The Candleman

Boston | Late 1800's

The wax candle gleamed a deep amber aura beneath the onyx atmosphere. Baleful charcoal clouds crept across the Boston Harbor and consumed the last of the stubborn stars, as well as Alora’s path forward.

Although expertly educated, the true geography of Boston’s uneven cobblestone roads presented stressful challenges Alora was not properly prepared for. The renegade landscape adhered to a natural catalog of rules that predated the need to accommodate human travel.

Reddened by the complex dyes of turbulent years and the martyred blood of European rebels, the clay proudly gleamed shadowy webs of faceless ghosts from the country’s past. Eager, yet defected, and a stranger to the newly developed town atop a knoll, Alora attempted to broker deals among the buoyant lost souls.

The ancestors rejected the young woman’s trade deals and evaporated before she could rub the sand out of her bloodshot eyes. She was now truly alone and accepted the harsh fact that she was the only one left who could locate her son and daughter.

The barbarous slash of the bay’s gale threatened to slaughter the lone flame of Alora’s candle, so she cleverly cut down a narrow alleyway and used her free hand to protect her tenuous heat source.

Dense streaks of green and yellow weeds scoured up and down the red walls. Crows and seagulls cackled from unreachable perches as they watched her creep through the narrow street. Two of the more truculent crows flew at Alora’s head to warn her to hurry her pace. The alley was a jungle and the land clearly belonged to the crows.

Squawks reverberated all around her as sharp talons expanded above her crouched head. Fortunately Alora ducked at the perfect moment, and no contact was made.

Alora heard the lesson loud and clear. She bolted the last few steps and exploded out onto the paved road. She was nearly trampled to death by a couple of young men on horseback and was rudely cursed at by the angry cowboys as they galloped away.

The candle was knocked loose from the brass post and rolled onto a dry patch of grass attached to one of the brownstone’s personal garden beds. Alora was fast to react and snatched the candle just before the flame had a chance to engulf the brown earth. She may have prevented an extremely dangerous problem, but the cost of her selfless act murdered the emblazoned flame. She now had to solely rely on those stubborn stars that woefully glowed above the gray clouds.

Alora closed her eyes, searched her memory, and closely observed the torturous orders typed on the ransom letter. She had been severely delayed and now feared the worst for her son and daughter. She took a deep breath and soothed her nerves just enough to focus on the landmark of her journey’s end. Boston Common’s Great Elm Tree.

The park was due north but Alora could not locate the north star, nor any stars for that matter. The clouds had congealed from the bay’s dense fog and created a compacted wall of black and gray hues above her head. Fortunately, she overheard a young couple on a dreamy dusk stroll declare that the Common would be where they would walk to. Alora kept a subtle amount of space between her and the happy couple and pursued them throughout the narrow streets of Boston’s North End.

After about seven hundred seconds, hope once more enveloped Alora as the golden dome of the state house blazed her path forward. She knew she was close and she no longer needed to stalk the happy couple, who had begun to nervously observe her trespass.

Alora bolted west down an assortment of narrow alleys and scoured the area for the road that would lead her to the entrance of the Common. Her efforts were successful as she eagerly raced down Beacon’s steep descent.

She entered the serene park on the northern border, then covertly sheltered at the heels of a dense group of oak trees at the corner of Frog Pond to observe the open area as well as the nocturnal people.

Alora spotted the Great Elm among the forest of oaks, red maples and scholar trees and concentrated on the three people who were seated around the trunk. A rare fluorescent glow from the moon revealed the features of the three shadows. Two of them were women and were at least forty years of age, and the other was an old man who Alora gauged to be close to seventy. None of them were her hostage teenagers, nor the man who stole them away from her.

She expanded her survey of the park and prayed she was not too late. A strange bundle of shadows caught her eye and she promptly focused on the large arrangement of gray stones and masonry tools set to erect a new statue to honor the fallen veterans of the war between the Northern and Southern states.

She could tell from the shapes of the shadows that they belonged to humans, but she was unsure of the ages. She needed to get closer. Her heart told her that her son and daughter were nearby, so she blocked out the words of reason closeted by the confused organ beneath her skull and advanced on the shadows.

Halfway through a secluded herd of red maples, a wrackful murmur severed the nerves Alora’s legs needed to use to be able to move properly.

“You’re too late, Alora.”

She refused to turn around and face the armed man because two out of the three shadows at the center of her probe that emerged from the towers of stacked stones were her young son and teenage daughter.

“They shall burn. As your apostate husband burned.”

Alora watched as a strange man, fattened by gluttony, yanked them by the arm across the open quadrant. As her eyes followed and analyzed, her heart and legs collapsed once she saw the burn post.

“Please,” Alora bellowed, "They are only babes. They do not deserve the flame.”

“You, Alora, mated and reproduced among the rotten. You are no longer pure, and for that, your babes have become more polluted than you. Your husband's foul blood runs through the organs of your plagued descendants. The pathogens must be cleansed”

Her hands found a mound of small, sharp rocks but the large revolver attached to the man’s left palm deterred her assault.

“Please brother. Do not execute them because of my fault of love. They may have Hayden’s blood, but they also have my blood. And yours. They have the same blood as our parents.”

The man’s face refused to change, and that broke Alora’s heart equally as bad as the death march of her only son and daughter. She knew her brother’s sentences were warranted, but he was her brother. She never thought that the flames would come from someone so close. But Alora deflowered herself before the eyes of the rapturous Crusader. An offense that always prompted a hasty death.

“We are no longer bound by blood,” her brother grunted, “The Shepherds, as well as myself, have deemed your deaths a necessary remedy for your shameful lawlessness.”

“Spare them, Anson. I beg you. Take me, but spare them. You can adopt them as your own and teach them the ways of the Crusader. They are strong and they’ll serve you well.”

Her brother laughed and lowered the large revolver. He stepped out of the shadow’s depths and revealed the solemn maroon robes of The Order of The Flame. He turned to face the other robed man who had just successfully bound the teenagers to the burn post, and nodded. The fat man then pressed a kerosene coated torch to the exposed flame of a kerosene fueled lantern.

She knew she could not stop what was about to happen so Alora dropped to her knees and began to pray.

“Your words are worthless, Alora. But do not choose now to cower. You need to be strong for them. A beacon of hope to ease the agony of the underworld.”

Anson gave the fat man a second nod, and the torch was thrown towards the base of the post. A sudden swoosh seared the low fog and the burn post ruptured as ten foot tall flames melted flesh from bone. He then heard a strange sound but was too spellbound to offer a look.

Alora used the screams as her cover and rolled onto her feet. She unsheathed a concealed dagger from her left ankle and plunged the blade deep. Warm blood from her brother’s neck oozed and cascaded down her hands. A sudden loud pop deafened her and a tremendous abdomen cramp forced them both to collapse backwards.

Alora desperately held onto the cold body as the heart beneath her brother’s sternum ceased to beat. Burgundy blood then began to seep from the gruesome gunshot wound to her stomach, and Alora watched as the ashy smoke from the burn post melted away the fog.

All of the stars, planets, meteors and moons shone down on Alora and she knew that even though death was on her way, the future of the human race would be safer now that her brother was dead.

Darkness consumed Alora’s eyes and the crackle of bloody flames on charred wood became the boat that crossed her over to the other plane.