Content Warning:

  SpoilerGraphic violence involving children; body horror; depictions of an abusive retionship; body horror.

  [colpse] AnnouncementJust wanted to make sure that you are aware of the Content Warnings above. They do contain spoilers, so I don't recommend using them unless you think you need them - but, be warned: the first section of this chapter is not pleasant.

  2. Girls in Closets10 October, 2019The noises beyond the closet door were the kind unimaginable to a three-year-old. High-pitched screams. The wet, squelching sound of flesh being torn apart. The skittering chortles of the creature that had once been Miss Devi.

  There had been twenty children in the css. Now there was just one. A little girl, curled up in the dark, breathless with fear.

  Her arm throbbed, pain pulsing in sickening waves. Blood soaked the sleeve of her grey pinafore dress, sticky and warm against her trembling fingers. She couldn’t look at it - it was too scary. If she saw what was there, what had been done to her, she would faint.

  The monster had bitten her. Sunk its teeth into her tiny arm and ripped out a chunk of tissue before seemingly losing interest - leaving her gasping on the floor, too weak to move, too small to do anything but sob as it turned to devour her friends.

  Somehow, she had crawled away. Barely making it to the storage cupboard. Against all odds, still alive.

  The air was thick with the smell of gore. It seeped through the cracks of the closet door, mixing with the scents of old crayons and sharp, artificial lemon from the cleaning products on the shelves above her.

  It had been quiet for a long time now.

  Her knees were pulled to her chest, her small body rocking back and forth in tight, rhythmic motions. If she rocked just right, maybe the pain would fade. Maybe she would wake up at home, in her real bed, and her mother would stroke her hair and tell her everything was okay.

  But she knew it wouldn’t happen. Because she had let them die.

  She had abandoned them - hadn’t even tried to fight back. The monster had been bigger, faster, smarter than her. It would have killed her too, but she should have... she should have...

  A choked sob broke from her throat. She cmped a hand over her mouth, trembling.

  It kept repying in her head - the moment when everything had been normal, until it wasn’t. They had been making animals out of psticine. She had been halfway through sculpting the ugliest tiger in the world when the room went white. A fsh, burning hot, so bright it made her tiny hands fly to her face.

  When the light faded, Miss Devi was no longer Miss Devi. She looked like her, at first. Same brown skin, same short frame, and same gentle accent when she spoke. But her eyes - her eyes were wrong. Hazy, grey, and empty.

  And she didn’t move like a person. She snapped into positions, her limbs jerking like a broken puppet, bones crunching with every unnatural shift. She had lunged. No hesitation. No warning. The closest child hadn’t even screamed before her teeth tore into him.

  The css had panicked. Little hands had cwed at locked doors, little feet had stumbled over each other in blind terror, and Miss Devi had blocked the only exit, picking them off one by one.

  It had only taken minutes. None of them had made it out. Except for her.

  The girl pressed her face into her knees, choking back another sob. She begged for her mother to come and save her.

  Leaving on her own wasn’t possible.

  She waited. Rocked. Waited.

  Eventually, footsteps. She tensed.

  A voice. A man’s. "Fuck." His breath was heavy, ragged. "Don’t come in here, babe, it’s... it’s really bad."

  Then, a woman’s gasp - high, horrified. "Oh God..."

  The girl in the closet couldn’t stifle a cough. The sound broke from her chest, small and fragile, but enough. Within a minute, the door swung open, and light drowned her in its glow.

  A slender, young woman stood in the doorway, purposefully blocking the horrors of the room from view. Her face was kind, but her eyes were exhausted - like they had lived through a year’s worth of grief in an hour. Still, she smiled, a soft curve across her cheeks, as if willing safety into existence.

  "It’s okay, it’s okay," she said, reaching out. Her fingers were warm as she helped the tiny girl to her feet. The gentleness of her voice made the little girl cry harder. She sounded like her mother.

  "It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. You’re safe now."

  The girl wanted to believe her.

  Melissa - she would ter learn her name - guided her out of the community centre, instructing her to close her eyes as they walked. The girl obeyed, but it didn’t help. The sounds were still there, burned into her memory. The wet ripping of muscle. The screams, cut short.

