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The Orphanage [Chapter 1: The Museum]
"Hey, check this out!" Sam said, with an undertone of worry in his voice, as he shoved his phone in my face. showing me the news article he had pulled up.
MUSEUM OPENS ON 160 YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF SILVER OAK ORPHANAGE'S SERIAL KILLINGS
June 24th, 1861 the 8 caregivers in charge of Silver Oak Orphanage were found brutally murdered in their own orphanage. Today, a museum is opened to honor those who lost their lives, almost 2 centuries later.
"Do you think they've found it? Maybe they've been holding out on the information as, like a sort of big reveal moment." Sam took back his phone, quickly scrolling through the remainder of the article. "I highly doubt it. They didnt find it back then, there is no way they would have found it now." I said, trying my best to comfort him. "Besides. it's probably long gone by now."
"But what if they did! You always see these documentaries about how they found some artifact from like, a thousand years ago! What if they-"
"SAM!" I shouted, cutting him off. He had now set his phone down on the table and was looking at me like he was about to have a panic attack. "Do you want to get the attention of the entire café?" Looking around Sam could see that people were starting to stare in our direction. He sank in his seat. I leaned forward and, speaking in a hushed, yet stern voice said: "You and I both know that there is no way they managed to find that book! Even if they somehow managed to uncover the location, they'll never get in!" Slowly I can see his shoulders start to relax and his breathing slow.
Sitting back, I continued to shovel what remained of my breakfast into my mouth. "You're probably right," he sighed "but shouldn't we go look? You know, just in case?" He was clearly nervous. His leg looked like it was ready to run off on its own, and his thumb was now on the verge of having no remaining fingernail. I sighed. "Fine. But you're paying."
On the drive over to the museum, I got this feeling that was starting to creep up on me more and more. I don't even know if I could describe that feeling. I was excited, but it was more than that. It felt almost as if I was proud. Proud to know that to this day people were still talking about what I had done. It was as if this museum was my trophy.
We turned the corner into the parking lot and...ther it was. It was exactly like what the orphanage had originally looked like. It was as if they had peered into the past, and plucked it out from where it stood all those years ago. The wood that made up the outer walls were dark and decrepit, like they had been worn down by time. Even on the pillars holding up the balcony, they had managed to get the chunk of wood missing that had been taken out by the "accidental" gunshot.
We parked the car. As we were walking up to the entrance Sam grabbed my arm. Slowing me down. "I dont like this Kat."
"What are you talking about? You're the one who wanted to come here in the first place!" I grabbed his hand that was still clutching my arm, and started walking with him in tow. Gripping my hand tighter, he jogs to catch back up. "Kat! I'm being serious, can't you feel it?"
I give a slight pause, opening up to my surroundings. About 50ft in front of us now, is the museum. Being 3 stories tall, it gives off an overbearing feeling. A feeling like it might collapse in on itself at any moment. Surrounding us are hordes of people, who seem to just be going about their day. Continuing into the building without a second thought.
"It's probably just your nerves talking. This place does look very similar to the original." I say that, but I almost cant tell who I'm trying to convince, me or him. It's like there's now this sudden pressure on my shoulders, that I'm sure won't dissipate until we leave this place.
Sam mumbles something under his breath and pulls me forward, still holding onto my hand. "What?" I say. "Nothing...C'mon, let's hurry and get this over with."
Walking through the museum is like a trip down memory lane. Looking at all the wax figures of whom had lived there, and what they looked like: I'm remembering friends that I had long since forgotten, names of places I had seemingly erased from my memory. It was overwhelming.
As we enter each of the rooms, I can remember conversations that were had. I can remember dishes that were thrown across the kitchen, as we made our escape with a few slices of bread and cheese. I remember the feeling of falling off the 2nd story balcony, after I had talked back to one of the staff members. I was only 8 at the time. Sneaking out in the dead of night to watch the sparking lights of gun and cannon fire in the distance. Only to be dragged back in by our throats. Being told that if we even had the idea of going outside, that we would be sent off to join the army. I would have preferred anything compared to that place at the time.
Every room we enter I can feel the anger, the sadness, and the eventual void of all emotions that I once had start to build back up inside me. Walking down the halls, I can still see the tenebrosity of the path in front of me. Only illuminated by the dull glint from the blood crusted knife I held in my hands. Opening rooms I can see the faceless figure of one of our caretakers. Blood flowing from her endlessly, as he lidless eyes stare back at me, empty. I shake my head in an attempt to bring myself back to the present.
