The darkest glass, p.1
The Darkest Glass, page 1
The Darkest Glass
Olivia Danson
Oddworks Press, LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, buildings, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales is entirely coincidental and is not intended to depict actual events.
No generative artificial intelligence (AI) was used in the writing of this work. The author expressly prohibits any entity from using this publication, in whole or in part, for purposes of training generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text, including without limitation technologies that are capable of generating works in the same style or genre as this publication. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.
THE DARKEST GLASS. Text copyright © 2025 by Olivia Danson. All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover illustration and design © Ashley Hankins, www.ashleydoesartstuff.com
Edited by Carrie Jones, carriejonesbooks.blog
Published in 2025 by Oddworks Press, LLC
ISBNs: 979-8-9996001-0-3 (e-book), 979-8-9996001-1-0 (paperback), 979-8-9996001-2-7 (hardcover)
First printed in the United States of America
To my mom, thank you for everything. You truly are one of the best parents ever and I'm forever grateful to have you in my corner.
Author's Note
Before our tale begins, a gentle reminder that this story contains dark fantasy and horror themes, including fantasy violence, emotional/physical abuse, body horror, murder, self-harm, blood, gore, toxic relationship dynamics, discussions of grooming between a minor and an adult (mentioned), suicidal ideation, panic attacks (on page), reference to suicide attempt, depression, drug use, alcohol abuse, consensual sexual content (off-screen), drug addiction, post-partum depression (mentioned), hanging (not by suicide), forced institutionalization, grief, parental abandonment, bullying (on page and past reference), cannibalism (mentioned/organ, source not on page) and kidnapping (mentioned). Reader discretion is advised.
Although inspired by events and culture from the Victorian era, this story is not historical fiction or historical fantasy, but a magical, reimagined world separate from our own. This book is not meant to serve as an accurate depiction of the aforementioned time period and should not be used as an educational source. To learn more about the historical Victorian era, please consult non-fiction sources and cited academic materials.
Now, for those that are ready, onward to the monsters, magic, and madness…
Contents
1. Julia
2. Julia
3. Tobias
4. Julia
5. Tobias
6. Tobias
7. Julia
8. Nathaniel
9. Nathaniel
10. Sybil
11. Julia
12. Julia
13. Tobias
14. Nathaniel
15. Sybil
16. Julia
17. Julia
18. Tobias
19. Nathaniel
20. Nathaniel
21. Sybil
22. Julia
23. Julia
24. Tobias
25. Tobias
26. Julia
27. Nathaniel
28. Nathaniel
29. Julia
30. Sybil
31. Tobias
32. Tobias
33. Nathaniel
34. Julia
35. Angelina
36. Tobias
37. Tobias
38. Nathaniel
39. Sybil
40. Sybil
41. Sybil
42. Tobias
43. Nathaniel
44. Sybil
45. Sybil
46. Angelina
47. Nathaniel
48. Tobias
49. Angelina
Acknowledgements
Chapter
About the author
1
Julia
“The hunter who seeks the deer also, in turn, seeks the wolf.” – Unknown, engraved quote beneath a statue of Saint Martin of Healers
In the sleepy town of Temmings, one warning was repeated more than any other: terrible things happen to those who aren’t careful.
Standing in a field on the outskirts of town, far from the safety of the cobbled streets, crowded teahouses and second-hand dress shops she knew, those words ran through Julia Sheffield’s head again and again. A bead of sweat slid down her neck as the forest loomed like a living wall before her. Trees crowded its edge like teeth, their needle-like branches beckoning her where the sunlight dared not reach.
She squeezed George’s hand. “Ready?”
She looked down to see her youngest brother transfixed, lips slightly parted, as if captured by song. Panic tightened her throat.
“George? You ready?”
George blinked, shaking off whatever had held him. “Ready.”
“And you’re sure you trust Roger on this?”
George’s nostrils flared. “He swore it on his grandmum’s grave! He said Billie was right over there, near the forest edge. He’s out there, Jules and he needs our help.”
Julia wasn’t so sure. No one had seen Billie Moore in six days. He was small for his ten years, and the runt of her brother’s group of friends. Billie’s father, a whaler from Portyard, was out at sea more than he was on land, so Julia had often seen Billie helping his mum and sister at the Moore’s tailor shop on Blackwood Street. She recalled George telling her on more than one occasion Billie being the target of Marcus Campbell and his gang’s viciousness. The same ruffians that made faces behind Father O’Malley’s back and threw eggs (and on occasion filled inkpots) at horse cabs and ran away laughing. The same boys she’d overheard daring each other to go into the forest alone for sport.
Maybe they had chased Billie into the forest and lost track of him, only to grow bored and forget about him later. But it’d been six days. If hunger hadn’t taken him, Julia was certain the wolves must’ve by now.
