To her disappointment, Nyla couldn’t return to the orphanage for the next two weeks. The supercenter had become hectic with new hires, leaving her buried in extra shifts. She had been working there ever since she left the orphanage at eighteen. College had once been a dream, but her grades weren’t enough to secure a scholarship, and without that, attending was impossible. Still, she managed to land a job at the only supercenter in town. She probably could’ve found something better in a bigger city, but the idea of being too far from the orphanage was unbearable. It wasn’t just a place—it was home, the one constant in her life, and she couldn’t bring herself to leave it behind, especially after Matt’s death.
After what happened to Matt, leaving Maryam had become impossible for Nyla. The bond between them only grew stronger after his death, and the thought of being far from Maryam felt unbearable. She had even considered staying at the orphanage full-time, but the orphanage was too poor to employ her.
The job at the supercenter wasn’t bad, though. It had its tough moments, but overall, it was manageable—at least, it had been until recently. Kyle, one of their best employees, had left for a better opportunity somewhere out east, leaving a noticeable gap in the team. Since his departure, the workload had doubled, and things had become far more chaotic.
They had hired someone new to replace Kyle, but it was painfully obvious that the guy had never worked a day in retail—or anything remotely similar. He was the clumsiest person Nyla had ever seen in a store. Every shift seemed to bring a new disaster, and she couldn't understand how he had managed to get hired in the first place. Tania, one of the other floor managers, had joked that it was probably nepotism, whispering that there had to be some "family connection" behind the scenes.
Because of him, Oliver, the store manager, couldn't afford to give Nyla her much-needed break. Instead, he’d put her in charge of training the new guy, promising her three days off for the upcoming winter charity event at the orphanage—a small reward she desperately needed. That event was happening this afternoon, and all she wanted was to finish her shift and head there.
She glanced at the clock, checking how much longer she had to endure when the unmistakable sound of shattering glass echoed through the store. Her stomach sank. It didn’t take a genius to know who was responsible for the latest disaster.
“Dang, it!” A startled voice rang out from three aisles over. She sprinted toward the commotion, rounding the corner just in time to witness the aftermath of yet another disaster. There, standing in the middle of an expanding pool of champagne and shattered glass, was Gale—the new employee—looking as if he'd just set off a bomb by accident. Nyla sighed inwardly. It was like watching a bad movie on repeat. Gale stood frozen, wide-eyed, as the sea of broken bottles and fizzing liquid spread around him, and Nyla could only think: Of course it’s champagne.
“Oh my god… how… why…”
Oliver, the store manager, stood at the end of the aisle, speechless, staring at the mess as if unsure whether to scream or faint. Nyla noticed customers gathering, murmuring among themselves, some stifling laughs, others shaking their heads. “Great”, she thought, “just what we need—an audience”. Without wasting another second, she darted toward Oliver.
"I’ll handle it," she whispered urgently, trying to sound more confident than she felt. He blinked, still processing, and nodded gratefully and walked toward his office at the back of the store as she rushed past him toward Gale, who was awkwardly attempting to scoop glass with his bare hands.
“Stop! Don’t touch that, you’ll hurt yourself,” she said, crouching beside him and gently pulling his hands away from the shards. This day was getting worse by the minute.
“Hey, Gale… are you all right?” Nyla gently asked, while carefully checking Gale for any cuts or injuries. Health and safety always came first—she could scold him later if needed. Gale blinked at her as if her calm words triggered something inside him, and suddenly his face flushed a deep, bright shade of red. His embarrassment was almost palpable.
“I-I’m fine,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, clearly mortified by the scene he'd caused. Nyla offered a reassuring smile, doing her best to ease the tension.
“Good, Maggie will help you clean your uniform,” Nyla said, motioning to the older woman who had just arrived. Maggie, always the mother figure among the staff, smiled warmly and guided Gale toward the storage and employee lounge, comforting him as they walked away. Nyla turned and waved to Steven, who was already approaching with mops and cleaning supplies. Together, they began cleaning up the aisle as quickly as possible, making sure the store floor was safe again. The gathered customers disappointed that the dramatic scene they had anticipated didn’t escalate, slowly dispersed.
