Candle: A Sisters of the Secret Mystery Story

Sister Francesca opened the basement door and descended the stairs. At the bottom, her eyes caught the glint of light on the floor where a cellophane wrapper lay beneath the last step. She looked across a huge room, though exceptionally large, it was only a small section of the cavernous basement. The old sign that had hung outside their facility for nearlt one hundred years, leaned against the wall and read, Santimonialis de Arcanus Mysterium Brephotrophium in large letters. Beneath it was translated, Sisters of the Secret Mystery Orphanage.

Though the sister had been a child when this sign was replaced, she remembered the history of the discussion that had gone into replacing the sign with the one that now read, Sisters of the Immaculate Mystery. So heated was the debate over the word ‘arcane’ they had almost lost the support of Rome, and only barely retained it by the name change. In her opinion, the new name did not fully recognize the specificity of their mission. She smiled wryly knowing that expressing her opinion to the other sisters would undoubtedly cause her to receive the “water under the bridge,” eye roll, or the “don’t dredge up the past” frown, or perhaps even the, “it is not your place to have an opinion on this issue,” reprimand.

Several dim incandescent lights dangled from their wires, barely illuminating the space but she caught the reflection of another small cellophane wrapper lying in the threshold of the doorway to her left. Continuing through, into the next room, not quite so well lit, she found some crushed chalk, and initials on the wall nearby- a big “BW.” This was an abbreviation for ‘Bed wetter,’ a name some of the older boys called him.

She heard a thump off to her right. To others, the sound was slight and might have been mistaken for a rat or the further settling of an ancient floor joist, but she turned toward it knowing she moved in the right direction. A few seconds later, she heard it again, louder. She looked right, toward a wall piled with boxes. As she approached, she saw several squares of clean floor indicating the boxes were recently moved and restacked. Behind the boxes, she was the outline of a door and she sighed, half in relief and half in sadness.

Sister Francesca moved the boxes away from the wall, noting most were empty or lightly packed. A scuff came from behind the door as she reached for the knob and opened it. The dim light cut across the closet revealing beneath old moth-eaten choir robes hanging from a rod, the bare legs of the nine-year-old boy was looking for. His hands rested in his lap and held the three-inch square of terrazzo tile he was fond of and always kept close, his prized possession.

Parting the curtain of robes and causing a cloud of dust to float into the air, she exposed a bright round face topped with fiery red hair. The sister smiled weakly as a tear crept into her eye seeing the “BW” written in black marker across the boy’s forehead. In reality, he had only wet the bed once, several years ago but some of the kids were cruel and had not let it go.

As she thought about it, her sadness turned to anger, Nor is his name Dork, Duffas or Poopwad, or any of the other names the children call him. She had been a supporter of segregating the children with dark minds, from the children with light ones but she still heard the Reverend Mother, “If we separate them, how will the good children learn to deal with the bad ones?” Sister Francesca knew there was truth and wisdom in the decision but struggled with watching the children deal with the pain it forced on them.

The sister held out her hand and smiled. “Are you finished in here?”

The boy took hers. “Yes.”

“Then let’s go back up, its dusty down here and if I begin to sneeze no telling when it will stop!”

A grin spread across his face and he nodded.

Francesca was new to the orphanage when he had arrived. Standing with Sister Mary early one rainy morning, they found the little three year old quietly sitting on the top step. The note pinned to the boys little wool jacket read, James Harrier Chesterfield. The name in quotations under it read, “Candle” so it stuck.

The origin of his nickname was obvious. His hair, normally sticking up, shined with several blended shades of red, orange, and blonde so bright it looked yellow. Each strand of hair began a dark red at his scalp and ended in a bright yellow orange at its tips. To curb the teasing, the nuns cut his hair short making it all the same dark red, but by the morning, the tips had already grown several shades lighter and continued to lighten over the week until it was a shorter version of the original.

At the stairs, she stopped and looked at him. “Candle, do you want to tell me who it was this time?”

Candle looked at her with a dirt smudged nose but said nothing.

“Hmm, through my great powers of deduction I believe Denny Ruckard was involved, I saw the candy wrappers, and maybe his little side-kick, Ter’rell?”

