and you will complete a task of my choosing, in return for what I give you now. Your soul is returned once you do the set task. Think of it as a favour for a favour.”

Alastor thought for a few seconds. What she said made sense, if someone helps you than you are obliged to help them back. Quid pro quo. But something irked him.

“What’s the task?” He asked.

“Oh darling don’t you worry about that!” Rosie chuckled. “It’ll be years from now, your whole lifetime away. I don’t have anything in mind just yet. But what’s one favour in return for protection from harm?”

Alastor was still uncertain. Rosie saw this and choose to act. She clicked her fingers and a gold glowing piece of paper appeared. She handed it to Alastor and stood up, waiting for his response.

It read,

I Alastor, hereby offer my soul to Rosie in payment for protection during periods when I am incapable to protect myself from harm. One specifically named task must be completed by Alastor as dictated by Rosie.

Alastor spent his time reading, and pondered the contract carefully. How it was worded didn’t quite match what Rosie had told him…

“Tick tock sweetie.” Rosie urged.

“Hold your horses Miss Rosie, I’m contemplating trading my soul here, not a bag of marbles.” Alastor challenged. “May I suggest a few amendments?”

Rosie frowned, and was rather surprised by the boy’s level of scepticism. When she made soul contracts in hell most sinners sold themselves to her without hardly a second thought and rarely questioned her. They were too greedy and desperate to reap their reward.

Rosie made a pen appear to allow Alastor to add his adaptations to the contract. The final product stated;

I Alastor, hereby offer my soul to Rosie in exchange for protection during periods when I am incapable to protect myself from bodily harm. One specifically named task must be completed by Alastor as dictated by Rosie as payment for services rendered, thus fulfilling the contract.

This contract will be voided and Alastor’s soul returned to his possession should Rosie’s power fail to protect Alastor whilst he is deemed defenceless.

Rosie couldn’t help but smile when she read the alterations Alastor had made. He certainly was a clever little thing. She would enjoy exploiting that when he died. She didn’t even feel bad at the prospect of damning his soul to hell, she was certain that a little boy who killed bunnies and talked to demons so easily was never going to make the cut for heaven in the long run anyway.

“I accept your terms Alastor.” Rosie stated. “Do we have an agreement?”

She outreached her bony hand to Alastor.

Alastor stood and looked her in her black eyes. He needed this.

“It’s a deal.” He said clearly as grasped Rosie’s hand.

Rosie and Alastor’s signatures magically appeared on the contact as it was engulfed by the same pink smoke and swirls that had made Rosie first appear in the bell tower. The smoke was more intense now and bright flash of pink light filled the room, startling Alastor and making him shield his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again the room was completely clear of paranormal light and smoke, and Rosie was gone without a trace.

Alastor looked around the room, there was no evidence that anyone, angel or otherwise, had been present. Nothing to prove to himself that everything had really occurred and he wasn’t just having some crazy dream.

He even wondered if he’d eaten something ‘funny.’ His mother once told him when they’d seen a man behaving very oddly that some people are desperate and ate things that made them see and imagine things that aren’t real, because they can’t cope in the real world.

But Alastor was sure that hadn’t happened. He’d never had any other adverse effects from the food served to him at The Institute in the past. Other than an uninspired palate.

He quickly realised how late it was and was jerked back to the present. He cleared away what he could of the ritual and wiped away the chalk. Everything else was neatly packed in his satchel which he tucked away with the other junk stored around him. He would retrieve it when it was next safe to do so and just dispose of the lot. The bag and all its contents were now bloody from the ill-fated rabbit.

As quickly and quietly as he could, Alastor returned the radio to its place on the mantel in the living area. Then he rushed towards his dorm, he needed to get back to bed.

When Alastor reached the door to his dormitory, feeling his eyes heavy with tiredness, he heard another door open and close nearby.

“Alastor?”

Alastor looked around, and to his horror, there stood Brother Jenkins. It was Alastor’s nightmare, Jenkins had caught him, alone and vulnerable, in the very position most other boys avoided by not leaving their beds during the night.

Alastor was silent and froze. Like a deer in headlights.

“What are you doing out of bed Alastor?” Jenkins asked in a hushed tone, walking slowly towards him, then stopping abruptly.

“I-I…just needed to use the bathroom sir.” Alastor stammered, struggling to conceal his fear.

Jenkins was still and his eyes glazed over for a second.

“Oh.” He replied dully. “Well then best get back to bed young man, we have Mass in the morning.”

“Yes sir.” Alastor said quietly. He quickly opened the door, closed it behind him and scurried over to his bed. His heart was pounding as he pulled the covers tightly over his shoulders.

After several excruciatingly long minutes, Alastor’s breathing steadied and his heart stopped racing.

Jenkins wasn’t coming to get him. He had left him alone. Let him go. Didn’t even come within arm’s length of Alastor.

