Hello everybody! This is my first post, I will write more if you guys think it's worthwhile. Any feedback will be appriciated, I hope you enjoy!
The Arrival
It had always fascinated Sister Helena, the rain and the wind. How they danced with each other, spinning into the night. The wind whistling the tune as they twirled in perfect harmony. Sister Helena had never met two people who got on as well as the wind and rain. As she completed her checks on the children she wondered if there could be anybody out there who fit perfectly together, like a jigsaw puzzle. The lashing on the window pane rang in her ears. Many storms had come and gone but she realized that in all her years at Hope House she had never seen a storm like this before. The wind’s cries screeched through the darkness, the rain whipped its victim viciously. Sister Helena padded through the corridors, swallowed in shadows. The storm continued to battle outside, tearing through the countryside. The trees wailed in protest, thrashing their branches wildly trying to beat off the attack. It charged, battering down the sky, rampaging uncontrollably. The stream ran as fast as it could, trying to make room for the oncoming torrent, only to be refilled once again. Inside the children hid beneath the bed clothes, recoiling from the sound of tiles smashing, and the building threateningly creaking around them. The rooms were haunted by a dense cloud of fear, engulfed in obscurity, twisting shadows into towering demons.
Shivering Sister Helena briskly walked through the grey, dreary passage. She entered the echoing hallway, the only part of the orphanage that was completely original and unchanged. Beautiful oak panelling lined the tall walls, a plush emerald carpet creeped up the staircase, and a majestically carved front door welcomed children into Hope House.
Still the rain continued to hammer at the door, chilling Sister Helena’s bones as she hastily headed for the staircase. Whispers filled the hallway, deflecting off the surfaces. Presences teased her, mocking her as she steadily climbed. Suddenly she froze. No. She must be hearing things she thought to herself.
“Helena…” a cracked voice beckoned. “Helena…”
She tried to ignore the feeling in her gut, she knew she was being silly, of course nobody was there. Her mind was just playing tricks on her. However there was something about the voice, she’d heard it before. Slowly she turned towards the door, she wasn’t sure what she was doing, she just had to check.
“Helena…” the voice summoned.
No it couldn’t be! She thought to herself, she hadn’t heard that voice in so many years. Not since the child went missing in 1967.
Her wrinkled hand shakily unbolted the heavy door, she felt like a small child again, timidly she pushed the door open a crack. She gasped in shock, completely forgetting the voice as she lay her eyes on a small bundle that lay on the broad doorstep. Of course children had been left on the doorstep before. Usually in a blanket, or tucked up in a cardboard box, but this baby was swaddled in a rich patterned blanket. Shades of gold and silver glittered around the child, they were shades only worthy of royalty. Delicate embroidery illustrated tales. Beading and crystals sent beams of light piercing the gloom. Embellishments glorified the already magnificent swaddle. A cream envelope and a strange bundle lay beside the baby, elegant satin clung to something within the bundle protectively. Carefully Sister Helena picked up the child to take into the refuge of the orphanage. A milky, translucent face glowed up at her, delicate eyelids closed, and pearly pink lips breathing steadily. Sister Helena sighed, all babies were beautiful to her. They were a miracle, a blessing to the world, she could never get her head around the fact that somebody would want to give such a gift away. This child was different though, a rare beauty, something quite special. Like a delicate rose amongst the thorns, or a unique shell at the beach, or the first spring day after a long, cold winter. Sister Helena put the bundle under her arm, and carried the child attentively in her arms. Before she returned to the orphanage she opened the cream envelope, it was addressed to Hope House in twisting golden handwriting. She pulled out a piece of thin writing paper, it read “This child is very special, her name is Aphra Mirthay. Keep her safe until the time comes for her to return.” It was not signed; Sister Helena tucked the note into the bundle.
“Welcome to Hope House Aphra,” she whispered gently to the tiny child.