George dug the toe of his boot into the dirt. “Wendall and Melvin were just too scared to come with me, but I trust Roger. He doesn’t lie.”
Everyone lies, Julia almost said, but held her tongue. What Roger Aberton said he saw—Billie Moore standing at the edge of the forest, whole and healthy—sounded like a lie. But Roger’s wide-eyed stupor and refusal to leave the house since the encounter spoke of a far more terrible truth. One most adults in Temmings were all too eager to leave out of their polite teatime conversation.
Billie was no different than Lovina Bauldry, Baxter Graham, Nan Smedley, or Timothy Winters. All children, Julia was told as she was growing up, that were naughty and wandered off when they shouldn’t have. Only years later, during a market trip with her mum, did eleven-year-old Julia learn from Lilah Roan, the local apothecary and town gossip, that they each had gone past the fields and were never seen again or returned a muted shell of their former selves.
“The forest, it whispers things,” Lilah had told Julia while her mum was busy comparing tinctures. “It’s alive and all living things must consume. Never go near there, understand?”
Julia let out a shaky breath. She’d seen the white guiding candle burning in the window of Billie’s room for the past six days. The old wives in town claimed it to be a beacon to guide the missing home, but Julia and her friends knew it as a marker of loss.
“When we go in there, you have to do everything I say, all right?” Julia kneeled so George was forced to look at her. She gripped his shoulders, her light blue eyes unblinking. “I’m serious, George. Run off and I’ll tell Da and Auntie you cut class to come here alone.”
“I promise, I won’t run off.” George crossed his chest. “But we’ll find him right, Jules?”
As she was about to respond, the words of their older brother Frederick echoed in her mind.
“Don’t lie to him, Jules,” he had warned her that morning. “It’s cruel, giving him hope like that. They searched the forest already. Billie’s gone.”
She knew Fredrick was right. Of course they wouldn’t find Billie, but she also knew George would never be satisfied until he saw the truth for himself. Wouldn’t it be crueler to deny him that chance?
She grabbed George’s hand. “Come on, then.”
As they crossed the field hand in hand, Julia looked over her shoulder. No one ran after them. No one called their names or tried to stop them.
No one noticed more children slipping away.
Julia and George crossed the field, feet unwavering, and entered the mouth of the forest.
The warmth of the sunlight fell away and a thick, earthen mustiness permeated the air. In the speckled canopies above, birds chirped and tittered to each other.
“Thanks again for coming with me,” George said as he brushed back a branch.
He kept his eyes trained ahead, but Julia could see the traces of a smile. She marked the tree with a piece of chalk from her dress pocket and ruffled his short auburn brown hair, a shade deeper than hers, with her free hand. “Sure. Just stay by my side, all right?
George giggled. “Okay.”
Julia kept a lookout as she and George called out Billie’s name. Halfway into their search, a flash of orange darted past them and disappeared somewhere behind a cluster of trees. George spun around, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the creature, but the fox was long gone.
“Jules, aren’t foxes supposed to be deeper in? Does that mean we’re close then?”
“No, we’re not.” Julia swallowed hard, tucking a long strand behind her ear. A bead of sweat trickled down her freckled cheek. “But it shouldn’t be running towards Temmings. That’s … death.”
She turned back to the path ahead and let out a small gasp.
“George, does something look different to you?”
George frowned. “No, why?”
“I mean, the trees … they look …” Like they moved. Julia gripped the piece of chalk tighter. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
Two hours later, the pair sat down against a gnarled tree with sagging branches. Julia sighed with relief to be off her feet. She stared up at the canopy, watching the sunlight dance behind the leaves. It was almost peaceful enough to forget they were in a place not to be trusted.
George took a canister from his pack and gulped down a mouthful of water. When he didn’t show signs of stopping, Julia snatched the canister away.
“Oi, don’t hog it!”
“But I wasn’t done yet,” George moaned with a pout, wiping his mouth.
Julia managed a small swig before the canister emptied. “Brilliant. Now we have no more water.” She tossed it to the ground and shot George a nasty glare. “Way to go.”
George tucked his chin between his knees. After a moment, Julia picked up the canister with a sigh, dusting off her dress. “Just as well. We need to head back before Da catches on we’re not at the market. Come on, we’re leaving.”
“No, we can’t go yet!” George blurted. “Please, Jules. If we don’t find Billie by tonight, they’ll blow out his guiding candle and it’ll be too late! Just a little longer, please?”
Julia sighed. “We’ve already looked everywhere. He’s not here.”
George got to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dirt sticking to his threadbare shorts. “He’s here. He’s got to be. I bet he’s just hiding ‘cause he’s scared is all.”
Don’t lie to him, Jules.
“George,” Julia said quietly, taking his hand, “it’s been six days. Billie would’ve come back to Temmings by now, don’t you think?”
George was silent for several seconds.
