The neighbour knocked on my door, her eyes darting like startled sparrows.
Excuse me, Im Susan, the flatabove you, she whispered, clutching a thin coat. I need a favour.
Her voice cracked as she glanced over the two children standing rigid behind her, small as mice but staring with a hollow stare.
I had moved into the new flat a month ago, and the cardboard boxes still leaned in the corners, untouched. My job sucked up every spare hoursitting at my desk until the night swallowed the streetlights. The only room Id managed to make my own was the kitchen, because cooking was the only way I could unwind after endless spreadsheets.
I barely knew the other residents. A brief nod in the hallway was the extent of any conversation. So when the doorbell rang, I didnt immediately recognise the frantic woman at the threshold.
Sorry to disturb you, Natalie, she said, her voice trembling, Im Susan, your neighbour. Its a bit of an emergency
She kept glancing at the children, a gaunt boy with clever eyes and a little girl whose braids were pulled so tight they seemed ready to snap.
I have to be away for a few hours, literally just a couple of hours. Could you?
look after the kids? I finished for her. The idea didnt sit well; I cherished my solitude. Yet refusing felt oddly cruel.
Yes! Ill be right back. In and out.
The children slipped into my flat as silently as if they were made of mist. Susan muttered something hurriedly into their ears and vanished.
Alright, little ones, what are your names? I tried to sound as warm as possible.
Arthur, the boy said softly.
Emily, the girl echoed, her voice a faint echo.
Would you like something to drink? I asked, heading for the kitchen.
Arthur exchanged a glance with his sister and whispered, Um may I?
There was something in his tone that made my breath freeze, as if the request were a forbidden spell.
Of course! I have juice, water, tea
As I fetched glasses, I caught Emily eyeing a vase of biscuits. The moment I turned, she looked away quickly.
Help yourself, I baked these myself, I said, moving the vase closer.
Really, can I? she whispered again, that strange hushed tone.
To ease the tension, I started talking about my collection of cookbooks, pulling out a glossy one filled with photographs of decadent cakes. The children edged closer, though they flinched at every loud soundwhether a slammed window or a car alarm outside.
Four hours later Susan stormed back like a gale.
Arthur! Emily! Quick, home!
The kids sprang up as if on cue. Emily brushed the vase with her sleeve, sending it wobbling; she froze, eyes wide with terror.
Its all right, nothings wrong, I soothed, noting how she instinctively twisted her wrist and tugged at her sweater, revealing a fresh bruise on pale skin, a mark of a hard grip.
Thanks, Susan said, pushing the children out into the hallway as she left.
I stood in the entrance, watching the door shut, a gnawing feeling that something was terribly off.
***
Do you ever have a thought that clings to you like a bad smell? That was how those childrens eyes haunted mewide, wary, as if they were wild animals caught in a trap.
A week later I noticed a pattern: Susans windows were always shut with heavy curtains, even on bright days. The children never laughed or played. Occasionally a harsh shout from their mother cut through the hall, followed by the slam of a door.
Shes strict, raising them right, a neighbour from the ground floor said when I asked. Unlike the younger lot these dayseverythings permitted.
One Thursday I bumped into Arthur at the grocery store. He stood at the cereal aisle, frantically counting coins in his palm.
Hey, Arthur!
He jumped, scattering the pennies onto the floor. We gathered them together, and I saw his fingers tremble.
Please dont tell Mum you saw me, he whispered, clutching a packet of the cheapest rice.
Why?
He turned and ran, nearly colliding with other shoppers.
That evening Susan knocked again.
Natalie, I need you again. I have to be away the whole day. Ill pay whatever you ask.
I declined the money. Something told me I needed to watch them longer.
The day unfolded strangely. The children began to relax. I put on an old cartoon about a mischievous cat and a cheeky dog, and Emily giggled quietly when the cat argued with the dog. Later we baked biscuits together.
My mums house never smells like this, Arthur said thoughtfully while cutting out shapes from dough.
How does her house smell? I asked.
Like cigarettes and, he trailed off as Emily tugged his sleeve.
A sudden clatter of a dropped pan made them both jerk their hands to their faces, as if shielding themselves. Something inside me cracked at that reflex.
Mum scolds us when were noisy, Emily whispered, lowering her arms. And when we eat at the wrong time. And
Emily! Arthur snapped at her.
I pretended to be absorbed in icing the biscuits, but I caught a faint red line on Emilys neck, peeking from under her collar. She hurriedly adjusted her shirt when she saw me looking.
We have to be good so Mum doesnt get angry, Arthur muttered, methodically piping a pattern onto a biscuit. Then everything will be fine.
Fine. I stared at those childrenbright, innocent, yet trappedand realised nothing in their lives was normal. Nothing at all.
When I handed the children back to Susan that night, the smell of alcohol wafted from her coat. She didnt ask how the day went; she simply grabbed their hands and disappeared with them.
I lingered by the window, watching the dark curtains of the flats across the hallway. Something needed to be done. But what? I thought of contacting the authorities.
***
Will you do anything about it? I asked the local constable after a long discussion.
What did you expect? Theres no evidence. The mothers papers are in order. Maybe you imagined it?
