England, The United Kingdoms. October 22, 1982.
A cool breeze swept purposefully through cobbled streets confined by honey-coloured buildings and picturesque townhouses. Everywhere one looked, meticulously designed limestone invited and evoked admiration.
Occasionally, an alley would appear, only to fleetingly serve as an involuntary outlet for the trespassing gust of air. Nevertheless, the wind marched on, displacing dust and ruffling people's clothes as it streaked past the numerous Georgian boulevards and Gothic buildings dotting the area.
Until, finally, the wayward breeze wound up at a refurbished old boarding house presently known as "Sacred Morgan Children's Home", the second largest orphanage in Somerset.
Through the decorated gate, across the garden, past the playground, and in through a window left carelessly ajar, the breeze wormed.
Yet, just as the dying breeze was about to draw its final breath, the last remnants gently caressed the cheeks of a tired-looking preschooler with ash-blonde hair.
Opening his grey-blue eyes wide-open, the four-year-old Michael Morgan roused in more ways than one.
…
Squirming like writhing worm, a piercing headache threatened to split my head asunder.
Needless to say, I couldn't help but to feel a profound sense of discombobulation as nearly twenty-seven years' worth of memories awoke from within, rushing like a coursing river through my mind.
The spiritual awakening touched me in places that I didn't even know could be touched, and it intrigued me almost as much as it disturbed me.
Suddenly and inexplicably, I instinctively knew I was more than just Michael—the orphan—I was also Michael—the grossly underpaid high-school teacher.
Or at least… I used to be. It was all very confusing.
"Mouse… stop moving." An annoyed voice hissed from the bunk bed above mine.
Fortunately, the sound of my disgruntled roommate brought me back to reality.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped down from my bed with practiced ease, careful to not disturb Anton any further than I already had.
Anton might only be three years older than me, but he was at least twice as strong. There was no doubt in my mind what the consequences would be if I pestered or annoyed him too often.
Interestingly, though, the fear that I normally felt toward my older roommate was strangely missing as I snuck toward the corridor.
It was a welcome change, I decided.
Strictly speaking, I wasn't actually allowed to be out of bed at this time—none of the children were, not even the teens. And if it had been any other day, I would be jittery with nerves, scared out of my wits that either the Matron or Sister White would discover me. Neither of which was known to be lenient with disciplining unruly children.
For me, however, it was never the pain that stung in their punishments. It was the embarrassment of being thrashed in front of the others.
Though, admittedly, I recalled that it also stung quite a bit.
Yet, now, I felt strangely confident in my act of naughtiness. Another peculiar change that I wouldn't call into questioning for the time being.
Fortunately, like the other children, I had learned from experience which of the old floor planks were squeaky and which were not.
Thus, before a minute had elapsed and without alerting anyone to my presence, I stepped into the bathroom.
Unable to help myself any longer, I released a large breath of relief as I heard the lock click behind me.
Sitting down on the toilet stool, I meticulously began to digest the flurry of memories that cluttered my mind.
The memories were of another Michael, a high-school teacher from the future, the 21st century.
Swimming through memories that I had never experienced but I knew without a sliver of doubt were mine, I saw the faces of friends and family from a different life. And though the emotions I felt toward them weren't as vivid as they once had been, they were nevertheless impactful enough for my eyes to mist up in tears desperate to be shed.
I saw myself jumping on a trampoline with my two best friends. The scooter rides we took around our suburban neighbourhood, pretending to be police officers or cowboys.
I saw my first love, and how strong albeit fleeting our passion had burnt. The subsequent heartbreak left me weathered to the follies of wearing your heart on your sleeve.
I saw myself growing up, studying abroad, learning new languages and acclimatizing myself to new cultures, norms, and beliefs.
And most importantly, I saw my family in its entirety—a wise and proud father, a strong-willed and loving mother, a stubborn and talented sister, and a best friend who I had since childhood grown to love like a brother. And then there was my extended family: all of whom had showered me with the familial love and attention I'd longed for since I first learned what a family was.
The metaphorical floodgates opened as I bawled quietly into my hands, salty tears trickling through my fingers.
Still, just the knowledge that I had once possessed a family who'd both loved and adored me was enough to fill a void that had desperately needed filling.
Thus, while it ached to explore the remnants of the life I'd always dreamed of, I found comfort in knowing that it once had been just as real as this one was.
And so, minutes turned into hours. Eventually, when the sky outside the bathroom window began to light up, I decided it was time to return to my room. Shaken? Yes, but irrefutably more durable than before.
…
The next morning passed in a blur. Despite my severe lack of sleep, my body moved seemingly of its own volition through the morning rituals. After six months of practice, the routine was so firmly ingrained in me that not even twenty-seven years' worth of disorienting memories could make me to forget it.
It wasn't until the Matron finished her morning sermon and breakfast was served that I finally came to again.
"Are you feeling alright Michael?" Sister White asked, looking overly concerned. Her voice was laced with what I recognized as feigned worry.
