Wednesday:Shadowbound

The attic room had always been Adrian's refuge, a sanctuary perched atop the creaking bones of Saint Mary's Orphanage. For six long years, since the age of four, he had called this place home—a word that tasted bitter on his tongue. The walls were a patchwork of peeling wallpaper and exposed beams, the ceiling slanted so low in places that even his slight frame risked a bump on the head. But the solitary window offered a view of the world beyond: the sprawling woods that encircled the orphanage like silent sentinels, their branches scratching at the sky.

Adrian sat by the window, his back against the cold, chipped sill, knees drawn to his chest. The late autumn wind rattled the loose panes, a haunting melody that harmonized with the whispers in his mind. Below, the other children played in the muddy yard, their laughter carried away by the gusts. They never invited him to join—not anymore. Not since the incident with Timothy and the mysteriously shattered mirror.

He traced a finger along the frost patterns etching the glass, his thoughts drifting like the gray clouds overhead. Shadows pooled in the corners of his room, deepening as the sun dipped lower. He had always been aware of the shadows—how they moved, how they listened. Lately, he could have sworn they were trying to speak.

A soft knock jolted him from his reverie. The door creaked open before he could respond, and Matron Eleanor Shaw stepped inside. Tall and gaunt, with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun, she moved with the stiff grace of a marionette. Her eyes, a cold, piercing blue, surveyed the room before settling on Adrian.

"You're missing afternoon prayers," she said, her voice flat but edged with disapproval.

"I wasn't feeling well," Adrian replied softly, not meeting her gaze.

"Illness is no excuse to neglect one's duties to the Lord." She took a step closer, the floorboards groaning beneath her sensible black shoes. "Come. The others are waiting."

He hesitated, the weight of unspoken words pressing against his chest. "Matron Shaw," he began, choosing his words carefully, "have you ever felt like... like there's something around us? Something we can't see?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you babbling about?"

"Sometimes I hear whispers," he said, barely above a whisper himself. "In the shadows."

A flicker of something—fear?—crossed her face before it hardened into a scowl. "Superstitious nonsense. Idle minds conjure idle thoughts." She seized his arm with a grip that belied her age. "Perhaps more chores will keep these foolish ideas at bay."

Her fingers dug into his flesh as she pulled him toward the door. The shadows in the room seemed to ripple, as if stirred by an unseen breeze. Adrian glanced back, half-expecting to see them reaching out, but they remained still.

The corridor was dimly lit by weak bulbs encased in dusty sconces. The wallpaper here was the color of old mustard, peeling at the seams. Faded portraits of stern-looking benefactors lined the walls, their eyes following as Matron Shaw escorted him downstairs.

They entered the chapel, a long, narrow room filled with rows of wooden pews polished to a dull sheen. The air was thick with the scent of candle wax and something medicinal. The other children knelt in unison, heads bowed, voices murmuring in rote prayer.

Matron Shaw guided Adrian to an empty spot near the back. "Kneel," she commanded.

He complied, the hardwood pressing into his knees. As the droning voices filled the space, his mind wandered. The flickering candle flames cast long shadows that danced across the stone walls. The whispers began again, just at the edge of hearing.

"Adrian..."

He stiffened, eyes darting around. No one else seemed to notice.

"We see you..."

A chill crawled up his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the voices to stop.

A sharp jab to his shoulder startled him. He looked up to see Matron Shaw glaring down. "Pay attention," she hissed.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, his cheeks flushing.

After prayers, the children were dismissed for supper. The dining hall bustled with activity—metal trays clattering, chairs scraping, voices rising in a chaotic symphony. Adrian collected his meal of watery stew and a crust of bread, then searched for an empty seat.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked a group of boys his age.

The closest one, Samuel, shrugged without looking up. "Free country," he muttered.

Adrian sat, keeping his eyes on his tray. The stew was lukewarm, the vegetables overcooked into unidentifiable mush. He tore off a piece of bread, the stale crust scraping the roof of his mouth.

"Hey, Adrian," Samuel said suddenly, his tone mocking. "Hear any good ghost stories lately?"

A couple of the other boys snickered. Adrian felt heat rise to his face. "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't." Samuel leaned closer. "We hear you at night, talking to yourself. Or maybe to your imaginary friends?"

"Leave me alone," Adrian murmured.

"Or what?" Samuel challenged. "You'll sic your shadows on us?"

The table erupted in laughter. Adrian's hands balled into fists under the table. The lights overhead flickered briefly, the bulbs buzzing like angry bees.

"What's going on over there?" one of the attendants barked from across the room.

"Nothing, sir," Samuel replied quickly, the grin never leaving his face.

Adrian pushed his tray away, appetite gone. Without a word, he stood and left the table, ignoring the taunts that followed.

He made his way back to the attic, each step heavier than the last. The weight of isolation pressed upon him, a familiar but unwelcome companion. He longed for a connection, for someone to understand. But trust was a luxury he couldn't afford.

Back in his room, the fading daylight cast long shadows that stretched like fingers across the floor. He retrieved a small wooden box from under his bed—a secret cache of memories. Inside lay the only photograph he had of his mother, edges worn from countless times tracing her face. Her eyes, soft and knowing, seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words.

"I wish you were here," he whispered.

"She is," a voice echoed.

Adrian's head snapped up. The room was empty.

