I tried not to cry as I walked through the orphanage. My orphanage. The walls were falling apart, wallpaper peeling, floors stained a nasty shade of yellow-brown. My home. Not anymore though. It was bright and light in here. The place had a creepy vibe to it now. Teenagers would run through, daring each other to go through the old abandoned orphanage. It made me angry. How could they? I hadn't noticed that I'd still been walking. No people were in sight. My family and fiance would be far behind, I'd better get back to them. I noticed the door number out of the corner of my eye. 107. A random number. My number. Out of curiosity, I pushed the door open. The beds were covered in cobwebs and dirt. I stifled a sob as I approached my old bed. Lacey. My favorite doll. She was broken and scratched, hair coming out, but it wasn't anything I couldn't fix. “Carly!” I heard someone yelling. Kam. I hugged Lacey close to me, not wanting to let go. “Coming,” I yelled back. He jumped at the sight of Lacey. “Ummm, why do you have a creepy doll?” I glared at him. “This is a memory, not a creepy doll. Leave Lacey alone.” I responded angrily. “Carly, that doll is going to haunt you in your sleep.” He said, gesturing to the doll as if I didn't know what he was talking about. “She was my only friend when I lived here, so if you're going to marry me, you're going to keep this doll,” I said, knowing what he would have to answer. He laughed, then sighed. “Too bad you're too precious to let go of.” He put his arm around me, and we headed toward the entrance.

Jack knew not to go back to that horrid old place. It was his old orphanage, and he didn’t want to set foot in it ever again. But something told him he needed to. It looked the same as ever: broken, dusty, and dark. He mustered up the courage to knock on the door, but no one answered. He turned the handle, and the door creaked open.

“This is a bad idea,” he muttered to himself, but he walked in anyway. The floorboards creaked beneath him, and as he climbed the dusty old stairs, one snapped under his weight. He jumped onto the next step just as it fell, terrified. As he ascended the stairs, he felt the air get colder and colder, nipping at his face. When Jack got to the top of the stairs, he turned left down the hallway and entered his old room. It was totally abandoned, all the beds just sitting there, stripped of their mattresses, collecting dust and spiderwebs. The only thing left in the room besides the bed frames was a singular doll. Jack moved forward to inspect it. In its hand was a note: ‘been waiting for you for a long time, jack’ He shivered.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” he said, fearing for his life. He knew this was a bad idea. He knew he never should’ve come back. The orphanage was already terrible enough when he had to live there, why would he ever consider coming back to it? There was one reason: to remember his childhood. Sure, he’d had some terrible memories there, but also some great ones.

Suddenly, he heard the floorboards creak behind him. He slowly turned to face whomever or whatever was behind him, but before he could look, a sack was thrown over his head and he was knocked out with something.

When he awoke, he was seated in the middle of the old dining room, tied to a chair. He still couldn’t see anything, but he heard a voice say, “I knew you would come back, Jack. They told me you wouldn’t, but I knew you would. You always had a soft spot for this place.”

Jack groaned. His head hurt. A lot. “Who are you?” he asked.

His capturer laughed. “How do you not recognize me?”

Then, Jack stiffened. It was his old friend, Miles.

“Why are you doing this, Miles? You were my best friend. You were like a brother to me.”

Miles just chuckled and Jack assumed he was shaking his head. “Needn’t I remind you that you left me with the old witch? We promised to never leave each other, and, sure enough, you left me.”

Jack sighed. “Miles, it wasn’t my fault. You know that.”

Miles was silent for a moment before responding again, so Jack said, “The doll. Why?”

“A reminder.” Miles said. “Of my past.” Then, Jack felt something slam the top of his head, and he was knocked out cold.

He woke up again, this time sack off. He finally was able to see Miles. Miles looked malnourished and Jack could see the bones in his face.

“When you left me, life got worse for me, for everyone. I was always the sickly kid, and you were always the one that stuck up for me. For everyone. Without you, everything fell apart. The only toy I ever got was a doll. We all got dolls. But every time I got one, I threw it in the dumpster. However, just six years after you left, the orphanage closed down. We were all sent to live on the streets. I was sixteen at the time, and more mad at you then ever. So, I left the doll in our old bedroom, on your old bed, as a reminder that I’d get you for leaving me one day. I’ve been living in this old place for the past five years, waiting for you.”

