Oneirophobia-fear of dreams.


Her left eye looks so scared in the jar hidden under my bed. Such an endless stare...I wish it wouldn't rotten so fast.

In twenty-four letters my life is constantly fired up, brought down, settle in for a new round of everything you could imagine.
All of it in only one bizarre name.
Twenty-four letters, this number symbolizes home, health, harmony, but for who? not for us. But for something else, something I can't describe or see, something still invisible to my eyes. 
It makes me intrigued...very intrigued.
 Meanwhile, I just look, stare deep down its meaning for me, drinking this cup of coffee...waiting. 
We are not allowed to drink coffee, but it's Friday, it's a day when at the start of the weekend we are allowed to do as we please because almost everyone it's heading out of here after a week of work with "rats".
Friday it's a day where the fun starts for all of us, and I can't wait to hear the last time a door its shut. A creaking peculiar noise which is telling me when it's safe to get outside.
 The only person who will stay with us it's just Miss Patty, a very sour woman whose everyday goal it's to make us feel under the cat's claw.
 I found that from the very beginning when I could speak and understand others around me, but here and now, the end of the week means freedom.
A little bit of freedom, enough to make us keep our sanity.
Miss Patty always was someone who had never been nice to children. None of them likes us I think.
 Even so, I am not complaining because things get their start to move. I can feel tiny bits of disturbing things scattering around the floor, being inhaled in the drugged air by all of us.
 I can feel that something is about to happen, and I can't wait for it.
 The first time I meet her, I was twelve years old, I was getting used to living unnoticed and unnecessary in the hallway when I, accidentally, woke up with my tiny body lost in her dress. I bumped into her by mistake, and her reaction wasn't nice at all. She was wearing a long black dress, an old-fashioned bright red hat, and her perfume was the first nice smell I felt in that house. A sweet flavor was hugging her slim white neck. Her dark-green eyes watch me furiously, but her thin lips formed a smile, while her cold sharp nailed hand grabbed me by my neck, moving my entire body away from her. Before her hand let go of my throat, she breathed something in my right ear. Her sigh was freezing my flesh as you wouldn't expect from a living body. I don't remember what she told me.
 I almost suffocate and fall on the dusty floor. I didn't cry, maybe because of the shock, but I find myself more curious than scared. 
Three years passed since. 
Yet on some days, I can't help myself, one little step followed by another ate the gap, and I am sure I will find myself again in front of those green eyes. Being stared at, frozen in place.
Sometimes, for a few seconds before class is over, I have to get out in the hall and set the materials we use back in the storeroom. That's when I feel the same eloquence on her face headed my way, from the depths of the hall. I never turn my head to see her, but I know she's there. Watching me. It's tempting.
The air's colder than usual as if her breath reaches the back of my head down my neck, quivers run down my bones, and before I knew it kids head out of the classrooms, while she's gone in a blink of an eye.
Later I found out that she hates children from the bottom of her heart, if she has any, no one knows or lived long enough to have a chance to tell us even if they find out the reason. 
Despite that, it makes me wonder, why she gazes her eyes into my soul whenever I am alone? I feel like I am close to finding out.
Beside her although, there are more sinister matters that happen here. I don't remember when exactly I start observing.
No one seems to notice their odd behavior that escapes sometimes, it makes me startled, but interested in a strange way. Shivers are working their way from the depths of my stomach, up to my dry throat until it reaches my burning cheeks.
Only when I try to picture this entire building in my head, a destructive feeling grabs my breathe and I find it hard calming down.
It's like nothing equivalent, tremendous and unusual, scary and old. 
However, at the same time is enigmatic, beautiful, and full of puzzles.
It makes me embrace the unexplained, crave for it, agonizing in stages of starvation for another round of odd things.
The start of the game it's like a suicidal invitation, a sweet deaf tune played by beasts welcomes you inside.
A single fractured sign mutters the name of it, on the right written in vicious letters eaten by dust and infected rust stuck in the mud with its two iron legs: ''Littlewood's hope''. Our orphanage. My lovely home which almost smiles, but a forced crooked smile. Looking down at me, the way you'd look at a tiny rat. 
After the sign gives its hello, there comes the front door, a...