Orphan Spirit

Orphan Spirit

Andy Young

Published by Andy Young at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Andy Young

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

Marianne lived alone, though she was only a child. She’d lived that way for a hundred years or more.

Her life felt like a dream, but not a very good one. Everything was confusing and unsteady, full of meaningless images, emerging from nowhere and retreating into nothing. Marianne never felt like she was in control of where she was or what she did. She watched the time pass by, though there wasn’t really anything worth watching. Every day was the same, yet she could not recall where she had been the day before, or what she had done. She was always alone, and she could not remember it ever being any other way. She never ate anything, she never changed clothes, and she never got dirty. She never slept.

It wasn’t much of a life. But that’s how it is when you’re dead.

She died when she was ten. She didn’t remember what happened to her, except that it was terrible. She didn’t remember her mother and father, though they certainly never forgot her, not for the rest of their lives. Nobody lived in their enormous house after they died, nobody except Marianne, who walked the empty hallways day and night, the same path over and over again, a bored specter slipping further and further into forgetfulness.

The trees in the yard grew wild; the lawn filled with weeds and wildflowers. Shingles fell from the high roof, birds made their nests in the attic, mice moved into the kitchen, then moved away when the crumbs were gone. Dust covered the shelves and floors. Cold winter drafts blew through the broken windows. Still Marianne paced the corridors, silently.

Then, one summer day, a FOR SALE sign appeared in the yard; the neighbors, who always stayed away, were surprised when just a few days later the house actually sold. What kind of person would ever want to buy such a spooky old place? As it turned out, it wasn’t any kind of person at all. The buyer was the State Government, and no sooner had the SOLD sign gone up than a work crew moved in. Behind the house they added two long wings of rooms along a pair of hallways. They replaced the rotted shingles, along with the old windows. They threw out the few remaining pieces of dusty furniture. They painted the walls, pulled the weeds and the wildflowers, planted grass. They trimmed the trees properly and built a brand new playset- monkey bars, swings, and slides- behind the newly added rooms.

On their last day, they hung a new sign on the front gate: STATE CHILDREN’S HOME. Just two days later, twenty five children moved in. For the first time in decades somebody was calling the old place home.

That’s a lot of changes for an old house like that, used to silence and emptiness, to nothing but whispers and the scamperings of mice.

And the bored, forgetful spirit of Marianne noticed the changes, and was disturbed.

Anahi sat up, wide awake, panicked already: she looked at the clock: 7:55. She’d slept in, was almost an hour late. Oh no, she thought, not again! She rolled out of bed, got her foot caught in the sheets, fell to the floor. Ouch. She got up, shook her foot free, opened the drawer of the plain wood dresser in her tiny room. Where was the blue shirt? She’d planned everything last night, so she could be organized: wear the blue shirt, the gray skirt with the blue stripes. These were new clothes, recently donated, just her size, and now they were gone. Stolen, she wondered? Lost? How could I lose them, she wondered, when I haven’t even worn them yet?

Nothing to do about it; she put on old clothes, some of the ones she’d brought with her when she moved to the Home: jeans with faded knees, a t-shirt with some cartoon character on it. She was putting on her socks when she saw the blue shirt and the skirt: they were sitting on the floor by the door of the room, right where she had put them the night before, so they would be ready. Arrrgh! She took off the jeans and t-shirt, put on the skirt and blue shirt, wondered about changing socks, decided not to, then decided to go ahead and change, ended up heading out the door of her room wearing one pink sock and one blue one.

The hallway was dark, empty; nobody waiting for the bathroom, nobody supervising. But we’re late, thought Anahi; it must be after 8:00 by now, and breakfast is over. She stepped back into her room, glanced again at the clock on her bedside table. It said 7:05. Seven? Oh no, thought Anahi. She must have misread the clock; she was actually up early.

Which meant the bathroom was empty; she ran down the hall, pushed open the door, waited for the automatic lights to flicker on, realized all her bathroom stuff was back in her room, ran back, got her stuff, ran back to the bathroom. Two kids came in while she was brushing her teeth: an older girl, sullen and haggard looking, and a girl younger than Anahi, holding a toothbrush in her hand, looking lost.

What are you looking at? said the older girl.

