A Druid's Tale : The Relic of Phantasm

THE BLOOMER'S SHACK

       One starless night ruled over the skies, and underneath was a dotted light that flickers in a town known as Norfolk. Rooted in the very heart of a dense pine forest, it serves as the only beacon along the thick blanket of blackness. Its empty streets were sandwiched between long rows of endless wintery white houses, looking at each other like mirrors and as they turn their lights to life, a neighborhood is drawn like a network of bright cobwebs. In exemption, a dull glow twinkles from the blind street of Gibbet's Point. A house that is contrary to others, they call it the Bloomer's Shack.

Standing idly for more than a century, tall-tales were told by older folks, passing them from one generation to another that it is already vague on which is false and which is genuine. But one thing is in common, somebody died within those grounds; a subject of interest during rumor-sharing sessions. Hardly be unnoticed for it stood high above a hill, casting a long shadow over the town, as if it demands to be seen.

"Sleep now or else the Bloomer's bloody phantom will pluck your eyes out." said a mother as she tucks her son to bed.

"I dare you to pay a visit in that crummy house if your team loses. Huh? Berny?" A drunk daringly barked inside the pub.

But the Bloomer's Shack did not remain dilapidated. Putting an end in such absurd stories and with a pint of political agenda, the mayor reopens the ramshackle estate back as an orphanage as it was fifty years ago. Oddly though, for it did not turn out to be a house for abandoned angels, instead it shelters delinquents from toddler to teens. However, no matter how nasty these chicks are, they usually found themselves outmatched by The Witch, as they call her. The horror matron, Madam Egna Helming... and terrorizing children is her game.

Luckily for now, her game took a day-long time out for the witch left due an important matter. "She's hunting for more children to come and live with us" exclaimed little Daisy Wartface. In Egna's absence, the caretaker Mr. Wallory took over the authority, which is zero authority at all. Deaf and hardly can stand without his cane, he always said that he is too old to scold little mouseys. Which means when the cat (Madam Egna that is) is away, the mice will play –

Now, the story unfolds in that very night. As the town's clock tower clangs a second late after midnight, the whole neighborhood began to dwindle in darkness as Norfolkians retire from their usual daily life. Waking up as usual, go to work as usual, go home as usual – Perhaps, life here is too usual to be unusual. Nonetheless, something is about to happen within the Bloomer Shack's candlelit window.

The first wind of July surges from the south, swaying the trees along the way. The thinning foliage loosens a leaf from a twig's weak grip and fell like a feather towards the window front. Catching a beam from a nearby streetlight, a shadow trespasses inside the Bloomer Shack's small square room.

"What was that?" said a curly-haired boy, cowering underneath a blanket. He peeked through a torn hem when he shakily spoke. "Guys, I think there's someone outside."

"Stop being a baby Ernie." said a boy nearby, rolling his eyes and turning his back to Ernie, revealing a bald patch. He and five other boys were sitting in circle, shuffling a deck of monster-printed cards, each of them were wearing a face, bored and unfazed of the drizzling leaves outside.

"Can't believe we are still babysitting." a toad- faced boy sighed, throwing a baseball up-and-down with his gloved hand.

"For your information Jorge, I am not a baby, I am turning twelve by August." Ernie calmly protested, hurling the blanket off him and reemerging with a display of false courage.