“What if it was me?” He pulled his hand away and looked down at her with a mixture of hurt and anger. “Would you give up on me then, too? Huh? Like Billie’s parents? Like Mum?”
Julia flinched as if struck. Does he really think I’m like her?
“No, that’s not—”
The low howl of wolves reverberated through the forest. Julia was on her feet in an instant. She grabbed George’s arm and pulled him behind her.
“Do you see anything?” she whispered, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.
George shook his head. She could feel him trembling beside her, or was that her own fear besting her?
Howls echoed through the forest again. It was coming from behind them now. Are we surrounded? But how? Julia’s heart thrashed against her chest. George grabbed Julia’s hand and squeezed, jolting her back to her senses. They needed to move. Now.
“Let’s go!” Julia hollered. They sprinted toward the nearest chalk-marked tree. Julia glanced over her shoulder but didn’t see their pursuers.
Another howl. Closer this time.
Too close.
George leapt to avoid a tree root, but Julia’s layered skirts and corset didn’t afford her the same limberness. Her boot tip caught a root and sent her toppling to the side. George skidded to a halt.
“Jules!”
Julia raised herself up on her scrapped elbow and gasped.
Billie Moore stood behind them in his school blazer and shorts. Aside from a tear on his left jacket arm, his blond curls flecked with dirt and missing a shoe, he was as whole and healthy as Roger claimed.
George broke the silence first.
“Billie, i-it’s me. G-George.”
Billie didn’t say anything. Julia gawked at him. How had a ten-year-old survived unharmed in the wilderness for six days? Could he even hunt? And why wasn’t he reacting? Was he in some sort of shock?
A rancid smell lingered on the still air like meat left out too long. Julia wrinkled her nose, fighting against the nausea threatening to overcome her.
Billie tilted his head in one slow, wooden movement. “We can be mates.” He extended his hand to George and smiled. A thin line of amber sap trickled from Billie’s mouth but he made no move to wipe it away. “Come with me.”
“What? We’re already mates.” George took a step forward. “We came to take you home. Your mum and sister are really worried about you.” He turned to Julia with a wide grin. “See? I told you Roger wasn’t lying!”
Julia’s skin prickled. Something else was nagging at her …
Then it hit her. The wolves. Only minutes before they’d sounded so close, right upon them even, yet their howling had all but stopped. Even the birdsong and chittering of insects had died away. The forest had fallen quiet. No, not quiet.
Waiting to consume.
Julia’s gaze slowly fell to Billie’s feet. From where she sat, she noticed what George didn’t—Billie’s feet weren’t fully touching the ground.
Julia screwed her mouth shut to bottle her scream. Save George, save George, save George.
“Come with me,” Billie repeated to George, his brown eyes flat and unblinking. He paid Julia no mind as she slowly stood to full height. Because she was taller than them, she noticed a tree standing oddly by itself just to Billie’s right. One of its branches hung curiously low, which Billie obscured from view. On the other side of the tree hung another low branch, slender as an arm, with smaller sharpened branches sprouting from it like fingers. Branches that looked sharp enough to cut skin and slim enough to dig into the back of a young boy.
Julia dove for George. She grabbed the crook of his arm and screamed, “Run!”
The siblings sprinted over rotted leaves and detritus as the mimicry howls morphed into guttural snarls. Julia struggled to follow her chalk marks as fear surged like wildfire through her.
No, no, not like this! We can’t die like this!
Finally, the field came into view. Julia ground her teeth together and pushed through the searing pain in her calves. George followed suit just as the snarls gave way to Billie’s impossibly measured voice repeating, “Come with me. Come with me. Come with me.” Heavy footsteps thundered behind them, tearing out roots and underbrush with each pounding step, sending a flock of birds screeching into the sky.
“Jules!” George cried, wheezing. “It’s gonna catch us!”
“Don’t stop!” she screamed. “Don’t look!” She wouldn’t let the forest have them. Not like Billie. Not like that.
With one final sprint, they broke past the tree line and collapsed in the field. Every breath felt tinged in fire and spittle, but Julia didn’t care. They were alive. When she mustered the courage to look back, no one was there. The trees stood unmarked and the undergrowth undisturbed. All was well and calm, save for Julia’s wildly beating heart, sweat drenched skin and trembling hands. She gathered George in her arms and held him in a vice-like grip as their shaking sobs wove together into a terrible chorus.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his hair, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.”
This was her fault. She had let George believe he could still be the hero, still save his friend from an unspeakable fate. She’d worn the wrong mask. Told the wrong lies. Believed the wrong stories.
After all, such terrible things happened to those who weren’t careful.
2
Julia
“Fear not the Zealot, for they know no better; fear not the Mad, for they believe no better; fear not the Heretic, for they want no better.” – The Reverend Vicaress Helena Vowl of Glasshern, By His Grace: Lessons of Our Saint Father