It had worked.

Rosie had ‘cast her spell’ like she’d promised and Alastor didn’t get hurt. Not like the other kids had been.

He was finally safe.

Time passed on in The Institute just like everywhere else in the world. It was dreary, boring and certainly not where happy children came to grow up well adjusted. But thanks to Rosie, The Institute was no longer scary for Alastor, he didn’t live in a constant state of fear anymore.

Over time Alastor learned he’d become immune to any form of physical punishment. He fell under the radar of the nuns and brothers. Of course he didn’t deliberately give them reason to attack him, but that hadn’t stopped them before. He was never sent to Mother Superior again to feel the bamboo stick’s thwack, and he wasn’t even smacked with leather straps or rulers either. They simply let him be. So he got by in The Institute, surviving at least.

As he had done with his mother and neighbours as a small child, Alastor observed his surroundings. He watched, he learned, he adapted, and he got by. He would survive this hellhole yet.

Content that their deal was in place, Alastor never thought too much the conditions he had made that night with Rosie. The words stipulating their agreement faded in his memory.

As did the literal meaning.

One day during Alastor’s twelfth year, he was in a foul mood, having been ordered to scrub the stone steps at one of the entrances of the building. He was scowling when Brother Price approached, he’d obviously just come from chapel, Bible in hand. He sneered at Alastor’s aggrieved expression.

“Our lord and saviour did not frown when carrying the Cross.” He said pointedly.

As if he knew, he wasn’t there! Without thinking, Alastor snapped back, “Our lord and saviour didn’t have to scrub these wretched steps!”

BANG!

Alastor’s body crashed on to the stone with force. His head throbbed and his vision went spotty, his right eye stung.

“Never let me hear you blaspheming again, you curr!” Price roared before stamping up the steps and entering The Institute.

Alastor steadied himself into a seated position on the steps. His head felt wobbly, he had to hold it straight with his hands. His eye hurt terribly. Instinctively he took his glasses off to inspect for damage. Miraculously there was none. Price must have managed to hit him at an angle that completely avoided his glasses. Good thing too, his eye hurt enough without having a lens crashed into it. It was a hard smack, Alastor thought. Price hadn’t used the strap or even his hand.

The Bible. The so-called ‘man of God’ had used a Bible to smack Alastor upside the head! Except the full force had gone straight to the eye.

Alastor felt wetness on his face. Dammit, he refused to cry over this! He fiercely wiped his eye with the back of his hand. Not tears. Blood.

Fuck.

Alastor rushed inside and located the nearest bathroom. There was a boy in there washing his hands.

“Jesus! What happened to your face?” The boy exclaimed, looking horrified.

“Get out!” Alastor yelled angrily. The boy instantly ran off.

Alastor approached the sinks and looked in a mirror. He could see why the boy he’d chased off had been so startled, Alastor looked quite frightening. On the right side of his face the blood had smeared messily, but his eye… His eye which was meant to be white and a warm chestnut brown, was red. Just red, and a darker red surrounding a small black pupil. His eye was full of blood.

It was gross and creepy and was hard to wash away. It was beyond Alastor’s medical expertise and he ended up with the nurse, who of course chastised him for angering Brother Price instead of being sympathetic to his injury or disgusted by such a blatant misuse of a Bible.

Not too long after this Alastor was presented with new glasses. He inspected them whilst lying on his bed. The lens for his right eye no longer served its purpose. Since Brother Price’s assault, Alastor got frequent headaches and discovered his right eye blurred when he was reading. He was eventually referred to a professional who could help and identified the problem as one that likely came about from forced trauma. Thank you, Brother Price.

Alastor had been uneasy from the day he’d been hit by Price. Things had shifted. It was like the protection Rosie had given him was wearing off or losing impact. The hit from Brother Price had been the start, since then he’d also received a few smacks from the teacher and whips from the strap. He’d even been challenged by other kids, and had gotten into scuffles on the playground.

Alastor had been thinking and he remembered something about the ‘protection spell.’ It was only in place whilst he was incapable of defending himself.

Rosie had been sneaky, she wasn’t sharing anymore of her power than what was necessary.

He sighed, knowing what that meant. He was capable of defending himself now. He was older, stronger and cleverer than he had been when he’d struck that deal. He knew what to say and how to act to avoid trouble and manipulate things in his favour. He had been scared and defenceless when he was ten. He was more confident now, and definitely not scared.

Most twelve year old boys were yelled at forced to clean their bedrooms. Alastor was yelled at and forced to clean other people’s bedrooms. On this day Alastor had been selected to go the Brothers’ quarters and tidy their bedrooms. It was a tedious job that had to be done just so. If there was complaint that the cleaning was sub-standard you were punished. If you were accused of stealing (rightly or wrongly) you were punished. This chore certainly had its risks.

In many ways.