Candle continued to look directly into her face but revealed nothing.

She knelt down beside him. “Candle, you need to say something when they take you like that. They are getting better at hiding you and maybe one day I won’t find you.”

“You will, I have faith,” he said quietly.

Perhaps more than me, she thought, then chastised herself. “Have faith in God, child.” She ruffled his hair, the movement making it leap like flames.

He smiled. “I do.”

The sister smiled back, motioned the boy forward. Raising her long skirt, she followed him back up the stairs. At the top, she stopped and locked the door thinking she would get Mr. Casey, the elderly janitor they hired, to place hasps and locks on all the basement doors.

“It is nearly dinner, please go clean up, then head directly to the cafeteria. Enough of the sisters should be around now that you will be safe. I need to go speak with the Reverend Mother.”

Candle nodded and set off down the hall, the piece of tile dangling from the leather thong Mr. Casey had given him. It looked huge and absurd as it swung back and forth across his small chest but he would not be parted from it. She quickly slipped down the hallway and into the corridor leading to the admin section. She needed to report the little sheep was found, again.

She worried as she walked. Candle had a slight build, and was very passive, which inevitably made him the target of the bigger, older boys, especially the bad ones. When he did not show up at bedtime, or for a meal, the nuns spread out and searched each room of the old facility. Eventually they would find him sitting at the bottom of an empty closet, behind a locked attic door, or trapped in an old basement trunk.

He never called out and never cried which caused the nuns to panic when they discovered him missing. Once, they searched nine hours, some of the sisters in tears. Sister Francesca finally found him in an old book locker at the back of an unused classroom. When she opened the locker door, wedged shut with an old screwdriver, there he sat, his terrazzo necklace in his lap.

Candle had been seen with several of the older boys and after questioning Blake Fisher confessed and gave the names of the others involved. The leader, Troy Whitman, a young man of fifteen, had been particularly cruel, and not just to Candle, but the other kids feared him as well. He was soon moved to another facility after Sister Josie heard him tell another child that, ‘one day BW wouldn’t be found alive.’

Candle… generated an oddness causing most of the kids to shy away from him. They were not mean or unfriendly, only distant, preferring to leave him alone. Not playing with the other children seemed fine with Candle. He sat by himself and colored, drew, or read. That was until Sherri arrived.

Sister Francesca remembered it well. Sherri physically appeared to be ten or eleven. She was a tall, thin little girl, dropped off one summer night a year earlier, dressed in a worn cotton nightgown. A piece of cardboard hung around her neck and she carried her things in a plastic grocery bag. Roughly printed on the cardboard, the note read, “Can’t do it no more. Sherri wrong in the head.”

Once she settled in, Sherri was little problem, though she did not function well around the other children. The sisters called in a specialist who couldn’t pinpoint a clear diagnoses.

“As you have already reported,” the doctor had told the nuns. “Sherri shows signs of physical abuse, years I think, but perhaps her condition has more to do with emotional trauma than an underlying mental issue.”

Regardless, Sherri could feed, clean and dress herself, and was as compliant as the other children, so it was not fully understood as to why she had been abandoned. The only one she responded to socially, including the sisters, was Candle.

Sister Francesca arrived at the large oak door, a brass plaque on the door read, “Mother Superior.” She knocked and entered.

****

After Candle had cleaned up and eaten dinner, he visited the playroom. The older boys seldom entered this space, thinking of it as place for kids. It was small and well monitored, and not a place they could get away with their shenanigans.

Candle saw Sherri across the activity room, alone as usual. The other, younger girls, played with their dolls in the corner. He remembered the time they first met a few months ago, in a situation much like this one.

She was coloring alone as he approached her table. “Hi,” he said quietly.

Sherri stopped coloring but said nothing.

“I’m Candle,” he offered.

He felt there was something special about her. “Want to see something?” he asked, holding out his terrazzo square.

Again, nothing.

Candle sat down, laying the floor tile on the table, near her coloring book. He placed a finger on its surface and began moving it in circles. Soon, Sherri’s eyes darted toward the square where something was happening.

