The Orphanage

An Orphan dreams of one day leaving his room. He watches out his window as festivities take place - his orphanage is located the middle of an amusement park!

Timmy sat by the little window in his room - staring at the moon. It was the largest moon he had seen in a long time. A balloon rose from the pathway below and moved in front of the moon then exploded for no apparent reason.

“Ha Ha Ha Ha,” the evil laugh came from below.

He pushed his cheek up to the glass - straining to get a good angle on the street below. It was Mum, but it was no mother of his. She made all the children call her “Mum” in the orphanage. The name was really the only thing that made her seem like a parent.

A little boy down on the street burst out in tears, “Daddy, she bwoke my bawoon!”

The father walked up to Mum and began to argue with her. Timmy cracked the window open so he could hear them.

“Get off my porch or I’ll call the cops!” Mum told him.

“This is a public amusement park - not your porch. What is this place - a haunted house?”

“This is my house. The park will never take it from me and your balloon was over my property line so I popped it. Get off my lawn or I’ll pop you too.”

Timmy watched until the man angrily walked away. When he closed his window the hinges squealed like a siren.

“Oops,” Timmy said out loud then he jumped into his bead and put the covers over his head.

He heard the screen door slam shut and the stairs creaking under the old lady’s weight. She was coming to punish him. The bedroom door opened. Timmy couldn't see it from under the covers and he couldn't hear it open but he could feel it opening. Air pressure changed, sounds from the outside came in and Mum’s steps got closer.

Timmy’s blanket flew off of him - revealing his fetal position and his blue striped boxers.

Mum’s voice sounded just like the witch that was thrown into the dungeon a few weeks ago - high pitched and crackling, “Were you out of bed, Timmy?”

The voice sent a chill down Timmy’s spine, like it was cold to the bone, “Mum, yes Mum.”

“Why were you out of bed, Timmy?”

“I wanted to see the moon, Mum.”

“The moon is nothing, Timmy. Do you want me to black out your window and give you a spanking?”

“No, Mum.”

A roller coaster passed over the roof of the house - drowning out Timmy’s squeal as the old lady smacked him on the rear once before she walked out.

His pillow was soaked with his silent tears, so he shifted positions. It was then that he noticed Mum had left her blow gun in his room. He stared at it for a while - thinking about what he could do with it. Eventually he decided to hide it under his bed.

The next morning his door swung open - waking him up. As she came in the room her pointy hat hit the top of the door frame causing it to fall behind her, “Timmy, where’s my blow gun? I want to make more children cry.”

She noticed the missing hat and turned to look for it but stepping on it in the process. She let out a wicked screech and slammed the door closed as she grabbed her smashed hat. She had completely forgotten about the reason for her visit - a big relief for Timmy.

The screen door smacked the door frame a few moments later and Timmy could hear the shifting weight of a rocking chair down below. Timmy got up and quietly checked his door but it was still locked, so he went over to the window and watched the children walking down the sidewalks around the amusement park.

A new tent was being built across the way. It was a dark blue color and had pictures of moons all over it. The sign hadn't been installed yet, but it was laying on the ground next to the tent. Timmy could read the word “wolf” on it but not much more.

Timmy watched the crowd for hours. Mum cackled at the people passing by for hours. She had no fear. She even argued with a nice family of ogres and got away with it.

Eventually the new tent was finished. The words “See a real Werewolf” hung from the front. Timmy’s brain exploded with ideas about what the creature might look like. Nothing exciting ever got put up outside his window until now.

He had read stories about werewolves before but he didn't know if they were true. Mum always ripped the covers off his books so he couldn't “become a smart aleck”. He never knew if the words in his books were fact or fiction. For a long time he didn't even know there was such a thing as fiction until Mum had accidentally given him a encyclopedia and he found the word genre in it.

That night Timmy was playing with a rubber bouncy ball on his bed which was was a large burlap sack stuffed with hay. The ball wouldn't bounce on the soft surface but that was fine. Timmy just didn't want to make any noise.

The wind outside was starting to gust. A particularly large gust caused a loud crash outside the window. Timmy got up to look and he noticed the new tent had blown over. He gasped with excitement. He could see the werewolf! It was an amazing creature standing at least three heads taller than a normal man and hairy all over. Restrained by chains it could only howl at the moon, but Timmy noticed something odd. The chains were only connected to stakes dug into the ground.

Timmy did what any young boy would do. He shot at it with his newly acquired blow gun. The werewolf got angry quick - very quick. The monster ripped its chains out of the ground and dropped down to all four - ramming through the front door of Timmy’s orphanage. Timmy heard only the sound of Mum and her crazy chants and then the innocent whine of a puppy dog as it impacted the back wall.

Mum was so angry she summoned the king of the country immediately and told him the story - even admitting to using witchcraft to turn the monster into a puppy. She had always been selfish and arrogant like that. Never thinking that some day someone might actually take action against her. Most of the time she was right because everyone feared her, but not this time.

The king would have no witchcraft in his realm so he sentenced her to life in the dungeon and he gave Timmy, his new puppy, and all the orphans a new home in the king’s very own castle.

(Written for a flash fiction challenge at:  )

Author's Note

I'm open to any critique.