Pan trudged through the heavy snow that blanketed the abandoned street. His bare feet burnt from the frigid ice. In his hands he clutched the meager sum of coins he’d made begging in the town square. It wasn’t much, but to him, it was a lifeline.
The abandoned orphanage’s ugly red-brick front loomed up ahead. He reached its worn front door and rapped twice, paused and rapped again. There was a lull before Pan heard the beam that secured it slide away. It creaked open just wide enough for him to slip inside. The doorkeeper, a child no older than Pan, eyed him before sliding the beam back and settling down in a nook for the next child.
Pan ignored the glare and pushed deeper into the dilapidated building, with its bare peeling plastered walls. He passed clusters of grimy children speaking in hushed whispers, while huddled together for warmth. Hollow, sunken eyes trailed after him. In one corner, a fight broke out. The fighters snarled and hissed at each other like feral animals.
Pan stopped in front of a large pair of immaculate oak doors. He glanced down at the coins he held, took a deep breath, and gave a sharp knock.
“Enter,” came a muffled voice from within.
Pan pushed open the doors and felt warmth engulf him. He stood in the open doorway, surprised by the stark contrast between this secluded room and the rest of the building. To say the room was lavish was an understatement. It seemed like someone had moved everything valuable that had once graced the entire building to this room. A fire blazed in a hearth, the source of the sudden warmth, and lounging on armchairs befitting a noble’s manor were the eldest of the orphanage thieves, its leaders.
Cruel eyes regarded Pan as he stepped into the room and shut the door. The youngest, looking to prove his worth, sprung to his feet and swaggered over, with thumbs thrust into his trousers' waistline and shoulders hunched forward. An oily smirk exposed blackened teeth. The boy circled Pan.
“Wha’ you got for us, Sport?” He glanced back at the others. The oldest nodded in approval. “Betta be somefing real good.”
Pan’s knees trembled, but he stood his ground. “Got the day’s earnings I does.”
The boy stopped in front of Pan and rocked back on his heels. “Hear tha’, Gents? This ‘un’s got us some coin.”
The others snickered and snorted, their eyes never leaving Pan.
“Well, let’s see then.” The boy gestured. “Cough it up, we ain’t got all night.”
Pan unclenched his fist, revealing the coins.
The boy whistled. “Well, I’ll be. Tha’s the saddest excuse for a begging haul ever to grace these here halls. Wha’ ya fink, Gents?”
The others scoffed and jabbed at each other, nodding.
“Not nearly enough to cover the night’s boarding fees.”
The boy tried to snatch the coins from Pan’s hand, but he was faster and pulled away.
“What about my cut?”
Silence fell over the room.
“Your cut?” The boy grabbed Pan by his clothes and shoved him up against the doors. “You don’ get a cut.”
“But the code says–” Pan cried.
The boy snarled. “We made the code and we get the final say.” He held out his hand. “Now, hand over the coin.”
“No.”
The boy’s cheeks flushed an angry red. “What did ya say?”
“I… I said no!”
“Ah, thought I heard right.”
The others rose from their seats.
“There’s one option left, then.” The boy said and punched Pan hard in the gut before throwing him to the ground where the others joined in the beating.
Pan remained silent throughout, clutching the coins fiercely.
“That’s enough,” the oldest said. “Throw him in the hole. Come tomorrow, he’ll wish he hadn’t shorted us.”
Hands hauled up Pan, barely conscious, and dragged him out of the room, across the crowded hallway that watched in silence, and finally threw him into the hole—a small space beneath the floorboards.
Pan looked up in defiance as the floorboards were slotted and then nailed back into place, sealing him in darkness. He found the hole near impossible to move about in and his body ached from the beating. Unable to hold his bravado any longer, he cried himself to sleep in the cold, dark confines of his prison.
He was not sure how long he had slept before the shrieks of terror and chilling screams woke him. Seized by panic, he cried out for help and pleaded to be released, but nobody came. The harsh truth dawned on him; he was going to die in this hole.
Just as that sickly dread was settling in, the orphanage fell silent. Pan cocked his ears, trying to listen, when a loud heavy clop like a horse’s hoof thudded down near his prison. With a sudden ferocity, the floorboards were ripped away and Pan peered up at a horrifying creature. It felt like his heart had crawled into his throat.
Black shaggy fur hung from its frame in thick, matted clumps. Two long horns extended from its goat-like face, curling back on themselves. Its legs ended in cloven hooves that scorched the wood it stood on. In one gnarled hand, it held a birdcage that was filled with swirling vapour. In the other, it held a birch rod.
Pan cowered beneath its heavy gaze, and then it spoke in a voice as old as the world.
“You have been judged on this winter’s night and I leave you with the greatest treasure of all. I leave you with your soul.”
It turned from Pan and, without another word, vanished.
Pan waited for what seemed an eternity before he stole a glance beyond the hole. Bodies lay sprawled on the wooden floor, faces pale and eyes vacant. Amongst them, those that had been spared stood shaken and weeping.
Pan knew he would never forget this night of living dread.
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