On the surface of the tile, a black circle formed, as if all the dark colors in the terrazzo were melting together, and they began moving on their own. As she watched, something white formed in the center, a dim and hazy white, like watching a shape appear in fog. The something grew until it filled the black circle, and it had a face, the face of a white rabbit.

Sherri sucked in a little breath when she realized what she was looking at. Without moving her head, Candle saw her eyes leave the tile and shift towards him.

“Watch,” he whispered.

Sherri looked back at the tile in time to see the rabbit stick it’s head up from the tile, as if the tile was its hole, its ears flipping out at the last second. It looked at her, its small nose and long white whiskers twitched only inches from her hand.

Sherri jerked, tipping back on her chair and sliding onto the floor. The rabbit ducked back into the hole and the terrazzo’s speckled surface reformed.

Sister Josie, saw the normally quiet Sherri slide to the floor and thought, though uncharacteristic, Candle had somehow caused it. “Candle, what have you done?”

The sister went to assist the young girl, but Sherri panicked. It not been the boy’s fault but she could not make her words come out, only a raspy scream.

“Go to your room, sir. I will deal with you in a bit.”

In his room, Candle sat on his bed until Sister Francesca arrived.

“Candle, what is this I hear about you pushing Sherri?”

“I didn’t.”

“I didn’t think so, not your style is it?”

His head shook slightly.

The sister wrinkled her forehead, as she considered her words. “Listen, dear, Sherri is… shy. She needs her space and you must be gentle with her, move slow, speak quietly.”

“I know,” he said, looking at the floor. “Some of her is…” he tilted his head back, his eyes moving to the ceiling, “…locked in a trunk, in a basement.”

Sister Francesca caught her breath at his summation of the complexity. She smiled and nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“Sister, she needs a friend who’s willing to hunt for her, like you hunt for me.”

A tear formed and rolled down the nun’s cheek. “Yes,” she nodded, “will it be you?”

He nodded back.

“Good,” she wiped her eyes. “I’ll speak with Sister Josie and let her know of your plan, but remember, you must move slow… slow like a turtle in everything you do with Sherri. She has been hurt by people, many times, and does not know how to have friends. You will need to help her learn how to trust. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Candle said.

“Good,” she knelt and laid her hand on his head. “Lord, bless Candle’s willingness to reach out to Sherri. Mend her heart and make her whole. In the name of the Father, Son, And Holy Spirit, Amen.” Sister Francesca made the sign of the cross then stood. “Okay, the other kids are going out on the playground in five minutes, be there or be square.”

Candle held up a thumb.

****

On the playground, now several weeks later, Denny and Ter’rell walked over to where Candle sat on the steps at the back entrance of the section of the orphanage used for the school. Denny scuffed his shoe as he approached causing several small rocks to leave the blacktop and hit Candle’s legs. Candle, looking at the tile hanging around his neck, didn’t respond, as though he hadn’t noticed.

Denny took a quick look around. Sister Martha leaned over a crying child near the swings and Sister Josie had her back to them, staring at the city skyline over the tall rock wall.

“Hey, BW, what’s up? You ready for another trip downstairs?”

Ter’rell laughed.

Candle continued to ignore the boys, continuing to look at his terrazzo tile.

“Hey Poop-eater, I’m talking to you!” Denny said, trying to scuff more dirt at Candle.

“Hey Denny, I heard he’s gotta girlfriend, Crazy Sherri.” Ter’rell said.

“Oh yeah, gotcha a woman huh? I wonder if she needs me to help her find her way around, maybe even a special visit to the basement.”

Candle looked up slowly.

“Ooo,” Ter’rell said, “I think you got his attention, Denny.”

“Did I get ya thinking Bed Wetter? Me messing with your girlfriend get you a little hot? You know, she’s not bad looking, for a freak. Yeah, I think maybe she needs some of my special attention. Hell, she probably won’t even know I did noth’n to her!”

Candle smiled as his finger began to move around the tile.

“Hey crap head, don’t smile at me,” Denny yelled, this time bending to pick up a larger rock.

