The interior of the chapel was completely different from what the boy had imagined. It was enormous, incredibly opulent, and so quiet that sounds could be heard from outside. The pews were meticulously arranged, red carpets were laid out in the gaps between them, and the massive chandelier in the center illuminated the entire area. The boy's tired and weary expression was the only thing that stood out in the room, yet it did not detract from the light of the chapel. Father Jacob looked at him with a tilted smile.
"It's amusing how different you are from the interior, don't you think?"
"You're lucky I haven't checked my reflection in a mirror yet," the boy said with some edge in his tone.
When they walked in, Father Jacob noticed that there was something strange about the boy.
"You're taking this strangely calm. First, you looked like your heart was gonna leap out of your chest, and now... now you look like your fate has been sealed."
"Can you blame me? At least I don't get to become a priest," he said with a sigh of relief.
"I never wanted you to," Father Jacob said with a chuckle, "You don't look like the type to become a priest. Probably... an executioner."
"Executioner?"
"You'll see soon enough."
Before long, they saw an elderly man clad in a white cassock that featured complex gold and red designs. They noticed he was kneeling at the altar, praying quietly. When Father Jacob saw this, he immediately knelt down and joined the old man in prayer.
"Kneel down, boy," he muttered.
He said nothing, realizing the seriousness in his tone, and knelt down with him.
"What is happening—"
"Shut it," he cut him off.
After a brief period of prayer, the trio was done, yet the boy still seemed lost and perplexed. The old man looked at them with a keen and steady gaze while Father Jacob cleared his throat, poised to speak.
"Kid, this is the Archbishop of this Monastery," Father Jacob introduced. The boy nodded, realizing that this man commanded a great deal of respect within these four walls.
"Jacob...," the Archbishop started to speak, voice sceptical, "What did I say about bringing strays into the house? We can't take in every single one you've collected here..."
"My apologies, Archbishop. This boy here... needed some help with the supernatural, and since we're experienced with those, I decided to bring him here," he explained, much to the Archbishop's bemusement.
"I see...," he trailed off, crossing his arms, "And what proof do you have?"
That was when Father Jacob frowned. "Episodic attacks."
The Archbishop stiffened.
"Already?," he muttered, only for Father Jacob to hear. The nod from him only confirmed it.
"Then, it's coming sooner than we thought."
"Am I missing something here?," the boy asked worriedly.
He stared at him with that smirk, the one that always got on his nerves.
"Oh, nothing," he said. "It's something between us."
"Father Jacob made a wise choice bringing you here. You're gonna be just fine," the Archbishop said with conviction.
{Without hesitation!}, the boy couldn't believe his shock. He was just disinterested a moment ago, so what was with the sudden investment into the boy?
"It seems I haven't introduced myself. I am Archbishop Lyutsifer Von Cramden," he said.
The boy nodded. The first name sounded strangely familiar.
"I believe you'll make a fine priest here in these four walls. And you'll be willing to share the gospel to the world," he envisioned.
The boy suddenly turned to face Father Jacob. "You didn't tell me it was forced!," he muttered angrily.
"I never promised you'd make a choice," he muttered back.
Silence. Then, the boy muttered, "Damn, fair point."
"This monastery makes the finest priests and nuns, and their newfound discipline are then influenced around the world. You've made a good decision to come here," the Archbishop added. "Or you didn't come here to follow the path of a priest?"
"No, I didn't," he said bluntly, "Not by a long shot."
Archbishop sighed. "Only a few choose this path. And most of it is out of reluctance or they don't want no tiring occupations." But, then, he looked at the boy, a strange sense of hope filling his features.
"But, first things first, what's your name?"
The boy suddenly turned to Father Jacob.
"Should we tell him?," he muttered.
"I'm not sure he'll take it lightly," Father Jacob muttered back.
"Hey, it's a chance we're willing to take, isn't it?"
He nodded. "True," he muttered.
The Archbishop heard their muffled conversation, his interest piqued instantly.
"What? What's going on?"
Father Jacob then turned to him, straight-faced.
"He... doesn't have a name," he dropped the bombshell.
Silence. The cricket only made it worse. The Archbishop looked at them as if he had been told the sea was red instead of blue. The true definition of, "Silence is golden."
"What?"
"You heard me, Archbishop," Father Jacob said, his exasperation growing by the minute. "I understand if you're bothered, if not confused by this information."
"What about his age?", he asked quietly.
He sighed, facepalming. "He doesn't even remember."