Try as I might, I couldn't comprehend how I hadn't seen it before.
Down the dining table, some of the other orphans were struggling—and systematically failing—to mind their manners as Sister Taylor pretended to put a piece of cucumber up her nose.
"Michael?" Sister White's brows furrowed, looking authentically concerned this time. Which definitely wasn't a good sign.
"I'm fine." I answered, searching her protruding eyes for a reaction. When her concern turned into annoyed suspicion, I hurriedly added. "Sister White."
Nodding her head, Sister White was about to retort with something inane when Ava accidentally bumped into her.
Clicking her tongue, Sister White turned her undesired attention toward my fellow orphan, who was meticulously taught the errors of her ways.
Interestingly, despite the tiresome effort Sister White put into appearing docile, very few of the orphans actually liked her. And ever since the incident, I had always considered Sister White to be even worse than the Matron.
At least the Matron's behaviour was consistent.
Across the table, Sister Taylor coughed as she caught the disapproving glare the Matron was shooting her.
A few of the orphans giggled at her antics, and even I found myself having to suppress a grin. Sister Taylor was in her early twenties, but she often behaved like she was still a teenager.
Needless to say, everyone stopped when the Matron grunted at us. Something she did quite often. The Matron had a proclivity to sparsely use words if it wasn't to preach the gospel or to discipline someone.
Not that she had much need for words. From what I'd heard from the older orphans, not even the Sisters were exempted from the Matron's wrath.
"What I wouldn't give to see Sister White be admonished…" I thought to myself. Unfortunately, it was mostly Sister Taylor who enjoyed that privilege.
Apart from the two Sisters and the Matron, ten orphans of various sizes sat along the two sides of the dining table, including me.
Despite the contrasts in our physical appearances, a sense of solidarity was found in the way we all sat using perfect posture. The Matron was a stickler for manners and had no qualms about using her cane to enforce them when she saw it fit.
Unconsciously, I couldn't help but to think about the reason why I was here: my mother. And not the loving one from my previous life, but the one who'd abandoned me here in this life.
"That witch." My eyes burned with anger. For six months, I'd foolishly been certain in my conviction that she would return for me one day. That my placement here was just a simple mistake.
After all, my father had entrusted me to her on the day of his departure. When he finally returned, he would expect us to still be together. Right?
Now, with the wisdom brought to me by the memories of my past life, clarity found me.
My mother wasn't coming back. And my father was off fighting in the Falklands, his fate currently unknown.
"Shit." I hurriedly wiped the sneaky tears from my face, hoping that no one would notice. Naturally, surrounded by nosy brats, my actions proved to be futile.
"Look everyone!" Anton, my seven-year-old roommate exclaimed. His finger pointed in my direction while looking at the older orphans. "Mouse is crying! Crybaby Mouse!"
"Crybaby Mouse!"
"Crybaby Mouse!"
"Crybaby!" The younger orphans echoed.
Wiping away the tears, I tried to protest, to defend myself, only to frustratingly discover that a ball was stuck in my throat, hindering me from saying anything.
"Shit man, control yourself." I gritted my teeth as more and more tears coursed down my cheeks. "You're not actually four years old!"
Yet, for reasons unknown, despite my newfound memories, I remained just as uselessly voiceless. And to make matters worse, the darn tears kept on trickling through my fingers.
Neither of the Sisters had enough time to salvage the situation before the Matron crisply interjected.
"Silence." The Matron emphasised her demand by loudly thumping her cane against the floor. Her disapproving eyes swept over the children, who unanimously cowered in fear.
Not to anyone's surprise, only Anton was stupidly defiant enough to meet her frigid gaze. His nose pointed upwards as he refused to look away.
"Anton. You will conduct yourself in such a manner that is befitting of the name Morgan." The Matron's eyes remained rooted on Anton, but somehow, everyone flinched at her harsh words. "Or God be my witness you will be stripped of it."
Anton's face paled as a deafening silence ensued. Even Sister Taylor, who usually spoke up on behalf of the children, looked away from the Matron. Banishment from the orphanage was extremely rare, but not entirely unheard of.
Then the Matron turned toward me. Meeting her gaze carefully, the Matron's brows furrowed.
"Michael." She said after a moment of deliberation. Somehow, my name had never sounded so foreign to me before. "I hear from Sister White that you're still waiting for Mrs. Cook to return? How utterly pointless. Mrs. Cook was very clear about the terms of your admittance. Furthermore, I expect a child of your age to learn how to acquit themself after nearly half-a-year at our establishment. Or perhaps you haven't been properly motivated to learn?"
When both the Sisters looked away, I could guess what was in store for me.
"You're excused until you can find your bearings again. Remember that another tantrum like this will not be tolerated without repercussions."
"Tantrum?" Was all I could think before the Matron turned to address the rest of the group.
"My patience is running thin. If you're unable to conduct yourself properly, I suggest you learn quickly. And if God cannot help you, then neither can I."
And that was it. Seemingly unencumbered by the whole ordeal, the Matron stabbed a sausage with the prongs of her fork and continued eating.