Candle stood abruptly, so quickly it startled the two boys who tried to step back but lost their balance and fell. The soles of their tennis shoes had melted into the black top. They landed awkwardly on their butts, their hands scraping across the black top. Candle walked over to them and stood out of their reach while the bullies, who’s reign had never been challenged, began to panic.

Candle smiled wickedly, a face he found difficult to make. “It would be best if you left Sherri alone.”

“Candle!” Sister Martha yelled from a few feet away. “Everything okay over there?”

He took a last look at the two floundering boys attempting to stand, then stepped toward her. “Yes, Sister, everything is fine.”

Immediately the pavement released the boys feet and they rocked back, smacking their heads on the hard playground surface. They looked between their shoes and the blacktop but saw nothing wrong with either.

****

Candle entered the activity area the next afternoon and saw Sherri sitting at her usual place, coloring. He glanced at Sister Josie who smiled at him. Walking to the table where Sherri was working, he pulled out a chair and sat down. Each time he approached Sherri like this it felt like he was starting over, meeting her for the first time.

“Hi again,” He said.

Sherri stopped for a second, her long blond hair covered both sides of her face but he was sure she was looking at him. She slowly began to move the crayon again.

He smiled, she was working on a page, torn from the “Big Book of Coloring.” It was a rabbit, its head sticking up from a hole. A carrot lay near the hole while the rabbit eyed it hungrily. Sherri’s hand moved vigorously and the crayon deposited a thick layer of bright orange onto the paper. As fast as her hand moved, the color met the inside of the line but never crossed it.

“I like your rabbit,” he said, placing his hands and the terrazzo tile on the table.

It was quiet for a full minute, Sherri now using the black crayon to fill in the hole around the rabbit. Candle thought he might get up and move to another table remembering Sister Francesca told him not to push. He heard a whisper.

“Your rabbit’s nice too,” Sherri said without looking up.

He smiled, “Thanks.” He waited a couple of minutes. “Uh… you wanna see something else?”

Her hand stopped immediately, and a second later, her head dipped slightly.

Candle laid the tile flat on the table halfway between them and sat. He began to move his finger on its surface as before when a puff of breeze suddenly moved Sherri’s long hair. As she watched, the tile became lighter in color, the black specs moving out towards the edge of the square. Blurry things waved back and forth on the tile but as the image cleared, Sherri could see the scene, like watching a movie.

She looked out across a vast open field of tall grass, several lightly limbed trees stood taller above the grass reminding her of umbrellas. A hot sun blazed, the heat from it carried in the air drifting up, lightly brushing her skin and making her eyes water.

She gasped as the head and shoulders of a giraffe strode into view. It was too far away to touch but she reached her hand towards the tile as if she could. Candle moved to stop her and their fingers touched.

There was a blur and silence, then they stood on an African savannah, the hot sun beating down on their heads, gusts of hot air causing their clothes to ripple and flap. Sherri gasped and fell, her hand pulling away from Candle’s and they were back in the activity room at the orphanage, Sister Josie walking towards the table.

“Are you two okay?” she asked, seeing Sherri begin to slide out of the chair again, though Candle sat motionless across from her, their fingers had been touching in the middle of the table.

Candle nodded.

Sherri glanced at the tile, now showing only the familiar black, grey and white speckles. She looked at the nun and nodded quickly.

“Okay, but in ten minutes we are going to break for quiet time.”

“Yes, sister,” Candle said. “Where is the coloring book, I would like a picture to color.”

Sister Jose directed him to the large coloring book where he carefully ripped a page out and returned to the table with Sherri. He laid the page down and looked at Sherri her eyes as big as saucers. She looked at the page and smiled at the mother and baby giraffe.

Candle smiled back and began to color.

****

It was Saturday, a week after the “trip” to Africa with Sherri, and of the playground incident with Denny and Ter’rell. Candle watched out his second story window as a light rain dripped from the eaves. It had drizzled all day, keeping the kids inside and adding to the frustration of the sisters, forced to deal with all the pent up energy.

The orphanage was configured into separate wings, boys and girls. The younger girls and boys lived in rooms with two sets of bunk beds, while the older fifteen to seventeen year olds shared a room with one other person. During quiet time, they all were supposed to lay quietly on their beds, or nap.