"Who's there?" he demanded, heart pounding.

Silence.

He stood, the floor cold beneath his feet. The shadows in the corners deepened, coalescing into darker pools. He took a cautious step forward.

"Show yourself," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. His breath fogged in the air.

"We are always here," the voice whispered, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere.

Adrian swallowed hard. "What do you want?"

"To help you. To guide you."

"Guide me where?"

Before the voice could answer, a sudden banging jolted him. The door flew open, and Matron Shaw stormed in, her face flushed with anger.

"Enough of this insolence!" she spat. "First you disrupt prayers, then you disrespect your peers, and now you're causing disturbances in the very foundations of this institution!"

"I didn't—"

"Silence!" She advanced on him, her shadow looming large against the flickering light. "I have tolerated your aberrations for long enough."

She grabbed his arm with a ferocity that sent pain shooting up to his shoulder. "You will learn discipline," she snarled, dragging him from the room.

"Let me go!" Adrian struggled, panic rising.

She led him down the back stairs, the seldom-used passage that led to the cellar. The air grew damp and stale, the scent of mold thickening with each step. The overhead lights cast a sickly yellow glow, barely penetrating the gloom.

They reached a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands. Matron Shaw produced a key from her apron pocket and unlocked it, pushing Adrian inside. The room was small, walls lined with stone, a single chair bolted to the floor in the center.

"Sit," she ordered.

He hesitated, eyes darting around for an escape.

"Now!" she barked, her voice echoing off the cold walls.

Reluctantly, he sat. She produced a length of coarse rope and began binding his wrists to the arms of the chair.

"What are you doing?" he cried, fear surging.

"Purging the evil from within you," she said through clenched teeth. "Your mother was a witch, wasn't she? And you carry her tainted blood."

Adrian's blood ran cold. "How do you know about my mother?"

"I know more than you think," she replied, tightening the knots. "Your father told me everything when he left you here. Said you were a demon child."

"That's not true!"

"Isn't it?" She stepped back, eyes gleaming with a fanatic light. "I've seen the signs—the unnatural occurrences, the way the shadows cling to you."

"You don't understand," he pleaded. "I don't want any of this."

"Confession is the first step to salvation." She pulled a worn leather book from a shelf—a Bible, its pages yellowed with age. "We will drive the devil out of you."

She began to recite passages in Latin, her voice rising and falling in a rhythmic chant. Adrian's heart hammered in his chest. The shadows in the room began to stir, undulating like waves in a dark sea.

"Stop," he begged. "Please."

She continued, her voice growing louder. The shadows stretched toward her, tendrils of darkness reaching out.

"By the power of Christ, I compel you!" she shouted.

The overhead light flickered, then shattered, plunging the room into darkness. Matron Shaw's chanting faltered.

"What trickery is this?" she demanded.

The shadows surged, enveloping her. She screamed, a sound that tore through the air like a jagged blade.

"Adrian!" she shrieked. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know!" Tears streamed down his face. "Make it stop!"

But a part of him realized that, on some level, he was controlling it—that the shadows were responding to his fear, his anger.

"Release me!" she cried, her voice muffled as the darkness swirled around her.

"Let her go," he whispered, willing the shadows to obey.

Slowly, the darkness receded, pooling back into the corners. The emergency lights kicked in, casting a dim red glow over the scene. Matron Shaw lay on the floor, eyes wide with terror, but otherwise unharmed.

Adrian struggled against his bonds, the rope now damp and fraying. With a final effort, he broke free, his wrists raw and bleeding. He approached the matron cautiously.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice trembling.

She looked up at him with pure hatred. "You're a monster," she spat.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor outside—others drawn by the commotion. Adrian knew he had no time.

He bolted from the room, sprinting down the labyrinthine passages. The building seemed to close in around him, the walls narrowing, the shadows watching.

Reaching the ground floor, he headed for the side exit near the kitchens. He burst through the door into the cold night air, lungs burning. The forest loomed ahead, a wall of darkness that promised both danger and concealment.

He ran without direction, branches whipping at his face, roots threatening to trip him. Only when his legs gave out did he collapse against a moss-covered rock, gasping for breath.

The silence of the woods enveloped him, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl.

"What am I?" he whispered into the void.

The shadows gathered around him, not menacing but comforting, like a cloak.

"You are more than you know," the voice from before whispered. "You are one of us."

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Seek Nevermore Academy," the voice replied. "There you will find answers."

"Nevermore Academy," he repeated. The name stirred something in his memory—a passage from his mother's diary.

He reached into his pocket, fingers closing around a folded piece of paper he always kept with him. Unfolding it, he read the faded words written in his mother's delicate script:

"When the shadows call, follow them to Nevermore. There, you will find your true home."

A sense of purpose ignited within him. He didn't know where Nevermore Academy was or how he would get there, but he knew he had to try.

Rising to his feet, he took a deep breath. The path ahead was shrouded in darkness, but for the first time, the shadows felt like allies rather than enemies.

"Thank you," he said to the surrounding darkness.

The whisper came again, almost a sigh. "We will always be with you."

With renewed resolve, Adrian set off into the night, the forest parting before him as if acknowledging his passage. Above, the stars peeked through the canopy, tiny beacons guiding him forward.

And behind him, the orphanage stood silent, its secrets and cruelties left to the shadows.