The hallway was a breathing shadow, exhaling the chill of the late evening. Only a thin, anemic sliver of light escaping from beneath the parents' bedroom door offered any defiance to the gloom. Thirteen-year-old Audrey knelt on the unyielding hardwood floor, the planks pressing into the raw, tender skin of her knees, already bruised from countless previous nights. Her thin cotton nightgown offered no warmth, no solace. This was where it began. Every night. The Confession Ritual.
A voice, deep and resonant with assumed authority, boomed from behind the heavy oak door. It was Mr. Jones. "Begin your confession, Audrey."
Audrey swallowed, the sound loud in the suffocating silence. Her voice, when it came, was a reedy whisper, brittle with fear. She listed the small, permissible 'sins' she had carefully rehearsed in her mind. "I... I didn't finish my vegetables at dinner." "I looked at Mia during homework time." This one was always a safe bet; Mia was an omnipresent spy. "I didn't thank Dad for my punishment yesterday." She had learned that defiance, even silent, had to be purged.
The door creaked open slightly. Mrs. Jones stepped out, her face impassive, eyes narrow in the dim light. In her hands, folded twice, was the thick leather belt. It smelled faintly of old polish and something acrid – fear, perhaps, clinging to the worn hide. "You're holding back, Audrey," she said, her voice low, silken, and utterly devoid of warmth. "What else? There is always something else."
Audrey's heart hammered against her ribs. Hesitation was a mistake, she knew. A deep, terrible mistake. Her eyes darted down the long, dark hallway. At the far end, a faint shape materialized from the shadows – Mia. Eleven years old, dressed in her own innocent-looking nightgown, but her eyes gleamed in the faint light. Mia tilted her head slightly, a silent command in her gaze. Her lips moved, forming two words: Tell them.
A whimper escaped Audrey's lips. Her mind scrambled, desperate for something plausible yet sufficiently 'sinful' to appease them. "I... I thought about skipping church," she mumbled, the lie feeling heavy and real on her tongue. It felt the most damning, the most truly rebellious thought her compliant mind could conjure under pressure.
Mrs. Jones nodded slowly, a ghost of satisfaction touching her lips. "Three sins listed. And one deliberately held back." She unfolded the belt. The sound was a soft, ominous swish. "Three lashes for each admitted sin. Six for the one you tried to hide."
The belt cracked the air behind Audrey. It landed hot and sharp across her back. She bit her lip, a silent scream ripping through her insides. One. The smell of leather suddenly sharp. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Twelve strikes. The pain bloomed across her shoulder blades, fiery and throbbing. She stayed kneeling, rocking slightly, trying to breathe past the agony.
"Now," Mrs. Jones said, her voice businesslike. "The cleansing."
Audrey stumbled to her feet, keeping her gaze fixed on the scarred floorboards, careful not to make eye contact. She shuffled towards the bathroom, the pain making every step a trial. The smell of disinfectant already hung heavy in the air.
Inside, the porcelain tub was filled to the brim with water. Ice cubes clinked and shifted, a chilling music. Freezing air seemed to radiate from the surface. This was the ice bath, designed to "cool her sinful thoughts." Audrey peeled off her nightgown, the fabric sticking briefly to the welted skin on her back. Shivering uncontrollably, she stepped into the frigid water. The shock stole her breath. It wasn't just cold; it was a physical assault, numbing, agonizing. Fifteen minutes. She had to last fifteen minutes.
Through the closed bathroom door, she heard a faint click. Then, a quiet voice, Mia's, barely audible, followed by the unmistakable sound of her own ragged sobs, amplified and distorted. Mia was recording it. To play back later, she knew, a soundtrack to her humiliation. The cold seeped deeper than her skin, chilling her bones, her very core. She focused on a spot on the tiled wall, trying to make her mind a blank, to float away from the biting cold and the shame. Disassociate, the quiet voice in her head urged. Go away.
When the light finally went off from under the parents' door – the signal that her time was up – Audrey stumbled out of the bath, teeth chattering so hard her jaw ached. Her skin was bone-white, streaked with red where the belt had hit. Wrapped in a towel, still shivering violently, she was led to the small desk in the hall alcove.
A notebook lay open, already dated at the top. A pen lay next to it. Mrs. Jones placed a hand on her shoulder, her touch strangely firm, devoid of comfort. "Write every sin one hundred times," she instructed. "No tears on the paper, Audrey. God does not accept soiled offerings."
Mia was already there, perched on a chair opposite the desk. As Audrey sat, her muscles screaming in protest, Mia leaned closer, her expression one of feigned concern that didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, Audrey," she whispered, her voice a low, insidious hiss barely louder than the drip from Audrey's hair, "if you were just better, they wouldn't have to do this. You make them sad when you're bad."
Audrey picked up the pen, her fingers stiff and clumsy from the cold. She began to write: I didn't finish my vegetables at dinner. I didn't finish my vegetables at dinner... The words blurred. The ink smeared slightly despite her efforts. Her hand quickly cramped, the small muscles protesting the repetitive motion and the lingering cold. She paused, flexing her fingers uselessly.
Mia watched her, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "You need to focus, Audrey," she said softly. Then, she reached out and pressed down harder on the pen, forcing Audrey's numb fingers to grip tighter, the point digging into the cheap paper. "Faster. Repentance requires diligence." A faint, almost imperceptible inhale from Mia – was it anticipation? Enjoyment? – as Audrey winced.
Hours bled into each other in the dim hallway light that began to lighten almost imperceptibly as dawn approached. The cramped ache in Audrey's hand spread up her arm. Her head drooped, exhaustion a heavy cloak. The writing became shaky, the letters sprawling and uneven, regressing to something childlike and clumsy. The list of sins repeated endlessly across the pages: thought about skipping church. looked at Mia. didn't thank Dad. One hundred times each.
Finally, blessedly, it was done. The last line wobbled illegibly across the page. Audrey sagged against the back of the chair, too drained to even feel the pain in her raw knees or back anymore. Numbness had claimed her.
Mia plucked the filled notebook from the desk, her movements brisk. She walked to the parents' door, which was now slightly ajar, a promise of coffee smells and morning light within. She disappeared inside for only a moment. Audrey heard muffled words, Mia's voice bright and clear, then the deeper tones of her parents.
"She was very diligent this time," Mia said, emerging with the notebook. "I helped her stay focused. She's learning."
Mr. Jones's voice, no longer booming but warm with approval, carried from the room. "Good girl, Mia. You are a blessing. Helping Audrey repent is a wonderful thing."
Audrey didn't look up. She simply pushed herself away from the desk, her body protesting every movement. The hallway was no longer entirely dark; the pre-dawn grey softened the edges of the shadows. She dragged herself towards her small bedroom, aching in every fiber.
As she collapsed onto her bed, fully clothed and shivering despite the blankets, a faint sound reached her. It was coming from Mia's room, next door. Soft, just loud enough to be heard. The sound of a young girl crying. Her own cries, from the ice bath, played back as a lullaby. The ritual was complete. For tonight.