Candle glanced at the large round clock, suspended over the door. It read 12:55 and in five more minutes, he could leave. He smiled thinking of the special meeting with Sister Francesca and Sherri. The sister left a hand-printed note on his bed informing him that he and Sherri could leave their beds at 1 o’clock and help her clean out one of the old classrooms. The note said they would be taking the old items they found to the local thrift store and that –if they worked hard –ice cream would be involved.

Candle sat on the bed, putting his shoes on, observing the other sleeping boys in his room. He stepped quietly onto the floor with only the slightest squeak from his bed, and walked softly out the door. He made his way down the hall to the back stairs, then down to the first floor seeing no one on his way to the basement door.

The door was ajar, the padlock stuck through the unlocked hasp and relocked, making it impossible to secure the door without the key. He figured the sister was taking no chances. He pulled it open and listened, and hearing a rustling from below, he proceeded down the stairs.

The space at the foot of the stairs was dark, some of the lights in this corner of the basement apparently didn’t work, but there was more than enough light to see his way through to the back corner where bright light shown from a doorway, and where he could hear Sister Francesca working.

He arrived at the doorway, the door stood half-open. He pushed it open and the bright light nearly blinded him but he saw Sister Francesca in the corner, facing some boxes while Sherri sat in a chair swinging her feet.

There was a noise behind him, and he felt the leather cord of his tile necklace tighten. The corner of the tile slid up his chest and sliced into his neck. Candle grabbed at it, pulling back long enough to turn the tile sideways, keeping the point from piercing his trachea.

The flat edge still cut into his skin but he stopped fighting and stepped backwards. Twisting his head, he saw Denny Ruckard pulling hard against the thong, his face a determined grimace. Denny, now off balance, toppled backwards pulling the necklace over Candle’s head. As soon as they landed, Candle jumped up, ran back through the doorway and slammed the door behind him.

The lock had been removed at some point in the building’s history, undoubtedly to ensure wandering children would not accidently lock themselves in. Candle heard a scrambling in the hall as Denny stood, then the doorknob turned and he felt pressure against the door.

The pressure subsided and the doorknob was released. “BW, you ain’t going anywhere and ain’t anyone coming to get you.”

Candle looked at the floor and noticed an ancient door stop lying next to the wall. Without moving from the door, he reached over with his foot and maneuvered the rubber wedge, small end facing the door. With a kick, he shoved the doorstop hard under the door, just as Denny hit it hard, the thump echoing in the empty room.

“Oh, I’m coming in BW. It’s just gonna take some time.” The older boy said from the other side.

Another thump but the door held solid. Candle remembered Sister Francesca and turned, but now his eyes were better adjusted and Sister Francesca was now an old black choir robe draped over a hat rack. The rustling noise of her work came from an ancient metal fan, the air rattling the yellowed newspaper taped to it.

He looked at the old wooden chair where Sherri sat. She was there sure enough, but her arms were taped to the arms of the chair and another piece of tape covered her mouth. She swung her legs wildly causing the chair to rock and wobble violently. Candle looked at Sherri and shook his head. Sherri stopped.

Denny spoke again from the outside. “Hey, how’s it feel to be without your magic necklace. You were pretty brave outside the other day, and I gotta say, I was a little scared, but Jeanie Boyd saw you do something with your freak-girl in the activity room the other day. She said this piece of crap linoleum was part of it so I put two and two together.”

“You probably got five, right?” Candle said through the door, feeling his temper begin to rise.

A fist hit the door. “Oh, you’re a big talker right now but I got some stuff planned for you and your girlfriend, you’re just making it all a little harder on yourselves.”

He looked at Sherri and smiled.

“Did your woman tell you what I did to her yet?”

Candle looked over at Sherri, she averted her eyes.

“No? Maybe she liked it. Maybe I’ll give’r some more.”

On this, Sherri began swinging her legs again, frantically.

Candle placed his hands up, smiled and shook his head confidently. Sherri calmed down. He thought about taking the tape off her mouth but was afraid she might start screaming and he needed to think.

“Well, now you have my magic necklace, why don’t you use it?”