Thanks to the incident, Nyla had to stay longer than expected to review the safety procedures with the rest of the employees—everyone except Gale, who had been sent home early due to the shock. As the floor manager, she filled out the necessary paperwork to report the accident to Oliver, ensuring everything was properly documented. By the time she finished, it was already 3 PM. She let out a deep sigh, realizing she would miss the snowman-making contest but might still catch the judging if she hurried.
Stretching her arms, she glanced at the clock once more, already dreaming of the warm fire, the food, and the good company that awaited her. Her much-needed break couldn’t come soon enough.
**********************************
The bus dropped her off at the road that led to the orphanage. Although the actual stop was further along, the driver had kindly veered off course to let her off right at the entrance of the winding side road. The path was blanketed in untouched snow, the trees standing like sentinels on either side, their branches heavy with glistening white.
Before it became an orphanage, the building had been envisioned as a retreat by Sir Davis, a visionary hotelier, nearly fifty years ago. To reach the hidden structure nestled among the trees, one had to navigate a serpentine path, lined with nature's stillness. The seclusion of the surrounding woods made it a perfect escape from the bustling noise of town life, or at least that’s what Sir Davis believed. Unfortunately, the inn never gained traction; its remote location and the harsh winter snow hindered tourism, leaving the Davis family drowning in debt.
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Over the years, the property changed hands several times, and local lore whispered of Sir Davis's ghost still roaming the halls, lamenting the retreat that never was. But in all her time there, Nyla had yet to catch a glimpse of anything supernatural; no ghostly figure had ever crossed her path, only the familiar echoes of laughter and life that filled the orphanage's walls. As she trudged down the path, her breath visible in the chilly air, she felt a comforting warmth wrap around her, reminding her that, despite the building's haunted history, it had become a home for many.
Nyla always cherished the walk from the main street to the orphanage, a journey that took about thirty to forty minutes, enveloped in stunning scenery that never failed to lift her spirits. Memories flooded back of her and Matt wandering this very path after school, their laughter echoing through the woods as they explored, chasing each other between trees and creating a world all their own.
Once, the orphanage had its own car, a convenience for transporting children and guests. But that had long been sold, a casualty of the orphanage's dwindling funds. Maryam did her best to maintain the path during the warmer months, pruning overgrown branches and clearing away debris. However, winter painted a different picture. The snow piled high, transforming the once-familiar route into a challenging trek, a white labyrinth that concealed the way.
While the city prioritized main roads for cleaning, the orphanage's path languished at the bottom of the list. Yet, there was solace in knowing that the snow season didn’t linger for long. Nyla found comfort in the thought of spring’s arrival, with flowers pushing through the melting frost and the promise of new beginnings, a gentle reminder that every winter eventually gives way to warmth and renewal.
Nyla started walking toward the building, her brow furrowing as she took in the strange sight of the untouched snow. The path should have been filled with children's footprints, echoes of laughter and chatter marking their return home from school. Instead, the snow lay pristine and undisturbed, a blanket of white that seemed to muffle the usual sounds of life around the orphanage.
She wondered if Maryam had decided to let the children stay home for the day, allowing them to enjoy the winter festivities instead of trudging through the snow. But what about the patrons’ cars that would have come for the event? Surely there should have been some tracks leading up to the building.
Looking up at the sky, Nyla squinted against the bright white light reflecting off the snow, her thoughts racing. Had it really snowed recently without her noticing? The clouds looked heavy and gray, but there hadn’t been any news of a storm. The silence around her deepened, an unsettling feeling creeping into her chest as she continued along the path, each step stirring a sense of foreboding that contrasted sharply with the idyllic winter scene.
Halfway along the path, Nyla suddenly felt a tremor ripple through her legs as the ground began to shake, accompanied by a loud rumbling noise. Startled, she lost her balance and fell into the snow, the cold engulfing her. Earthquakes were unusual in this area; a feeling of dread washed over her as she quickly scrambled back to her feet once the shaking stopped.