Sleep fled me for several nights. After the police call, Susan stared at me with a challenge in her eyes, a thin, veiled threat. The childrens gazes never lifted again, as if Id betrayed them. How had she known? Perhaps someone had called her.
I began knocking on neighbours doors, but met a wall of indifference.
Why are you so attached to strangers? a elderly lady on the third floor chided. Shes only raising a couple of kids, barely drinks almost doesnt drink.
In the supermarket a kindly shopassistant named Margaret leaned in.
I see them often. The boy counts his change, always grabs the cheapest stuff. The mother later appears, buying a bottle of brandynever cheap, mind you.
Do the kids live with her long?
Hard to tell. They showed up a couple of years ago, but they dont look like her at all, not a trace.
That night the flat was filled with muffled cries, then louder shouts, the sound of breaking glass and a childs sobbing.
I called the police again.
Everythings fine, Susan said brightly as she opened the door, We turned the TV up loud, sorry about the noise.
The officers exchanged looks. One stepped inside.
Where are the kids?
Theyre asleep, Susan replied. Its late.
The officer checked the bedrooms. The children lay still, unnaturally still for sleeping. Emily turned her head slightly, revealing a fresh scrape on her cheek.
She fell, Susan said quickly, Shes always been clumsy.
The police left, and I was left with a bitter mix of helplessness and anger.
Two days later a pale Arthur stood at my door, lips cracked, holding a crumpled note.
Its from Emily, he said, voice shaking.
The note read: Help us. Please.
She wasnt our mother, Arthur whispered, clutching his throat, eyes darting to the stairwell. We dont remember how we got here. We only recall another house another. He fled before he could finish.
On the back, a trembling childs scrawl added: She says shell punish us if we tell anyone.
I lay awake that night, the words looping in my mind. By morning I was already acting.
You think youre meddling in something that isnt yours? Susan hissed, pressing me against the stairwell, the smell of stale smoke surrounding us. Do you think Im the sweet old lady? I called the police, I called social services.
I met her stare calmly.
You know what I think? Those children arent yours.
She recoiled as if slapped, fear flickering in her eyes.
Lies! I have the paperwork!
Forged, Id wager.
The night before, Id spent hours on the phonecalling child services, charities, even a private investigator. I filed reports everywhere.
Crooked, Susan spat. Youll regret this.
That evening a social worker called.
Ms. Mitchell? Weve crosschecked the details. Five years ago, two children vanished in Birminghambrother and sister, ages match, appearances match.
My hands trembled.
What now?
Were involving the police. Be ready to give a statement.
Susan seemed to sense something. I heard her rattling cupboard doors, jingling keys in the dead of night. I called the local constable immediately.
Within an hour the hallway was packedpolice, social workers, detectives. Susan flailed, slamming doors and windows.
You have no right! Theyre my children!
What about the missing siblings Kieran and Vera Sampson, reported five years ago? the detective asked, his tone even.
Arthurnow Kieranclutched Emilys (now Veras) hand, both huddled in a corner.
This woman she isnt the boy began.
Silence! Susan shrieked, lunging toward them.
Officers moved in, handcuffs clicking.
Svetlana I. Im arresting you on suspicion of child abduction.
I watched her being led away, a hollow emptiness settling over me. All those weeks of dread and uncertainty evaporated in a blink.
Natasha! Veraformerly Emilyran to me, embracing me tightly. You saved us!
Tears finally broke free.
Two days later the children were placed in a care centre, but I visited daily. Their smiles returned slowly, their voices grew louder.
When their real parents arriveda slender woman with silverstreaked hair, Anna, and her tall, gentleeyed husbandthey wept openly, hugging the kids fiercely.
We never gave up hope, the father whispered.
The story of Susan turned out far darker than anyone imagineda mental breakdown, the loss of her own children in a crash, followed by a desperate kidnapping of strangers. She had taken them to another town, terrified them into silence, erased their past.
Natasha, Anna said, holding my hands, you didnt just rescue the childrenyou saved our whole family.
Gradually the siblings recalled their former lives. Kieran had once been a chess prodigy, winning local tournaments. Vera loved drawing, her sketches now bright with colour.
Look, thats you, she said, handing me a drawing of an angellike figure.
I often replay that first night when something felt wrong, wondering how easy it would have been to turn away, to pretend it wasnt my problem. How many people do that?
Six months later I received a letter. The children wrote about a new school, how Dad takes Kieran to chess lessons, how Vera joined an art class. They no longer fear loud noises or darkness. They have learned to trust again.
Enclosed was a sunny sketch of a family picnic, all smiling. In the corner, a small note: Thank you for teaching us to be brave enough to be happy.
I hung the picture on my wall. Each time I look at it I think: sometimes great kindness begins with a tiny act of noticing, of not walking past.
A few weeks ago I visited them again. Vera swung on a playground swing, laughing freely, her voice ringing like wind chimes. Kieran animatedly recounted a chess move to his father, hands waving. Anna, now with hair the colour of sunrise, smiled warmly at the scene.
Natasha! Vera shouted, leaping off the swing. Were moving closer next week! Well see each other more!
And in that moment I realised life was stitching itself back togetherfor them, for me, for everyone. Even the darkest stories can find a sliver of light, if only we have the courage to take that first step.
