The monster is coming for me.
He’d spoken those words. Which means he can speak but is choosing not to—at least most of the time. Just like I had, once. Silence is safer than words. Words can be used against you. Words can get you hurt.
But what is he hiding from? And why did he whisper that warning to me?
I pull out my phone, intending to set an alarm for the morning. The screen lights up, and I see the text message again:Thank you.
I stare at it for a long moment, that strange chill returning. Two unexplained events in one night. The mysterious message and the mysterious boy. If there’s one thing sixteen years of survival have taught me, it’s that there are no such things as coincidences.
Chapter Two
Chloe
“Mei, breakfast is ready! Bring the boy down with you,” I call up the staircase. It had been three days since the boy had magically appeared in the dead of night and freezing cold, and he’d spent most of that time with Mei or I, shying away from the other children and attendants at the orphanage.
It had taken him the entirety of the first two days to get him to tell me something about himself. He still wouldn’t tell me his name, but he’d finally told me how old he was. Still in ASL, still refusing to speak beyond those few whispered words. Jay had fought me tooth and nail about not involving the authorities immediately; so far, I’d won that fight, but not by much.
“I can’t find him again!” Mei yelled with an exasperated huff, appearing at the top of the stairs, arms folded in irritation. “Why does he keep hiding like that?”
With a sigh, I begin to ascend the stairs, patting Mei on the shoulder as I pass her.
“He’s been through things hun; it’s his way of handling the changes all around him right now. I’ll find him; you go eat.” That is all the prompting the girl needs to rush down the staircase and into the kitchen.
It doesn’t take me long to find him. He’s wedged himself into a small hole between a stack of cleaning supplies and the wall in the supply closet at the end of the hallway, knees pulled to his chest, head down. This is the fourth time in the past three days I’ve discovered him hiding in a small, enclosed space. Yesterday it was the kitchen pantry. The day before, the downstairs closet.
The first few times he’d been absent, my heart had done painful flips in my chest, his words haunting my thoughts:The monster is coming for me.Eachtime, fear had crept in until I’d found him. Half relieved at finding him safe, half in anguish at understanding why he felt the need to hide.
I crouch at the doorway, purposefully making myself small and non-threatening. “Hey, sweetie.”
His head lifts at the sound of my voice, his eyes finding mine in the dim light. Some of the tension leaves his small body at the recognition that it’s just me.No monster, not today,I think to myself.
“Breakfast is ready,” I tell him, signing the words as I speak them. We’ve determined he can hear, but the continued usageof sign language seems to soothe and comfort him. “Pancakes. Bacon. And your favorite, chocolate milk.”
I have no idea if it’s actually his favorite, but my goal is to make it sound enticing enough to get him to come out on his own. After years in the orphanage helping with dozens of children, I know his behavior is a trauma response. The drive to hide, to find protection in the smallest of places where others can’t reach. And for perhaps the millionth time, I find myself wondering what sort of trauma this poor boy has endured.
Slowly, he unfolds himself, his movements cautious, eyes darting around, checking for anyone else in the room. Like he’s testing whether it’s safe for him to come out of his hiding spot or not. He’s wearing clothes from our donation bin — a little big but clean and warm. His feet are bare, despite having been given shoes. I’d realized quickly that he preferred not to wear them, allowing him to pass through the hallways in near silence on the pads of his feet, much like a dancer.
I make a mental note to find him socks. Again. He keeps taking them off, and I have yet to discover where he is stashing them. The lack of shoes I can accept, but with the chill of October seeping through the old building, socks are a necessity.
Reaching out, I offer him my hand as he crawls out of the closet; he stands gingerly, clasping his hand in mine. His fingers are cold and small, even compared to my own small, feminine hands. My chest tightens again; I’ve only known this child three days, yet I know I’ve become dangerously attached to him. My maternal instincts cling to him as if he were my own.
“Come on,” I tell him encouragingly, smiling at him as I close the door to the closet, “before Mei eats them all, and we don’t get any at all.”
The effort gains me a small playful smile from him.
In the kitchen, the twenty-three other children currently in residence are already gathered, eating breakfast in barely controlled chaos. Even by my standards, the noise level in the room is overwhelming this morning. Over two dozen individuals talking, laughing, the added clattering of plates and silverware, all of it too much. His grip on my hand tightens as he pushes in closer to my side.
“How about we eat in the corner?” I offer the small reprieve, pointing to the unoccupied corner table in the pocket room that joins the kitchen and the outer hallway. With so many children in residence, we have become creative in creating space for everyone over the past few years.
As I guide him to the table, Mei dashes over with a plate full of pancakes in hand.
“There you are! I saved you some pancakes.” She places the plate in front of him with a fork, then sits opposite him, signing to him to eat. My heart squeezes at the gesture, such a kindhearted child; I am still hopeful she will find a family to adopt her and give her everything she deserves.
“Thank you, Mei. That was very kind of you,” I tell her as I settle into the chair on his other side. He relaxes enough to pick upthe fork and begins to eat as he accepts that I’m not leaving him alone.
He eats slowly, his eyes constantly darting around the room. Watching the doors, the other kids, tracking the movement of everyone who enters or exits. One thing I’ve realized about him is that he is never fully at ease. Even in his sleep.
Sadly, it’s a feeling I know all too well.