  When they stepped outside, daylight pressed against her eyelids. She opened them, blinking into the pale sky, and immediately began sobbing again. Melissa pulled her close, smoothing a hand over her tangled hair, letting her bury herself in the warmth of her arms.

  The community centre sat just off the main road, on the east side of the city. Across the street stood what remained of East Way Secondary School and Sixth Form - half-shadowed, its gates slightly ajar. That was where they were going.

  "I’m Melissa," the woman said, lifting her with an effortless sweep and bancing her against her shoulder. "And this is my boyfriend, Jack."

  Jack hadn’t spoken. He stood beside them, silent, his posture rigid. His hands twitched toward his gsses every few seconds, adjusting them in nervous repetition. His head kept turning, his gaze darting to shadows, to the rooftops, to the road behind them.

  The little girl sniffled.

  "What’s your name, sweetheart?" Melissa asked.

  It took her a moment to answer. To remember that she existed beyond the closet. Beyond the room where everything had been destroyed.

  "...Lucy," she whispered.

  "It’s nice to meet you, Lucy." Melissa’s voice was so steady, so certain, that Lucy let herself sink into it, wrapping herself in the safety of those words. "We’ll take good care of you until your mum comes, don’t worry."

  The statement should have reassured her. But something in the air - something in Jack’s silence - made the moment falter.

  They reached the fence that ringed East Way. Jack stepped ahead, fumbling with the gate, hesitating just a second too long before pulling it open. His voice was quiet when he spoke, but Lucy heard it.

  "I just don’t understand how she survived."

  31 March, 2020Against all odds, they had made it through the first winter.

  The metal cabins that made up most of the East Way compound had been too cold to sleep in, their thin walls offering no protection against the frost. Instead, the hundred or so survivors had crammed themselves into the half-demolished redbrick building at the centre of the compound, pressing close in the dark, trading body heat in packed cssrooms that stank of sweat and unwashed bodies. Melissa had avoided the worst of it, tucked away in private quarters with Jack. But isotion didn’t spare her from the slow rot of morale.

  As April crept into view and the cold began to retreat, the anger that had simmered all winter began to shift. People were ughing again, even if the sound still felt unnatural. The weight on their shoulders hadn’t lifted - it never would - but for now, at least, they could breathe. The worst of it was over. Until the next one.

  On the night of 31 March, Melissa gathered with some friends, assuming it was to celebrate the coming of spring. They sat in one of the cabins, the air still damp with unmitigated humidity, the walls holding the st chill of winter like a stubborn ghost.

  She popped open a bottle of champagne and poured herself a gss. Then Victoria. Then the others. They drank in silence.

  "We can’t stay, Mel," Victoria said, mere seconds after taking her first sip. The words were well-rehearsed, but still dripped with guilt.

  Melissa barely had time to process them before they nded like a brick to the chest.

  Victoria had been her closest friend for as long as she could remember. They shouldn’t have been - Melissa was the quiet, nerdy choir girl; Victoria, the no-nonsense, everybody-loves-her jock. Different worlds. But somehow, they had clicked. And now, just like all the others, she was leaving.

  "Why not?"

  "You know why."

  Melissa downed her gss of champagne in one go, feeling it fizz violently against her empty stomach. Of course she knew.

  Jack had been the loudest voice after the teachers abandoned them, which meant Jack got to lead. And now, one by one, her friends were slipping away - because of him.

  "Mel, please." Victoria leaned forward, voice lowering. "Come with us. We can build something new. Together. Away from..."

  She didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to. Everyone in the room knew where her pleading was headed. Away from Jack. Away from the misogynist, arrogant bastard who made everyone feel worthless.

  Melissa had heard every compint before, and every single one of them was valid. But what was she supposed to do? If she had a time machine, she’d go back and tell her younger self that just because a boy attends every concert and sings your praises doesn’t mean he’s your soulmate. But she didn’t have a time machine. And her younger self had been smitten beyond convincing.

  Now, her older self wanted to run. But she couldn’t. Because she knew Jack would chase her to the end of the world.

