They called it “the gift,” such folk as me. Always felt more like a curse. But that’s the tale.
Just weeks old, my mother left me at the orphanage door. Perhaps she shared this same burden and feared I might inherit it. I never knew. Regardless, I grew among strangers. Miss Margaret Evans, one of our carers, first glimpsed my peculiarity. She’d recall a moment when another child snatched my doll. “I swear,” she’d whisper later, “young Tommy flew clear across the rug, and you simply took your toy back.” Margaret understood instantly. She was kind, shielding me. “They’d take you away for experiments,” she’d murmur, teaching me control alongside my letters. Anger could move things, even people. I felt the very hum of life around me, sensed its goodness or foulness without a spoken word. Felt like a blessing? It felt like isolation. Others sensed my difference too, steering clear. Not one family ever chose me. I ached for tenderness, for a mother’s touch, as much as any child.
Jenny – Irene truly, but she refused it – was my sole friend. We were family to each other. She knew my secret, guarded it fiercely, never asking its use for her own gain. For that, I loved her. Jenny had given up hope of adoption; fifteen felt ancient in the orphanage. Then, one bright morning, she burst into our room, eyes blazing, her fierce energy washing over me.
“What happened?”
“Annie!!! Can you imagine?! A family! They want me!”
She flung her arms round my shoulders, spinning us both wildly. “They’ve chosen me! I’m so lucky!” Abruptly, she stopped, her expression serious. “Don’t fret, I’ll visit constantly! When *you’re* adopted, we’ll have family picnics! Come on, come see them now! Outside the Headmistress’s study!” She dragged me by the hand.
We stopped as the heavy door swung open. A couple emerged. The man was broad-shouldered, with a sharp chin and strong cheekbones. I felt their life-forces instantly. A wave of unpleasantness washed over me. From the man, Sir Reginald Alistair, pulsed not just strength, but cruelty, a coarse anger. The woman seemed frail, terrified, radiating utter exhaustion and emptiness.
“Oh, Jenny, dear!” Sir Reginald beamed.
I shuddered.
“Nearly finished the paperwork,” he announced. “Home with us tomorrow!”
Jenny rushed to hug him. In that surge of his energy, I caught not paternal love, but something darker… something akin to hunger. Back in our room, Jenny paced, elated. I sat on the bed, grappling with what I’d felt. Perhaps I imagined it?
“What’s wrong?” Jenny plopped down beside me. “Don’t look so glum! I told you, I’ll visit!”
“Jen, I don’t like them. Particularly that man. He doesn’t feel… kind.”
Jenny frowned. “Stop it, Annie! Why say such things? Are you jealous? I’ve waited so long! I’ll finally have a mother, a father! Sir Reginald is lovely. He promised me my own big room. Can you imagine?”
“But Jen, you know I sense people!”
“Annie, leave it! The psychologists and the Headmistress screened them. Perfect candidates. He works, she stays home. They have all the certificates. If they were monsters, it would show!”
She stood sharply, walking to the window. “I thought you’d be happy for me,” her voice wavered. Shame washed over me. I hugged her from behind. “I’m sorry, of course I’m happy. You’re right. I imagined it. I just… I’ll miss you terribly.”
“Don’t worry, you’re only seven. Someone will take you. Now, I must pack.”
Sleep evaded me. I dreamt of Sir Reginald, monstrous, eyes glowing savagely, dripping fangs where his mouth should be. Jenny shook me awake. Dressed and ready, she led me to the porch. I clung to her fiercely, as if my embrace could shield her. She climbed into their car. As the other carers drifted inside, I alone remained. I alone saw the woman exhale with palpable relief as she got in, and Sir Reginald offer a sly, lopsided smirk.
I was distracted all day. Miss Evans noticed. During recreation, she led me behind the big oak tree at the yard’s edge. “Annie, what troubles you? Missing Jenny?”
“You believe me, don’t you, Miss Evans?”
“Of course, child.”
“Terrible people took her. Especially him. He’s bad.”
Miss Evans pondered. “That’s dreadful news. Perhaps you simply grieve her loss. Or perhaps they are wicked. But what can we do? Their credentials are impeccable. Perfectly suitable.”
“But why take such an old girl? Why not a younger child?”
“What are you implying?”
“I don’t know, Miss Evans. I just don’t.” I left her standing there, troubled.
Unease gnawed at me all afternoon. A headache pulsed, my being screamed for action. As dusk swallowed the sun, my heart hammered wildly. I sat bolt upright, certain I’d heard Jenny’s scream. I couldn’t bear it. I ran to the only one who might help.
“Miss Evans, please! We must help her! Something awful will happen! Please believe me! Can we go? You have the address? Just to check! If all is well, I swear I’ll never ask again!” I wept, tugging her sleeve like a much younger child.
Miss Evans pressed her lips thin. “Very well,” she breathed. “But if discovered, my career is finished. Quietly, through the kitchen garden. To my car. I’ll fetch the address.”
Relief flooded me. We must know.
Silence filled the car. I twisted the bead bracelet Jenny made for me. The house loomed large, isolated, under a darkening sky.
“Good heavens, Annie,” Miss Evans breathed with dread. “Even without your gift… it feels sinister.”
I knew. I felt it.
“What shall we do?”
“Wait here. I’m small. I can slip under the fence there,” I pointed. “I’ll peer through a window. If anything’s amiss, I’ll warn you.”
“Too dangerous! What if they see you?”
“They won’t!” I sounded surer than I felt. She nodded.
Darting towards the manor, I wriggled under the rusted iron fence, grass staining my frock. Unimportant. I crept to a lit ground-floor window – the kitchen. Inside, the woman sat, cigarette in hand, drinking wine from a crystal goblet. Suddenly, Sir Reginald appeared in the doorway. I ducked. The window was slightly open.
“Our agreement stands?” the woman asked, her voice flat.
“Indubitably,” Sir Reginald drawled. “Frankly, didn’t expect success. Played the doting mama beautifully.”
“You promised. A young girl for your… pleasures. And you leave me be.”
“Cease your trembling,” he gripped her chin roughly. “You’re too old, too worn out to interest me now. Touch the girl, though, aid her… you know precisely what I can do.” He released her. She drained her glass.
“Couldn’t care less what you do to her. Just leave me in peace.” She refilled her glass heavily and stalked out. Loud music soon thumped from another room.
Even now, watching Rina sleep peacefully, safe in the little room next to mine in Margaret’s small cottage by the Yorkshire Moors, I know that burden I carried saved us both and gave us the precious family we’d always dreamt of, together.
