Unique Essence

They’d call folk like me “gifted.” I always deemed it a curse. But I shall tell the tale proper.
When I was but a month old, my mother left me at the orphanage door. Why she abandoned me, I cannot say; perhaps she possessed a similar ‘gift’ and wished not to nurture it in me. The fact remained: I grew up within grey stone walls, parentless. The first to notice my peculiarity was our teacher, Mrs. Margaret Thorne. She recounted how I was playing once when another child snatched my toy. “I vow,” she said, “young Timothy practically flew across the rug towards the other wall, and you took your toy back.”
Mrs. Thorne, bless her, was a kindly soul. She grasped my difference instantly and knew should the wrong ears learn of it, I’d never know peace. “I won’t have you taken away for experiments,” she’d vow. So, she schooled me, helping me tame these strange abilities. When fury took me, I could shift objects, even people. I sensed the life-force of those near me, good or bad feeling radiating like warmth or frost – no introduction needed. One might think that useful, yet I felt others sensed *me* as different, keeping their distance. No family ever adopted me. It stung deep. Like any child, I craved affection, love, a true family; to know what a mother meant.
I had only one true friend at the orphanage: Dora. Her name was Dorothy proper, but she disliked it, so I ever called her Dora. She was a grand girl. We had tremendous fun together. She was my family, and I hers. Dora knew my secret and kept it faithfully, never once asking me to use it for her gain. I thanked her for that always. She’d grown despairing of finding a family; fifteen years old is ancient by orphanage reckoning. Everyone knows ‘the older ones’ aren’t taken.
Then came the day Dora burst into our room, eyes wide and blazing. Her frantic energy washed over me like a wave. “What’s happened?” I asked.
“Ellie!” she gasped. “Can you believe it? I’m to be adopted! A family!” Dora rushed over, threw her arms around my shoulders, and spun me round. “They want me! I’m so lucky!” She stopped abruptly, face serious. “Don’t fret, I’ll visit often. When you’re adopted too, our families shall be friends! Come quickly, come see! They’re by the Headmistress’s office!”
She dragged me by the hand. We halted near the door just as it swung open.
A couple emerged. A great bear of a man, broad-shouldered, with a sharp chin and strong cheekbones. Instantly, I felt the spectrum of their life-force. What I sensed sickened me. Brutality radiated from the man. Coarseness. Anger. The woman was feeble, bathed in fear – wild exhaustion and emptiness.
“Ah, Dora!” The man beamed. A shiver ran through me. “The papers are almost done. You come home tomorrow!”
Dora rushed to hug him. And there it pulsed in the man’s energy – not paternal love, but something akin… to lust.
Back in our room, Dora paced joyously. I sat heavy on my bed, trying to digest it. Perhaps I was mistaken. “What’s amiss?” Dora asked, sitting beside me. “Don’t be so glum. I promise we’ll meet.”
“Dora,” I began carefully, “that couple… something’s wrong with them. The man… he feels unkind.”
Dora frowned. “Stop it, Ellie. Why say such things? Are you jealous? I’ve waited so long! I’ll finally have a family! Mr. Paul Baines is lovely. They’re kind, caring people. Mr. Baines said I’ll have my own huge room!”
“But Dora, you know what I sense!”
“Leave off, Ellie!” Dora snapped, rising and walking to the window. “They’re checked by psychology folks and the Headmistress. They’re perfect! He has work, she stays home – I’d spend all day with Mother! Their papers are spotless. If they were bad people, it would show.” Her voice grew tearful. “I thought you’d be happy for me. You’re my friend.”
Shame’s warmth flooded me. I went to her, hugging her from behind. “Forgive me. Of course I’m happy. You’re right. I was mistaken. I shan’t lose you, that’s all.”
“Don’t fret. You’re only eight. They’ll take you. I must pack.”
Sleep scarce touched me. Horrid dreams plagued me: Mr. Paul Baines, a monster, eyes glowing with rage, his mouth all fangs dripping foulness.
Dora shook me awake. She stood dressed, her meagre bag packed. On the orphanage porch, I held her fiercely when farewell came, as though my grip alone could save her. As Dora got into their car and the other staff retreated indoors, I lingered, alone. Only I saw her new mother exhale sharply with relief as she sat down. Only I saw Mr. Baines smirk, just one corner of his mouth curling up.
I was beside myself all day. Mrs. Thorne noticed. During walk time, she led me to the yard’s far edge. “Ellie, what troubles you? Is it missing Dora?”
“Mrs. Thorne,” I whispered, “Do you believe me?”
“Of course I do, child.”
“They took her… bad people. That Mr. Baines… he’s evil.” Mrs. Thorne pondered.
“That is grave news. Perhaps it is just missing her… Or perhaps they are bad. But there’s naught we can do. Their history is flawless. They fit the bill for parents.”
“But why take Dora at fifteen? Why not a younger girl? Why her?”
“What are you implying?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Thorne,” I mumbled. “I just don’t know. I must think.” I left her there, her thoughts troubled.
I felt ill the day long. My head throbbed. Every fibre screamed *act*. When dusk fell, my heart hammered like a mad thing. I closed my eyes… and heard it. I swear I heard Dora scream.
I could bear it no longer. I ran to the one person who might help.
“Mrs. Thorne, please! We must help her! Something dreadful will happen. Please believe me! Do we have the address? Let us just check! If all’s well, I swear I’ll leave you be!” I wept, pulling her sleeve like a tiny child.
Mrs. Thorne pressed her lips thin. “Very well,” she breathed. “But if this is discovered, they’ll hang me. Go quietly through the back lane to my car. I’ll fetch the address. We drive now.”
Relief like cool water. We must be sure.
Silence reigned in the car. I fidgeted with a beaded bracelet Dora had made me. We arrived as true darkness fell. A great dark house stood apart. “Dear me, Ellie,” whispered Mrs. Mrs. Thorne, “I lack your sight, but that place feels… wrong.”
I knew. Deeply.
“What shall we do?”
“Stay here. I’m small. I can wriggle under the fence there.” I pointed to a low gap. “I’ll only peek. If aught is wrong, I’ll fetch you.”
“No, child! What if they see?”
“They won’t,” I stated, as sure as stone
Margaret Ann became our mother at last, a quiet, steady presence who understood without needing explanations, teaching me that this strange power, once a fearful burden, might just be another kind of belonging after all.