by Chanda Hahn
It actually seemed that they wanted the kids to be different. They praised the ones who could do things that weren’t part of normal human abilities. Some of the kids reacted negatively to the treatment—the ones who withdrew inside their heads.
Wendy didn’t know what they hoped for her. She’d had a negative reaction to the treatment and gotten really sick, and afterwards she began to see shadows in her peripheral vision. No one else could see them, not even Boy.
A rattling noise made her open her eyes to see that she was still lying on the floor. For a moment she had forgotten where she was. The air conditioning vent in the ceiling sputtered and clanged as cold air blasted down on her. She briefly smelled the salty ocean air. Wendy turned her head to the side and a single tear of disappointment slid down her cheek. She didn’t want to see things or be considered crazy. She wanted the shadows gone for good.
Boy still sat in the chair. He seemed to be having a disagreement with Gray. A staff nurse came and announced that it was time for dinner. Wendy stood and followed the other kids as they filed down a long hall to the opened doors. The staff blocked every exit except for the one leading to the cafeteria.
When the double doors opened, her mouth watered at the sweet and spicy aroma from the kitchen. She paused and spoke aloud to Boy and Gray.
Neither heard her. Boy had his feet planted, his hands on his hips. Gray scowled and, using only his thumb, cracked the knuckles on his right hand.
“There’s cinnamon rolls tonight.” She spoke enticingly and tugged on Boy’s sleeve.
By now the room was empty except for Boy and Gray, they still hadn’t budged. She turned to go back but was cut off by more kids lining up. They would only have an hour after dinner before they would be escorted back to their rooms for the night.
She stood in line behind 1-84, a girl with an attitude who ran with a rough crowd. Wendy took the red plastic tray and waited without making eye contact with the girl. Others had learned to keep their distance. In front of 1-84 stood a brown-haired boy, about seven, with a teddy bear stuffed under his arm. He had come the same time as Wendy had. He never spoke to any of the kids or staff, but frequently sat by himself and whispered into the stuffed bear’s ear. That’s how he earned his unfortunate nickname—Teddy. He always stared directly at Wendy, but he’d never speak.
Wendy picked up her tray, which consisted of a bowl of thick red chili, a warm cinnamon roll, green beans, and a pint of milk. She took her food and sat at a round table in the corner of the room. Keeping her back to the brick wall, she ate alone. She preferred the corner table because it gave her a sense of security when she didn’t have Boy watching her back. No one could sneak up behind her or steal her food.
Gray came in by himself. She tried to keep an eye out for Boy, but little Teddy drew her attention again.
He sat at a nearby table, propped the bear into a sitting position, and picked up his spoon to eat. One of the more aggressive kids came by and knocked over the bear, taunting Teddy. The boy panicked and quickly righted the bear, but when he turned back, his tray lacked his bowl of chili and cinnamon roll.
Teddy looked at his small portion of green beans, and his shoulders shook as he tried to hold back tears. Wendy watched the young boy. Her fingers curled around her fork, her knuckles turning white. She glanced toward the kitchen staff to see if they had noticed what was happening. They didn’t do anything about it. As long as the kids weren’t downright fighting, bullying was tolerated—even encouraged.
She leaned forward and watched as the bigger kid held the bowl of chili up in the air like a prized trophy, the cinnamon roll clenched between his teeth. Another kid walked behind with Teddy’s milk.
The cooks didn’t even bat an eye. They were, in fact, tearing down the trays and hauling the food away. They busied themselves filling a cart with more trays of food for those who were confined to their rooms. Wendy knew they kept the “dangerous” kids on a lower level—behind more locked doors and in padded rooms.
No, not rooms. Cells.
It was the threat of being taken to basement level two that kept the bullying in check. But she believed that bullying of any kind should never be tolerated.
Teddy’s lip quivered and his hand reached for his fork. He stabbed a green bean, brought it up to his mouth, and chewed slowly. In two bites, his small portion of vegetables had disappeared.
