Const Orphanage 14

Just after Elvira closed the door, Blair pulled out the doll she had purposely left in the secret passageway on the third floor.

This doll, from which she had torn off both legs and now given its head to Elvira, was left with just two arms and a body.

From within the doll's body, she extracted a crumpled note, scribbled with a few words in smudged, stained handwriting, barely legible, it read:

"...can go to 301 to obtain..., provided that... is a child of..."

Elvira, holding the doll's head in his hand, was filled with various doubts. The cruel hostel management, the horrifying experiments in the basement, the strange nursery rhymes and knocking sounds—all these elements intertwined, shrouding Const Orphanage in a fog of mystery.

With each mystery unraveled, a larger enigma seemed to follow.

He moved from the second floor to the first, then stepped into the staircase leading to the basement. At the fifth step from the bottom, he opened the door to the expanded section.

The laboratory was pitch dark, with a faint smell of laser burning lingering in the air.

He stood cautiously at the doorway, lighting up the ground near the door with his phone.

Elvira looked closely and thoroughly for a long while, yet, to his surprise, his dagger was nowhere to be found!

He was certain it should have been on the ground, right under a row of buttons.

Could someone have taken it?

Damn it!

Elvira clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles cracking with tension.That person might also show up at the investors' dinner. He would reclaim his dagger!

Worried about the laser beams activating again, Elvira hurriedly left the expanded section and headed to Teacher Ginger's quarters on the third floor.

Altair had already settled into his Mercedes G-Wagen, driving away from Const Hill. The wheels rolled, gradually taking him away from that desolate area. Altair felt that danger hadn't yet arrived, and only after ensuring Elvira had reached a safe room did he drive away from Const Moutain.

Not long after, his mobile signal returned, showing a missed call from Saxon.

Was there something emergency? So, Altair called back.

"Boss," Saxon's voice came through.

"I'm here. What's up?" Altair responded while driving, the dim yellow light of the streetlamps casting his face in mystery.

"There's a package for you. Inside, there's a silver mask. The sender is Const Orphanage," Saxon reported.

"En." Altair's voice remained calm and composed, "Check if there's been any change in the number of homeless people at major charity organizations and street parks."

"Understood," Saxon responded.

"Also, I have a dagger here, it belongs to a witch family, it looks familiar to me, find out what it actually is."

After saying this, Altair parked the car by the roadside and took a few detailed photos of the dagger with his phone.

"This appears to be the Undead Spirit Dagger of the witch families," Saxon matched it against the containment object database, "It's likely a family heirloom SCP."

"There should also be a scabbard for it," Saxon added.

Altair clenched the dagger tightly, its blade thin as a cicada's wing, shimmering with a cold light under the dim street lamps. The handle was carved with the witch family's uniquely intricate and opulent patterns, embodying both mystery and power.

With a slight twist of his wrist, the dagger drew an elegant arc through the air. Each swing was accompanied by dazzling cold light and a piercing chill, as if capable of slicing through space itself.

So, did Elvira have secrets of his own?

...

In the depths of the third floor, darkness prevailed. Elvira, nerves taut, groped his way to room 301. He could distinctly hear the surrounding sounds of breathing, droplets of saliva falling, and some indescribable noises.

He couldn't help but grip the doll's head tightly in his hand, cautiously pushing the door open.

Creak—

The door to room 301 slowly swung open, and Elvira darted inside, then gently closed the door behind him.

Leaning against the door, he caught his breath in quick gasps. It seemed the watchful "Hostel management" had not detected him.

Room 301 was clean, comforting, perhaps also due to psychological reasons.

Settling on the bed, Elvira wearily removed his coat, wrapping it tightly around himself. The continuous frights had pushed both his mental and physical endurance to their limits.

He buried his head deep between the pillow and the covers, curling up as if nestled in Teacher Ginger's warm embrace.

His eyelids grew heavy, the world before him blurring and doubling. The sounds around him seemed to come from a distant space, ethereal and fleeting.

The white curtains, thin as cicada wings, allowed moonlight to penetrate and spread a ghastly pallor across the floor. Suddenly, a shadow passed outside the window, slowly rising to stand on the windowsill.

Judging by its silhouette, it seemed to be a child.

It stood silently outside the window, peering through the gap in the curtains at the sleeping Elvira. Its large, round eyes moved with agility, seemingly filled with tangible malice, fixated on Elvira's face.

Suddenly, the curtains closed on their own without a breeze, leaving no gap.

It did not leave but stood outside the window, beginning to sing a nursery rhyme in a strange and venomous tone:

"Whispers in the cobwebs, secrets they weave,"

"Alone I play, in a dreamy reprieve."

"Little one, beware, for the night is bizarre,"

"In the ghostly hush, where oddities are par."

The next day, in the morning, sunlight gently filtered through the curtains, casting a golden sheen on Elvira's face, accentuating his deep-set eyes and distinct contours.

With a slight movement of his throat, his eyes slowly opened. In the dim morning light, Elvira heard the sound of the iron door being pushed open, followed by the heavy footsteps of a dozen Care Workers.

It was time for the Care Workers to start their day.

Elvira slowly got up, immediately noticing the silver half-face mask on the table.

The mask was smooth as a mirror, radiating a cold, mysterious sheen. A dazzling diamond was embedded at the corner of the mask's eyes, becoming even more brilliant under the morning light.

He gently put on the mask, and instantly, a bone-chilling coolness spread across his cheeks.

Who could have sneaked into room 301 while he was asleep and left this mask on the table?

What was this mask for?

He pondered as he caressed the mask, lost in thought.

He got up, drew the curtains, and opened the window. The fresh mountain air mixed with the morning dew rushed towards him, prompting him to take a deep breath.

Suddenly, his pupils contracted—a clear footprint appeared on the windowsill. It was a small footprint, likely belonging to a child.

Although the windowsill was narrow, the footprint was exceptionally distinct, as if it had just been made.

A child? Standing on the windowsill in the dead of night, pressed against the window, looking inside?

Whom was it watching?