Neighbour asked me to watch her kids, but somethings clearly off with them.
Sarahs children are odd, whispered the concierge, polishing the glass panel.
So quiet, like little mice, agreed the caretaker, they just stare with their eyes.
I moved into my new flat just a month ago, and the cardboard boxes are still stacked in the corners, never opened. Work gobbles up all my time I sit at my laptop at home and before I know it its night. The only thing Ive managed to set up is the kitchen, because cooking is the one way I unwind after a long day.
I barely knew any of the neighbours, just a nod here and there in the hallway. So when the doorbell rang I didnt immediately recognise the frantic woman standing there.
Natalie, sorry to bother you Im Sarah, your neighbour. Ive got a bit of a situation
She stammered, constantly glancing over her shoulder at the two kids frozen behind her like tiny sparrows. The boy was lanky with sharp eyes, the girl a little younger, her pigtails pulled so tight youd swear the skin on her temples might split.
I have to leave straight away, just for a couple of hours. Could you
Look after the kids? I finished her sentence. Honestly, the idea didnt appeal to me. Im used to my own space, but saying no felt odd.
Yes! Ill be back in a flash.
The children slipped into the flat as silently as if they werent there at all. Sarah whispered something quickly into their ears and vanished.
Alright, kids, what are your names? I tried to sound as friendly as possible.
Arthur, the boy whispered.
Poppy, the girl echoed.
Want a drink? I asked, heading to the kitchen.
Arthur looked at his sister and murmured,
Um can I?
There was something in his voice that made me pause. It sounded like a request for water turned into a forbidden plea.
Of course! Ive got juice, water, tea
While I was fetching glasses, I saw Poppy sneak a peek at a vase of biscuits. The moment I turned, she looked away quickly.
Help yourself, I baked them myself, I moved the vase closer.
Really? she whispered again, that same strange tone.
To break the tension I started chatting about my collection of cookbooks, pulling out the prettiest one with cake photos. The kids edged closer, still flinching at every loud sound a slammed window, a car alarm outside.
Sarah came back after about four hours, storming in like a gale.
Arthur! Poppy! Quick, home!
The children jumped as if on command. Poppy brushed the vase with her sleeve, sending it wobbling. She froze, eyes wide.
Its fine, dont worry, I soothed, noticing she was rubbing her wrist and tugging at her jumper. A pale bruise showed on her skin, like a fresh grip mark.
Thanks, Sarah blurted as she shoved the kids out into the hallway.
I was left standing in the landing, watching the door close. Something was terribly wrong.
***
You know that nagging feeling that just wont let you rest? Thats how those kids eyes haunted me scared, on edge, like hunted animals.
A week later I noticed a pattern Sarahs flat always had heavy curtains drawn, even on sunny days. I never heard the kids laugh or play, only the occasional sharp shout from their mother and the slam of doors.
Shes strict, thats why the kids behave, the lady from the first floor said when I asked. Not like the kids these days, who get away with everything.
One Thursday I ran into Arthur at the supermarket. He was at the cereal aisle, frantically counting coins in his palm.
Hey, Arthur!
He jumped so hard the coins scattered across the floor. We knelt to pick them up, and I saw his fingers tremble.
Please dont tell my mum we saw you, okay? he whispered, clutching a cheap pack of rice.
Why?
He bolted, nearly bumping into other shoppers.
That evening Sarah knocked again.
Natalie, I need a hand. I have to be away all day. Ill pay whatever you ask.
I turned down the money. Something told me I needed to watch those kids longer.
The whole day felt different. The children gradually thawed. I put on an old cartoon about a mischievous cat, and Poppy let out a soft giggle when the cat argued with a dog. Later we baked biscuits together.
It never smells like this at my mums, Arthur said thoughtfully while cutting out shapes.
How does it smell at yours?
With cigarettes. And he stopped when his sister tugged his sleeve.
A dropped pot lid clanged, making them both raise their hands to shield their faces. Something inside me snapped at that moment.
Mum scolds us when were noisy, Poppy whispered, dropping her hands. And when we eat at the wrong time. And
Poppy! Arthur snapped at her.
I pretended to be absorbed in icing the biscuits, but I caught a reddish line on the girls neck peeking from under her collar. Poppy met my gaze and quickly smoothed her shirt.
We have to be good so mum doesnt get angry, Arthur muttered, concentrating on the frosting. Then everything will be okay.
Okay I looked at those bright, clever kids and realised there was nothing normal about their lives at all.
Later, handing the kids back to Sarah, I smelled alcohol on her breath. She didnt even ask how the day went, just grabbed their hands and whisked them away.
I stood by the window for ages, watching the darkcurtained flats down the hallway. Something had to be done. But what? I needed to involve the authorities.
***
So youll do nothing? I asked the local officer after a long chat.
What did you expect? No evidence. The mothers paperwork is in order. Maybe you imagined it?
I hadnt slept in days. After the police call, Sarah looked at me with a cold challenge, as if daring me to say something. The kids glances turned away, as if Id betrayed them. How did she know? Maybe someone tipped her off.