Come on, Teddy. Say something. Do something. She tried to mentally encourage him to act, to not let himself become the victim.
Teddy continued to sit and stare at his empty plate. His shoulders shook and the dull murmur of the crowd rose.
Disgusted and furious at the bullies, Wendy was even more upset at Teddy for not standing up for himself. She had only eaten half of her chili, but she’d lost her appetite. She stood and pushed her chair screeching across the floor, drawing attention. Wendy picked up her unopened pint of milk and her cinnamon roll, walked over to Teddy’s table, and placed both on his tray. She saw his wide eyes turn glassy as he tried to blink back tears. He looked at the food in front of him and then back at her.
She jumped up and sat on top of the table. “Eat,” she commanded. Wendy glared at anyone who looked their way.
Her body language was clear. Don’t mess with her. She was his protector. Wendy proceeded to watch over Teddy as he ate her roll and downed the milk greedily. When 1-84 stared at her, Wendy gave her an ugly glare and crossed her arms threateningly.
Gray had watched the whole exchange. He picked up his tray and moved to sit next them, as if there was a silent line drawn in the cafeteria and he had chosen a side. Wendy gave him a curious smile as he took over glaring at the group of bullies that stole Teddy’s food.
“Just because you can’t talk, or don’t, or choose not to, that doesn’t mean you can’t defend yourself,” Wendy whispered.
“It’s true.” Gray leaned over and spoke softly. “Rule one: Everyone is the enemy. Even me…even her.” He gestured to both of them.
Teddy swallowed a mouthful of cinnamon roll and turned his soft brown eyes to her. They flared with anger.
“Relax. We know how to handle ourselves.” Wendy winked.
Gray held up two fingers. “Rule two: Remember rule one.” Gray picked up his discarded fork and held it in front of Wendy, tines facing up. “This is eating position.”
He waited to be sure Teddy was paying close attention. “And when they come near you, flip it like this.” With a quick flip of the fork and his arm, the tines pointed down, and he brought the fork across Wendy’s chest in an aggressive stance. “Normally, it’s what you’d do with a knife, but since we aren’t given any, the fork will do.”
Teddy’s eyes widened in fear, but Gray smiled encouragingly. “Relax, kid. I’ve never had to stab anyone with a fork. Just the action alone will make them back off. But you have to toughen up here, be an army of one if you have to. There’s no room for weakness.” He gently placed the fork down on his tray. With a respectful nod to Wendy, he walked out of the room.
When Teddy was done eating, Wendy gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and he started to shake. Was he crying? He turned and wrapped his arms around her neck.
“Hey, chill.” She awkwardly extracted herself from his grasp. “It was nothing. No big deal. Just some notes for next time, okay?” Uncomfortable with his display of affection, she stood and heard his choked sob. She turned back.
He looked up at her, eyes full of accusation and anger, lips pinched in a tight line. He grabbed the bear and began to whisper to it again. Maybe it would be better if she distanced herself from Teddy, let him fight his own battles from now on. She put the dirty tray on the rack and headed out.
Wendy passed back through the main room on her way down the hall to her own room, and noticed that the boy was gone. Strange. She hadn’t seen him come into the dining hall to eat, so he must have gone back to his room. She was about to leave when she noticed the game board.
Even from a distance, she could see that
another piece had disappeared from the board. Her thimble.
Chapter Three
She bolted upright. Her body was coated in a sheen of sweat, and she shook uncontrollably again. She skated her gaze around her small, white room. She was alone. Something scratched at her window, and she cried out in terror, pulling the blanket over her head as she continued to shiver.
“It’s not real,” she spoke aloud to no one. “It didn’t happen.” She lifted the corner of her blanket and peeked into her room. It had a sink with no mirror, a chair, her bed, a nightstand, and a small bathroom area that held the toilet.
