Ten years ago, I was only eleven when I witnessed 10 other children my age getting burnt alive in my house. I lived in a small, loosely-knit town secluded from the rest of the country. The children were never close friends with me, nor did their parents care for them. They were abandoned by their parents as former guardians, so they resided in a poor Catholic orphanage. I decided to invite them out of sympathy and loneliness during my birthday party. I knew I would be violating my own moral values by leaving them in the house as I ran out to save my own life.
One of the children, Abigail, was my age and we instantly clicked.
She was the daughter of a florist, but she abandoned her after she was diagnosed with autism. The two of us became close friends for over a year before the massive fire in my house. However, she once joked that she would take revenge on me if I ever left her, but I easily brushed it off as a joke.
We were chanting in my house when one of the cooktops broke loose and the fire came out. One of the children, oblivious to the protocols, poured oil onto the fire and prayed that it would be extinguished. I realized the peril from upstairs, so I ran down and already saw the fire surrounding the children. One of the orphans began shrieking in excruciation as she tried to cease the fire blazing on her gown. Another boy was already within the fire, and I knew he was dead. My cynical nature kicked in, and I knew I had to get myself out of the house alive. I saw Abigail standing next to me, but she refused to leave the house while I tried to get her out.
"Come on!!!" I yelled in belligerence, "we'll be burnt if you don't leave here!!"
"No, stay and go to heaven with me, Ceron!" Abigail said while tears were streaming down her eyes. "This world is hell itself."
I looked at her appalled, knowing she was insane. I shook her grip on my sleeve off and ran out of the house myself. I could feel her glare at me from behind my back as she too faded into the fire with the other orphans. The police came and deemed this event as a "tragic" and "egregious" event. No one in our town ever spoke of it, and no one gave the ten orphans a proper burial. The memory of leaving the orphans in the igniting house never left my mind, so I sometimes heard their voices in the dead of night. I knew it was just a response from trauma, but the way they spoke some nights sounded so real.
Ten years later, I finally moved out of my parents' house, moving to the other side of Canada. There, I bought a small cottage and lived with my boyfriend. He was going back to his parents' house, so I was to live by myself for a month. Despite moving far away from Lilydale, I could still feel the children's presence some nights, especially after getting drunk the previous nights. I was addicted to smoking pot and alcohol, so I told myself it was just side effects from them. However, I knew I could hear them before I began taking drugs.
One night, I felt my sleep paralysis returning as I laid onto my bed after another night of drinking. I could feel my body being levitated from my bed, but my body was still stiffened from paralysis. My eyes were opened, unable to close on its own. I could see my nightgown floating next to me as I entered some portal. There, I found myself in pitch darkness, but I knew it wasn't my bedroom. I heard the whispering sounds getting louder and louder, almost in my ears. I felt strings wrapped around my neck as I suffocated. My hair was flowing behind me, in the air with no gravity. I could see a fairy-sized young girl wearing a white, ragged gown. I instantly recognized the face to be Abigail's.
There were nine other children circulating me, and they were all no larger than my shin. I soon felt life being compressed out of my flesh as I fell unconscious to the ground.