I started knocking on neighbours doors, but met a wall of indifference.
Youre getting attached, arent you? the old lady on the third floor barked. Shes just raising kids, hardly drinks well, almost never.
The grocer, Marina, a plump woman with kind eyes, chatted with me:
I see those kids a lot. The boy always counts his change, grabs the cheapest stuff. Their mum she shows up, buying pricey whisky. Not cheap, mind you!
Theyve been with her for years?
Who knows. They appeared a couple of years ago. But, she lowered her voice, they dont look like her at all. Not a bit.
That night everything changed. I was at my laptop when I heard muffled screams growing louder, then glass shattering, then a childs cry.
I called the police again.
Everythings fine, Sarah said with a nervous smile as she opened the door. We just turned the TV up loud, sorry.
The officers exchanged looks. One stepped inside.
Where are the kids?
Theyre asleep. Its late.
Well check.
They found the children in their beds, unnaturally still. Poppy turned her head slightly, revealing a fresh scrape on her cheek.
She fell, Sarah blurted. Shes a bit clumsy.
The police left, and I was left with my helpless anger.
Two days later Arthur knocked on my door, pale, lips bitten. He handed me a crumpled note.
Its from Poppy.
The note read simply: Help us. Please.
Shes not our mum, Arthur blurted, then clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes darting toward the landing. We we dont remember how we got here. Only another house. And he stopped and ran.
On the back of the paper, in a shaking childs hand, was written: She says shell punish us if we tell anyone.
I didnt close my eyes that night. By morning I was already planning.
***
Do you realise youre meddling in something that isnt yours? Sarah hissed, pushing me against the stairwell wall, reeking of whisky. Think Im sweet? I know who called the police. Ive even alerted social services.
I met her gaze evenly.
You know what I think? Those kids arent yours.
She recoiled, as if slapped. Fear flickered in her eyes.
Nonsense! I have the papers!
Fake ones, Im guessing.
The night before, Id spent hours on the phone child protection, humanrights groups, even a private detective. I filed reports everywhere.
Youll regret this, Sarah spat.
That evening a socialservices officer called.
Natalie Andrews? Weve checked the records. Five years ago two siblings vanished in Birmingham a brother and sister, same ages, same looks.
My hands trembled.
What now?
Were involving the police. Be ready to give a statement.
Sarah must have sensed something. I heard her rattling cupboard doors, jingling keys in the night. I called the local officer immediately.
Within an hour the stairwell was packed police, social workers, investigators. Sarah was frantically slamming windows and doors.
You have no right! These are my children!
Then explain why they match the missing kids from five years ago, Kostya and Vera Samuels? the detective asked calmly.
Arthur now Kostya clutched his sisters hand tightly. They huddled in a corner.
That woman she isnt the boy began.
Shut up! Sarah shrieked, lunging at them.
The officers moved fast, clicking handcuffs.
Svetlana Ivanova, youre under arrest for kidnapping minors
I watched her being led away and felt an odd emptiness. All those weeks of tension, fear, doubt, evaporated in an instant.
Natalie! Vera, the girl who used to be Poppy, threw herself at me, hugging me tight. You saved us!
And I finally broke down, tears spilling over.
Two days later the children were placed in a temporary care centre. I visited them daily, watching them start to smile again, speak normally.
When their real parents arrived, I could barely hold back tears. A thin woman with silver hair, Anna, stood frozen, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her husband, tall with kind eyes, embraced the kids fiercely.
We never gave up hope. Never, he said.
Sarahs story turned out far darker than anyone imagined a mental breakdown after losing her own children in a crash, then kidnapping strangers, moving them to another town, terrorising them into forgetting their past.
Natalie, Anna held my hands, you didnt just rescue the kids, you saved our whole family.
Gradually the siblings began to remember. Kostya had been a chess champion, Vera loved drawing.
Look, thats you, Vera showed me a sketch. Youre like an angel.
I often think back to that first evening when I sensed something was off. It would have been so easy to walk away, pretend it didnt affect me. So many people choose that path.
Six months later I got a letter. The children wrote about their new school, how Dad takes Kostya to chess practice, how Vera joined an art class. They said theyre no longer scared of loud noises or darkness, that theyve learned to trust people again. Enclosed was a bright, sunny drawing of a family picnic, all smiling, with a note in the corner: Thank you for teaching us to be brave enough to be happy.
I hung that picture on my wall. Every time I look at it I remind myself that big kindness often starts with a tiny act of not looking away. Just notice, just help.
A few weeks ago I visited them again. Vera was swinging on the playground, laughing loudly, just as kids should. Kostya was animatedly telling his dad a story, waving his arms. Anna, her hair now streaked with colour instead of grey, smiled as she watched them.
Natalie! Vera shouted, hopping off the swing. Were moving closer next week! Well see each other more!
And I realised life was finally falling back into place for them, for me, for everyone. Because sometimes you just have to believe that even the darkest story can have a light at the end. All it takes is a little courage and that first step.