Jack felt a tear slip down his face. He felt Miles’ pain, and it was unbearable. So, he looked his old friend dead in the eyes and said, “I’m sorry, Miles. Why don’t we fix up this old place and open the orphanage again?”

Miles’ face brightened at this idea, and he agreed. “Let’s do this thing.”

1993

“This is a bad idea,” Gaspar mumbled for maybe the millionth time as he flashed the flashlight into the darkness of the abandoned orphanage, the starless night a weighing canopy of dread above them. He heard Casparo’s boisterous laugh from behind him, his sixteen-year-dol twin brother approaching him from the darkness with the flashlight shining in his face. 
“What’s the matter? Afriad little Annie’s gonna appear and drag you to the fiery depths of hell?” He made a ghost-like noise and Gaspar rolled his eyes, backing away and glaring at his brother. 
“I’m _afraid _that the cops will get called on us by the locals, or we’ll do some damage, or some damaged stuff and will hurt us. Ghosts aren’t real, Sparo,” Gaspar mumbled indignantly and crossed his arms, shining the light at the secret passageway Caspar had found. 
Casapro laughed again, his dark brown eyes sparkling against his dark bronze skin and curly black-brown hair. They looked identical, except for a few facts; Casparo had a cleanly cut scar across his eyebrow (He told everyone he got it from wrestling a bear. He had just angered their grandmother’s ornery cat and got that nice little reminder of how annoying he can be), and he grew out his hair. Gaspar preferred to keep his hair straight and short and he didn’t have any scars—well, except for one minor thing: his right eyebrow was slightly lopsided compared to his left one because of an experiment involving pyrotechnics gone wrong. “Ay, you worry too much, _hermano_.”
“Don’t even try to pretend to know a lick of Spanish,” Gaspar snapped and rolled his eyes. While Casparo decided that it wasn’t something he needed to know as a kid, Gaspar knew that it was scientifically proven that knowing multiple languages helped your brain grow and stay healthy in old age. 
Casparo scoffed and ventured into the dark passageway. “Relax, Mamá may or may not have convinced me to actually learn some of the language recently. I’m tired of you and our parents talking behind my back in the dumb language.” 
Gaspar scowled and hesitated. The abandoned orphanage existed until it lost its funding in the 30’s, and now just sat around, slowly deteriorating as the years wore on. It was a large property, with white fences surrounding it, though the fences were either perfectly standing and good to go for another decade or completely collapsed; either way, they were surrounded by overgrown tall grass. It was like a sea of grass, filled of hidden surprises. Off to the side was a pathetic playground with two rusted swings, a disgusting looking sandbox filled with random crap, and a metal, weak slide next to the swings. Yet the building itself was tall, roughly three stories not counting the potential attic, and made of brick with windows evenly spaced out, however, many of the windows were either completely covered in dirt and impossible to look through, or shattered, the remnants of glass scattered around in the grass as one of the many surprises. There was double doors as the very front and center of the building, however, those were bolted. It was impossible to get in. 
But two nights ago, his older brother by seven minutes discovered something interesting while trespassing (“Out of curiosity!” He liked to claim. The selfish prick was probably trying to see if there was any treasure fo him to steal.) and had dragged Gaspar along with him to explore. 
In the back was a small shed attached to the building and the door had been torn off, which revealed a deeserted, dusty shed that probably held maintence and gardening tools. But now in the small area, all that lied was a second entrance into the orphanage. 
And his brother had just ventured into the darkness, his flashlight illuminating the dust flying around. 
Gaspar hesitated. 
He didn’t want to be called a chicken. He wasn’t chicken. People who called people chickens for not doing stuff were the chickens. 
But he didn’t want his brother to be alone if he got hurt or some crap. 
Gaspar sighed and followed inside, following his brother’s loud footsteps. This was stupid. But at least he could get hi brother out of there if he got himself hurt. “I swear, it’s like you_ want _to get arrested,” he grumbled and followed loosely behind, catching a glimpse of Casparo’s new, brown leather jacket. Their mother had gotten it for him a month ago. A week after the accident, as if that would help them forget.