"Hey...you ok? You've been standing here for like, 5 minutes now." Sam says, wrapping his arms around my waist in a hug.
"Yeah. Fine, just...remembering." I return his hug in full as we stand there in silence for the next few seconds. "C'mon, let's keep going."
Pushing further in we continue onto the 2nd and 3rd floors. The deeper into the place we get, the less time we spend in each room. Lest we risk reliving our past. Now approaching the last room I can start to hear someone speaking. On the door is a sign: SPEAKER LYDIA PYMER
"You think she's a historian?" Sam whispered.
"No idea. Let's check it out."
Opening the door. I see the room is filled to the brim with people. Kids are sitting on the floor up at the front, while the parents and adults are standing around the edges of the room. At the very front, seated in what looks like a bar stool type chair, is a woman. She looks to be in her late 20's early 30's, long brown hair half done up in a bun. Her skin was slightly blotched with different shades of tan, as of she had been under the sun her entire life. She wore a red and yellow plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbow, with a pair of blue jeans and some worn out work boots. If she hadn't been sitting up front, you could almost mistake her for just another person in the crowd.
We make our way through the packed room towards a side wall. We stand and listen to this woman ramble on and on about all the good things orphanages did back then. And how "we would not be where we are today if it wasn't for these orphanage workers". I let out a snide little chuckle. "F***ing Bulls***" I whispered to myself. If only these people knew what actually happened. If they knew what went on behind closed doors, they would not be standing here, listening to this crap. The lecture finally comes to and end and Sam grabs my arm, holding me to our spot against the wall.
"It was her!" Whispering under his breath so only I can hear.
"What are you talking about?"
"It was her! The reason I felt so...off about this place. She's one of us!" He points to the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. 2 Figure 8s conjoined at the center, are imprinted on her wrist, just below her palm. My eyes flicker back and forth between my wrist and her wrist; not even wanting to believe what is right in front of them.
In almost utter disbelief, I muttered; "Well, that-that doesn't mean she's from our time. Even if she was, the odds of her having been there are practically slim to none...right?"
"Maybe we should talk to her." Sam suggested
"What? No. No way. You know I don't talk to those people." Pushing off the wall. I turn back towards the door to leave. Sam quickly steps in front of me and holds onto my arm.
"Why not? We could try to get some information out of her. At least figure out what time she's from." He whispers. Staring at the woman put of the corner of his eye.
"Oh yeah? And how, pray tell, do you suggest we find that out? You certainly can't just walk up and ask her!"
Standing up straighter, with an air of defiance about him, he says: "Watch me." I stare at him dumbfounded, and watch as he strides over to this woman and proceeds to speak with her. I instinctively hold my breath as I see him pointing out the tattoo on his wrist. "This idiot is going to get us killed." I say in my head, since my body refuses to move. Still watching in horror, as Sam finishes up his conversation and walks back towards me. The woman staring at him with intrigue the entire way. A slight smirk on her face.
"Well? What happened? What did she say?" I stood there with baited breath, just waiting for an answer. Hoping that we hadn't just given ourselves away. Sam however, just continued staring straight ahead. All the color had drained from his face. Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, let's...let's talk at home." He then grabs my had and pulls me out of the museum. I am speechless. My brain, flying a million miles a second. Going through any and all possible scenarios. The ride home was utter silence. Sam drives up into the garage and closes the door. Neither one of us dared to move from the car.
Terrified by what was about to come, I say: "You...uh, want to tell me what she said now?" I stare down at my hands, holding them together between my knees. Silently hoping that he was about to say that we had it all wrong, and he just made a fool of himself.
"Remind me. Back at the orphanage. Who else was there?" Sam's question confused me.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"At the orphanage. In the days leading up to what happened. Do you remember who else was there?"
"I mean...I guess there were a few other children. But they all died in the orphanage, or in a few days following the incident." I turn in my seat to face him. "We checked!"
"Not well enough, evidently." He stated. "Lydia Pymer: age 24. and grew up in an orphanage. 3 guesses what the name of that orphanage was." I sink in my seat. the word "no" barely escapes my lips. "That's right. Silver Oak Orphanage."