The wind howled angrily, and the scratching noise came from the window again. Feeling a little bolder, she sat up, tossed her blanket to the side and stood up to peer out the window. Sure enough, the wind was only causing a tree branch to scratch against the pane. She released the breath she was holding and crawled back into her bed.
The moonlight filtered in along the far wall, and the clouds passing in front of it caused shadow-fingers to stretch and reach across it.
“No!” Wendy cried out again. She reached for the small lamp next to the bed and turned it on, making the shadows disappear. “The shadows cannot harm me. The shadows cannot harm me.”
Once her room was bathed in light, her unease started to dissipate. She pulled the covers back over her and felt a tear of unease slide down her face. It was natural for a ten-year-old to be afraid of the dark and of the shadows.
Wasn’t it?
She had just fallen back into a restless sleep when a knock on her door made her jump up again. It was one of the night staff doing her rounds.
“It’s past eleven. You know the rules. Lights out.” The nurse spoke softly through the glass panel in the door. Wendy was locked in. She couldn’t leave until morning.
“Please, don’t make me,” Wendy whispered through the blankets, but the nurse didn’t hear.
“Turn off the lights,” the nurse said, a little firmer.
Wendy’s hand snaked out from under the blanket. She clicked the lamp off and yanked her hand back under the covers, as if the darkness would bite it off. She didn’t breathe, didn’t move, just heard the soft steps of the nurse’s feet move on down the hall.
She was getting hot from breathing under the blanket, but she wasn’t about to poke her head out. The scratching noise at the window came again, followed by a soft click of the window’s lock turning.
“The shadows aren’t real. It’s all in my head.”
Then came the sound of the window sliding open.
She closed her eyes and held her breath. If she didn’t see it, it didn’t exist.
It wasn’t here.
It wasn’t in her room.
The temperature dropped, and now she was shaking not only from fear but also from chills that sneaked between the covers and touched her skin.
“Go away,” she whispered.
This wasn’t happening. Not again. How did the shadow keep finding her here? She thought she’d banished them from her mind.
Wendy whispered frantically. “Go away, leave here.”
The heavy bolt slid as her door was unlocked, and the door creaked open.
The shadow was leaving her room. Where was it going? Why did it open her door? She flipped back the comforter just enough to see the shadow slip out of her room and into the empty hallway.
Wendy leapt from her bed and scrambled to the open door to look down the darkened hallway. Her heart thudded loudly, the rushing of its frantic beat in her ears.
Where had the shadow gone? The hall was void of movement. The nurse had already made her rounds and retired back to her station.
Wendy thought she’d seen a slight movement down the hall to her left, so she followed, taking soft steps and peering into each room, looking for darkness. The first two rooms in the girls’ wing showed the inhabitants blissfully sleeping.
She paused when she peered into Lily’s room. Her dark hair fell around her caramel skin, and she was snuggled into bed, the blanket pulled up to her chin.
Wendy checked every room, and there were no shadows. She turned and was about to head back to her room when she saw the shadow pass through the double doors and head toward the boys’ wing.
Wendy felt like she was sleepwalking as she followed the shadow through an unlocked door and down another hall. Where were the guards? How come so many doors were unlocked? She looked into the glass doors as she wandered through the boys’ hall.
Teddy tossed and turned, his mouth open in a silent scream. Night terrors?
Had to be. He was experiencing night terrors like she did. One of the most unholy experiences ever.
The staff told her she had an “episode.”
Now, here she was seeing one in front of her, and she was helpless to do anything. She tapped on the glass, but Teddy didn’t hear her. She tried calling his name. “Teddy. Wake up.”
Nothing.
Wendy looked up in the corner of the hallway directly at the blinking security camera. Any minute, they would notice her in the hallway and force her back to her room.
“It’s okay. Think happy thoughts.” She spoke Dr. Mee’s mantra through the pane.
Suddenly, the distressed movements stopped.
He sat straight up in bed and stared at her.
His pupils were dilated.
And he started to scream. Loudly.
