The lost children, p.1
The Lost Children, page 1
THE LOST CHILDREN
A HORROR ANTHOLOGY
JADYN ANG
Copyright © 2022
THE LOST CHILDREN:
A HORROR ANTHOLOGY
Stories
While You Are Sleeping
Child’s Play
Silent Night
Stolen
Learning to Survive
The Neighbours
Bedtime Monsters
Cemetery Gates
The Lost Children
While You Are Sleeping
While you are sleeping, do listen close
For out of the box, the little boy goes
Of the dreams where you hide, little Jack knows
Dragging the spring that he has for his toes
While you are sleeping, beware of the man
Who used to drum for the marching band
But time had chipped and ripped his hands
Now the old soldier seeks some limbs for rent
While you are sleeping, the dolls will wake
Their glass eyes blink on faces dead
Small feet tiptoe up to your bed
Plastic fingers trace your head
While you are sleeping, the small soldiers prowl
Along to the song box's gentle lull
The dolls' commands they dare not revile
With hunting knives, they unbolt your skull
While you are sleeping, they all awake
Of you a plaything they will make
But on your watch, they’ll have to play dead
So if you can…
Try to stay up late.
Child’s Play
Few things made young Luciana happier than to watch the world go by from her bedroom window. There, she could look down at the rocky pavement and imagine her tiny feet upon gravel. She could watch the blue skies above turn dark as the hours passed.
On lucky days, she could catch a glimpse of lovely birds weaving through the fluffy clouds, which always made her smile. Sometimes, she would even peer into her neighbour’s home out of curiosity, even if her father forbade her to.
"Leave the poor woman alone, Lucy," her father would tell her. "What would she think if she saw you spying on her?
"I'd be careful, I promise."
Her father’s stern façade vanished as he said with a chuckle and a grin, "Ah, that's not what I meant, you cheeky monkey. Grown-ups like their privacy. She wouldn’t be too pleased to see you looking in on her."
Luciana would laugh it off. But just as soon as her father had tucked her in and gone, she would get up, go back to the window, and watch the woman in the opposite house, where she never once left.
No one knew much about the woman, except that she had lived on the street longer than anyone else did.
Luciana knew a little more from what she saw. For instance, a man of her father’s age brought food up to her door three times a day, at eight in the morning, twelve in the noon, and seven in the evening.
In the hours between, the old woman had the company of her young grandson. The small child, who has to be no more than six, would sit in the rattan chair next to her bed. Every night, she would sing him to sleep.
Luciana never knew the exact words to the song. All she could hear was the faint hum of a mournful tune in the distance, consonant with the grim sorrow that she saw on the woman’s face. She listened and never forgot a note to it.
One wintry morning, Luciana finally turned five. She wondered what she would get this year.
When she was four and no longer enjoyed playing pretend with porcelain dolls, a doll was what her father had gotten her. Still, she allowed herself a gleeful giggle at the gift and in her heart, hoped for better next year.
She remembered how her father had tried not to let his disappointment show. The little girl had grown too fast for him to catch on, he had lamented to his mother when he thought she was out of earshot.
And so for her fifth birthday party, her father was set on getting her a gift that she would truly love. He recalled seeing his precocious daughter look at the stars every night and knew he had it right this time.
He was at least half right. Luciana had loved a reason to look out the windows, though it wasn’t just for the stars.
He had never seen a smile wider than hers when she tore the gift wrap open and saw the antique telescope. Even it was far too large for her stature. He laughed when she jumped into his arms, wondering when she would get too big, too soon.
Had his gift shopping gone wrong again, the small family would have been delighted enough by her stepmother’s culinary magic. Just the night before, she had baked a cake that proved too massive for three. They decided to share it with the neighbours, who cheered at a reason for celebration.
All of the guests who were invited came to the birthday party, except for one. The ancient woman was as aloof as she looked, ignoring the doorbell as she did the small invitation note. The young man whom Luciana saw with her, however, showed up.
“The name’s Dave,” the man said as he shook her father’s hand at the door, “Thanks for the invite, I saw it by my mother’s door. I’m sorry that she couldn’t be here. Hope you don’t mind that I came by instead.”
“Not at all, it’s nice of you to come. I see that you bear gifts for my little girl too.”
“Well, I couldn’t come by empty-handed.”
Just as Luciana peeked out from behind her father, Dave feigned surprise. He revealed his bear-shaped gift, “I suppose this is for you, young lady.”