Nothing, squeaked Anahi. She tried ignoring the older girl, helped the younger girl instead, sharing toothpaste, guarding the door of one of the bathroom stalls while the girl did her business, counting to ten while she washed her hands. When the little girl was finished, the bathroom was starting to fill up; all the stalls were full, two girls were brushing their teeth at one of the sinks, the older girl was standing in front of the other sink, staring in the mirror, taking up space. Anahi escorted the little girl out of the bathroom, let go of her hand, put her own bathroom stuff away in her room, not realizing she’d put the little girl’s toothbrush in her bag.

She went to breakfast, waving to the hall monitor on the way, some new college girl she didn’t know. Breakfast was in a big room in the main house, what had once been the fancy master dining room. The meal was supposed to happen in three shifts, kids coming at 7:15, 7:30 and 7:45, but there were always kids coming at the wrong time; Anahi never remembered what her time was anyway. Seth was there, watching for her, saving her a seat at the table.

Is there anything left? she said worriedly, taking the seat beside him.

You’re early, he said. Relax. There’s still some oatmeal.

Oatmeal? groaned Anahi, her face falling. Ugh.

I’m kidding. It’s pig’s feet and frog’s legs.

What?

Relax, said Seth. Geeez. Just look at the the table.

She looked: eggs, pancakes, sausage, oatmeal. An empty plate that used to be cinnamon buns, but those always went fast, even if you were early. Anahi got up, got a plate from the counter, went back to the seat Seth was defending, got up again, got silverware, went back, realized she’d forgotten a fork, went to get it.

I sold your seat, said Seth when she returned. Tired of waiting.

What?

Sit, he said, rolling his eyes. Anahi got what was in reach: two pancakes, two sausage patties, a scoop of eggs. She placed her napkin carefully in her lap and looked at her plate: there was a cinnamon bun there.

Um...

I saved you one, said Seth. Yum yum.

Oh, said Anahi. She ate carefully, leaning over her plate, trying to protect her new skirt.

Where’s the girl? said a little boy sitting beside her.

What? asked Anahi, leaning close to him. She’d met him last night, his first night in the home, but couldn’t remember his name. Carlos or Kevin or something.

The girl in the white dress. I don’t see her.

What girl? said Anahi, looking around the table.

The girl in the white dress, said the little boy. I met her last night.

Anahi frowned, trying to remember. Is she new?

He shrugged. She was pretty.

Anahi kept eating, finishing the bun first so if food ran low she only had to share the eggs or sausage. The dining room was crowded now, younger kids at the table, older kids standing around with their plates in their hands, kids arguing over eggs, kids stealing food from other kids’ plates. Mr. Davis, the head morning guy, was there, keeping an eye on the plates, trying to make the food last until everyone had arrived.

Seth! he called across the table. You’ve had enough eggs. And put the bun back on the table.

I ate my bun.

The other one, Seth.

Seth groaned dramatically, produced a bun from his backpack, which was on the floor by his chair, set it on the table. Hands shot out to grab it.

That guy has like magic radar or something, he muttered.

Anahi finished, stacked her plate and silverware by the sink, left the dining room. The little boy, Carlos or Kevin, grabbed at her skirt as she passed.

Are you leaving?

I have to get my backpack.

Did you find the girl in the white dress?

Sorry, said Anahi. I don’t see her.

Anahi went into the hall; some of the kids were already standing around with their stuff, waiting to walk to the bus stop. She hurried down the hall, out to the girl’s wing, waved to the monitor again, looked up and down the hall, checked the bathroom, peeked under the stalls, looking for feet. I don’t see her anywhere, she thought. No girl in a white dress.

Then she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be searching for a girl in a white dress; she was looking for her backpack. She went to her room, but didn’t see it, went back to the hall, checked the dining room, which was almost empty. Nearly everyone was already outside, on their way to the bus. Anahi ran back to her room again, checked every place she’d already looked: under the bed, under the desk, under the chair. Nothing. She hurried back to the dining hall, searched wildly, then, worried they’d go without her, raced out the front door to catch up.

Seth was there, standing by the gate with everyone else, holding her backpack.

Are you coming? he called. I made them wait for you.