Alastor was in one of the bedrooms, he didn’t know whose and he didn’t care, polishing the wooden dresser. He had left the door open when he’d entered.

The door now clicked shut.

“Good afternoon Alastor.” Said a sickly nice voice.

Alastor looked around and tried hard not to glare, forcing manners in place. “Good afternoon, Brother Jenkins.”

Alastor turned back to his task, trying to ignore the man.

“My my, you are a busy bee.” The man sighed.

Alastor didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to entertain Jenkins. A dust rag and polish were better company.

Jenkins sat down on the bed behind Alastor, all but confirming this was his bedroom.

“Why not have a little break, Alastor?” Jenkins suggested.

Alastor rolled his eyes, working on. “Not possible sir, far too much to do. Idle hands are the devils play things you know.”

Jenkins stood up and began to approach.

“Ah yes! But all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!”

Jenkins placed his hands on Alastor’s shoulders.

Alastor stifled a growl. Not this shit again.

He moved away, acting like another section required his attention.

Jenkins followed. This time he placed his hands on Alastor’s waist.

“Get off me!” Alastor shouted. He pulled away and glared at the man.

Jenkins raised his eyebrows. “Alastor, Alastor! Don’t be silly. I just want to help you relax.”

He took a step forward again and Alastor kicked him hard in the knee, fast losing his temper. The shock of this action made the man stumble backwards but not fall over.

He regained his balance and gave Alastor a look, one suggesting that he was running out of patience. “Come now, Alastor. You’ll have to do better than that.”

Alastor took that as a challenge, he knew he was in trouble now.

“Oh, I intend to!” He growled.

Alastor looked to his right and grabbed a ceramic jug sitting on the bedside table. He smashed it and held up a sharp fragment menacingly.

“Don’t come near me!” Alastor warned.

“Now that’s enough of that!” Jenkins scolded angrily.

He closed in on Alastor.

Alastor reached up and swung horizontality.

Jenkins froze.

A red line appeared across his neck. It grew thicker, and thicker.

Alastor’s eyes widened and he gasped, realising what had happened.

He had sliced Jenkins’ neck.

Jenkins clutched his neck and made choking sounds, like the air was catching halfway to his lungs. More blood appeared. Much more.

Horrified, Alastor ran. Too much happened quickly in the next few seconds for his brain to process. He flung the door open and made to sprint down the corridor. His senses were suddenly bombarded, his arms were grabbed tight, his ears assaulted by yells.

“Alastor you curr! What do you think you are doing?”

Alastor screamed in panic and his hand shot forward with force breaking one of his arms free.

He heard a pained gasp and the grip on his arm loosened.

Alastor focussed, and saw his hand gripping the ceramic shard now lodged deep into Brother Price’s chest.

Behind him he could hear Jenkins stumble into the corridor, still making those horrible choking sounds. There was a thud when he hit the ground.

Price suddenly made a noise that was like half sneer half roar. Animalistic. He grabbed Alastor roughly by the collar with both hands, and amazingly for a man with a deep wound in his chest, had the strength to easily raise the boy’s feet off the floor.

In his fury, Price smashed Alastor into the wall.

BANG

The back of Alastor’s head hit hard, leaving an open wound.

BANG

There’s blood on the wall.

BANG

The skull is broken and damaged in many places.

Lost in pain and confusion Alastor, who was still gripping the shard, pulled his hand away yanking the weapon out in the process.

Price screamed in pain and blood poured onto his robes. He let go of Alastor, who slid down the wall.

Alastor watched numbly as Price stumbled around for a few more seconds, moaning in fear and pain. He eventually fell to the floor a little ways away from Alastor.

Jenkins wasn’t moving at all, just lying in a pool of blood which was staining the runner rug.

Alastor took shallow heavy breaths. His head hurt so badly. He wasn’t thinking clearly but he knew this was a different pain, not like any other pain he’s ever experienced. The type of pain that meant danger. Tears welled in his eyes. How could this have happened? Why is everything so wrong?

He was only defending himself.

Jenkins was definitely dead. Price was without a doubt close behind.

Alastor felt blood running down the back of his neck. It felt like a lot.

The danger pain was getting worse.

Alastor felt sleepy. He was tired, so tired. Tired of everything. Why couldn’t he have peace? Why did he have to come to this place? This God-awful place! Why was everyone such a horrible excuse for a human being? Why did all this have to happen? What had he done to deserve this?

Was it because he stole the book from the library?

Because he got a rabbit killed on purpose?

Because he took the remedy and let his mother die?

Because he was a horrible excuse for a human being too?

His eyes fell on the Brother’s Price and Jenkins again. They were both dead. Good! He was glad they were dead.

…His head hurt.

Tears finally dropped down Alastor’s face. He let them, something he hated to do.

He closed his eyes, shard still clenched in hand.

And somewhere in his sleep, Alastor slipped away.