This is my Friday Frights tale for this week. It is a holiday story, but not one to rejoice with. Roast your chestnuts over this fire!
My three year old brother sits silently on his bed, cowering in the corner, against the wall. It won’t do him any good. Those in charge will find him and force him to perform his chores like all the other children.
The lazy, heartless bastards running this institution have no right to force children his age into servitude. I’m seven and am old enough to do my chores, but him? No.
Whenever I stand up to them and demand he not be roped into their schemes, I pay the price for my insolence. And so does he. So, I have stopped trying to get them to leave him alone.
Children’s Home is what they call this brick and mortar piece of shit. Children’s Prison would be a far better name. I have not found a single person working here who has anything resembling a heart, let alone a soul.
And what are my two brothers and I doing here? I don’t have a clue. Where are my parents, and why did they allow this to happen to us?
I barely get to see John and George. They keep us apart. Everyone here is grouped according to age. John, three, George six, and me, usually only see each other from a distance in the dining room.
This is the Christmas season. One would never know it from inside the home. On the way to school, I get to see the festooned streets and buildings, but not there. No tree, no decorations, nothing. My school has a special box filled with gifts for the home, but where do they go? It’s been emptied a number of times already, but some where along the way, the contents have gotten lost.
Christmas vacation comes and there is still nothing at the home for us. Until . . .
“Children,” the mean, old biddy in charge of the joint says to us one evening while we are all gathered in the dining room. “Santa Claus will be coming here tomorrow night so we have to make sure this place is spick and span. Tonight after dinner, and all day tomorrow, you will have to do your very best work. He knows if you’ve been bad or good. So be good for goodness sake.”
She does her very best imitation of a witch cackle and leaves the room. What a bitch!
We all work our asses off, even those children who are too sick to work. They should be in bed. John is one of them. I can’t stand it any longer and jump into their faces, but they beat me back with barrages from their fists. Soon, I’m in worse shape than John. But they force me to work until I drop in a stupor.
I wake in my bed, and from the lack of light shining through the windows, I know it’s evening. Time for the jolly red fucker to make his appearance. Try as I might, I can not get out of bed because of the pain, and I’m forced to listen to the sounds of the others in the other room getting their gifts from Santa. Beaten as I’ve been, I should be in the hospital, but that would be evidence of mistreatment, would it not? That would never do.
There is no way this can go unrevealed, and I roll off my bed. I drag myself to the door of the barracks-like room and pull myself up by the door knob. Steadying myself before I open the door, I walk into the dining room. A hush comes over the room as I stand before them.
“Get back to bed, Bobbie!” The bitch in charge says. “You’re too sick to be up.”
Her audacity riles me up, and I hobble over to her. “Beaten is more the word,” I say, before spitting in her face.
The rest of the crew rushes over to get me out of there, but I stand square before them, determined to remain where I’m at. Santa rushes over to me and holds my arms behind my back, pinning them securely.
I explode in anger, every moment spent in this Hell-hole replaying itself before my eyes. No way am I going to endure another moment of this.
Tightening my arms as much I can, I break the hold Santa has on me, and turn towards him, shoving my knee as hard into his red-clad balls as I can. He doubles over in pain, and I stomp on his head, over and over again. Blood pours from his eyes, nose, and mouth, and a gurgling sound comes from his throat.
A strength and power come over me that ignite awareness of what is to come. I stare at the assembled workers glaring at the seven year old maniac who is upsetting everything. Their cushy lives are going down the toilet.
Using the power of my mind as I have never used it before, and tapping into new-found strengths, I ignite the floor between me and them, sending a ring of fire around the parasites of iniquity, and create a child-made jail cell of my choosing for my antagonists. Some try to escape, only to become engulfed within flames themselves and spreading them to their partners in crime within the ring.
The entire floor of the dining room soon feels the horrors of the fire, and it spreads in a hurry.
“Leave! Now!” I shout to the children watching the altercation between me and the staff. “The entire building will soon be on fire.”
They waste no time in leaving, the older ones grabbing the younger ones and leading them to safety.
Mrs. Auflach, the director of the home, stares at me in terror as I advance towards her, my vengeance written all over my face. Her dress ignites in flames, working slowly up from the hem to her bodice, and she tries to rip it off to escape the flames, but she is too late. Boils and lesions form on her flesh as the intensity of the flames increase. Her hair becomes a vibrant shade of red as the vigor of the blaze advances towards her face.
Within seconds, she looks every bit as much as a waxen face melting away in a fire at a museum. Screams attempt to push forth from her mouth, but she topples over before they ever reach fruition.
I rush through every room of the home, making certain no children are left inside. Some of the workers try to hide in closets and such, but they receive the same treatment as Mrs. Auflach. None of them are to escape from my inferno.
Room after room is set on fire, the intensity of the flames destroying everything in its path. Sirens sound off in the distance. The fire department is on their way.
John and George are on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. They are safe. Everyone is okay.
The fire trucks arrive and start to extinguish the fire. It won’t affect the outcome. This building will be destroyed.
I hear a child screaming from the second floor and rush back inside the building to save it. The fire fighters try to stop me, but I’m too fast for them. In no time at all, I reach the child and get him to safety. I cannot be killed in a fire of my own making.
The last embers die. The staff is dead, but all the children are safe. For the moment, at least. They will probably be remaindered to another facility such as this one. Maybe the people at the other facilities have kind hearts. They better.
I’m done here. But much needs to be answered as to why my brothers and I were placed in this scum-hole.
It’s time to pay a visit to mom and dad. I hope they can handle heat . . .