Needless to say, I felt a number of eyes burn a hole in my back as I exited the dining hall, feeling both wrongfully punished and hungry.
…
"Should I just leave?" I thought as I lay on my back, peering up at the light piercing through the sparse canopy. It was late October, and the air was just as crisp as it was refreshing.
"No." I shook my head, dismissing the ridiculous idea. Even with the memories of my past life at my disposal, the fact remained that my current body was that of a four-year-old.
And an emotional one at that, with my proclivity to cry and choke up.
After some deliberation, I came up with a theory that explained my confounding lack of emotional control.
The memories from my past life hadn't simply replaced my current ones, they had fused into a singular mass. Consequently, I was neither Michael, the Orphan, nor Michael, the teacher. I was the combination of both, for better and for worse.
"Moreover, I don't remember my death…" I remarked inwardly, wincing a bit when a ray of sunlight blinded me.
The last memory I could recall was one of me drinking alone at a bar. After that, it was just darkness. I tried to recall more, but it was sort of like trying to reconstruct an old and forgotten dream. Even if I succeeded, I had no way of knowing whether it was actually what happened, or what I simply conjectured had happened.
Ultimately though, the nature of my death didn't play any meaningful role apart from appeasing my curiosity. What mattered was where and who I was presently: Michael Morgan staying at Sacred Morgan Children's Home in Bath, England… in 1982.
Picking myself off the ground, I dusted myself off before heading toward the garden gate.
Since I had seemingly no choice in the matter, I deemed that I ought to at least enjoy it.
As a four-year-old, I might be unable to make it on my own. But I sure as hell wasn't going to voluntarily limit my agency to that of a preschooler.
Fortunately, for all their faults, the orphanage personnel at least weren't prone to hover.
…
Sightseeing in my own hometown was a phenomenally peculiar experience. I'd lived in Bath my whole life, so I was naturally acquainted with its layout already.
Nevertheless, with the memories of my past life taking up the majority of my headspace, it was like I was reliving my first impression of the city.
And boy was it a beautiful place. Colourful townhouses gave way for limestone buildings that shimmered in the sun. Imposing architecture of distinctly Roman descent sparked as much of my interest as my awe.
"This would've been a great place to teach history…" I chuckled to myself. My former life might be over, but some tendencies were difficult to relinquish.
Unfortunately, many of the more interesting establishments barred my entry. Even when the signs clearly said that children under the age of ten had free access, some nosy albeit well-meaning individual would conscientiously ask me where my parents were.
Sure, I could lie to them and say my parents were already in-doors. But entry into the Roman Baths wasn't worth the risk of potentially being captured and the orphanage being informed of my midday adventure.
Nevertheless, overall, I had a great time in the city. At one point, an older lady had even generously offered me a freshly baked pastry. All I had to do was suffer through an uncomfortable cheek-pinching and some story about her grandchild. Needless to say, I did my best to appear like a cute and attentive listener. As a result, I was reward with some confectionery sweets that tasted like caramel.
Naturally, it was a trade I was willing to accept.
In a way, it was sort of funny. A day ago, the old me would've almost certainly said no to taking suspicious sweets from a stranger, but the new me wasn't as wary.
Of course, I wasn't saying it was bad to be prudent, but it was also a sign of overt paranoia to presume that every adult was out to get you. Furthermore, I liked to think of myself as a good reader of character. Not that it was difficult to extend at least a modicum of trust to an elderly old granny who mainly wanted someone to listen to them.
"Still, it's that way of thinking that got little red riding hood eaten by the wolf."
Thus, just to be safe, I stuck to well-lit and populated areas. I wasn't fast enough to run away from an adult, nor was a strong enough to fight one of if I had to. But at least I was confident in my ability to scream and attract attention to myself if the need arose.
Since it was late October, the city wasn't exactly bustling with tourists and visitors. However, there were enough foreigners frolicking around for me to confirm a couple of things.
I still knew how to speak and understand both Swedish and Japanese, meaning that along with my new native tongue English, I was effectively a trilingual at the tender age of four!
Though I doubted the languages would serve much function in this new life of mine. But be that as it may, it wasn't like I was going to decline two potentially handy proficiencies.
The sun had passed its zenith and was dipping toward the crest in the horizon when I finally saw it fit to return to the orphanage.
Sauntering through the gate, I immediately came face-to-face with one of my fellow orphans.
"Where have you been?!" Jessica hissed at me angrily—heer eyes darting around in search of the orphanage personnel, I presumed.
"I just went out for a bit." I answered slowly, frustrated to discover that a twisting mass of jittery nerves had amassed in my stomach.
"Great, now even teenage girls scare me."
Jessica's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized me closely.
"Then again, teenage girls have always been a bit scary, haven't they?" I hid an awkward chuckle.
"Something is definitely off about you…" Jessica mumbled softly before her eyes suddenly widened in realization.
"You're not looking away!" She exclaimed, seemingly proud of her finding.
