St.

Patricks’ Day 1803

First, I should start off by saying that I’m a man of science. I don’t believe in any metaphysical
nonsense. I don’t believe in religion. God is a corrupt concept in which we measure our pain.
Nothing, I repeat, nothing that can’t be scientifically explained is true.
Except for that one day. One God damned Saint Patricks’ Day.

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Saint Patricks’ day 1803. It was a chilly Manhattan day. Peak of my youth. What I thought
would be my best years. I had just gotten the approval of my mentor to start teaching young
children. My biggest dream was to break free from this illiterate society and live a civilized
life… The day I started dreading my senses.

My wife had served us, the whole family including relatives, a feast for breakfast. We were
celebrating my breakthrough. However, my son was very upset. He was mumbling under his
breath, throwing tantrums, kicking the air. He was usually so well behaved. And when the time
for me to leave came, it got even worse. He was screaming at the top of his lungs. Crying his
eyes out and begging me not to leave. Since I was putting up with him all morning, his fussiness
slowly started to build up frustration in me.
More screaming.
More tears.
He was hanging on to my first day clothes and stretching them apart even!
I had to push that little brat off me and stomped my way to the piazza angrily.
‘’These children’’ I thought. ‘’how annoying can they get? With their tiny little peanut brains.
not even able to comprehend anything’’
I was mistaken. Terribly mistaken.

The sky growled.

The clouds were getting darker and darker with every step I took.
‘’What a shitty day’’
I thought to myself.
I turned the corner to search for a workshop. The weather wasn’t looking too well, an umbrella
would be helpful.
Since I wasn’t yet financially stable, I had to buy the cheapest one I found.
Dark green.
Wide.
Used.
A piece of paper with burned edges fell as I opened the umbrella.
Never.
Open.
An umbrella.
Indoors.

The address that was given to me was not too far from where I lived. In fact, I knew the building
very well. My friends and I used to sneak into this old building a lot when we were children.
There were gossips going around saying that it was haunted.
‘’The Ghost Manor’’

I felt shivers down my spine, my steps started getting heavier and heavier. I suddenly didn’t want
to go anymore. Maybe I was fine working as an apprentice next to my father. Forcefully I made
my way to the intersection. Where the manor was supposed to be.

But there I was standing.

Looking into an empty field of grass.
There was no manor.
No LIVE children.
No nothing.
All I could see was the corpses of the young boys whom I was supposed to mentor today.
Blood dripping from their ears as they lied on the ground vertical from the sidewalk.
Wearing dark green suits made from cotton.
The same paper I found in the umbrella stitched into their forehead skin…