“’Cause I don’t know how it works, butt-hole, obviously!” There was a pause then Denny spoke again. “Tell you what…” Candle heard noise and scratches against the door. “I’ll just tie this door shut so you both don’t get out and hurt yourselves, then I’ll go get some stuff, and when I get back we can have some fun, okay?”

The noise stopped. Candle listened to see if he could hear Denny on the other side but couldn’t, a second later, the room went dark as Denny flipped the breaker at the bottom of the stairs.

Candle heard Sherri begin to thrash around in the dark, panicking, but the room began to lighten as Candle’s hair shimmered. He could now see Sherri whose gaze was transfixed on the top of his head.

“See, no worries,” Candle said calmly.

He walked to Sherri and released her from the chair. She hopped up and immediately grabbed hold of Candle, sunk her face into his small shoulder and wept. He didn’t have any experience with girls but decided a hug was probably okay. He placed his arms around her waist and felt her melt into him.

“Listen, we need to have a plan for when he gets back. Let’s see what we have in these boxes. Maybe there’s something we can use, okay?”

Sherri’s sobs lessened until she finally pulled away from him. “Okay,” she said in a whisper.

Candle went to the first box that sat on the floor closest to the chair and opened the flaps, textbooks. He pulled down several others, more textbooks. The last box contained National Geographic Magazines, most were from the 1950’s, and a large box of thumb tacks.

“Nothing,” Candle said.

Sherri began to cry again.

“Whoa, I didn’t say hopeless.” He pointed across the room. “Hey, what’s that sticking up in the corner?”

Sherri stepped over to the corner, now exposed, and pulled out a tall role of paper. She laid it on the floor and unrolled it revealing a crazily psychedelic role of wallpaper. The colors almost hurt Candles eyes.

The design was of lines and dots, randomly arranged. He looked hard and began to see things in the design. Suddenly the dots and lines began to arrange themselves into animals running back and forth between the trees that sprung up on the dark background. Occasionally, birds flew in from somewhere off the paper to land in them.

Candle looked at it for a few seconds them smiled, “I have a plan.”

Forty-five minutes later the lights snapped back on and Denny scuffed up to the solid wooden door. “Hey, you love-birds in there?” He banged on the door with the three-pound sledgehammer, stolen from Mr. Casey’s toolbox.

Denny heard nothing from the other side. He was used to generating fear in the other kids and this is what had infuriated him with Candle. The boy would passively go with him and Ter’rell, allowing himself to be stuffed in the dirtiest, most rat infested hole without crying or saying a word. But, he would get satisfaction from him this time.

If not the bed wetter then freak-girl, but I will get some respect! he thought.

On the fourth strike, he realized this was only going to draw attention and wasn’t working anyway. He untied the electric cord he had used to secured the door, and turned the doorknob. It was open.

Denny opened the door carefully, fully expecting butt-head, Candle, to rush him but as the door opened he felt a cool breeze hit his face and immediately noticed the boxes moved away from the back wall and a dimly lit hole near the bottom. The hole was large enough for his prisoners to escape and a light glowed from somewhere in the distance illuminating what appeared to be a cave of some kind.

“Why didn’t I see that hole? All the time I was in here setting this up and messing with Crazy Sherri I never saw it,” he said aloud.

“Who you talking to, Den?” a voice said from behind him. He jumped back out of reflex, taking a wild swing. Ter’rell ducked, but stumbled back into Jeanie Boyd.

“Hey, watch it moron! You make me redo my nails and I’ll beat you!”

Denny smiled, “That’s my girl.”

Jeanie smirked. “I’m not your girl! As if.”

Denny stepped up, backhanding the girl, who sank to her knees. “I’m get’n tired of all the back-talk and lack of respect, you got it?”

Jeanie held her hand to her face and nodded, a trickle of blood forming below her nose.

Denny stood over her, hands clenched. “You’ll give me what I want when I want it!”

She nodded again.

Ter’rell smiled, appreciating how Denny handled the situation.

“Good, now get your fat ass off the ground. Did you bring what I asked?”

The girl’s eyes widened in panic as the shook her head.

Denny raised his hand again, but dropped it when she cowered. “You’re lucky we don’t need it.”