Rolling my eyes at the older orphan's antics, I pushed past her.
"Oh no you don't!" I felt a hand clasp down on my shoulder. "Where do you think you're going little mou-"
"Don't call me that." I heard myself snap instinctively. Naturally, I regretted the words almost immediately.
However, based on the stunned expression on Jessica's face, I couldn't tell who was more surprised by my outburst, her or me.
"Wha- why… I mean-" Jessica stammered while looking positively stupefied.
"Look, I'm sorry." I said. "I didn't mean to snap at you, okay? I've just never been a fan of that nickname. My name's Michael, not Mouse."
"Oh- okay…" Jessica's eyes were as wide as saucers as she nodded like a hen pecking for worms. "Sorry…"
When I realized I wouldn't get much more out of the shell-shocked adolescent, I shook my head before heading inside, leaving the astonished girl staring at me in the garden.
On the way to my room, I pondered over Jessica's words and her subsequent astonishment.
"Am I really that different?" I frowned. Sure, I might've been a little timid before, but it surely wasn't that big of a difference, right?
I recalled how I'd snapped at the poor teenage girl for something as innocuous as using a simple nickname.
"No, I've definitely changed." I decided. While I'd always disliked the nickname the other orphans had coined for me, I'd never been courageous enough to do anything about it. It seemed the sheer amount of memories, experience, and, to a lesser extent, trauma, had inadvertently taken the metaphorical wheels to my personality.
Though not necessarily a bad thing, I would have to watch myself in future interactions to avoid similar incidents from occurring.
"Small blessings, Anton isn't here." I sighed as I stepped into my empty room. Calling myself scared of the seven-year-old would be an exaggeration. Instead, I liked to think of myself as moderately wary while suitably irritated.
Grabbing some clean albeit faded, hand-me-downs and a towel, I headed for the shower.
…
Dinner was a lot more amicable than breakfast had been, mainly since the Matron wasn't dining with us. Instead, Sister White and Sister Taylor were the ones in charge.
"Who would like to do the honors today?" Sister White smiled at the gathering of orphans, many of whom looked impatient to eat.
"Anton, how about you?" Sister White smiled sweetly.
The boy grunted but nevertheless stood up under the watchful eyes of his peers.
"Thank you, Lord, for this food and bless the hands who prepared it for us…" Anton visibly squirmed under the attention of the gathering. "And thank you for, uhm, our health and, uhm…"
"You're doing great Anton!" Sister Taylor whisper shouted.
"And thank you for giving us this home. Amen." Anton couldn't have sat down faster if his butt was on fire.
Nonetheless, the small round of applause that erupted afterward caused Anton to visibly perk up.
"He's only a kid." I realized before smiling a genuine smile toward my roommate, whose expression turned into one of suspicion when he noticed me.
"I can't believe I was ever scared of him…" I mused to myself. He was an seven-year-old boy, not some grizzled berserker. In hindsight, the distinction was obvious.
The food was pleasant enough. Although not the same quality as I was used to in my old life, it was difficult to complain on an empty stomach. Moreover, during dinner, I heard that Sister Taylor had done her best to scramble up something tasty for us, and I wasn't going to dishonor her by criticizing her efforts.
Still, I couldn't help but to wonder if I could find a way to insert myself in the kitchen moving forward.
"Probably not…" I mused. Only teenagers were allowed in the kitchen, and even then only to wash dishes or clean the counters.
Needless to say, younger orphans also had chores to do around the establishment, but they were usually a lot simpler and less demanding than scrubbing old oil spills.
My current one, for example, was to rake the fallen leaves in the garden. A chore I only now realized I was neglecting.
"I'll probably have to rake before breakfast tomorrow…" I frowned.
Tomorrow was Sunday, which meant we were all attending church service in the morning. When she wasn't grunting, the Matron often emphasised the importance of "refocusing our lives around God."
And who knows? Maybe I would've eventually become Christian if I hadn't awakened my past life's memories when I did. But since it happened, the odds of me finding a place in any organized religion were greatly diminished.
Not to say that I didn't have my own version of faith. Given my current circumstances, I didn't have much leg to stand on if I wanted to claim otherwise. To me, the awakening of my old memories was irrefutable proof of the supernatural, but not necessarily of a monotheistic and omniscient God.
Nevertheless, I'd attend church service tomorrow. Not only was it mandatory for all orphans under the aegis of Sacred Morgan, but I'd always found enjoyment listening to the songs anyway.
"—you Michael?"
I blinked as I heard my name being called.
Looking around, I noticed that many of the orphans were staring at me. A few spots away, Sister White's smile was progressively becoming more forced.
"How. Was. Your. Day. Today. Michael?" Sister White reiterated, enunciating each word deliberately.
Coughing awkwardly, I did my best to smile back at her. I had to stop zoning out when I was around other people.
"My day was just fine, Sister White." I answered concisely but politely, hoping the busy body would quickly move on to bother the next poor rug rat.
Naturally, my wish would remain unfulfilled as the bug-eyed woman focused on me.
