Michael Yagoobian

Fate is a funny thing. I'm not sure whether everything is pre-determined, or if life is just totally random, but it's interesting to think about. Was it meant to be that said my parents died in an accident? Was it pure misfortune I got left behind when the orphanage closed? Was it destiny that she found me when she did?

I was 10 when they closed down the orphanage. 10 years old when I was deserted. About the time when my roommate got adopted, some of the teenage jerks who had no hope of being adopted thought it would be amusing to tie me up and leave me in my closet. Really funny, guys. I probably would have been fine if the inspector hadn't come in and declared the orphanage as structurally unsound and ordered an evacuation. Half conscious, I heard Mildred come into my room, calling my name. She couldn't hear my screams through the five strips of duct tape. I guess she figured I ran away or something, because they just left, not bothering to look in the closet. It was just, "Goob, where are you? He's not here, oh well." and then slam the door and never look back. Keep moving forward, right?

Eventually I got myself free, but it was too late. The stupid idiots even took my binder. I probably should have done the smart thing, and found an adult, gone to the police or something, but no. I was Mike Yagoobian and I could do it on my own. I had been by myself most of my life anyway, hadn't I? I had learned the hard way that you couldn't trust anyone. My parents, they up and died on me. Mildred, she left me behind with not so much as a second glance. Lewis, he…he ruined my life. He took all my hopes and dreams and crushed them under the shiny surface of his precious contraption. But that's what happens when you get a science geek for a roommate.

The radio told me it was supposed to be sunny out. Those weathermen are big fat liars. It was pouring rain, and from the sound of it, a storm was coming. This was good news for me, because I needed some water. The only problem was I couldn't get out of bed. I felt weak all over, which I found really odd, because I had actually eaten pretty well this week. Also, my head ached, so I assumed I was just getting a cold or something. Flu would suck, but I had pulled through it last winter. It was June now, and I told myself I could do it again. All I needed was rest. I spent most of my time in bed anyway, so I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Sleep was essential for me. It was sort of like hibernation. I needed less food, water, and energy when I slept. I could sleep up to 18 hours a day now. The only problem with so much sleep was that I dreamed. A lot. This wasn't a good thing.

Sometimes I dreamed about nice stuff, like baseball, or real food, but it was mostly nightmares. Often my dreams were about getting beat up, or abandoned, or Lewis laughing in my face as if he enjoyed my pain. Almost every night I woke up shivering, sometimes screaming, after these psychologically torturing episodes.

Tonight (well, technically, this morning) it was a mixture of everything. It started off really good, too. It was a sunny day, I was playing baseball, and it looked like we were going to win. I had my hand outstretched to catch the ball, the catch that would win the game. I could see it now. I would become the star of the game, everyone would like me, and then a proud couple would come along and adopt me. I would have all the love I had lost over the years. I could have all the juice boxes I wanted. I almost had the ball when out of nowhere I was run over. Run over by a bright red wagon, pulled by Lewis, who deftly caught the ball before it hit the ground. All my teammates ran over, congratulating him, leaving me in the dirt, broken and injured. I called out for help, but they didn't pay attention. For a minute, it seemed like Lewis was coming back for me, but he just grabbed the handle of his wagon and whispered maliciously, "sorry, Goob." He roughly yanked the wagon off of me and I was swallowed by pain.

Awakening, I realized the pain wasn't just imaginary. My chest felt like it was being stepped on with cleats. I gasped, trying to breathe without making it hurt even more. I'm not a doctor, but this obviously wasn't an ordinary cold or flu. This scared me a little, because I had no idea how to handle this. I hoped I could just sleep it off. The only problem was, I didn't want to face my nightmares again.

It was dark when I woke up again. I didn't have the time or energy to find the light switch. Stumbling out of my bunk, I retched and vomited all over the floor. It kept up until my shrunken stomach was completely empty, and I had to fight to stop my abdominal muscles from dry-heaving. Now terrified, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and crawled back into bed. My head was pounding, my chest still ached, and now my throat burned along with the nausea that was still lurking in my stomach. I had never felt worse in my life. On top of it all, I couldn't stop shaking. I began to sob weakly, wondering desperately why I was so stupid to stay at the orphanage. Didn't anyone notice I hadn't left? There was no one to care that I had been on my own for nearly four years, no one to care that I had to fight for survival in this crumbling hell, no one to care that I might be dying. Even though there was nobody around to see me cry, I felt ashamed. I was breaking down. I couldn't let that happen. Rule number three of survival: keep your cool. Breathing deeply to calm both myself and my queasy stomach, I resolved to find out what the problem was. I made a mental list of what was wrong with me.