“You wasn’t really gonna start a fire with nail polish remover was ya?”

“Hell yes, just a small one, for the smoke. We coulda fanned a little under the door and them freaks would be beating on the door to be let out!”

Ter’rell looked in. “Well, I guess that ain’t happening now. Where’s the hole go to?”

“Don’t know, either one of you bring a flashlight?”

Jeanie held out a keychain, a little heart-shaped LED flashlight hung from it.

“Well, pretty lame,” Denny pronounced, “but it will do, just to look around.”

He snatched it from the girl and stepped towards the hole.

Ter’rell looked in. “Dude, I don’t like this. It don’t make no sense. I don’t think…”

Denny shut him up with a fist to the chest. “Did I ask you to think?”

Ter’rell’s face screwed-up in pain as he shook his head.

“Damn right. There ain’t no need for thinking right now. Look, there’s some steps that goes down what, three feet. Both of you get down there and look around.”

“I’m not going down there…” Jeanie began to say, but she stopped when Denny spun around.

Ter’rell went first down the rock stairs, the light from the room aiding in his descent into the cave, then he turned to help Jeanie down. They both stood at the bottom of the steps and looked around. The cave was dark, and though they could not see any actual definition of walls, the feel of the space was vastness.

Ter’rell turned and yelled back up at the hole. “Dude, it’s safe but I don’t see BW.”

“That’s kinda weird.” Jeanie said.

“What,” Ter’rell asked, bumping into her as he temporarily lost his balance on the uneven floor of the cavern.

“There’s no echo. It’s like…”

Denny knelt down on his hands and knees and yelled into the hole, cutting her off. “Go in a little further, use Jeanie’s flashlight.”

“Uh, I’m not sure…”

“Look butt-wad, you want to come out, you’ll find out what’s in there.”

Ter’rell looked at Denny and for the first time realized he had chosen the wrong friend. Sure, Denny had kept him safe from Troy Whitman, but recently Denny had gotten meaner, maybe even meaner than Troy, and didn’t seem to be very concerned for his crew.

He looked at Jeanie and they both took a step forward.

Denny rubbed his eyes and looked again but saw neither of the two. To him, they had blinked out. Kneeling there as he was, the old fan humming next to left ear, he failed to hear the boxes behind him scratch across the dirty floor. Nor did he hear the two younger children leave their hiding spot and run at him in their sock feet. One instant he felt his temper rising at this completely fouled predicament, then he was in the air, his hands extended to break his fall.

Fortunately, his hands did stop his fall, unfortunately his wrists decided not to play and he felt each wrist snap. He rolled when he hit the bottom. Gaining his feet again, he screamed, already feeling the numbness and swelling beginning.

Looking up to the top of the stone stairway, he saw Candle and Sherri watching him from the room. “You will pay for this! You will both pay for this!” Denny stepped forward, placing his foot on the bottom step.

“I don’t think so,” Candle said, reaching up and grabbing the edge of the hole. He stepped back and ripped the large piece of paper from the thumbtacks holding it. The cave disappeared as the colorful wallpaper took its place, rolling back into its original shape. The angry screams turned to horror hanging in the air of the room until the paper fully recoiled and lay on the dusty concrete floor.

The children stood for several seconds in the quiet, then took a few more to move the boxes back to their original position against the now solid wall, the cracked white paint revealing nothing but age. Candle picked up two of the old colorful magazines and looked at Sherri. She smiled and slowly held out her hand, unsure. He took it and they left the room. Candle flipped the breakers off as they reached the steps, plunging the basement into darkness.

“What are you kids doing here?” Sister Francesca asked from behind them as they closed the basement door.

Candle jumped. “Uh, I was going to show Sherri the basement …” Thinking quickly, he gave her his most innocent smile, “I was going to show her an old trunk down there that I got shut in.”

The sister smiled an odd half-smile, and raised an eye-brow.

He scrambled for more words, “But I decided I should move a little slower and we didn’t go.”

Sister Francesca’s smile softened, “Candle, I get where you’re going, but it’s too dangerous down there away from the sisters, especially for you.” She looked again at the hasp and lock. “And how did this door get unlocked?”