© Katherine_Fern
MUSEUM OPENS ON 160 YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF SILVER OAK ORPHANAGE'S SERIAL KILLINGS
June 24th, 1861 the 8 caregivers in charge of Silver Oak Orphanage were found brutally murdered in their own orphanage. Today, a museum is opened to honor those who lost their lives, almost 2 centuries later.
"Do you think they've found it? Maybe they've been holding out on the information as, like a sort of big reveal moment." Sam took back his phone, quickly scrolling through the remainder of the article. "I highly doubt it. They didnt find it back then, there is no way they would have found it now." I said, trying my best to comfort him. "Besides. it's probably long gone by now."
"But what if they did! You always see these documentaries about how they found some artifact from like, a thousand years ago! What if they-"
"SAM!" I shouted, cutting him off. He had now set his phone down on the table and was looking at me like he was about to have a panic attack. "Do you want to get the attention of the entire café?" Looking around Sam could see that people were starting to stare in our direction. He sank in his seat. I leaned forward and, speaking in a hushed, yet stern voice said: "You and I both know that there is no way they managed to find that book! Even if they somehow managed to uncover the location, they'll never get in!" Slowly I can see his shoulders start to relax and his breathing slow.
Sitting back, I continued to shovel what remained of my breakfast into my mouth. "You're probably right," he sighed "but shouldn't we go look? You know, just in case?" He was clearly nervous. His leg looked like it was ready to run off on its own, and his thumb was now on the verge of having no remaining fingernail. I sighed. "Fine. But you're paying."
On the drive over to the museum, I got this feeling that was starting to creep up on me more and more. I don't even know if I could describe that feeling. I was excited, but it was more than that. It felt almost as if I was proud. Proud to know that to this day people were still talking about what I had done. It was as if this museum was my trophy.
We turned the corner into the parking lot and...ther it was. It was exactly like what the orphanage had originally looked like. It was as if they had peered into the past, and plucked it out from where it stood all those years ago. The wood that made up the outer walls were dark and decrepit, like they had been worn down by time. Even on the pillars holding up the balcony, they had managed to get the chunk of wood missing that had been taken out by the "accidental" gunshot.
We parked the car. As we were walking up to the entrance Sam grabbed my arm. Slowing me down. "I dont like this Kat."
"What are you talking about? You're the one who wanted to come here in the first place!" I grabbed his hand that was still clutching my arm, and started walking with him in tow. Gripping my hand tighter, he jogs to catch back up. "Kat! I'm being serious, can't you feel it?"
I give a slight pause, opening up to my surroundings. About 50ft in front of us now, is the museum. Being 3 stories tall, it gives off an overbearing feeling. A feeling like it might collapse in on itself at any moment. Surrounding us are hordes of people, who seem to just be going about their day. Continuing into the building without a second thought.
"It's probably just your nerves talking. This place does look very similar to the original." I say that, but I almost cant tell who I'm trying to convince, me or him. It's like there's now this sudden pressure on my shoulders, that I'm sure won't dissipate until we leave this place.
Sam mumbles something under his breath and pulls me forward, still holding onto my hand. "What?" I say. "Nothing...C'mon, let's hurry and get this over with."
Walking through the museum is like a trip down memory lane. Looking at all the wax figures of whom had lived there, and what they looked like: I'm remembering friends that I had long since forgotten, names of places I had seemingly erased from my memory. It was overwhelming.
As we enter each of the rooms, I can remember conversations that were had. I can remember dishes that were thrown across the kitchen, as we made our escape with a few slices of bread and cheese. I remember the feeling of falling off the 2nd story balcony, after I had talked back to one of the staff members. I was only 8 at the time. Sneaking out in the dead of night to watch the sparking lights of gun and cannon fire in the distance. Only to be dragged back in by our throats. Being told that if we even had the idea of going outside, that we would be sent off to join the army. I would have preferred anything compared to that place at the time.
Every room we enter I can feel the anger, the sadness, and the eventual void of all emotions that I once had start to build back up inside me. Walking down the halls, I can still see the tenebrosity of the path in front of me. Only illuminated by the dull glint from the blood crusted knife I held in my hands. Opening rooms I can see the faceless figure of one of our caretakers. Blood flowing from her endlessly, as he lidless eyes stare back at me, empty. I shake my head in an attempt to bring myself back to the present.