Poorly wrapped as it was, Luciana blushed with a soft thank you. She saw his eyes gleam with tears. She could not understand why he was sad when he had seemed happy just a second ago.
Her father must have thought the same for he was asking whether Dave was alright, offering him a cup of tea for comfort. To which, Dave wiped away his tears, shook his head, and apologised. He explained to the puzzled faces around him, “It’s just that… She reminds me of my Freddie.”
At the name, Luciana thought of the little boy in the rattan chair whom she had seen by the woman’s bed.
That must be him!
Her voice was bright as she shouted with excitement, “Is that his name? Freddie?”
Dave did not answer. Luciana could almost swear the man was looking away, as though fearful.
“I… I’ve got to go,” he mumbled and left.
“What a strange man, wasn’t he,” Father said to Luciana before taking her by the hand.
She nodded, though strange wasn’t the word she would used to describe that sad man. She let her father lead her towards her Aunt, who had travelled far for her party. It did not take long before the incident slipped their minds.
The rest of the party was as lovely as Luciana had ever dreamt. Her excitement lasted through the day and never quite left in the middle of the night.
Her pounding heart kept her up even at the stroke of midnight, though she pretended to be sound asleep when her father had looked in one last time. Soon as he was gone, she crawled out of bed and stacked books by the window.
She tiptoed on the book pile and looked through her new telescope, hoping that the night sky could calm her. Just as she was admiring the beauty of the stars, her thoughts turned to Dave.
She reminds me of my Freddie.
What had that meant? She remembered his eyes brimming with tears and wondered why her mention of Freddie had upset him so. Shouldn’t all fathers love their children dearly and brighten at the sound of their names?
Perhaps that grief had been for his mother, who couldn’t leave her bed, Luciana thought. That must be hard on them both, not being able to spend time with each other beyond the walls.
She wondered why they no longer lived together as other families do. Doesn't she ever get lonely in that big old house? Her racing thoughts made her more awake than before.
She pulled herself away from the telescope lens and gazed into the window opposite hers. She began to wonder aloud, "Who are you? What kind of life have you led before? How many lives had you lived?"
The old woman simply slept in her bed without a clue to offer. Her grandson – Freddie - sat in his chair, just as they always did. Under the moonlight, his rosy cheeks lit up his olive skin. Luciana thought him quite handsome. She blushed, her face turning an apple shade of red.
As she let her thoughts run more, her decision was set in stone. At the age of five and a day, Luciana decided that she would visit the old lady and her little boy in secret, if only to learn more about what others would not.
The next night, the familiar lullaby came right on time. The old woman sang it in her haunting voice, ill with profound loneliness. The melancholy that it conjured was unsettling. But that only strengthened Luciana’s will and curious heart.
Socks on, she tiptoed down the stairs in her nightdress. She peeped into her parents' bedroom before she left. Her stepmother was sound asleep, lying right next to her snoring father. She wondered if they would chide her in the morning, but decided not to worry about tomorrow.
I’m sorry! She apologised for her mischief. It’s much easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission, she once read in a book. She kissed them in her thoughts, and was soon out the door.
The lure of the beautiful melody was louder now and it kept drawing her in.
Up close, the old lady’s house looked daunting in both size and history. Luciana could see the fresh coat of paint, flaking off the walls. Plucking all t he courage she could find, she remembered her reason for visiting and knocked on the big, red door.
It creaked ajar, its silence inviting. The child did not expect that at all. Nevertheless, she accepted.
The house looked similar to her home, only that the furniture was much older, as though unused for years. There were dirt and holes everywhere – on the chairs, on the dining table with a broken leg, on the oil paintings on the cracked walls.
She shivered at the sight, unacquainted with such poverty, desolation, and the resultant pity that sat in her heart.
The song echoed louder, beckoning her to move on. There was an urgency to the call of the melody. Luciana felt a tear roll down her cheek. Pain rose in her chest from fear. A lump formed in her throat. She realised her mistake, coming here alone without dear Father to protect her.
But the music tempted and attempted to comfort her nerves. Luciana somehow found the courage to keep moving, now up the stairs towards the room that she knew well enough.
Edging closer to the door, she kept her breaths shallow for the room was more putrid than wet paint. It was too dark and too cold.
Sorry, Father, she whispered in her mind. I should’ve listened.
Too late it was. She had come too far to turn back. She hardened her resolve and moved past the door.
There, she saw what she wanted to see.
Freddie!