Adrenaline surged through her veins as she began to run toward the orphanage. The sound she heard just moments before could only have meant one thing—a building collapse. They had repeatedly requested maintenance for the unused part of the orphanage from the church, but their pleas had fallen on deaf ears. An earthquake like this could easily compromise the old structure, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of impending disaster.
Frantically, she dug her cell phone out of her pocket and dialled the emergency number. To her dismay, the call didn’t go through. Frowning, she tried again, then again, and each attempt met with the same frustrating silence. Her heart raced as she stopped to stare at the screen. This made no sense. Had the cell towers been damaged in the quake?
Panic began to settle in as she continued calling, increasing her pace toward the orphanage. With every hurried step, the weight of her unease grew heavier. She could only hope that the building had held up against the tremors and that the children and staff inside were safe.
As Nyla approached the end of the path, a sinking feeling grew within her. Larger pieces of debris littered the ground, and surprisingly, the snow seemed to thin out, revealing patches of bare earth underneath. But there was no sign of life—no children playing, no adults milling about. Just silence.
A chill crept up her spine as anxiety coiled tightly in her belly, rising like bile to her throat. How had the debris scattered all the way out here? Her heart raced with each step, a growing sense of dread urging her to turn back.
She reached the final turn, unconsciously slowing her pace until she came to a complete stop. An unsettling sensation hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. It felt as if the world around her was holding its breath, and something deep inside her screamed to flee, to run away from whatever lay ahead.
Yet, her legs betrayed her, moving forward as if compelled by an unseen force. With each hesitant step, the oppressive atmosphere grew thicker, wrapping around her like a shroud. Finally, she emerged into the open area in front of the building, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the scene. The ground was eerily devoid of snow, the remnants of the recent quake evident all around her. But more than that, it was the absence of life—the orphanage stood silent and still as if time itself had paused.
Every year, as a cherished tradition, they gathered to build an enormous snowman, adorning the entrance of their home for Christmas. This joyful event had evolved into a charity competition where children vied to create the most beautiful snowman, while patrons from across the country supported their favourite contestants. The funds raised were used to finance the children's summer trips, and the winner received a special prize from their patron.
However, this year, instead of a joyful snowman, something far more sinister adorned the entrance.
Nyla approached cautiously, her heart racing. As she drew nearer, the grotesque reality of the scene became painfully clear. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed into the snow. Before her stood a horrific sculpture made of skin and bone.
There was no head—just a severed neck protruding grotesquely, from which multiple human arms jutted out at unnatural angles. The neck, paired with what would have been a torso, was a disturbing pile of innards, adorned with various organs that seemed to drip from the makeshift structure. The entire macabre figure was propped up by legs that were grotesquely separated from the torso by a crude belt.
Nyla could hardly comprehend the horror before her, a jarring contrast to the warmth and joy the season had once promised.
As Nyla's gaze remained fixed on the abomination, her mind wrestled with the incomprehensible horror unfolding before her. Then, something caught her eye—a flicker of familiarity amidst the grotesque chaos. Leaning closer, her heart thundered in her chest as she locked eyes with a face staring back from the heart of the sculpture, a face that was all too familiar.
Panic gripped her as more faces emerged from the chilling mass, each one a haunting echo of the residents of the house. They were twisted and contorted, their eyes wide with terror and despair. The realization crashed over her like icy water, and a scream erupted from her throat, raw and primal, reverberating against the walls of her sanity.
With horror clawing at her mind, Nyla wrenched herself away from the gruesome sight, her body moving on instinct. She bolted toward the side of the building, tears blurring her vision, her mouth still open in a silent scream that seemed to echo in the still air. Desperation drove her to the cool stone of the east wing, where she pressed her back against the wall, seeking any semblance of stability.
But her body betrayed her; a violent wave of nausea surged up her throat. Before she could regain her composure, she doubled over, the contents of her stomach spilling forth onto the cold, unyielding bricks. The acrid taste of bile burned her throat, mingling with the taste of horror that lingered in the air, as the nightmare of the sculpture and its grim visage gnawed relentlessly at the edges of her mind.
