Chapter Text
The old, wooden boards that made up the orphanage floor creaked under Charlie's feet. The noise rang in his ears ten times louder than it had every night previous. After six years living there he had gotten used to it, but tonight was different. Everything he could see was coated in a thick layer of red as he stumbled down the hall. He pressed one hand firmly to the wall, tracing the hundred year old designs carved into some portions of it, and the familiar marks of aging that every square inch of the mansion had, while trying to navigate the bloodstained darkness. The locks on dorm doors began clicking as his peers settled into their rooms for the night.
Too much time went by before Charlie reached his own dorm. Metal hissed loudly as he heard the corridor's curtain close.
"Charlie, what's the matter with you?" He felt his friend's hand on his shoulder as he locked the door. Charlie didn't know what the matter was, and he couldn't find anything to say.
"George," he whispered as he turned, and the world spun around him.
The room was in total disarray. His nightstand was pulled out from it's place by his bed, which was upside down on the ceiling. A knife was stabbed into the north wall, which was covered in blood. Moonlight shone yellow from the window straight ahead of him. It was covered by the horrible red vines that he kept seeing- slithering out of the cracks in the walls, and haunting him for months. He was unsure how many, because time had felt more and more confusing ever since they started appearing.
Charlie thought back to the beginning, when the red shade on his vision had just begun. He'd mentioned it to a maid, but she dismissed it as his imagination.
"The wild musings of a child," she sighed at him. "You're too old for this, boy."
He remembered feeling almost bad, as if she was right, but he knew something was wrong. There was nothing he could do about it though.
Then, he noticed the messages messily written on the walls. He had always wondered who could've written them. Were they warnings from god? Or the devil's attempts to confuse him further?
"DON'T DRINK IT." One of them said. Charlie wondered what "it" could be. He really only drank the kunyit asim and the disgusting milk they were given at dinner.
Oh god, the milk. It's disgusting because it's spoiled. Everyone knew that. Oh god.
He zoned back in to George whisper-screaming at him while Rufioh shook his shoulders. He watched in horror as the vines writhed all around them. They shot towards him suddenly, and he screamed at the top of his lungs. Nobody heard him.
"Charlie?" George begged one final time after his friend had fainted and went limp in Rufioh's arms. Sam watched in horror just behind him.
The three boys tucked Charlie into his bed with much caution and care. They each sat on their beds as they talked about what to do. In the end, they decided to let him sleep and tell a maid in the morning. When morning came, they skipped breakfast to stay with him so he wouldn't wake up alone. It came and passed, and he never woke up, no matter what they tried. They told a maid like they had planned, and he was taken to the sickroom.
His bed stayed empty that night. Sam had exhausted himself crying, and Rufioh kept tossing around in his bed. George stood by the window, looking out at the grounds below a little beyond the stone wall they were confined by. A lamplight coming from the not-so-secret kitchen side door caught his attention. Two figured opened a small gate in the wall, which was usually reserved for food deliveries.
The figured had something large that one of them was carrying. The other had the lamp, and a shovel. George shouted for Rufioh to come see. He quickly got up and joined George at the window, and the two of them watched closely trying to make out the mass that the figured had.
"You don't think... that that's him?" Rufioh asked in a somber hush. The other boy opened his mouth to respond right before the thing was dropped on the ground, and the lamp was placed down next to it. It's light stone on the thing's head.
Charlie's blonde hair became obvious, as did his face, his lips barely parted. His eyes were shut like they had been when he'd passed out. The figured dug a small hole, lowered in his corpse, and covered him in dirt and leaves. Neither of the boys had the strength to comment, and neither of them slept that night.