Vomiting

Chest Pain

Trembling

Weak muscles

Headache…

I must have drifted off to sleep again after number 5, because next thing I knew, it was light out. I could feel it slipping under my eyelids. Prying my eyes open, I found myself face-to-face with a girl.

"Who are you?" she asked incredulously.

At that inopportune moment, my abdominal reflexes couldn't hold out any longer, and I threw up over the side of the bed in response.

Christophine Himmel

You know, I've always believed in luck. Luck and karma. It was a lucky toss on that coin. Everyone could have sworn it was going to be tails. Even me. But somehow, maybe by a chance gust of wind, or a freak tremor in the ground, it landed on just the precise angle to land on heads. They looked up from the small silver circle at me.

"Looks like it's gonna be you, Chris." Derek smirked. I sighed resignedly. Call us chicken, but each of us had our fears about the older buildings that were said to be haunted. Especially the orphanage. So in our photography group, we flipped a coin to see who would go in and get the pictures. Gripping the camera tightly, I nodded tersely.

"You guys are gonna be right out here though, right?" I asked hopefully. Derek laughed.

"Dream on, rookie. We've got lots more shots to get today. Mrs. Granger won't wait forever. But think of it as your first solo. Good experience." He gave me a wink before getting on his bike and riding away with the other five.

I gulped and turned slowly towards the orphanage. It had only been closed for four years, but it already looked really old, and possibly, really haunted. The people who lived in this part of town said if you listened closely at night, you could hear the wails of the poor orphans who didn't get adopted. Sliding under the yellow caution tape, I pried the door open and entered the Sixth Street Orphanage.

It was kind of dark, mostly because the windows had been boarded over. Clicking my flashlight on, I walked around, taking snapshots of anything that looked interesting. I was about to wrap it up when I heard it.

A quiet, but echoing moaning coming from upstairs. Frightened, I wanted to turn and flee, but something curious inside me dragged me up the creaking stairs. Some of the steps were so rotted I had to step over them. This place really is dangerous, I thought. I finally made it to the first floor, and the moaning had become louder. It was so much like a horror movie I nearly laughed. Creeping down the dim hallway, I followed the noise to a room at the end. Pausing at the door, I questioned myself whether I really wanted to face the noise. Taking a deep breath, I peeked in. I was utterly shocked at what I saw.

A boy, around 12 or 13, lying in a bottom bunk. He moaned in his sleep, tossing and turning wildly. With the beam of light from my flashlight aimed on him, my sneakers skidded on something wet on the floor. Regaining my balance before I fell over, I looked down and realized sickly that it was vomit. This kid was seriously ill.

Leaning down towards him, I looked him over. It might have been the light, but he was extremely pale and seemed emaciated. His brownish hair was dirty and stuck up everywhere. He wore a filthy baseball uniform that was way too small for him. I must have accidentally shined the light in his eyes, because he opened his eyes and looked at me apprehensively.

"Who are you?" I asked, worried for this poor boy that appeared to live in this dump.

He didn't reply, but his face contorted and he bent forward and upchucked. I leapt back quickly. It was horrible, watching him. I knew I needed help. Pulling out my phone, I dialed 911.

"What's your emergency?" a cool voice inquired.

"I need an ambulance, I think. I've got a sick kid at the Sixth Street Orphange." I explained, as the boy heaved again and again.

"That place is closed down." The woman said, confused.

"I know! But he's here, and he needs help!" I nearly yelled.

"Calm down. EMS is on their way." She informed me, her professional tone returning.

The guy looked up at me, shuddering close to the point of convulsions. His mouth opened and closed frantically, as if he wanted to tell me something.

"What? What?!" I asked, stepping slightly closer. All of a sudden he fell unconscious, collapsing onto the floor. I gasped sharply, and tried to help him. Lifting him under the arms, I dragged him over to the wall, sitting him up against a dresser. He was burning with fever. I could hear sirens approaching, and I gave the boy a relieved look.

"You're gonna be okay. It's gonna be fine." I said out loud, more to reassure him than me. Paramedics burst through the door, and I squirmed out of their way as they took him out of the room, talking to each other in some kind of medical code. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small white sphere on the dresser. Gingerly picking it up, I examined it, and decided to return it to the sick kid.

After all, it was probably the only thing he had.