“We found it that way,” Sherri said, her soft response surprising the sister.

It seemed Candle’s friendship was helping. “I’ll tell you what,” the sister said, “the next time you think it’s time to go, I’ll go with you, okay?”

He nodded. The nun noticed they were holding hands. Since she was not sure this was something she needed to be concerned with yet, she let it go.

“Now, it’s almost three,” she said. “The sisters have decided to pop some corn and play a movie so why don’t you head to the movie room.”

“Yes, sister,” Candle said leaving, pulling Sherri with him.

Sister Francesca stood looking at the padlock hanging from the hasp. She pulled out her key ring but after looking through them, found that particular key wasn’t there. She had extras of course, but it concerned her that the one on her ring was gone. “I’ll have Mr. Casey replace them all, just to be safe,” she muttered to herself.

She stood for a second longer, shook her head, smiled, and followed Candle down the hall to the movie room. They were going to watch his favorite movie, “Journey to the Center of the Earth.”

***

Eight years later, Candle and Sherri disappeared. They had each taken a small backpack and a little food, heisted from the kitchen. No one had seen them go. Sister Francesca, now the Mother Superior, ordered the facility combed, top to bottom. She had no doubt they were gone but wanted to make sure before she made a formal report and contacted the police. They found no clues, only that one of the basement doors had been open and an old classroom full of boxed textbooks had been rearranged. Sister Glenneth reported that someone, one of the children she guessed, had hung some old ‘60s era wallpaper on the wall.

Mother Superior stood in Candle’s room smiling, remembering something special had happened between Candle and Sherri, something miraculous. They both finished high school early with high grades. Candle acquired an apprenticeship with a local construction company, laying tile and working with terrazzo. His employer thought highly of him and he was on track for a full-time job if he wanted to pursue it as a career.

Sherri, excelled in painting. She called her style, hyper-realism since her paintings looked like photographs, fooling even seasoned art critiques. She sold some of her work, hundreds of dollars for each, and one of her city skyline paintings currently hung in the city art museum in an exhibit of local artists. With Candle’s help, she had worked hard, finally leaving her ‘basement trunk.’

Mother Francesca looked around. The room was clean and the bed made. The walls adorned with some of Sherri’s best work, as well as pictures and maps from old National Geographic’s Magazines. Something caught her attention, a piece of paper stuck out from under his pillow. She pulled on it and found it to be a full sheet of lined-paper folded over.

She unfolded it and read.

Sister Francesca,

I knew you would find this. Thank you for your love, and nurturing. Neither Sherri nor I could have asked for a better parent.

As you are aware, we have left. Sherri is eighteen and I will be, in a couple of weeks. You may need to report this but there is no need. We have both put back several thousand dollars to get us by for a few months.

We are going to travel, to see the world. Sherri will paint and I… I will do whatever. We plan to get married, maybe in Cairo, maybe Paris, we haven’t decided. In time, we will come back to visit.

Take care, we love you.

Candle and Sherri

The Mother Superior folded the letter again, stuck it in a pocket and left the room, with tears and smiles.

****

Candle opened the ‘portable portal,’ as he called it. The portal was nothing more than a photograph of a terrazzo tile floor he had laid for a local business. After getting a specialty printer to create the six-foot square picture, he cut it into sections, laminating each, then glued Velcro on the edge of each. It now hung on the wall of their small motel room. Once they stepped through the portal, he had several seconds to reach back through and retrieve the picture.

With backpacks in hand, he looked at Sherri, “Well, were to?”

She smiled and took his hand, “I think you know.”

Candle smiled back and began to move his finger around one section of the portal. The small dots began to rearrange themselves until a scene formed and a warm breeze played at their hair. Sherri ‘s smile grew as the Nile came into focus, palm tree frons flapped and several boats appeared to have caught the wind and were moving quickly up the ancient waterway.

Candle turned and looked at her. She nodded at the unspoken signal, and stepped through the wall. Candle, still holding her hand, stepped through behind her. A moment later, the picture wrinkle up, collapsed in on itself, and disappeared leaving the wall empty, and the smells of cinnamon, cumin and coriander filled the hot dry air of the room.