Below_the_current

She vowed to be better mother than her own, but when a stalker takes things too far and her son is taken, Emilia nearly gave up on the dream of motherhood. 

However, two years later she meets a group of peculiar children: the oldest is constantly angry and avoids sunlight like the plague; the second one howls at night and behaves as if raised by animals; the third never speaks but smiles the most among them; the fourth giggles uncontrollably and is far too concerned with her looks; and the youngest, the sweetest child but has the unfortunate hobby to play with fire. 

Emilia cannot help it. She takes them in when they are threatened to be separated. 

It is an uphill battle for them all. 

And someone lurks in the dark, waiting for the perfect chance to strike.

Emilia and the Lost Children of Hell

English weather, in its true nature, bears its ugly behind from the figurative sand, turning a 180 degree from sunny to grey. The clouds dominate the sky, thick and black. Occasionally, a flash of light appears in the fluffy darkness. The rain is soft on the windowpane, a thick drizzle.


The air sizzles with the mixed scents of spices, earth, and a smell that only comes about during a storm, the electrifying, ensnaring kind.


The chatter of the children is muffled through the closed door. It blends in with nature's song, anyway, reassuring in a way.


Emilia sets the tray of food on the table.


Her front door bangs open, feet stomping through the house.


Sighing heavily, she prepares herself, leaning against the counter, a hand on her hip, facing the door. Emilia had never been good at quirking eyebrows; they were a thing for gifted people. She could move both eyebrows well enough to reach her hairline. Her mother had particularly hated this quirk. It does not take long. Naomi bursts in, braids straightened to sleekness, shining when the light hits the beautiful waves.


"Don't give me that look. You...is something wrong with you?"


She wanders in, divesting an article of clothing with every step, throwing the, no doubt, expensive items on the back of a chair.


"Very funny - wait, not only are you cooking, but you're also acting like a normal, functioning human. What magic is this?"


"The children are hungry, and you are being annoying." As usual, goes unsaid.


"I told you you'd be good for each other - "


Naomi freezes, cookie suspended in the air.


Naomi drops the cookie, screeching fiercely.


"I never agreed to anything. You know I cannot be responsible for them."


"How long are you going to be stuck in limbo doing nothing with your life. It's been two years, and I know it hurts, but you must let Cas- him go. He is gone."


Emilia's soapy hands slip around the plate, which clatters in the sink and breaks.


"I will never be responsible for another child's death."


"You...how can you say that. I was the one who let him -"


Arlo is silent, you can never tell where he is, and so Emilia wanders just how much he did hear. He acts nonchalant, pointing to the plates.


"Put them on the table, I will join you with aunty in a second."


He does his usual jerky head movement, agreeing with a small sound. Arlo avoids speaking if possible, he takes antisocial to the next level.


Emilia cannot help herself from ruffling his white hair.


"I'm not staying for lunch; I have an important meeting soon. Anyway, I came to tell you that I've arranged for the children's school. In this folder you have all the information you will need, maps, schedules, year groups, subjects, everything."


Emilia looks at the blue folder, any minute now, fangs and claws will appear, she is sure.


"Just wait a minute, I never agreed to this -"


"You will do it for the sake of the children."


She twirls around, bundles all her outer wear on, and sashays away.


Emilia can only lament her unfortunate taste in friends.


The rest of the weekend passes by in a flash, no unusual business to be found anywhere; the children mind themselves, lively and young as they are; there are plenty of things to occupy their minds within her sprawling estate.


Emilia eyes the projects piled in her office distastefully, locking the room and ignoring it. She much rather prefers watching her beautiful son ride a bike for the first time.


Chapter 8 - School