Moonella stared at her laptop screen, filled with lines of investigative notes. The digital letters blurred in her tired eyes, but the fire in her chest burned bright. It had been a week since she dove into the haunting story of the orphanage, now reduced to ruins and whispers.
Her curiosity had been ignited by a forgotten news clipping—about the tragic death of a girl named Elira. No one truly cared. No one ever asked what really happened. But Moonella, a writer used to hearing voices in silence, knew there was more to the story.
She leaned back in her chair and exhaled a deep sigh. Outside, the night was quiet. The rain had just stopped, leaving behind the earthy scent of wet soil, drifting in through the slightly open window.
Her fingers began to dance across the keyboard. She typed:
"Elira was found in a horrific state, as if someone wanted to silence her forever..."
Suddenly, her laptop screen flickered.
Moonella froze. Her hands hovered over the keys. Her desk lamp dimmed, then gradually brightened again. She glanced around the room. Nothing seemed out of place, yet a strange sensation crept over her skin.
Then it happened.
The sentence she had just typed slowly erased itself, letter by letter, replaced by a new line.
"Look at the old book on the bottom shelf."
Her heart skipped a beat. But strangely, she wasn't afraid. There was something about the message—something calm and familiar, like a voice she never heard but had always known.
Slowly, she rose from her chair and walked to the old bookshelf in the corner. It had belonged to her late mother, and she had never truly explored its contents. At the very bottom, hidden behind recipe books and dusty old novels, she found a small leather-bound notebook.
She blew the dust off gently. With trembling hands, she opened the first page.
List of Missing Children, 1994 – 2001.
Her breath caught in her throat. This wasn't just a notebook. It was a hidden document, a secret record. On the next page, names were listed with birthdates and their status—missing, deceased, or relocated.
And among those names, she saw one that made her eyes widen:
Nina Aveline – Missing – 1998.
Moonella remembered the name. In an article she'd read, Elira had mentioned Nina in a burned diary—now lost in the ashes of the orphanage.
But here it was again. Proof resurfaced from a forgotten corner.
"So... you really are here, Elira?" she whispered.
The lamp flickered once more. A soft breeze brushed her skin even though the windows were shut. Then, another line appeared on her laptop screen:
"She's still alive. But not the same. Look at Martha's House."
Moonella scribbled the note into her journal. Martha's House was a mental rehabilitation facility about two hours from her home. It had once been mentioned in child abuse reports but had somehow disappeared from public records.
This was no coincidence.
Suddenly, the small cabinet beside the bookshelf rattled. She turned and saw a folder fall to the floor. Kneeling, she opened it carefully.
Inside were photocopied pages from an old journal, written in sharp, neat handwriting. In the top corner of the first page, a name was scrawled:
Helena M.
Moonella's blood ran cold.
It was Sister Helena's personal journal.
She read one passage:
"Three nights in a row, the girl cried and prayed loudly. I couldn't sleep. Her mouth had to be sewn shut to stop the disruption. The demon hates noisy spirits. I did what had to be done—for wealth, for power. The price is fair."
Her mouth went dry. Her hands shook uncontrollably. The room wasn't cold, but her entire body trembled.
"I have to write this down..." she murmured.
She returned to her desk and began typing furiously. But as she transcribed the journal, the letters on her screen started to form without her touching the keyboard.
Elira was writing with her.
"I can't be saved. But they still can. Find Sister Helena. Don't let the orphanage reopen. Don't let her take more children."
Tears welled in Moonella's eyes. She reached for the small cross hanging from her neck. "I promise… I'll finish what you started. I'll tell the world."
The lamp blinked once more—brighter this time—then returned to normal.
On her screen, a new name appeared:
"Clara, age 6 – the next chosen one."
The next morning, Moonella prepared for her journey to Martha's House. She packed every note, document, and photocopied page she'd discovered into a small suitcase.
As she stepped outside, the morning air brushed her cheeks with a strange sense of calm. She started her car, and the radio came on by itself.
A child's voice whispered softly:
"Thank you, Moonella..."
She smiled faintly.
Elira may be gone, but her voice now lived in every word Moonella would write.
And this was only the beginning.