The last funeral

"Arto! Arto, wake up!"

"It was too much for him to witness that—why did you let him?"

"He might be in shock. Let's take him back to the room."

They laid him back on the same bed in their old room.

Dr. Lloyd stayed with him, alert and prepared in case anything happened, while the priest and Humbert left the orphanage to bury little Edward.

There was no reason for the child to remain any longer—his small body would soon rest beneath the earth.

As the week passed, and more children were buried, Humbert found himself consumed by thought.

Their lives had never truly begun. So short—too short.

He felt there was a missing piece to the story, though he couldn't tell where.

And the children... what kind of life had awaited them anyway?

Amid illness, poverty, and abandonment.

The orphanage boys were never lucky—life had never been on their side.

Most were bastards, some forsaken out of sheer poverty.

Their souls felt too cheap for this world.

When Humbert returned to the orphanage that evening, he headed upstairs at once, ignoring the creak of his aching knees.

His only thought was that Arto would be awake—speaking to the doctor with his strange thoughts on demons, angels, and life after death, while the doctor laughed at him for believing in such things.

Upon entering the room, the soft glow of a dim lamp on the table was the only light source, casting shadows that made the grime on the worn-out wall stand out. The place looked truly unfit for living.

Humbert sat on the edge of the bed and took the boy's hand, patting it gently.

"I'm back. Are you alright?"

"He opened his eyes an hour ago," the doctor said, "but he hasn't spoken."

"Arto, how do you feel?"

Arto's eyes shifted to him at once, struggling to part his lips.

"A..."

He was straining, as though his mouth had been sewn shut, but Humbert waited patiently.

"M...my...my feet...they hurt..."

Humbert and the doctor froze.

Slowly, Humbert stood and walked toward the foot of the bed, where Arto's legs lay covered.

He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his head—he was afraid.

He slowly pulled back the blanket from Arto's feet.

What he feared had already come to pass.

He staggered backward at the horrifying sight—Arto's feet were twisting in on themselves, just like the others.

He rushed back to Arto, dropping to his knees beside the bed, and said in a panicked voice:

"Arto, stay with me! Don't sleep, alright? Don't sleep!"

The priest arrived just then, and the scene before him mirrored the one they'd seen earlier.

They had only just returned from the cemetery, where they had buried Edward, gently covering his tiny body with soil.

The image of Edward's pale face—so unlike the cheerful expression he once wore—would not leave the priest's mind.

He could not bear to bury another.

It weighed on him heavily, and in a trembling voice he whispered to himself:

"Dear God, how many more children must we bury? I've had enough..."

He wiped the sweat from his brow in silence.

"Father Christopher, what happened this afternoon—was it not an evil spirit? Or was it truly a spirit?"

Humbert's voice pulled the priest back to what they had done that day, back to what Arto had suggested.

He considered the question for a moment before answering:

"Yes... I believe so.

I believe it was an angry spirit. One that left Edward's body... and slipped into Arto's."

"Do you have any idea whose spirit it could be?

Or maybe some curse—or a tale that circulates often in the orphanage?"

"I don't know... nothing strange has happened here since it opened. N—"

"Ast...Ast...Aster..."

Arto spoke.

"Aster? Who?"

asked the doctor.

"Arto, what do you mean?"

Humbert asked, worried, leaning closer.

But it was too late.

Arto closed his eyes.

"My boy! My son! Wake up!"

Humbert shook his pale body, shouting through ragged breaths and blurred vision, desperate to bring him back.

Unknowingly, his nails had dug deep into Arto's shoulder.

He eased his grip when he realized this, and lifted him gently into an embrace.

"I will save you. You will live."

He pulled him tighter, pressing the boy's small head against his chest.

In a trembling voice, he whispered:

"You'll live... and you'll become a carpenter."