“What can I say? I’ll have plenty of stories to tell my kids one day,” his brother crooned. “And you’ll be a childless workaholic virgin who never makes a legacy.” 
Gaspar rolled his eyes, flashing the flashlight abruptly in his brother’s eyes to catch him off guard. “Shut up. Unlike _you _I’m waiting for the right person.” 
“Yeah. . . . You totally aren’t just too shy to ask someone out,” Casparo muttered, smirking arrogantly. 
“Calláte.” 
The abandoned orphanage was everything one would expect it to be; lightless, empty, large, and deserted with dust everywhere. There were swinging doors with creaky hinges, the floor was dusty and slightly muddy from years of people not cleaning it and tear and wear. It was . . . Haunting. 
Gaspar frowned, hanging behind Casparo closer than he would like to admit. “Is your curiosity satisfied yet?” He grumbled, flinching at the sound of an owl hooting in the night and he tried to swallow back a whimper. 
Casparo snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re done yet,” he teased him, spotting one ajar door. “Hey, that one is open all the way . . .” 
Gaspar tensed, and giving up on keeping his pride, he latched onto Casparo’s shoulders. “We should get out of here.” 
Casparo rolled his eyes, crying out. “Are you kidding me? I’m just getting started, _hermanito_.” His smirk grew and without hesitation and bolted into the room, dragging a squeaky Gaspar with him. 
It was a long, strange room with rows of metal, rusty beds without their covers or mattresses. The windows were either cracked, dirty, or shattered and glass littered the floor along with some dust bunnies. Creepiest of it all, little baby dolls were propped up on some of the beds, their fake hair messy and dirty, their clothes gone, adn their plastic limbs covered in dirt, and their soulless eyes staring into space. 
Gaspar instantly got a bad vibe the moment they got a good look at the room. 
His brother, however, did not have that intuition. “Woah, dude, this is epic.” He grinned. “Must have been where little orphan Annie and her little friends lived in.”
Gaspar tugged on Casparo’s sleeve, whispering pleadingly. “Can we go? Can we please just go? I don’t like this . . .” 
Casparo rolled his eyes again and stepped forwards into the room with no regards for his safety. “Bah, you’re being ridiculous. Or are you a little chicken?” He mused mockingly, titling his head challengingly at Gaspar. 
Gaspar’s face burned red with embarrassment and he swallowed back his pride. “Sparo, please, can we just leave—?” 
Casparo turned to face Gaspar, already staring a tirade. “Oh, come on, you’re being a scaredy cat. It’s _just _an abandoned orphanage. Stop being so—. . .” The color drained from his brother’s face. 
Gaspar’s heart dropped. He whirled around, only to see a maybe fifteen foot tall creature with mangy hair, puppeteer like limbs and soulless white eyes staring at them. 
For a split moment, Gaspar’s soul must have left his body. 
He let out a scream and grabbed Casparo’s harshly, acting on pure instinct as he sprinted underneath the creature’s abdomen and tried to make it to the door, hearing his own brother let out a short lived shriek. 
This had been a bad idea, this had been a bad idea, this had been a—
No time to dwell on that. Holding his brother’s hand tighter, he heard the creature make a horrible gurgling noise nad clicking footsteps walking after them, like when their mother wore heels. He was trying his best to navigate the dark place and tightened his grip once again, not caring if his brother hit something. Just as long as they got the hell out of there.
He bolted out of the wya they came in from, hearing his brother grunt and they ran. 
He didn’t know how long they had been running for, not that he cared to know. He just wanted to get away. At some point, they saw a house in the distance and managed to get inside. The elderly couple helped them and called their parents but . . . They gave them some weird looks. Especially when they were telling their story (Even then, his brother Casparo, who would’ve have just at the chance to exaggerate and be praised, was deathly silent). 
. . . The elderly couple told them that no one had seen anything like that before. 
The creature had vanished. And their parents had a hell of a lot to explain.