"Oh?" She said, sounding faintly conspiratorial. "And where were you pray tell? Sister Taylor and I couldn't find you for lunch."
"About that…" I glimpsed at Jessica, who immediately looked away in shame.
Sighing internally, I decided to come clean before I dug my grave any deeper.
"I was playing by the gate…" I murmured, trying my best to sound like a suitably chastised four-year-old.
Before Sister White could crack into her rant, however, Sister Taylor interjected.
"You know you aren't allowed to exit the gate without either Sister White or myself present, Michael. I know you know this."
Without having a good answer, I decided to remain silent, studying the dull details of the cutleries on my plate. Shockingly, under Sister Taylor's concern for my well-being, I actually felt a bit ashamed of my actions.
"The Matron has already punished you sufficiently today, I think." Sister Taylor began, much to Sister White's visual displeasure. "But you have to promise not to leave the grounds by yourself again. I'd be very upset if something were to happen to you. Is that clear?"
I nodded bashfully. It felt surprisingly natural to be reprimanded by a woman who, despite appearances, was actually younger than me.
"Good." Sister Taylor clapped her hands, making some of the orphans jolt in surprise. "Then I hope this marks the end to the matter. You know we'd hate to have to get the Matron involved."
I glanced at Sister White, who I reckoned actually looked forward to informing the orphanage matriarch of my misdeed.
Nevertheless, minor issues such as these were usually handled by the Sisters.
"I understand." I muttered softly, finding it easy to regress to my old mannerisms.
The rest of supper was spent listening in on the others' conversations. Since my admittance to the establishment, I hadn't really made any friends amongst the other orphans. Not only was I timid around strangers, but my stubborn reluctance to accept my fate as an orphan had surely ruffled some feathers as well.
And now, for obvious reasons, the notion of trying to make friends with a bunch of preschoolers didn't appeal to me very much.
But maybe I could befriend some teenagers? I looked toward Jessica and her clique.
"She still refuses to look at me huh." I noted.
Then again, I could sort of guess where her shame was coming from. Given what I'd observed these last six months, there was an unspoken agreement among the orphans not to tattle on one another.
Jessica most likely got away with it since she's the second oldest of the teenagers: a prestigious position in the social hierarchy of an orphanage. Additionally, though it almost hurt a bit to admit, I wasn't exactly popular among the orphans either.
Still, I paid close attention to the proceedings.
Ava had allegedly hurt her wrist playing with Isabella. However, since she could still move her hand around just fine, it probably wasn't broken. Still, Sister Taylor hadn't hesitated to fetch some bandages for the young girl.
And based on what I witnessed, Ava seemed awfully proud of her new gauntlet, much to the jealousy of her younger peers.
Anton, on the other hand, went into astonishingly great detail of how he and Gabriel found a big toad underneath the tarpaulin in the garden. And though the Sisters appeared to already be informed of Sir Hops-A-Lot, the rest of the orphans listened with rapt attention and wide-eyed wonder.
They even oohh'd and ahhh'd in all the right places.
But to be fair, it wasn't every day that someone found a big toad, after all.
When the Sisters weren't eating, they were busy catering to the needs of the orphanage's two youngest inhabitants: a pair of one-year-old twins named Vera and Victor.
The pair had taken their first couple of steps last week, which had been the cause of some much-needed celebration.
Needless to say, none of the older orphans thought it would take long before the twins were adopted. They were simply too cute to waste away at a place like this.
…
After dinner, when the older teens, Sister White and Sister Taylor began to tidy the dining table, I decided to be proactive for a change. It wouldn't do to continue to be on bad terms with my roommate.
Strolling up to Anton and Gabriel, I greeted the pair of boys with what I hoped was a confident smile.
"I can't believe you found a toad today, that's awesome." I said, exaggerating only a little bit.
Anton and Gabriel looked at me with raised eyebrows.
"Yeah! It was so cool! He was like this big!" Gabriel used his hands to emphasize just how big the toad had truly been. Interestingly, the size seemed to have doubled since the last time he showed us.
"We are not letting you see him, Mouse." Anton said with a voice laced with suspicion. Then, as if he thought of something funny, he added. "You'd probably eat him!"
Two nearby orphans, Ava and Isabella, winced in disgust as they looked at me.
Shaking my head, I sighed, desperate to hide the ridiculous hurt I felt twisting my stomach.
For some inexplicable reason unbeknownst to me, I actually seemed to care about what these kids thought of me.
"I would like you to stop using that nickname, Anton." I spoke slowly, ridiculously afraid that my voice would suddenly fail me again. "My name's Michael, not Mouse."
"Yeah? So?" Anton asked, taking a step closer to me. "Why don't you go crying to your mama about it, crybaby Mouse?"
Again, a familiar mix of hurt and anger roused inside me at the mention of the witch who abandoned me here.
Thus, copying the older boy, I similarly took a step forward. Suddenly, Anton and I were so close to one another that I had to bend my neck slightly to look up at him.