Wendy jumped back in alarm and scrambled into an empty room, just as nurses came in to try to subdue Teddy. He continued to scream, and Wendy tried to put her hands over her ears to block out his cries. She heard scuffling as two nurses wheeled him, strapped to his bed, out of the room and toward the elevator.
Teddy gave up and the screaming quieted. His body went limp, but he still clutched the bear under his arm. When the doors opened and they rolled the bed in, his hand twitched and the bear fell to the floor. He cried out in distress, but no one saw, and the elevator doors closed.
Wendy came out of the empty room and picked up his tattered toy, gently pressing it to her chest. She started to follow Teddy.
A door opened at the other end of the long hallway, drawing her attention back to the other problem. The shadow. Chills ran up her arms as it glided behind Boy, his hair tousled from sleep, almost as if it were herding him. He ambled toward the emergency exit stairwell on the other end of the hall, still in his pajamas.
The shadow paused, flittered a few feet behind Boy, beckoning for her to follow it.
She had let herself get distracted, and now the boy was too far away. She took off running after the shadow, dropping the bear on the floor. Boy was about to push on the emergency door, and Wendy prepared herself for the loud alarm that would go off when the handle was pressed.
But it didn’t.
What was happening?
She was closing the distance, but she didn’t know if she could catch up to the boy or the shadow. The pale yellow light of the stairwell lamps illuminated the darkened hallway when the door opened. The shadow started to lose focus, but it was bright enough that she could still see it.
Something about the shadow slowed her for a moment.
It had a human form. The realization that it wasn’t in the shape of some monster made her pump her legs even harder. The heavy metal door swung closed as the shadow and Boy moved away. She wasn’t going to make it, but she pushed herself even harder.
The door picked up speed. Wendy dove forward and shoved her hand between the frame and door before it closed. She yelled out in pain as it crushed her hand but quickly stifled her cries. Pushing the door open, she entered the stairwell. The door thudded shut behind her.
She leaned over the railing but only saw more darkened stairs downward. She looked up and spotted the striped sleeve of Boy’s pajamas as his hand brushed the railing.
Wendy charged after them. “Hey. Stop!” She had no clue why, but she couldn’t seem to close the distance between them. They were ascending the stairs at inhuman speed, while Wendy pursued them at ba
refoot-girl speed.
Up and up she followed, looking at each of the floor signs as she ran past.
5th.
6th.
They were running out of floors. She paused and leaned back over the railing to look down. Had she missed them? Did they exit onto another floor? She hadn’t heard any of the exit doors open, and she had been listening for just that sound.
She kept going up until she saw the sign that said ROOF.
Wendy noticed the rusted metal door swinging slowly outward. She ran out into the night, and her feet burned on the gravel-covered roof. Searching past the large air conditioning units, she spotted them on the other side of the large satellite dish.
The shadow was floating in the air as Boy stood on the edge of the roof, looking pensive. She had never been on the roof, and now that she was there, it terrified her. The rushing ocean water thundered below, the briny smell of the water hung in the air.
“What are you doing?”
“You shouldn’t be here.” He turned to study her, confusion shrouding his face. He had something in his hands, something he kept twisting and turning.
“Can you see it?” Wendy pointed at the dark being floating just behind him. She could have sworn she saw the shadow use its hands to make a face and waggle ghostly fingers at her.
Boy turned to look where she had pointed, but the shadow had dissipated.
“The shadow, can you see it?”
He shook his head no.
“We can’t stay here,” he yelled into the darkness, the wind whipping his voice away.
Wendy took a few tentative steps in his direction. She tried to speak softly, in a motherly tone. “No, we can’t. Come down off the ledge, and we can go back inside. It’s dangerous here.”
He shook his head. “It’s dangerous inside, too. They lied to us. They’ve been lying the whole time. There’s no family waiting with open arms for us if we excel. Just more tests, more experiments, and another prison. We have to escape.”
“But we’re on an island. There’s nowhere to go,” Wendy called out, fear bubbling within her.