  "I can’t," she said. Her voice cracked as she reached for the new gss that had materialised before her, taking another burning swig.

  And that was that.

  Melissa stumbled through the dark, barely feeling the floor beneath her feet, barely feeling anything at all. The champagne sat heavy in her stomach, warmth pooling uselessly in her veins, but it wasn’t just the alcohol making her unsteady. It was the certainty. The knowledge that when morning came, the only person left in her life would be him. She would be alone. Completely. And more dependent than ever.

  Before returning to his bed, she stopped outside one of the supply closets, gripping the doorframe to steady herself. There was one exception to that statement.

  Sleeping soundly inside, safe from the older residents, was the st person in the world who loved her.

  Melissa pushed the door open slowly, careful not to let the hinges creak. The repurposed space smelled of dust and old linens, the air thick with the kind of quiet that could only exist around a sleeping child. Lucy stirred as the light shifted, but she didn’t wake.

  She sank to the floor beside her, reaching out, brushing her fingers along her warm, round cheek.

  A smile broke across her face before she even realized she was crying. Silent, open-mouthed sobs wracked through her as tears spilled down onto the linen floor.

  Lucy’s arm was a mess, a matrix of scar tissue that had taken weeks of careful tending from Melissa and the other girls to keep from infection. Some of the boys had insisted she should be cast out, that she was bound to "turn" like in all of the movies. They’d been told to fuck off. It didn’t work like that. Lucy was fine.

  Melissa wiped her face roughly, breath shuddering as she leaned in. "Don’t ever fall in love," she whispered. "Don’t ever let a boy control your life the way I’ve let one control mine."

  A tear slipped from her chin, nding softly against Lucy’s cheek. The little girl stirred again, eyes fluttering open just slightly - then, before Melissa could react, she reached up and pulled her into a clumsy, sleepy hug.

  Melissa froze, then let herself fall into it.

  Lucy’s small arms wrapped around her like an anchor, her warmth something solid and real in the unsteady blur of Melissa’s mind. She knew the child didn’t understand. Not the words, not the weight of them, not the crushing inevitability of what would come next. But still, she held on.

  The girl whispered, "I love you, Lissa."

  Melissa squeezed her eyes shut. "I love you too, sweetheart."

  And as Lucy drifted back into sleep, Melissa exhaled shakily, pressing her forehead against the thin mattress, feeling herself crack open under the weight of it all.

  She couldn’t let this innocence grow up here. It killed her to think it, but she had to let her st remaining bird fly free.

  24 April, 2020Kiran was only four years old when he was taken to the Manor, and even then - he wasn’t sure he wanted to go.

  The people he had been with were kind enough, but he had been the only child in their small group, and they never let him forget it. He needed too much. He slowed them down. He tried to be good, tried to be quiet, but no matter what he did, they still got frustrated with him. They would snap when he made mistakes, tell him to listen harder, but he never seemed to get things right.

  The idea of a special pce full of children, where no one would yell at him, sounded nice. But not if it meant Mumma wouldn’t be able to find him. She was already taking a very long time, and he didn’t want to make it even harder.

  She was coming. Or Pri was. He just had to wait.

  The group had convinced him in the end, assuring him they would point his family in the right direction, should they come looking. So, when the bus came, he stepped on.

  The Fsh had separated countless children from their parents. It had happened just before noon - when cssrooms were full and when parents were at work. When families were already apart. Some had found each other in the chaotic weeks that followed, clinging to each other in tearful, heart-wrenching reunions. Others weren’t so lucky.

  And the unlucky ones - like Kiran - had become burdens. Dead weight for groups who owed them nothing. The city of Albank was overflowing with dispced children, and an outspoken figurehead - Penelope Ewing - had recognised the situation as a ticking time bomb.

  Even for his age, Kiran was small. The only part of him that had consistently grown was his messy bck hair, which curled wildly and half-concealed his deep brown face. The past year had taught him a simple rule: the best way to avoid being shouted at was to be quiet. So he tried to be. He shrank into the background, speaking only when necessary.

  Instead, he smiled. A big, toothy grin, even when he wasn’t sure what was funny. It was easier than talking. It was safer.