"I'm not going to cry to my mother." I heard myself say, my fear morphing into more anger as I thought about all the hours I'd spent waiting up for her. "And I'd prefer it if you didn't mention her again."
"Six months I waited… like some kind of ignorant puppy."
Suddenly, the light bulb in the chandelier flickered ominously above us.
"Why can't I?" Anton scoffed. "When that's all you ever whine about?"
The dining hall was completely quiet now. All the remaining orphans were paying close attention to my and Anton's interaction.
"I miss my mommy." Anton whined, mockingly pretending to be me. "Where is my mommy?"
Anton groaned in annoyance.
"Even when I do what Sister Taylor say and invite you to play with us, you're all like 'No, I can't, what if my mommy shows up?'" Again, he used a fake and exaggerated voice to make fun of me.
A sudden gust of air made the tablecloth flap haphazardly in the wind, even though the windows were shut firmly.
"All day, all you do is cry for your mama." Anton clicked his tongue in disgust. "You know, I bet you're the reason why your mama and papa abandoned you. Who would ever love an ugly—"
A fork fell from the table; Anton stepped closer.
"Useless—"
The floor planks underneath us groaned.
"Snivelling—"
The four windows burst open.
"Little brat like you?"
"Shut up!" I screamed, and suddenly, it was as if a dam burst inside of me.
All the light bulbs in the room popped simultaneously as the electricity surged through the wiring in the walls.
Children screamed in fear and panic when a powerful gust of wind scattered an assortment of trinkets around the dining hall. Some of the orphans were clipped by the flying cutlery, inflicting small cuts and bruises.
"Please… shut up." I gritted my teeth, barely registering the ongoing mayhem.
Evidently, I hated my mom for leaving me, and I hated my dad for not being here when I needed him. But most of all, I despise myself for failing to see what was right in front of me.
Suddenly, the faces of my past life's loving family flashed before my eyes.
"Why couldn't you have been more like them…" I clenched my fists.
What I failed to notice, however, was how Anton's eyes widened in shock as he looked back and forth between me and the miniature tornado wreaking havoc on the dining room around us.
Bewilderingly, the mysterious phenomenon ceased as soon as Anton conceded and took a step backwards. Yet, apart from Anton and me, no one seemed to have noticed that particular little coincidence.
"What is going on here?!" Sister White appeared a few seconds later, storming in from the kitchen. Behind her, Sister Taylor—along with the teens—followed.
The look on Sister White's face when she registered the disorderly mess sent shivers down my spine.
Yet, before Sister White could say anything, Sister Taylor whisked past her. Her concerned eyes locked on the numerous wounds adorning the younger orphans' countenances.
"That's… definitely going to leave a scar…" I winced as I spotted the gash bleeding on Gabriel's forehead. Fortunately, one of the older orphans had already begun to sooth him.
Luckily, neither Victor nor Vera seemed to be physically injured. Though, based on their shrill screaming, the ordeal had likely traumatized them.
"I-I d-don't know." Isabella said, sniffing and crying.
"The lamp exploded!" Another child exclaimed.
"Anton is a bully!" Another revealed while sniffling.
"It was the wind, it—"
"No!" Anton interjected loudly. His accusing eyes locked on me. "It was Mouse who did it! He—"
Anton visibly flinched when I glared at him. I had just told the brat to stop calling me that.
"I-I-m-mean it w-was M-Michael who d-did it…"
I was about to defend myself when something caused me to hesitate.
The sensation of the dam breaking, the way the howling wind had responded to my rage...
"Is he perhaps right?" I looked around at the crying children bleeding from small cuts and gashes. "Did I cause this?"
Hearing Anton's accusation, Sister White's bug-eyes immediately narrowed as she scrutinized me closely.
I don't know what she saw in me, but I didn't like the look that appeared on her face. I didn't like it one bit.
Moreover, the fact that I was suspiciously unmolested by the phenomenon probably didn't help my case either.
"Sister White, look." Jessica said, grabbing the Sisters' attention.
On the wallpaper, fried wires had burnt a black trail leading to every outlet and socket.
"It must've been a power surge." Jessica said what was on everybody's mind, excluding the children's, of course.
"I guess that explains the broken light bulbs…" Sister White murmured. "But what about-"
"Enough already!" Sister Taylor snapped, shocking everyone, including Sister White. "You can continue your little inquisition after we've tended to the bleeding children, Sister."
Sister White's eyes narrowed at the perceived slight to her authority, but reluctantly nodded her head when Sister Taylor refused to back down.
"Jessy and Rachel, go and grab the first aid kit from the kitchen. And bring me some clean towels and a bucket of water while you're at it. You know where to find them, right?"
Jessica and Rachel nodded before running off.
"Tom, I want you to go to the Matron's office and inform her about what happened. Can you do that?"
Tom's face paled but nodded, nonetheless.
"Now Sister, could you give me a hand with the children, please?"
"But Sister Taylor, Michael—"
"Later Anton." Sister Taylor snapped. "We'll talk about it later."
