The sun rose gently over the orphanage as though it had learned to be careful there. It did not burst into the sky with harsh brilliance or cast sharp shadows across the cracked cement walls. Instead, it crept upward slowly, filtering through mango tree leaves and resting softly on the red-tiled roof of St. Brigid's Home for Children. The building stood at the edge of the town, not hidden, but not quite embraced either a place people knew existed but rarely visited unless duty or charity guided their steps.
Behind the main building lay the playground. It was not large, nor was it new. Just refurbished. The swings squeaked when they moved, their metal chains that was rusted in places where small hands had worn the paint away was repainted. The slide that bore long scratches, souvenirs of years of joyful recklessness was fixed. A faded seesaw leaned slightly to the left, and the sandbox once neatly bordered by wooden planks had been reshaped countless times by imaginative builders and destroyers alike. That had been the only area which had not been considered due to the numerous plan damages both present and future.
Yet, despite its age, the playground was alive. It was a kingdom, a battlefield, a classroom, a dreamscape, and most importantly a place where they could forget, if only for a while, how they had arrived there. At exactly ten o'clock in the morning, the playground gate creaked open as a woman, Margaret, in a black gown pushed it with practiced ease. She had been doing this for twenty years, long enough to know that the squeak itself was a kind of announcement. The children heard it and came running before she could even step aside.
"Go on," she said with a smile that lived permanently in the lines around her eyes. "Mind yourselves. And no climbing the mango tree again, Joseph."
Joseph grinned, nodded, and immediately began planning how to climb the mango tree without being seen. Children spilled into the playground like sunlight breaking through clouds. Shoes scuffed the ground. Dresses fluttered. Football appeared from nowhere. Within seconds, the air was filled with movement pure; unfiltered energy unleashed after hours of discipline and routine. For many of these children, structure was a necessary anchor. Life before the orphanage had been chaotic, painful, or confusing in ways no child should have to understand. But the playground was where order dissolved into joy.
Joseph had been hiding perfectly from Margaret's watchful eyes; she was described as the most observant of caretakers in the orphanage and some children had sworn that no matter how noisy the playground gets; she could smell danger ten miles away. Joseph had to admit the defeat that there was nothing he could do about the tree climbing, so he had to find another activity worth playing. He walked towards the swing that looked crowded, and several kids watched eagerly waiting for their turn. After waiting in line with the others for several minutes, he felt uneasy like he had misplaced something.
Tapping rapidly on the multiple pockets on his pants searching for his notepad and pen enclosed within it, it was not there, and he had probably forgotten it in his room. Cursing under his breath, he walked back to the entrance gate like a wounded deer. Margaret noticed him going back and called out to him "don't tell me you forgot your notepad again,"
"I just want to grab it really quick," he responded and this time his leg was in a hurry because he knew she does not let children out of her sight even for a minute.
His footsteps rattled up the stairway; the building was practically empty since the kids were in the playground gave the other staff a bit of resting time. His room was not far now, and that was his relief. He wondered how he kept forgetting to pick up his notepad before he went to the playground; pushing the door and saw the notepad laying peacefully on his bed.
"I definitely will put a leash on you," he said coolly and in seconds got a reply "that will definitely not work,"
For a minute he was thinking his notepad had become magical; reality struck him that books don't talk. Someone was in the building, too. He took the notepad and put it one of the numerous pockets, as he was heading out; the voice came again "I really have to leave now, I think we don't have to see each other again."
Joseph could swear he recognized the voice, but there was no way Margaret would let a child out of her sight while she was on watch. Not one person but two people. He followed the voice immediately, curious of who that might be. The walkway was serene to the point that a pin hitting the tile floor would echo all the way down. He heard softball bouncing softly against the wall and echoed laughter. As he moved further, the sound of the softball became louder so he could tell he was close.
It stopped abruptly.
No sound, no voice, total silence. Joseph paused for a second trying to understand what just happened, in front of him was the Inventory room prohibited from the children, and he heard sound coming from there being the only door in that area. He waited for a little while, placing his ear on the door, paying close attention to the sound. It was silent like no one was ever there. Joseph sighed in deeply and decided to leave the Inventory room just to see someone standing a few feet away from him. The person stood for a moment as if to observe him then walked briskly to him. Joseph retreated in fear, shielding his face with his hand as the person's hand was stretched out to grab him.
The light turned on, Joseph was staring face to face at an angry staff. "You again? Shouldn't you be at the playground?"
"I swear I didn't mean to; I heard sounds coming from in there," Joseph replied scared "there something in there,"
The man looked at him, it was written on his face he didn't believe a thing he said yet, he must prove it is a lie anyway. He reached out to his pocket and brought out a set of keys that went clinking as he searched for the right one, "You better be right," he said in a warning tone. Found the right key and inserted it in the key lock, opening the door. The door creaked as it opened. It was pitching black inside till; he turned on the light switch and found a boy hiding behind a crate of tools. He looked pale in his yellow shirt and grease covered pants. He stared at them speechless for a second and said in a not remorseful voice "I'm sorry."
The staff dragged him out as forced himself aggressively to go back in groaning in pain from the hard grip of the staff. "I need my ball!" He shouted. The staff let go of his hand immediately as he picked a red ball from under one of the crates and hurried away. Joseph had just one thought in mind, where is the second person?