Page 48 of A Story of Sinners

Shadow puppets.

“No. I’m not a child anymore. A show won’t cheer me up.”

A show might actually cheer me up, but I wouldn’t admit that. There was nothing I loved more as a child than Malachi’s shadow puppets. Something about the pure artistry in his story telling and designs had always fascinated me.

Malachi bowed his head and lifted from his knees, pretending to leave, but then he held out his hands and crooked his fingers, making it clear what would come next.

“Malachi,” I warned.

He dove, landing on top of me and pushing me into the bed. His fingers flexed into my torso, lightly prodding against my sides, and my breath caught at the feel of his fingers. A giggle tore from my throat, and I slapped his hands away, but he only resumed tickling. Delightful laughter echoed throughout the room.

From me.

From him.

Just like when we were young.

The sound shocked me to my core, a sound I never thought I would be capable of again, especially not so soon.

Still, despite the humor, despite the joyous laughter that poured from me, I hurt, and the last thing my soul could bear was another male’s hands on my body.

My fingers balled into a fist, and I swung.

The punch brushed just along the side of his face, causing no harm or foul, but he relented, removing his hands. He chuckled, then immediately masked his reaction, as if remembering the standard response to a blow, and lowered his head in a bashful manner.

“I’m sorry. I only wanted to help.”

I breathed in, annoyed but curious that, for a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, he’d made me smile. Maybe hehadchanged.

“Don’t touch me again,” I stated, rolling over and facing the wall. His heavy breath sounded behind me, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. I didn’t know why, but I turned my head, my gaze chasing after him.

“Tell me a bedtime story—like when we were kids,” I whispered.

There was some small part of me that felt nostalgic for the old Malachi, the version of him that I used to know, soft and sweet. The misplaced yearning felt wrong to my very core, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

The bed creaked as he climbed in behind me, situating himself so that he was cross legged and cautiously leaving space between us.

“A bedtime story,” he whispered, raising a scarred hand.

Shadows poured from his hands, collecting against the wall facing us and taking form. The sight was breathtaking, more detailed than before. Each tendril twisted and split, forming trees and birds, the figures of two children. There was a contrast of light and dark, small details like the wind fluttering between the leaves of the trees that even the most experienced artist would fail to paint on a canvas.

“Once upon a time,” he began.

A little girl and a little boy walked through a shadowy forest, hand in hand, against the walls. Tall shadows flickered and formed, changing with every motion. The detail was astounding, so clear that even the beetles crawling through the dirt could be seen.

“There was a boy who loved a girl. She wasn’t just any girl. No, she was made for him, and he for her. The two were close, merged in soul and spirit. They would never part. But one day, the little boy’s body and mind were taken over by magic, a dark curse that transformed him into a monster. It wasn’t all the magic’s fault, though; it was also the young boy’s, too arrogant to be trusted with the sort of power that had suddenly been thrust upon him. You see, he grew brazen and proud. He thought that one day, he would rule the world with the girl at his side, but he didn’t want to share her, not ever. He stifled her to the point of suffocation.”

The shadows moved as Malachi played out our childhood, a story I wished to never bear witness to again. There was the bullying, the murder of the bunny, the murder of other children and adults who had dared to get too close. I held my breath as he continued, laying his sins bare.

I shifted in bed and gazed up at him. His turquoise eyes nearly glowed in the dark as he met mine, a moment’s hesitation as his lips began to move once again.

“Now on to the part you’re interested in. Watch the show.”

My eyes moved to the wall, and I sat up, bracing myself for what would come next.

“One night, when the boy was prepared to go into a particular gruesome tirade, the spirits of the ether whispered to him.Come, they said.The door may close, and you need to prevent it.The little boy wanted to drag the little girl along with him, but for once in his young life, he decided to leave her behind. The spirits had informed him that a treacherous task lay ahead, and he worried for her safety.”

His body tensed as he continued the tale.

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