After hours of traveling through winding roads and sleepy towns, the sky began to brighten. Morning had finally come. It wasn't just a new day—it felt like a new beginning. The sun rose slowly over the horizon, casting golden light across the landscape. The scene was almost poetic, like watching a new star being born into the world.
Inside the bus, the atmosphere shifted. Laughter suddenly burst from the children, light and carefree, as if the long night behind them had belonged to a past life. Joy filled the air—everyone seemed happy. Everyone except Orion. He stared out the window, silent and distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Lily, her voice soft but cheerful, said, "Today feels much better than yesterday."
Her words caught the attention of Frank and Victor. They turned their heads and looked at her, their expressions unreadable.
Noticing their gaze, Lily stepped back slightly and asked, "What's with those looks?"
Neither Frank nor Victor replied. Instead, they held their silence, exchanging a glance between them. The silence was thick with meaning, but no one pushed for an answer.
The bus rolled on, the engine humming steadily until the clock struck around eight. That was when we finally approached our destination—a new orphanage, one none of us had seen before. As the bus pulled in, we saw a woman standing outside, waiting. She was neatly dressed and stood with impeccable posture, holding a small suitcase in one hand. A pair of thin-framed glasses rested on her nose, and she wore an expression that was difficult to read.
The bus came to a stop, and we slowly stepped down into the crisp morning air. It was cold—far colder than we had expected. The chill bit through our clothes, and many of us shivered as we gathered outside.
Around us there were some grown trees but the orphanage surroundings had a tree after some distance there were some big trees, and the environment had a quiet charm. It reminded some of us of our old orphanage, though there was something different about this place. It was too still, too perfect, almost sterile. The building loomed over us, quiet and gray, without the usual chatter or laughter of children. It felt... lifeless. We exchanged nervous glances. A faint unease settled among us.
The woman stepped forward and addressed us with a calm, practiced voice.
"Welcome to your new orphanage," she said. "This is not an ordinary orphanage. I have been assigned as your new caretaker, or, as you may call me, 'Mother.' I expect you all to be well-behaved and respectful while staying here. Please, no unnecessary noise."
Her tone was firm, but not unkind. She turned and led us inside. The halls echoed with our footsteps as we followed her through the building. Everything was clean, almost too clean, like no one had lived there in years.
She opened the door to a large room. "There are twenty beds in each room," she explained. "Enough for all of you. You'll find your belongings already arranged near your beds. I trust you'll settle in without trouble."
As we stepped inside, the cold followed us, lingering in the walls and windows. Some kids started chatting softly, while others wandered between beds, trying to find a place that felt like theirs.
Just as we began to unpack, someone noticed movement behind the curtain near the far end of the room. We turned, curious. A child peeked out from behind the fabric, eyes wide with fear. He looked no older than seven, crouched low and hiding like a little mouse.
We froze. Who was he? Why was he hiding?
The woman didn't react. She merely glanced in his direction, then looked back at us. "You'll have time to get to know each other and he is eren " she said simply.
And so, introductions began. One by one, we shared our names, where we were from, what we liked. Some were shy, others confident, a few trying hard to act brave in this strange, new place.
But deep down, we all knew the same thing—we were starting a new chapter in our lives. And whatever this orphanage was, it was going to be different .
Flora, the little five-year-old with messy brown curls and a bright smile, had spent the day running around the orphanage yard with the other children. It was the first time she had truly felt free since arriving at the new orphanage. The walls were gray and quiet, and everything smelled too clean at first, but once the laughter started, the place didn't feel so scary anymore. She was the one in the report mentioned as the girl. She was the one who saw the shadow.
The children from the old orphanage and the children who already lived here ran together, playing tag, chasing butterflies, and pretending the bushes were castles. Flora had made two new friends—Lina and Toby—and they had spun around until they fell laughing in the grass. Everything felt okay.
It had been a peaceful day.
But then night came.
The sky turned dark, and the cold came in like a whisper. All the children returned inside, their cheeks red from the wind and their shoes dusty from running. Dinner was warm and simple—soup and bread—but Flora liked how the bread was crunchy on the outside and soft in the middle.
Later, the children climbed into their beds. The rooms were big and quiet. There were lots of beds, all lined up in neat rows, and Flora had picked one near the window so she could look at the stars.
She snuggled under her blanket with her stuffed bunny, which was old and missing one eye but still soft and safe. The room dimmed, and the caretakers turned off the lights. Everyone began to fall asleep.
But Flora didn't.
She tried. She really did. She closed her eyes tight and hugged her bunny close. She turned to one side, then the other. But sleep just wouldn't come.
She didn't know why.
Maybe it was because the wind outside made strange whistling noises. Or maybe because the moonlight kept peeking through the curtain like it wanted to play. Or maybe—just maybe—it was that quiet feeling again. That strange, too-still silence that this orphanage had.
She sat up in bed and looked around. Everyone else was sleeping. She could hear soft breathing and the gentle rustle of blankets. Flora rubbed her eyes and felt a little grumpy. Her head was fuzzy and her heart was thumping too fast.
With a tiny sigh, she climbed out of bed and tiptoed across the cold floor. The wooden boards creaked under her feet, but nobody woke up. She reached the little table near the door and poured herself some water from the jug. It was cold, but it helped.
She looked back at all the kids. Still sleeping.
Then, quietly, like a little shadow, Flora pushed the door open and stepped out into the hallway.
The corridor was even colder than the room. The stones on the floor felt like ice. She walked slowly, her bunny still tucked under one arm. The building was so quiet she could hear her own footsteps. Click. Tap. Click.
She didn't really know why she was walking. Her feet were just moving, leading her somewhere. Maybe to the moonlight.
She made her way to the front door and slowly pushed it open. The night air rushed in and gave her goosebumps, but she liked the way it felt on her skin. Fresh and honest. She stepped outside.
The moon was big. Really big. It hung in the sky like a glowing ball, and the stars were twinkling around it like little sparkles. The wind made the trees sway and whisper. There was one big tree near the side of the building—tall, with wide branches like arms reaching to the sky.
Flora walked over to it.
She sat down beneath the tree, her back resting against its rough bark. The ground was cold. So cold, in fact, that she shivered and hugged her knees. Her bunny fell into her lap, and she held it tight.
But the cold didn't matter much.
Because it was peaceful.
So, so peaceful.
She looked up at the sky and smiled, remembering the games from earlier, the laughing, the running, the bread at dinner. It had been a good day, one of the best she'd had in a while.
She was frustrated by the new mother. She wanted her dead mother.
She whispered a little thank you to the stars, then stood up. Her nose was cold now, and her toes felt like little icicles in her socks. It was time to go back in and sleep. Maybe now she could finally drift off.
She walked back toward the door, still quiet like a little mouse.
But as she entered the hallway again, something changed.
There—at the far end of the corridor—was someone.
Flora froze.
There was a shadow. This one was too still. They weren't moving, not even breathing that she could see. They were standing near the staircase, half-hidden, half-seen. The moonlight barely touched their faces.
The shadow looked at her.
Then the half-hidden hand raised slowly the hand was also half-seen and half-hidden.
Flora blinked. Her hands gripped her bunny tighter.
"Hello?" she whispered.
The figure didn't move.
Her heart started beating faster. Her legs wanted to run, but she couldn't move. She stared, and the longer she looked, the more she felt that something was wrong.
Then the figure tilted its head.
Just a little.
That was all it took.
Flora