The Order of The Rose: Forsaken Petal (Book 1)

by Joshua Hoyt

Tom flipped the paper over then back, finding no signature he put the note back into the envelope and walked back to the orphanage in a fog. When he arrived late to supper no one noticed. He finished his potato soup and then went to bed were he read the note several more times before putting it up. The bed seemed especially hard that night as Tom twisted and turned before finally drifting off to sleep just before dawn and dreamed of dark alleys and old men.

  The early sunlight shined through the window onto Tom’s face waking him from dreams. His eyes opened with a flurry and he jumped out of bed landing on the cold, concrete floor. The room lacked the usual bustle and hustle of the morning and Tom realized that most of the other boys had already dressed and were heading to breakfast. He ran to the bathroom. After throwing water into his face and hair trying to get his curly hair to have some order, he pulled his shirt on. He tucked it in as he ran down the hall toward the cafeteria.

  Dressed and finished with breakfast he started on his chores. He got the mop bucket and filled it with warm water dumping the exact amount of soap in. Mopping was job Tom enjoyed. It took him far away from the other boys. The water sloshed in the bucket as he hurried to the entryway of the orphanage. One hand held the bucket while the other held a mop slung over his shoulder. Once he reached the entryway he sat the bucket down and sloshed the mop into it. The mop looked like a rag doll as it whipped across the floor turning the once dull tile shiny.

  On that particular morning, as he mopped and watched the shine return to the tile, the door of the orphanage opened, admitting a strange couple. A woman wearing a long black robe entered first. Followed closely behind by a large man with a jagged scar running from one side of his face to the other. Tom watched as the two walked swiftly toward the headmaster’s office and not bothering to knock, entered.

  Tom heard the scrape of a chair then, “What are you...” the headmaster started which quickly turned to gurgling sounds as he gasped for air.

  “Don’t talk to me in that tone, dog,” the woman’s voice said.

  “I... I’m sorry,” the headmaster gasped.

  “We need another boy. Now,” the woman said.

  The headmaster came out of the office, red faced and in a hurry. Tom slunk back into the corner and sighed with relief as the headmaster hurried up the stairs toward the dorms. Within a few minutes he returned with a younger boy in tow. Tom’s heart sank as he watched the boy dragged into the office where the witch waited.

  “This... This is a good boy,” the headmaster said.

  The woman didn’t respond immediately and Tom pressed himself tighter into his corner. At last she said, “He will do.” Tom relaxed slightly but still huddled in the shadows.

  “Our usual arrangement will be made, remember you never saw me, and I’ll let you live,” she said.

  “I’d never tell the counsel about you and… and your sisters,” the headmaster whispered.

  A laugh from the room made Tom’s skin crawl. “You wouldn’t dare. You’re just a dog licking at my feet.” The woman and man, dragging the crying boy, left the office and orphanage as quickly as they had come.

  Tom heard a sigh from the office. Then the door closed with a bang. He waited a moment longer then went carefully back to work on the floor. After he finished his chores he hurried to class. But no matter how hard he tried to pay attention to his lessons, the fear on the boy’s face haunted him. He wished desperately that he had the strength to stop the witch and her henchy.

  The remainder of the week went like any other week with Tom studying, doing chores and getting picked on. Six days had passed since he'd received the letter. The constant reading and rereading of the note showed on the letter through smudges and worn edges. The whole experience seemed like a dream but the note constantly reminded him that the old man was real. Tom read the note one last time searching for any hidden meaning. Then he refolded it, pushed it carefully into its envelope and stuck it under his pillow. He turned off his light and pressed his face into the pillow. Tomorrow would bring answers. Finally he slept.

  Tom awoke the next morning, sweating from a dream. He only remembered bits and pieces of the terrifying nightmare, but what he remembered made shivers run up and down his back and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. A horned beast sitting on a burnt tree dominated the dream. Wasted land stretched out around the horned beast in all directions. In the distance a cloud rose up like a giant mushroom siloeting the beast on its dead perch. The cloud started as an angry fiery glow on the ground, and as it rose high above the beast, it turned to a bright white cloud as if to mock the minor clouds around it. It hung there ominous and dreadfully, just as the dream clung to Tom.

  The memory of the dream only passed away as his hand touched the note inside his pocket. Tonight he would meet the two men. Both worry and excitement caused his stomach to churn in anticipation both from the worry and excitement of what the night might bring; hoping his life would change but fearing what it would change to.