"Hey...you ok? You've been standing here for like, 5 minutes now." Sam says, wrapping his arms around my waist in a hug.
"Yeah. Fine, just...remembering." I return his hug in full as we stand there in silence for the next few seconds. "C'mon, let's keep going."
Pushing further in we continue onto the 2nd and 3rd floors. The deeper into the place we get, the less time we spend in each room. Lest we risk reliving our past. Now approaching the last room I can start to hear someone speaking. On the door is a sign: SPEAKER LYDIA PYMER
"You think she's a historian?" Sam whispered.
"No idea. Let's check it out."
Opening the door. I see the room is filled to the brim with people. Kids are sitting on the floor up at the front, while the parents and adults are standing around the edges of the room. At the very front, seated in what looks like a bar stool type chair, is a woman. She looks to be in her late 20's early 30's, long brown hair half done up in a bun. Her skin was slightly blotched with different shades of tan, as of she had been under the sun her entire life. She wore a red and yellow plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbow, with a pair of blue jeans and some worn out work boots. If she hadn't been sitting up front, you could almost mistake her for just another person in the crowd.
We make our way through the packed room towards a side wall. We stand and listen to this woman ramble on and on about all the good things orphanages did back then. And how "we would not be where we are today if it wasn't for these orphanage workers". I let out a snide little chuckle. "F***ing Bulls***" I whispered to myself. If only these people knew what actually happened. If they knew what went on behind closed doors, they would not be standing here, listening to this crap. The lecture finally comes to and end and Sam grabs my arm, holding me to our spot against the wall.
"It was her!" Whispering under his breath so only I can hear.
"What are you talking about?"
"It was her! The reason I felt so...off about this place. She's one of us!" He points to the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. 2 Figure 8s conjoined at the center, are imprinted on her wrist, just below her palm. My eyes flicker back and forth between my wrist and her wrist; not even wanting to believe what is right in front of them.
In almost utter disbelief, I muttered; "Well, that-that doesn't mean she's from our time. Even if she was, the odds of her having been there are practically slim to none...right?"
"Maybe we should talk to her." Sam suggested
"What? No. No way. You know I don't talk to those people." Pushing off the wall. I turn back towards the door to leave. Sam quickly steps in front of me and holds onto my arm.
"Why not? We could try to get some information out of her. At least figure out what time she's from." He whispers. Staring at the woman put of the corner of his eye.
"Oh yeah? And how, pray tell, do you suggest we find that out? You certainly can't just walk up and ask her!"
Standing up straighter, with an air of defiance about him, he says: "Watch me." I stare at him dumbfounded, and watch as he strides over to this woman and proceeds to speak with her. I instinctively hold my breath as I see him pointing out the tattoo on his wrist. "This idiot is going to get us killed." I say in my head, since my body refuses to move. Still watching in horror, as Sam finishes up his conversation and walks back towards me. The woman staring at him with intrigue the entire way. A slight smirk on her face.
"Well? What happened? What did she say?" I stood there with baited breath, just waiting for an answer. Hoping that we hadn't just given ourselves away. Sam however, just continued staring straight ahead. All the color had drained from his face. Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, let's...let's talk at home." He then grabs my had and pulls me out of the museum. I am speechless. My brain, flying a million miles a second. Going through any and all possible scenarios. The ride home was utter silence. Sam drives up into the garage and closes the door. Neither one of us dared to move from the car.
Terrified by what was about to come, I say: "You...uh, want to tell me what she said now?" I stare down at my hands, holding them together between my knees. Silently hoping that he was about to say that we had it all wrong, and he just made a fool of himself.
"Remind me. Back at the orphanage. Who else was there?" Sam's question confused me.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"At the orphanage. In the days leading up to what happened. Do you remember who else was there?"
"I mean...I guess there were a few other children. But they all died in the orphanage, or in a few days following the incident." I turn in my seat to face him. "We checked!"
"Not well enough, evidently." He stated. "Lydia Pymer: age 24. and grew up in an orphanage. 3 guesses what the name of that orphanage was." I sink in my seat. the word "no" barely escapes my lips. "That's right. Silver Oak Orphanage."
© Katherine_Fern