Another brief silence. 'Cue the crickets', the boy thought.
"You're kidding..."
"Nope. I wish I was. Kid doesn't even know who his parents were," he said with a tired look.
"Not even his—"
"Place of birth, relations, birth certificate, none of it."
Deep, utter silence. The Archbishop already regretted his life choices at this point.
"Damn," he said, crossing his arms, "Kid's the definition of mysterious."
"That was what I said," Father Jacob added with a chuckle.
"You never said anything," the boy said, deadpan.
"This monastery has never seen anything like this. A boy with no name. And you of all people decided to whisk him here like he's a kind of... hidden discovery," the Archbishop turned to Father Jacob, face stern.
"Hey, don't look at me, he was the one who signed up for it," he said with a smug smirk.
"I'm starting to regret this already," the boy muttered.
They just stood there facing each other; one looking like he had all his life choices turned around, one looking like he already regrets his existence, and the smug one who, in fact, had the audacity to lie to the boy's face, was still looking smug. The Archbishop sighed and continued:
"Okay, new plan. We might have to baptize you."
"Baptise? You wanna drown me in water?!," the boy exclaimed.
"But we can only do it after seven days," Father Jacob reminded him, ignoring the boy.
"True," he muttered, "Then, we'll do it in a week's time. And give him a new name while we're at it."
Father Jacob nodded. "I'll inform the rest, then."
"Do I even have a say in thi—"
"Absolutely not!," the fathers boomed.
...
Hours later, the boy found himself sitting on the stairs, his expression a sound reminder of his pride taking a hit from being ignored. 'Damn those two ignoring my opinions', he thought, angrily kicking a stone away.
And the baptism... the date remained. A week's time. A week enough for him to get used to the place, much to his inner dismay. He hated talking to people. His insecurities took over most of the time when he tried to interact with people. He would rather grumble under his breath, or he would abort it altogether and run away.
The horde of students passed by him, exchanging glances and murmurs with each other, some with eager faces, some with envious glares because he seemed to be close to Father Jacob. To them, that was a very rare achievement. Probably he saw something in him they didn't.
All the while, the boy was starting to have doubts about the place.
First, the big bad. The demon. The one that stood on the cross like it was a second away to chopping his head off. It was looking at him as if he held the key to immortality, and as far as the episodes were concerned, he wished he'd never encounter it again.
And... then came another one.
"Help... us...,"
A voice unexpectedly echoed from nowhere. The wind stirred alongside the voice, sending leaves swirling around the boy as his anxiety grew. He stood up suddenly, scanning the area for the origin. His gaze then settled on a boy standing in front of him.
But something about him was way off.
His eyes were pitch black, devoid of any life or spark of fire in it. And his fingers—the index and ring fingers from both hands were missing, his lips were cracked from the middle, and his left arm was amputated. He looked at his neck, then his eyes widened as he saw the slit on it. He looked like he lost a massive amount of blood. The sky darkened as they stood there, unmoving.
"Help... us...," the boy spoke again.
"Who... who are you?," the boy asked quietly, bewildered.
"We were stripped of our life... our identities... they did this to us...," the boy spoke in a chilling tone that sent literal chills running down his spine.
"Who are they? What are you talking about?", he queried, his last fragments of reality slipping from his grasp. He was so confused.
"They.... ended us... help... us..."
"I don't understand. Who did this to you?!"
"Those who once walked this land. Those who kidnapped us and made us into... this."
Then, he muttered, "The hospital."
It then dawned on him. It all made sense. The hospital killings, the strange deaths, the ones responsible. But they were executed before the hospital was demolished. So... why were they still here? After all this time? Shouldn't they be free?
That was when he realised: Something was missing. A shackle keeping them from being free. But what?
"Why... why me, though?," he asked quietly.
The bloodied boy suddenly paused, looking at him with no form of life in his eyes. It looked like time had stopped from there.
Then something happened.
Two more boys suddenly emerged from the ground like ghosts, their state similar to the first one. But one had an eye missing, and the other had all his toes removed, a testament of brutal violence and experiments from whoever responsible. They all then pointed to the boy, their voices distorted and terrifyingly united.
"You were chosen to come here. You were chosen to help us. Help us gain our freedom.
Brave Boy, free us from our tormentors, for may we find peace."
He was baffled. "Why me?! Why am I chosen for this?!"
They continued in a final note: "You have something they want. Something in you they want to exploit. Use it against them, and free us."