If you grew up in my orphanage you would know my story. This is the story of an ancient dolly that was a friend to everyone. At night I was cozy company but at daylight, a hairdresser’s client. I had many different styles being installed daily by little girls. Updos, short hair, buns and even bald. I rocked all styles and the girls and I shared a special type of confidence. They complimented me as their work of art and I made them feel good about themselves knowing that they were able to have a career as a hairstylist . Sometimes they relied on me as a mother or sister. We decided there was no need for parents or others, 14 of them and I made a family. Even though I wasn’t human, they included and made me feel alive. When they went outside to play, I had to stay indoors, away. That’s when I got to sleep, propped up on one’s bed steel. My purpose was to make them happy so I had been around for decades watching them grow, and go while new kids came in. I made many friends throughout the years and was popularly known as the comfort doll, a friend to all. I was brought to make those girls feel like anything was possible and convince them that this was Malibu but they refused to ignore the old food stains on the wall, the smell of the dirty mattresses and the slums that surrounded them.

Finally, all the children at the orphanage were gone. Now, all that’s left is to get rid of the evidence.

I got a call to inspect my next sell. I drove up to the property and saw potential. I felt motivated as a real estate agent looking to sell this property. The property is beautiful. I walked through the door and could see the hospital looked band new. It’s going to sell fast. As I walked through the door I noticed how busy it was by the amount of moths smacking me as I walked inside. I’m not sure who the maids are but they are doing an outstanding job. This is the cleanest hospital Iv ever seen. I noticed a nice doll. It's head did a three sixty. I thought to myself some kid would really enjoy this antique doll as a gift. I felt tired and wanted to take a seat after I noticed beds. These beds had to be softer than clouds. This place must have been used for art classes also by the amount of dust. So much dust you could make finger art with. I smeared dust me with my fingers. As I coughed I noticed how my allergies kept acting up because it couldn’t be the nice purified air inside. I have come to an Idea that this place would make so much money after I demolish it and the beauty it carries inside.

Some of us left toys there, on our stacked cots, for the next kids. Part of me wishes Ebony is played with and cared for by another. A bigger part of me hopes there are no more kids to come through, that no one has to cradle Ebony in place of their friends, their family.

Not like I have.

Not as some of the kids were taken in the middle of the night. Not as I waited for them to come back. They never did. And neither did my parents.

Someone told me they lived about now, in the clouds, that they would look down upon me and smile. I told them mamma hated heights and papa would drive for days if it meant she didn’t have to board a plane. I told them they wouldn’t be smiling at me now.

But they’re the only thing I can smile about anymore. I used to think because mamma hated heights I did too. But right now I wish for nothing more than to be a bird. To fly out of the barred windows and take everyone with me, Ebony too. Because I would make sure no one would ever need her again.

And then when I was finished and the screams that haunt my nightmares could finally wisp away on the wind I would fly up and up.

I would see my parents in the clouds again.

And maybe I would see Sophie And Emily And Jake And Molly And Chase And Rosie And Charlie And Patrick And all the other missing kids who I didn’t know the names of

Maybe I would find them in the clouds and set them free.

Crawling. On my spine. Nails on the chalkboard of my bones. Running up and down To my legs Pins, needles, the lot Vertebraes clicking In and out of place Can we just quicken up the pace Of my dying?

I'm ready to go.

So ready in fact I think The pain and the scratching Are pure imagination Simply rogue thoughts Left to fester for too long The electrical impulses In my brain, taking a detour Settling in the spine. And scratching. Endlessly. Melting to my legs As an ache, filling them with lead So heavy and viscous I'm sure it's all in my head So viceral, so chaotic

That's it. I'm sure It's just in my head.

NHS wait times are too long anyway

“We shouldn’t be here…” She mutters, shaking her head. Row upon row of bunkbeds stare back at her, their only occupants layers of dust and dead-eyed dolls. The metal bars groan in protest as she presses against them, testing their weight. The sound sends a shiver down her spine, like nails on a chalkboard.   You couldn’t pay me to stay here, she decides. No amount of money could quell the crawling sensation spreading over her skin.   “We’re fine. They haven’t run any tests in like… forty years. They won’t suddenly start again now.” One of her companions assures her in what is a less-than-convincing tone. He sidles farther back amongst the beds, grasping one of the dolls by its plastic arm. “Did kids really play with these? They’re creepy…”   “This whole place is creepy!” Another of their group chimes in. “I’m with Christy; we shouldn’t be here.”   “Aw, but we agreed we would go exploring…” The final member speaks up. “We all wanted an adventure, and this is the best place within driving distance.”   “But the fences-” Christy starts.   “Those fences have been up since the testing.” The young man tosses the doll onto the bed, causing his companions to jump at the racket. “I heard from one of the people who worked here back then. They put the fences up well before testing to keep people out of the area. After the testing, they never bothered to take it down. Why take it down and risk lawsuits of people who get injured, right?” His laugh is cool, almost cruel, and it echoes eerily through the deserted building.   “Do you think people died here?” The question comes out as barely more than a whisper.   “Don’t be silly, Fran.” The last member to speak admonishes her. “The military’d never get away with testing weapons on living people. Someone would find out. Expose them. It’d be a whole thing.”   “Yeah. I suppose you’re right, Jake…” She replies, though the furrowing of her brow suggests that she doesn’t believe her own words.   “C’mon! Let’s take a picture in this creepy orphanage.” The man that handled the doll pulls out his cellphone as his companions clamber closer. “For memories and proof!”   As he presses the shutter button on his phone, a grating siren calls out among the abandoned buildings. Over its undulating call, a robotic female voice chimes: 
 