The boy sat in his rattan chair, his face lit by a nearby lamp, unmoving and quiet. His skin was paler than it had looked from the distance, his cheeks a darker crimson.
For a while, Luciana was delighted to meet another child of her age in the flesh. There never were many children in her quiet neighbourhood.
“Hello!” she ran towards him and said, “I’m Luciana. You can call me Lucy like my father does.”
But the boy did not tell her his name in return.
Perhaps he couldn’t hear me.
She cleared her throat and repeated herself as loud as she could. All he did was to stare ahead, into her, or perhaps past her. His icy gaze frightened her.
She refused to be disheartened and decided to edge closer to him while forcing a smile upon her quivering lips.
“You’re Freddie, aren’t you?”
Now, he had to have heard her! She was mere inches away from the boy.
It was only then that she realised where the pungent smell had come from. The stench was not all she noticed. Her eyes followed the many threads that were woven in and out of his skin.
She gasped, unsure of what to think.
She barely managed to whisper the words in her thoughts, "What… happened to you?"
Despite her question, she had a good guess on what she was looking at. She had seen more than a few preserved creatures in the local museum’s cabinet of curiosities. Their glassy eyes and glossy skin had looked exactly like Freddie’s.
The boy stared at Luciana with life yet quietude, as though he was glad that she finally understood. All the questions about the woman had gone from her head and now turned to Freddie.
"Who were you?" she said. "And how did you... die?”
She trembled at the thought of him being dead… but alive.
All this while, the grey old woman was watching the child. Luciana could feel her empty stare weigh heavy on her. There, she wanted nothing more than to apologise and run back home to her beloved parents.
She was about to turn and leave, so she could tell her father the horrors that she had seen. She already felt her growing exasperation that would come with his eventual disbelief. Perhaps she could then bring him to Dave, who would have to tell them the truth about his boy, wouldn’t he?
But the woman’s humming stopped Luciana in her thoughts and tracks. The song had a hold of her, soaring and commanding her to sing along, calling out to her to join in.
Luciana could no longer run, no matter how hard she tried. Her feet felt like lead, like they no longer belonged to her.
This time, she could hear every word of the song clearly as she stood rooted to the ground. She sobbed in terror as the odd melody swirled through the air:
Stick needles and pins
In a doll made of skin
He stares right back
With revulsion within
Look into his eyes
And see that they have died
Oh catatonic, oh catatonic
My little Frederik
Silence deadened the air when the song – Freddie’s story – finally came to an abrupt end.
The odd couple only looked at Luciana and she, back at them. She saw how fragile they were, their skin cracked and brittle, and almost let her guard down.
Almost. Even at the tender age of five, she saw the menace in their eyes and just knew. They were never going to let her go. She was never going to see her beloved father and mother again.
“My dear Frederik, my friend,” she begged and begged as she shivered in fear. “Please let me leave. Father and Mother will be worried about me. Let me go and I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
Neither answered her pleas. The song only started anew. That was in a way, she realised, an answer that declined her wish to depart.
Her knees buckled as she fell to the wooden floor. She trembled as she cried with everything left in her, not merely for the bruises she suffered.
There, she finally saw it – what the old woman had always seen and had no one to tell. The boy wanted her to know everything. Words were floating from his tight-sewn lips towards her mind, like feathers in the wind.
There's no point in running
It's just you and me
No point in screaming
So just let it be
Leave your dear Mother
So she'll find another
A catatonic, a catatonic
My only Frederick
Oh Freddie, oh Freddie
If only you knew better
But you know and I know
That none of that mattered...
Silent Night
This Christmas, there were no stars in the skies. There were no lights or fir trees tucked in the corners of lively homes by warm fireplaces. On the blanket of snow where she stood, Mona pulled her mother's coat over her sweater.
Heavy as the coat was for her tiny body, she was glad to have brought it along. One could very well freeze solid in this weather without which, even if the snow had stopped falling for a long time.
With its last bit of generosity, the cold wind gave off a gentle albeit lingering breeze. Then, the air was at rest again. Dark clouds gathered and roared in their moody tantrum, then unleashed a sleuth of heat that fell with grey rain.
Mona let the rain touch her fingers. Every drop pulverised into a darker shade of ash. She swabbed her dirty finger and left a light smear on her white sweater.
It had turned slightly beige, she realised. She frowned, wishing she had some clean water to wash it with. But she knew that even if she did, she wouldn’t waste it on washing anything at all. She would drink every last drop of it if only to survive. That is even if the sweater was the most precious thing she had ever owned.