Then—a tap on the shoulder. Father Jacob stood behind him, his eyes narrowing into slits. It was clear as day—his concern for the boy. And it was growing stronger by the minute.
"Kid?", he called out softly.
The boy looked at him with confused, but anxious eyes. Surely, he didn't see the conversation he had with those three ghosts, did he? The thought only made his heart race.
"Yes?," he responded.
"What are you doing outside?", he asked. "I specifically told you to sit near the window."
Wait, he actually told him that? Probably the order escaped his mind before he found his way and the three ghosts found him.
"I'm sorry, Father. I just... wanted a change of scenery," he lied, silently hoping he would buy it.
As expected, he bought it. "Hmm... a change of scenery... would suffice."
He nodded with a sigh of relief.
"Might as well take you to your dorm, then. You won't be sleeping with the rest for now."
His eyes widened just a fraction. A room? All to himself? The privileges were mounting by the minute, he thought as he got up, facing him.
"Okay. Let's go," he nodded, unable to hide the weird excitement that coursed through him.
"That's the spirit," Father Jacob replied with a smile. He then led the way to the room where the boy would sleep for now.
As they left, he glanced back at the spot where the ghosts used to be. They disappeared, like they were never there. He wondered if he was the only one who could see them. That sent a sense of dread crawling up on him, knowing they could come anytime. The hard part: Expecting their presence.
"Shit," he muttered.
....
From a corner of the monastery, a shadow flickered—too fast to be human, into the compound. It was a figure, clad in a black cloak, his face hidden from view. He was clutching a cross close to his chest, breathing heavily as he realized where he was. He was in the monastery compounds.
"I... I made it?"
Everything felt unfamiliar. The church, the dormitories, it all felt like he was in a different world. He hissed at the sight as if it was as revolting as human faeces. But the moment he realized he was at the monastery, his lips curved into a manic grin.
"Heh. At long last."
He took one step forward, his stride brisk and no sign of falter. The cross on his chest glowed a dim red as he treaded carefully, like it despised the aura of God that surrounded the place. And he felt it; blood was seeping out of his finger nails. He hissed in pain as it sizzled in his skin.
"Damn it. I forgot the place reeks of Bibles and evangelists," he murmured as he spat out a handful of blood to the ground, burning a lump of grass.
Unfortunately for him, a gardener, minding his own business, whistling soundly as he went to attend to his duties, set eyes on him instantly. His gaze sharpened, realizing it was a tresspasser.
"Who are you?"
....
Later that night, the duo found themselves in front of a door. The boy looked on, questioning what was going on. Father Jacob told him he was taking him to his own dorm, but... this felt far-fetched.
"Is this it? Just a door?", he asked bluntly.
Father Jacob chuckled. "I haven't opened the door yet, and here you are, complaining."
He then opened the door, and the boy's eyes widened just a fraction. The interior was well made, bed was furnished, sofa made from lion fur. How was that possible?
"This feels over the top, don't you think?", the boy asked, eyes darting around the place.
"Nonsense," Father Jacob laughed, "This is light work. And besides, you're a special case here. All specials have privileges other students dont have."
Specials... they were the ones who were challenged in all sorts of life. It could be disabilities, dyslexia, autism, and with the boy, anything supernatural. They are attended to by most of the staff in the monastery/school, and he wondered what else was in store for him.
"Specials...," the boy trailed off.
"Yes. Specials. You're the third one that's here. The other two... didn't make it," Father Jacob replied.
"How?," he asked.
He shook his head. "Through means... we couldn't comprehend. Even the Archbishop couldn't find the cause.
He then shook his head. "Let's forget about it. Sleep soundly, boy. At least try. We have the orientation tomorrow."
"Orientation?"
"That's when we Fathers will meet the student body and inaugurate you all in the monastery. Don't oversleep," he said as he left.
"Hey, what about—"
The door closes in his face.
"And he's gone," he finished with a sigh. He then laid on the bed, his eyes gazed up on the ceiling, memories of the day replaying in his head. First, the chapel.
Then, the Archbishop, and his sudden interest in him. That was very weird.
Then, the date scheduled for the baptism. He wondered what new name they'd give him. It better not be some long-ass name like Bartholomew or he's gonna lose it.
He let out a sigh as he got ready to sleep. His whole body felt like it could take a vacation, with the journey and all. The more he stayed awake on the bed, the more the temptation of sleep became impossible to ignore.
He then let out another sigh, muttered something like, "Fuck this," and fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep, his first real sleep in his lifetime, devoid of any nightmares.