Chilling tales for the restless night

Calf

In a grand, old mansion set deep in the quiet countryside, there lived 240 children. These children had no mothers or fathers, but they had each other, and they called themselves siblings. Among them was a bright little girl named Margarette, just ten years old. She, like all the other girls—140 in total—slept in the great girls' dormitory, where the rows of beds stretched as far as the eye could see. The boys, 100 in number, had their own room, but they all shared the same life, the same routines, and the same dreams.

From the time they could walk, Margarette and her siblings lived under the care of Mama and the aunts, the women who took care of the orphanage. Each day began with the rising sun, the soft chime of the morning bell stirring the children from their sleep. They ate together, cooked, cleaned, studied, and played together in the vast gardens that surrounded the mansion. Mama and the aunts always had gentle smiles on their faces, and each night, they would gather the children to read them stories of far-off lands, kind-hearted families, and endless love.

But despite the warmth of their daily lives, every child harbored a secret wish—a wish to one day be chosen. For as long as they could remember, they had all been waiting to be adopted, to leave the mansion behind and live with a real family. The children spoke of it in hushed tones before bed, imagining the toys they might receive, the rooms they would play in, and the arms that would hold them close. They dreamt of belonging to someone special, of hearing the words "my son" or "my daughter" spoken just for them.

Every month, and sometimes more often, Mama would announce that certain children would have the chance to meet a family. Excitement would ripple through the mansion on those mornings, and the chosen children would be dressed in their finest clothes, with new shoes and crisp dresses or suits. But these weren't ordinary clothes—they bore little tags with numbers. Margarette knew that her number was 36, and she hoped that one day it would be her turn to wear the dress with her number carefully stitched onto it.

When the time came for the chosen children to meet the visiting families, they were gathered in a large room. The children sat in neat rows of chairs, hearts racing, and hands clasped tightly in their laps. Margarette would sit with her friends, her heart filled with hope for her siblings who had been chosen for this special moment.

The doors would open, and Mama, with a kind smile, would enter, followed by a man, a woman, or sometimes both. These were the families who had come to see the children, to perhaps choose one to take home. The air in the room would grow heavy with anticipation as the visitors moved slowly through the rows, looking closely at each child. They would inspect them—lifting their hair, touching their arms, checking their skin and weight as if they were looking for something precious.

Sometimes, the visitors would whisper to each other in hushed tones. "This one is too skinny," one might say, with a frown. "Don't they feed her enough?"

Margarette's heart would sink whenever she heard such words, for she knew what they meant. A child who was deemed too thin or not perfect enough might not be chosen. The rejection would weigh heavily on the children, though they tried to hide their disappointment. They all wanted to be perfect in the eyes of the families who visited, for perfection might mean a home.

But then, there would be a moment of hope. A parent would turn to Mama and say, "I like number 17," or "I think we'll take number 52."

A name, a number, and a life would change. The child who was chosen would beam with joy, their eyes wide with disbelief and happiness. The other children would share in their happiness, but deep inside, there was always a touch of sadness too. They were glad for their sibling, but they couldn't help but wonder when it would be their turn.

The chosen child did not leave immediately. No, they stayed for one last week, preparing to go to their new family. During that time, Margarette and her friends would gather around the lucky child, asking endless questions. "What do you think your new house will be like?" they would ask. "Will you have a pet? What kind of toys do you think they'll give you?"

Margarette, too, would ask these questions, her heart swelling with both excitement for her friend and a longing for her own turn.

In the vast, echoing halls of the orphanage, Margarette lay awake, her heart restless as she thought of the child chosen that week. Her sibling, who had been so full of hope just days before, was now being taken away. Usually, the children said their goodbyes in the garden or from their rooms, watching as Mama led the lucky ones toward what they believed was a new life with a kind family. They never questioned why they couldn't follow, for the rules had always been clear, and they obeyed them without hesitation. But that night, something stirred deep inside Margarette. Curiosity and concern gnawed at her heart, and she knew she had to see for herself what happened beyond the walls of the mansion.

Pretending to sleep, Margarette waited until the room was quiet. She heard the faint creak of the door as Mama and the chosen child left, the soft rustle of footsteps echoing in the hallway. Margarette, her heart pounding, silently slipped out of bed and tiptoed behind them, careful to stay hidden in the shadows.

Mama led the child through a part of the mansion Margarette had never seen before, to a door that seemed forgotten by time. It was old, weathered, and hidden from view, as if no one was meant to know it existed. Mama left the door ajar as she stepped into the darkness beyond, the flicker of her candle the only light guiding their way. Margarette followed, her breath shallow, her steps careful as she descended into the unknown.

The corridor was long and winding, and as Margarette crept behind, she felt a chill crawl down her spine. She had never ventured so far from the familiar warmth of the orphanage. At last, Mama and the child stopped at the foot of a grand, glowing house. But something wasn't right. The light from the house was harsh, not welcoming, and a strange man stood at the door—a man Margarette had never seen before.

As Margarette hid in the shadows, she heard the child's small voice, trembling with confusion. "Mama, who is this man?"

Mama did not answer. She stood still, her face cold and unfeeling, so unlike the warm and gentle Mama the children had always known. Without a word, the man snatched the child, who cried out in fear. Margarette watched, her heart freezing in terror as the cries turned into screams of agony, echoing into the night. The air was thick with the sound of a knife's heavy blows, and soon, the cries fell silent. Margarette clutched her chest, horrified, as she saw men carrying away carcasses—remains of the children who had once been her siblings.

She listened as Mama spoke in a voice that chilled her to the bone. "Cut it all and do the same like the others," Mama said, her tone as indifferent as if she were discussing the weather. "Send it by dawn."

Margarette's hand flew to her mouth, a gasp escaping her lips before she could stop it. Mama turned, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows, sensing something amiss. But Margarette was quick. She fled, her feet light as air as she raced back through the dark corridors, her heart pounding with the terror of what she had just witnessed.

Back in her room, she buried her face in her pillow, shaking with silent sobs. She hid her tears beneath the blankets as Mama returned, checking each child to ensure they were asleep. When Mama reached her bed, Margarette kept her face turned away, holding her breath, pretending to be lost in dreams.

Morning came, and as the other children awoke, the belongings of the chosen child were quietly removed. No one spoke of her again. It was as if she had never existed.

But Margarette could not forget. She knew the truth now—the terrible truth that the children were not being adopted by loving families. They were being taken, used, and discarded like mere meat for the men and women who came to the mansion. The thought made her shudder, but it also sparked something fierce within her. She could not let this continue. She had to find a way to escape—she had to save her siblings from the fate that awaited them.