A monitor or social worker met them at the bus stop in the afternoon; elementary school-age kids like Seth and Anahi got out of school first. Mr. Davis, the morning guy, was off duty; Ms. Kim met them at the door, said hello, demanded to see notes, schoolwork, whatever. The kids had to do homework first, before anything else; most of them worked in what everyone called the TV room, what had once been the vast den of the house. There was a big TV in there, but that was off limits until after dinner, a determined monitor sitting beside it shooing kids away. The room was crowded with chairs and couches, a few desks along the walls, new furnishings bought when the house was redone, only just starting to accumulate pencil marks and blobs of gum. Anahi worked in the corner of a couch, her books on her lap.

Quiet, Seth, I’m trying to think, she said.

I haven’t said anything, Seth complained.

But you always do. Leave me alone. She and Seth were in the same class, theoretically had the same homework, but Seth never turned anything in.

Number two, he said.

What? Leave me alone.

Problem number two, said Seth, pointing. You did it wrong.

What? No I didn’t.

"You did. Look. It says half the class took the test, and a third of them got all the answers right. That means multiply, not subtract. One third of half the class."

Anahi stared. Oh. Yeah. Ok. Thanks.

Yup, said Seth, leaning back comfortably on the couch, hands behind his head. I’m a genius.

Shhhh, said Anahi, erasing carefully. I’m trying to think.

Middle school kids arrived next, then high school (just a handful of them), then last of all the two high school kids who did sports after school. Anahi was just finishing her homework; Seth was still beside her, watching, correcting, making jokes. Ms. Kim was on her hands and knees, trying to coax an angry boy out from under a table. He was shouting at her, stopping his ears with his fingers, not listening.

He’s crazy, said Seth.

You did that, said Anahi. Last week.

That’s different. I was angry. He’s crazy.

Dinner also happened in shifts, was also crazy, with kids coming at the wrong times. Dessert was ice cream; Seth managed to get one of the buckets close to him, kept scooping servings to Anahi, who kept passing them to the smaller kids who didn’t have any.

Wait, said Seth, spoon in his mouth. I passed you, like, seven bowls.

I’m fine, said Anahi, who didn’t have any.

But you said strawberry was your favorite.

I’m good, really, she said, watching the little girl next to her, her face smeared with ice cream. Anahi sighed.

Seth, said a voice. It was Ms. Kim, standing behind them.

Whatever it is, said Seth with a grin, I didn’t do it.

How is the plan going?

Ah, the plan, said Seth, nodding his head wisely. It’s going very well. Thanks for asking.

Is it? Because you didn’t show me your report today.

I think I lost it.

"You think you lost it?"

I lost it.

I see. I suppose I could call Ms. Repova and see if she can tell me how things went.

It was fine, like I said. Mostly fine. The table was quiet, listening, waiting to see what was going to happen to Seth.

Mostly fine?

Yeah, Seth smiled. Ms. Repova and I just had a little misunderstanding. A little problem with me, the teacher, and some burping. A few kids giggled.

I see.

I couldn’t help it, said Seth. Then he burped, surprisingly loud; more laughs from the table.

I’ll call her, said Ms. Kim.

Here. He produced a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It was the report. Ms. Repova had circled excellent on it. He burped again.

Ms. Kim frowned. So, you had it all along.

Sorry.

Well, at least it’s a good one. Nice job Seth. Now go do something.

Seth burped some more, various tones and volumes, lengths and intensities. Other kids joined in, a chorus of belching. Ms. Kim rubbed her temples.

Why didn’t you just show her? asked Anahi. You actually had a good one.

"I only got fair today, he said. That was yesterday’s."

They returned to the TV room after dinner, entered in the middle of a debate: watch sports or Up? Anahi wanted Up, but didn’t want to argue. Seth loved sports, but decided to lobby for Up instead, at one point throwing himself angrily under a table to try to get his way, but that didn’t work. Anahi wasn’t interested in basketball; she ended up in a corner of the crowded den, playing checkers with the little boy from the morning, Carlos or Kevin or something.

What is your name, anyway? she asked.

Michael, he said. Oops, thought Anahi. She was trying to teach him the game, making stupid moves so he could jump her.

King me! he said, gleefully.

Nice job, said Anahi.

Seth emerged from under the table, tired of being ignored. He watched