TESTING SHALL BEGIN IN T MINUS 10 SECONDS.     The companions’ faces pale. The cellphone tumbles to the floor, forgotten.   “Tom, you said there was no more testing!” Christy cries out, grabbing his arm.   “There wasn’t supposed to be… It’s abandoned…” He stares out the window of the small room, but he doesn’t move.   “Just run!” Fran gasps and the three of them take off through the door, leaving Tom where he stands.   As their feet carry them through the narrow passages between buildings, the female voice continues to call out her countdown. The fence blooms into sight just a short way in front of them, but before they can clear the open space to it, the sound of an explosion rings out behind them.   The ensuing roar and shockwave knock them to the ground. Blood trickles from their ears and noses, and none of the three rises to their feet. None of the adventurers see the mushroom-shaped cloud billowing behind them from the rubble that was the buildings.

This is it.

This is where I killed the love of my life.

I was only a child then, trying to survive in a world where I was not wanted. The orphanage was dirty, the walls were molding, the food wasn’t edible, the beds were uncomfortable, and the nuns were cruel. They used to only lecture us when we misbehaved, but after the new nun arrived, Sister Chelsea, we were beaten to a bloody pulp for even the smallest of mistakes.

When it came to serving punishment, Sister Chelsea would target one girl in particular. Her name was Rosalina Jones. She was a beautiful girl. So beautiful that I had fallen deep in love. Her thoughths were only conveyed through actions, and I seemed to be the only one who truly understood them. And this made me futher drawn to her undeniable beauty. But because of this barrier, Rosalina was frequently beaten because she would look at a nun the wrong way.

On one particular Sunday, during morning prayer, there was this girl who was sick. Snot ran down her nose, her eyes puffy and red. With every cough or sneeze, Sister Chelsea would get angrier. The anger turned to fury, the fury turned to rage, and the rage turned to uncontrollable wrath. She approaches the girl, belt in hand, ready to discipline, when Rosalina stood in front if her.

“Stop it,” she had spoken. “Don’t hurt her.”

Her voice was soft like clouds, light like the gentle winds of spring. That moment was the first and only time it was heard.

Rosalina took the beating with open arms, and was almost killed.

I had cried that night. She was broken, bleeding for another on the stiff mattresses of the infirmary. Her doll was allowed to be brought with her, with its knotted hair and frilly clothes.

Then I remembered the rumors. They would spread like wildfire amongst the children. According to them, a group of orphans have made plans to escape two years ago. They successfully gained allies and managed to conduct most of their plan without getting caught. Unfortunately, a spy from their group told the nuns everything, and all exits were blocked with walls of bricks.

Those children have never been seen again.

Since then, I have realized the only way out if this prison is death.

And I knew what I had to do.

I grabbed my pillow and approached Rosalina. She was fast asleep, her long brown hair splaying out on the pillow. The way she rested so peacefully was almost angelic in a way, despite the harsh conditions surrounding her. When I reached her bedside, her eyes fluttered open, greeting me with their innocence.

“It’s okay, Rosalina,” I reassured her. “It’s just me. Close your eyes and your pain will be over.”

I planted a quick kiss on her forehead, watched her eyelids flutter closed, before taking the pillow and suffocating her. As she flailed her arms, I tried so hard not to break.

“Rosalina, stop this,” I pleaded, “I’m doing this to save you.”

Her screams were muffled. My arms pushed the pillow harder against her to at least try and make her death faster. Tears stung my eyes.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay,” I told myself. Rosalina was no longer struggling. Her arms drooped over the bedsides, hanging like wilting flowers. She remained as the first child to ever escape the orphanage.

Until I managed to frame the nuns of this wreched place.

Now, dozens of children are living better lives, experiencing the luxuries they once thought as mere myths. They are loved, cared for, and have forgotten the tragic childhoods they were forced to live through.

Except for me.

Because I will never forget the silent orphan.