…
What followed was a lot of soothing, pacifying, and cleaning. As luck would have it, apart from the gash on Gabriel's forehead, which required six stitches, no one had suffered any serious injuries.
Not physical injuries, at least.
To her credit, even the Matron had looked concerned when she eventually joined us in the dining hall. It was the most emotional expression I'd ever seen on her.
After a brief discussion, in which no child was consulted, it was decided that the cause of the incident could only have been a power surge, which led to the light bulbs exploding. The resulting shards of said light bulbs were the culprits behind the children's wounds.
As for the disorderly state of the dining hall, the adults seemed to think it was the result of the orphans panicking.
Only two people disagreed with the adults' conjecture of the event.
Anton vocally proclaimed that I was the cause of it all. That I was the Devil's child, and a demon. As a result, he was thrashed with the cane in front of everyone to see.
Yet, despite my conflict with Anton, I couldn't help but to agree with the poor boy. Not about me being a demon or the Devil's spawn or whatever, but that I was the reason behind the mysterious phenomenon.
During the incident, I'd been so angry and upset that I hadn't paid enough attention to what transpired. But in hindsight, everything felt way too coincidental.
No, I was sure I had somehow caused the windows to open, the light bulbs to explode, and the fierce wind that ensued.
And the only feasible explanation I could come up with wasn't very credible at all: magic.
"Then again, neither is reincarnation…" I mused to myself.
In the aftermath of the incident, and Anton's "detestable accusation," I had temporarily been allocated a new room a bit farther away from the rest. Sister Taylor had asked me repeatedly if I was fine with sleeping by myself, but I eventually managed to assuage her worries.
Having my own room suited me just fine. Heck, it was more than fine.
Still, despite the fortuitous outcome of the event, I found myself constantly regretting what happened. Whenever I saw an orphan run past me with a scratch on their face, a part of my stomach churned in shame.
Like it or not, I wasn't a regular four-year-old anymore. Losing control of one's emotions and throwing a tantrum is what a real child does, not one with the memories of a twenty-seven-year-old adult. Now more than ever, I realized I had to get a grip of myself.
While angry and upset, it was never my intention to harm anyone.
Even Anton's thrashing, I found somewhat difficult to stomach. The boy might be crude and have a mean streak to him, but in this case, he didn't completely deserve the caning he got.
"But the Devil's child huh…" I thought about what I'd done a bit more objectively.
If I momentarily disregarded the shameful consequences caused by this tragic incident, the simple nature of what I'd done remained mind-boggling and amazing.
Magic. The idea of being able to wield true magic, and not the one used by charlatans, illusionists and tricksters, sent a series of exciting shivers down my spine.
"If I only knew how to control it…" I thought as I stared up at the egg-white ceiling.
Unable to fall asleep, I'd spent the last couple of hours trying every way I could think of to reproduce some semblance of magic. So far, the result has been severely disappointing.
"Maybe it was a fluke?" I sighed before groaning in frustration.
"No, even if it was, I definitely felt something…" When the dam burst, something inside of me had been roused awake. The sensation was incredibly distinct yet frustratingly elusive. Trying to consciously reproduce it was like trying to catch sea foam. I knew it was there, but even when I felt like I could pinpoint it, it vanished into thin air.
Nevertheless, I was too stubborn to give up without some kind of result. Now that I suspected I could wield magic, the thought of not mastering it was practically sacrilegious.
Unfortunately, the combination of a four-year-old body, a momentous day, and nearly forty-eight hours without any sleep ultimately proved to be too much to be ignored.
So, I fell asleep with my nightlight on.
…
Getting up the next morning was a challenge in itself. Luckily, routines were a powerful thing.
During my morning rituals, I couldn't stop thinking about the events that had transpired yesterday.
More specifically, magic.
So far, everything I'd seen, heard, or remembered confirmed that I had been reincarnated on Earth. And while the time period was a bit off, the overall history remained the same.
"Which reminds me, I got to find a way to purchase property…" In less than twenty years, the property market was set to skyrocket in value. "I also have to look into accruing some bonds and stocks."
The problem was that I currently had no capital to start with. Even if one turned a blind eye to the fact that I was also too young to purchase much of anything except for cheap trinkets like sweets, one had to possess money to make money.
But I digress. Magic was the first discovery that hinted of this not being the same world I was accustomed with.
Not that I was dissatisfied with the discovery. Out of all the things that could be different with this world, magic was a strong contender for what I wanted the most.
But be that as it may, the discovery of magic raised certain questions that desperately needed answering.
Why can I wield magic? And where does it come from?
If magic existed, what other supernatural phenomena could I expect in this life?
Were there vampires running around? Preying on innocent victims?
Was I the only one capable of magic, or was there a secret cabal of wizards running the world from behind the curtains?
Though, admittedly, calling myself "capable of magic" was something of a misnomer since I couldn't seem to get it to work again.
