Lydia Turnpike...

A new orphan has arrived at MRSBO.

rs.Blathersby awoke at a quarter past midnight to urgent knocking at the orphanage door. Many years living at the orphanage lent MRSBO an uncanny ability to tell the age of who was knocking at the door. It had all to do with the pattern, tone and pitch. The younger the visitor the more rapid and disorderly the knocking, and lower the pitch since the knocker is banging on the lower part of the door and such. That night MRSBO was certain the late night visitor was an older, cultured person of authority. But much to her surprise waiting at the door was a small girl, standing calmly in the embrace of the night. Lydia Turnpike didn't say much, and MRSBO didn't insist on any answers, it was not the first time she opened her doors to a child dressed in black, likely still mourning their parents death.

Lydia kept to herself, she didn't play with the other children. She stayed in the darkest corners of the orphanages rooms, and refused to play outside. When questioned about her past, or her strange behaviour she was known to hiss back in response. Most unusual were her crystal blue eyes that seemed ageless. Many a time when a prospective foster parent came to sift among the pickings for a child they would be captivated by her eyes, losing themselves for many awkward moments. At which point the spell would be broken by Mrs.Blathersby's hand on their elbow, gently escorting them towards a more suitable orphan. Naturally the children quickly learned to stay out of her way, from fear. Still, their curiosity kept them wondering who Lydia really was. The girl didn't make this easy, she didn't even have any possession other than her strange looking bag which was never seen without her.

While the children were unable to find out anything about Ms. Turnpike's past, they did find curious things around the orphanage. Every morning the children would find that some mirrors were turned around. Mrs. Skimpole, the cook often complained about garlic going missing, even a day after new supplies came in. And most disturbingly Leroy the caretaker was often heard whispering to Mrs.Blathersby that he found yet another rat, squirrel, or rabbit in the garden, dead and shriveled up as if its blood had been drained.

Oh curiouser and curiouser this house becomes every time an orphan comes...