Chapter Five – The Tenth Candle
1002 Words
Chuka woke before the sun. The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft blue glow of his bedside lamp. His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the silence that wrapped around the house like a heavy cloth. Today was supposed to feel special. But instead, the air felt dense, almost sour, like something had died in the walls overnight.
His tenth birthday.
He should have been excited. He should’ve been dreaming about cake, balloons, games. But instead, his stomach tightened with unease. Something felt… wrong.
He sat up in bed. On the table next to him was a folded white robe—soft and neatly pressed. Next to it, a card in gold and silver letters:
“Happy 10th, Love. Come downstairs when you're ready. "A special day awaits you. Sandra.”
He touched the robe like it might bite him.
The house was too quiet. Even the birds outside seemed to know better than to sing.
He dressed slowly, mechanically. The robe swallowed him, brushing against his ankles. It made him feel smaller than he already was. He opened his bedroom door and stepped into the hallway.
The scent hit him first—sweet and thick like honey, mixed with something floral… and underneath it, something metallic. Something is wrong.
He descended the stairs, his heart thudding in rhythm with each step.
Then he saw them.
Sandra. Aisha. Bella. Mira.
The Hinge.
They stood in a circle in the centre of the living room, dressed in deep red and black silk. Each of them held a candle. The curtains were drawn tight, the only light flickering from the flames. The entire room glowed like a ritual had just begun.
“Welcome, birthday boy,” Sandra said, her voice soft and very sweet.
The others turned slowly, their faces lit by fire and shadow. They were smiling, but none of their smiles reached their eyes.
Chuka stopped at the last stair.
“What… what is this?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“This,” Aisha said, stepping forward, “is your initiation." Your passage.”
Mira circled behind him. “We’ve waited for this day.”
“You’re not just any boy, Chuka,” Bella said. “You’re ours.”
He took a step back, but Sandra’s voice caught him.
“No running, baby,” she whispered. “You’ve already been chosen.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to,” Mira replied. You just need to listen. And obey.”
The music began then, low, haunting, pulsing from an old speaker hidden in the corner. It didn’t sound like the music he knew. It sounded like breathing, chanting, the rhythm of something old. Something secret.
Sandra approached him with a scarf in her hand. “This is tradition,” she said.
Chuka tried to back away again, but Bella was already behind him, her hand firm on his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Sandra said. “You trust me, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
She tied the scarf around his eyes.
Darkness.
Chuka could still feel the heat of the candles. Hear their soft breathing. Hear the rustle of robes. He felt a hand on his back, guiding him forward. Another hand brushed his hair. Laughter, low and close, in his ears.
And then the robe was pulled down.
What happened next didn’t come to him in clear memories. Only flashes.
The cold floor beneath him. The sound of whispered words. Fingers where there shouldn’t be fingers. Pain, sharp, then dull. The sense of floating outside his body, watching everything happen but unable to scream.
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t move.
He just folded inward, somewhere deep in his mind where no one could touch him.
Time dissolved.
When it was over, the scarf was pulled off. Light stabbed into his eyes, making him squint.
The four women stood around him, their robes back in place, their faces calm and clean.
“Happy birthday,” Sandra said, placing a small red box beside him.
Inside was a necklace, a gold key pendant.
“This is your bond to us,” she said. “You’re part of The Hinge now.”
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t.
She bent down and kissed his cheek, the same way she used to before school. But it felt like acid now.
“Don't tell anyone,” she whispered. They won’t understand. They’ll ruin everything.”
The others nodded silently. Then, one by one, they blew out the candles.
Chuka sat alone in the dark, numb. His eyes burned, but no tears came.
Something inside him had cracked.
And for the first time, Chuka truly felt ten years old.
The candles were gone. The whispers had died.
But in Chuka’s ears, they echoed like thunder.
He sat on the floor long after they left the room. The white robe still clung to him, now stained and twisted around his small frame. He stared at the red box, the gold key inside gleaming faintly in the dark, a reminder of what had just happened. A bond, they called it. A gift.
But it felt like a chain tied around his neck to choke him to death.
Slowly, he stood. His legs trembled. His body felt like it didn’t belong to him anymore. He walked back upstairs, each step like walking through wet cement. He didn’t bother changing. He crawled under the covers, the same bed where he used to dream of school, games, and laughter.
Now, he felt nothing.
No rage. No sorrow. Just a heavy emptiness.
He pressed his face into the pillow a bit hard, hoping the pain would keep him present. Hoping he wouldn't float away again.
Outside, the night fell deeper. A clock ticked somewhere in the hall. Time kept moving.
But Chuka had stopped.
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t scream.
He just lay there, quiet, staring into the darkness.
The day he turned ten was the day something inside him died.
- Writer