Also, seeing as the internet hasn't been made public yet, I couldn't search for answers on Google. Heck, when was Google even invented? If I remembered correctly, the first iterations of the internet were so lacklustre that it couldn't even begin to compare to the modern version of the 21st century.
No, if I wanted to answer these questions, I had to be smart about it. Revealing the fact that I could wield magic to any Tom, Dick, or Harry didn't sound like a good idea. Especially not while living in an orphanage funded by the Church.
Revealing the existence of magic to the Matron could go one of three ways: either I was seen as someone blessed by God—which I doubted—or, and this outcome seemed much more probable based on the history of the Church, I was actually condemned as Devil spawn; the final potential outcome I could see happening was being kidnapped by some secret organization, if the existence of magic was already known.
Needless to say, none of the outcomes appealed to me.
As such, I decided to keep my newfound ability under wraps, at least until I could take care of myself.
Already clad in my Sunday attire, I barely finished raking the garden before it was time to head to church.
In Bath, like in many cities in the UK, multiple churches were scattered across the area. But since my orphanage is owned by the Roman Catholic Church, we always attend the Sunday service in St. John The Evangelist's Church.
St. John's Church's old, at least a hundred years old, and incredibly Gothic-looking, with a pointy spire and polished marble. Before the service began, I couldn't withdraw my eyes from the incredible architecture.
Unfortunately, after we found our seats and the priest appeared, it turned out the service wasn't as interesting as the place where it was being held.
Nevertheless, like a well-mannered orphan, I listened attentively to the sermon, hymns, and gospel. Failing to mind your manners within the confines of the orphanage was one thing, doing so out in public was so scandalous one might as well take a crap in the Matron's office.
After the service ended, the Sisters made sure we looked presentable for our weekly meeting with Father Berkeley.
"Why, if it isn't the Morgan children!" Father Berkeley smiled at our awkward approach. "Is it just me or are you lot a bit taller than last week?"
A few of the orphans snickered at the old man's exaggerated reaction, but most pretended to look stoic, copying the Matron.
"Good day Father Berkeley." The Matron greeted the jolly priest, following which the orphans parroted in near perfect unison.
"""Good day Father Berkeley."""
It was obvious to any onlooker that we'd rehearsed this performance. But I reckoned that was the purpose: to attract attention from any potential adoptive parents.
"Hah!" Father Berkeley exclaimed exuberantly. "No matter how many times I hear it, your greeting never ceases to amaze. You should know I always look forward to meeting you."
A stranger might think he was just paying lip service, but I knew from experience how much Father Berkeley cares about us orphans. Disregarding the stipend he provides the orphanage with monthly, Father Berkeley often visits bearing snacks and puzzles. Needless to say, he was a very beloved man, not only amongst the orphans, but by the community at large.
He was also part of the reason why I didn't feel like Sunday mass was a complete waste of time.
After exchanging some pleasantries, the adults eventually dismissed us. Like always, we now had approximately three hours of personal time before it was time to head back and eat lunch.
Many of the orphans had friends attending the sermon today, so the majority of my peers didn't hesitate to squeeze their way through the crowd—in pursuit of other children.
I, on the other hand, decided to begin my search for my own Fortress of Solitude. My failure to reproduce another feat of magic last night had only strengthened my resolve to do so today.
"Michael!" A familiar voice stopped me before I could leave.
Turning around, I saw Jessica gesturing for her friends to wait for her a bit before heading my way.
"Hello Jessica." I said. With all the commotion last night, we hadn't had time to talk after dinner.
"Thanks for waiting…" She said, sounding slightly out of breath. "I wanted to, uhm, talk to you earlier but—"
"But then the power surge happened." I finished, already knowing where this was going.
"Yeah." Jessica sighed. "Look, I'm sorry for snitching on you to the Sisters. Believe me when I say I didn't do so on purpose, but it's still what ended up happening. And I'm sorry."
As far as I could tell, Jessica actually seemed remorseful. And since it wasn't like I was going to hold it over her anyway, I decided to bury the hatchet—figuratively speaking.
"Don't worry about it, it's water under the bridge." I said, trying my best to look comforting.
If a four-year-old can even look comforting?
"I should practice in the mirror when I get home."
"You're really strange, you know that?" Jessica added when I thought the conversation was over. Seeing the questioning look on my face, she hurriedly clarified. "I mean, you keep switching between being this timid scaredy-cat to suddenly being this confident and well-spoken little brat."
I didn't know what to say to that.
But Jessica just shook her head with a smile. "It's weird, but I'm glad you're starting to feel more comfortable with us. Like, don't feel scared to open up when you feel ready."
This time, I nodded.
"Good." Jessica's smile was positively radiant with the way the sunlight landed on her face. "I have to go back to the others, but let's talk more at home, okay?"
She leaned in closer.
"I wanna know all about where you went playing yesterday." She whispered conspiratorially.
"Sure thing." I answered easily, much to the teenage girl's evident delight.
Once I was finally left to my own devices again, I didn't hesitate to embark on my adventure. This time I was determined to succeed.
…