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A calloused, battle-marred hand unlocked the door and tentatively pushed it open.
Before Father Svetlana could even take a look inside, the foulest smell wafted through the air, it was enough to send the man stumbling back in disgust, his free hand flying up to protect his nose from the stench. Though it dropped in almost an instant once his eyes locked on to what was inside the room. Shock overwhelmed the priest's thoughts, it clamped down on his joints, refusing to let him move. Inside, laying face down right in front of the door, was a girl. Digits, quite literally skin and bone, reaching just over the threshold of the now-open doorway. That same shock is what snapped him from his frozen state.
Old habits took over as Joseph rushed to the girl's side and carefully flipped her on to her back, the fingers gently searching for a pulse, alternating between her neck and wrist, desperate to find some indication that she may still be alive. But he already knew that, he had been a huntsman before he retired. As unfortunate as it was, the man was no stranger to the smell of decomposition. It was a memory he thought he could leave behind by becoming a priest, he could never have imagined how wrong he would be. He took a second to look the girl over, her skin was incredibly pale with a sickly green tint, though that should be expected, she was dressed in a simple, pure white nightgown, it was remarkably clean save for the smears and splotches of blood that dyed the fabric a deep brown. Rings of cracked scabs circled her ankles, wrists and neck. His stomach churned as he took in the girls appearance.
One thing he failed to notice in his rush to find a pulse was the horns growing from her face. He started putting the pieces together now. Her fingernails were all but torn off and looking up, he could see why.
And it broke the man.
Animalistic scratches covered the door but that wasn’t the worst of it. On the walls on either side of the door were messages scratched into the concrete, bloodied smears at some point replacing the scratching.
Im sorry
Please let me out
God can I come out please
God please forgive me
God please for giv e me
G od ple ase f org ive m e
Charcoal eyes widened in horror, a distraught sound echoed inside the small room as Joseph gathered the girl into his lap and hunched over her skeletal frame, cradling her head. Agonised screams tore from his lungs. How long had they kept her here? If only he found this place sooner.
He didn’t let go of the girl for even a second, weeping over her tiny, stiff body. She can’t have been more than thirteen years old. To have endured such cruelty from so young…
The thought devastated the man.
Eventually his cries died down, he forced air into his lungs, trying to calm himself but every time he looked at her pale little face a fresh wave of tears surfaced and he hugged the small body tight, the sickly-sweet smell of rot having faded into the background.
It felt like hours had passed before he could finally look at her without breaking down all over again. Joseph picked her up, careful hands holding her as though she was the most fragile flower. But it was clear to him that she wasn’t fragile, she’d been fighting for her life every day. And… and he was just… meters above.
Completely unaware.
The shame ripped and tore at his heart.
“Father Svetlana! What are you doing with that? Put it back this instant!” Mother Superior bombed down the hall towards him, eyes wide and fearful, not once leaving the child’s body, as though she was expecting her to suddenly spring back to life.
His trembling hold on the girl tightened, fury flowing freely in the man’s veins. How could this woman possibly call herself a nun, a woman of God, yet still treat another human being with such cruelty, a child no less.
“May God have mercy on your soul.” He ignored the woman’s screeching, taking deep, shaky breaths as he moved past her. Joseph heard her scream once he moved past her, this one was different though. It wasn’t her demanding that he put the child back, it was fear.
Dark eyes barely caught the tips of her fingers as they sank into the ground. Every nun he passed met the same fate; he didn’t care whether they were involved or not.
Every time he saw a rib poking out from under the thin nightgown, a bloodied cuticle, a scarred wrist, any shred of remorse he felt for his actions was swallowed up by despair.
He didn’t know how many nuns were gone by the time he and the girl got out, what he did know was that this place couldn’t be allowed to remain standing. Turning around to face the cursed building, he channeled every ounce of aura into his semblance. He watched as black, inky, tendrils rose from the ground, wrapping themselves around the building before slowly pulling it into the ground. Soil and gravel burst into the windows and doors, anyone who didn’t make it out would have been buried alive.
Within a few minutes all that remained before him was a large stretch of land where the church previously stood with the ground completely undisturbed, as though nothing had stood there in the first place.
He looked down at the girls face, carefully brushing a stray hair out of her face, “You made it out.” His bottom lip wobbled as he spoke, more tears threatening to spill.
The following day, Joseph laid her rest in a field near his house. There was no coffin to bury her in, and the man almost broke his back digging the grave for her. He wrapped her little body in his duvet and placed his softest pillow in the grave, you’d be forgiven for thinking the girl was just sleeping.
He brought her a loaf of bread, a bottle of water and a few treats he enjoyed as a child to take with her to the afterlife.
Burying her was a tough process, not only physically but also mentally. His senses would become overwhelmed with grief and, leaving him broken down on his knees by the side of the half-buried girl,
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
He’d sob and beg for her forgiveness, but his only response would be a soft coo from a dove nesting in a nearby tree.
Joseph couldn’t leave her in an unmarked grave, he just couldn’t. She spent her whole life hidden away underground; he can’t hide her away like her captors did.
Into a small, wooden plaque, he carved the name ‘Lily’, pure, innocent Lily.
There is no silver lining to this story, Joseph did not come out of retirement and pick up his weapon again to protect other little girls from facing the same brutality. No, Svetlana couldn’t live with the guilt of learning that a child had been tortured for years and killed right under his feet; a few months after his massacre at the church, he took his own life.
Maybe when he opens his eyes in Heaven, she’d be there waiting for him.