  As Kiran stepped off the bus, he tilted his head back, staring in awe at the towering building before him. It was massive - an ancient thing of brown brick and arched windows, like something from an old movie. The sheer size of it made his chest feel tight. He gripped the strap of his too-big backpack, suddenly unsure if he should be here at all.

  The grounds stretched endlessly around the estate, a maze of neatly trimmed hedges and towering trees that rustled in the breeze. Flowers bloomed in careful arrangements, vines crawled up stone walls, and somewhere in the distance, a bell rang. It was beautiful - too beautiful. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like it belonged in the same world as the one he had come from. And it didn’t feel like it belonged to him.

  At the entrance, greeting each new arrival personally, stood Miss Ewing herself.

  She was tall, standing stiffly with her hands csped behind her back, her sharp blue suit pressed to perfection. Her short bck hair was neatly styled, and her expression - serious but kind - made her look like someone important. Like someone in charge.

  Kiran wasn’t sure why, but the sight of her dark skin - bck, not brown like his - made him feel a little safer. He had no reason to trust her, not really, but something about her made him want to. Maybe it was her warmth, the way her dark eyes softened when she looked down at him.

  "Welcome to the Manor," she said.

  He wanted to say something back, but his tongue felt heavy, so he just gave her a big, toothy grin. She hesitated, then smiled back, small and polite.

  The story went that Miss Ewing had been here when the Fsh happened, attending a friend’s wedding. With the city colpsing and the roads blocked, she and the few people left at the estate had chosen to stay. They had space. They had food. And, being so far west, away from the city centre, the Flesh rarely came near.

  The real problem hadn’t been survival. It was bour.

  Bringing chickens from the local farms was easy. Looking after them wasn’t. The Manor needed hands - small, careful ones. The Manor Project had been created partially as a solution to that. But, Miss Ewing insisted, it had never been just about practicality.

  She worried about the world beyond these walls. With no one left to keep bad actors in check, she feared what would happen to all the lost children - how many would be taken advantage of, and how many would be abandoned once the second winter came. The Manor’s pitch was simple: we will raise your children and send them back when they’re ready to defend themselves.

  All they asked for were donations to help them get started.

  Kiran knew none of this. He only knew that it was safe here.

  Some of the adults in his old group had debated it, whispering behind his back about how it was too good to be true. A scam. But within a few weeks, Kiran would feel confident that it was real. All the adults were nice to him. Even the scary-looking men with guns.

  He would smile at them, big and bright, and they would either smile back or make a comment about his oversized Manchester United shirt.

  The other children weren’t as kind.

  Not cruel - just distant. They had their own friends, their own small worlds that didn’t have space for him. Kiran would smile and wave, hoping someone might let him in, but the most he ever got was a quick nod or an absent wave back. No one stopped to talk. No one asked his name.

  So he stopped trying.

  Days blurred together, and the loneliness sat heavy in his chest. It hurt in a way he didn’t have words for - like something inside him was slowly sinking. He missed his Mumma. He missed Pri. He missed feeling like he belonged somewhere.

  And then, one afternoon, a voice broke through the silence.

  "I like your pretty hair."

  Kiran turned.

  She was the same height as him, with brown braided pigtails tied with red ribbons, her bright polka-dot dress standing out against the dull greys and browns of the Manor. Her head was tilted slightly, eyes sharp with curiosity, like a puppy inspecting something new. She was assessing him.

  Kiran hesitated, unsure what to do, then smiled - big, wide, and toothy. The kind that stretched across his whole face.

  She smiled back, and in that instant, the suspicion disappeared from her expression.

  "Thanks," he mumbled - the first word he had spoken to another child in weeks.

  The girl nodded twice, slow and deliberate, like she had just come to an important decision. Then, with a smug little smirk, she said, "You’re welcome."

  A pause. "What’s your name?"

  "Kiran."

  His grin widened, stretching impossibly far, like it might lift him off the ground if he let it.

  She nodded twice again, clearly pleased. "Nice to meet you, Kiran. My name is Lucy."

  LilAgarwal