Mysto the Munificent

It was a pleasant spring morning when Mysto the Munificent arrived at the orphanage. The children had probably seen him coming; the top of his pointed hat always bobbed up and down above the garden wall long before he reached the gate. He walked up the path, his heavy blue robes brushing past thickets of unkempt grass. Reaching the grand old doors, he raised a bony finger and rang the doorbell. A great din arose within.

Mysto glanced upward. No sign of rain today. That was good. He’d been up all night perfecting something new; a complex and awe-inspiring bit of magic that he was very proud of. He smiled, thinking of how the children would react: their eyes lighting up; the applause. He liked visiting the orphanage, and was always warmly received. There would be no rain today.

The heavy doors finally opened, the morning sun reflecting off ornate carvings in the wood. A grubby face appeared inside, with little black eyes buried in round features. It grunted, then disappeared. Mysto frowned, removed his hat, and entered. Inside was as it always was: drab yet homely, with faded wallpaper and tired carpet, beaten flat by legions of little feet. Still, Mysto fancied the place had lightened up a little at his arrival. He walked through to the living room, where a group of children were sprawled across the floor. One or two sat up as he entered, wearing expressions of idle curiosity.

‘I’ve quite the show planned! Is this everyone?’ asked Mysto, peering down at the group. ‘Well, they’ll be sorry to have missed it. For my first trick, I-’

A crash interrupted him. The children strained to look at a door at the back of the room. Behind it, there were shouts and a shrill yapping, then quiet. Mysto coughed politely.

‘I expect somebody just dropped a plate. Now, pay attention. The show ... has begun!’

With a flourish, he produced a bouquet of flowers from his sleeve. He offered them to a girl sitting cross-legged nearby, who grabbed them eagerly. Some of the children smiled and clapped, which pleased him, but others looked distracted. A trio of boys near the back were whispering to each other and casting furtive glances towards the door. Hoping to grab their attention, Mysto clapped sharply. Flames burst from his hands.

‘See how I have control over the very elements!’ he proclaimed. A smile spread across his face for a moment, then vanished; the boys hadn’t looked. Wayward, unpleasant characters, he thought. They’d driven away the other children with their repulsive natures; no wonder today’s audience was so small! But he wouldn’t let them spoil it for the other children; he would continue his show.

‘I am going to demonstrate an amazing new trick,’ he said. Then, with a wink, ‘I ask that you move back, for your own safety.’ One or two children shuffled backwards.

Mysto raised himself to his full height, and spread his arms wide. His fingertips crackled with energy, and a smell of ozone drifted across the room.

‘Keep your eyes open if you dare, children!’ he said.

A breeze began to blow. The children were rapt, eyes wide and mouths agape; all except the three boys, whose gaze remained fixed on that door. Mysto fumed. They would miss it!

Dark red clouds formed under the crumbling ceiling. The breeze became a strong wind, then a powerful gale; a whirling cloud of dust and debris. Children were crying. Mysto couldn’t hear them. A powerful gust wrenched the infernal door from its hinges. Behind it, a gang of children scrambled for a puppy, but it got away from them, and bounded into the living room. The three boys leapt to their feet. The clouds above crashed furiously, and a crimson bolt shot across the room. It struck the puppy dead.

The clouds dissipated. The wind fell. Mysto looked at the destruction around him. The screaming children. The lifeless animal.

He picked his hat up off the floor and fled, past the old wallpaper and the ornately carved doors, down the path and out of the gate. He didn’t stop until the orphanage was out of sight. He would not call there again. Those boys brought it upon themselves. It was a pity, but they would have to do without him. He resolved to visit the children’s ward at the hospital tomorrow. Perhaps they would appreciate his new trick? He had worked so hard on it, after all.

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Written for the weekly short story competition on the 'Writer's Block' Discord server.