Cute but Dangerous
689 Words
Chapter Three
People often lingered at the gate longer than necessary.
They stood beneath the mango tree pretending to adjust their bags or shoes, eyes drifting—always drifting—toward the orphanage fence. Toward the child who sat apart from the others.
Moses.
Mother Loveth noticed it every time. He was small for his age, quiet in a way that made adults uneasy. While the other children shouted and scraped knees and demanded attention, Moses watched. His dark eyes followed movements too subtle to matter: dust shifting in sunlight, ants vanishing into cracks, the sway of leaves when no wind touched them.
That morning, the black wolf sat beneath the mango tree again. It had come at dawn, as it always did, appearing without sound. Its fur was thick and shadowed, its body coiled with patience. It never crossed the gate. Never growled. Never blinked when Loveth met its gaze through the window.
She set the breakfast bowls down with hands that shook only slightly. The wolf’s eyes lifted not to her, but to Moses.
Loveth closed the curtain.
The orphanage smelled of soap and boiled corn. New paint covered the walls now, pale yellow, cracked in places where dampness still crept through. The children ate noisily, spoons clattering, voices overlapping.
Moses ate in silence. His teeth caught the spoon once, sharp enough to leave a groove in the metal.
Loveth noticed. She always did.
Later, when the children played, Moses sat cross-legged near the wall, stacking wooden blocks into precise towers. He didn’t smile when they stood. He didn’t frown when they fell. He simply rebuilt them, again and again, hands steady, movements exact.
A shout broke the rhythm.
Marco stood over him, arms crossed, lips twisted into a grin that carried no humor.
“Why do you always sit like that?” Marco asked. “Like you’re better than us.”
Moses didn’t answer.
Marco kicked the tower. Blocks scattered across the floor.
Moses looked up. Not angry nor frightened. Just… focused.
Marco kicked another pile. “You think you’re special?”He reached down and yanked at the silver pendant hanging beneath Moses’ shirt.
The chain didn’t snap.
Marco pulled harder.
Then something shifted.
A sharp sound cracked the air, not loud, but wrong. Marco had dropped to the floor, clutching his arm. The bone bent where bone should not bend.
The room froze as Moses stared at his own hands.
Jane rushed in, breathless. “What happened?”
Marco howled, tears streaking his face. “He did it! He... he broke it!”
Jane’s eyes flicked to Moses.
He sat very still.
Mother Loveth arrived seconds later. She took in the scene: the twisted arm, the scattered blocks, Moses’ pale face. Her gaze locked onto him.
“Moses,” she said softly.
His lower lip trembled. “I didn’t mean to.”
That was all.
Loveth knelt and pulled him into her arms before anyone could speak again. His heart hammered against her chest, too fast, too strong.
“Jane,” she said evenly, “get ice. Take Marco to the clinic.”
Jane hesitated, then nodded.
When they were gone, Loveth held Moses tighter, pressing her cheek to his hair.
Outside, the wolf lifted its head.
That night, Loveth placed crosses above every door, salt lined the thresholds. Candles burned low and steady, though no wind touched them. Moses lay awake in his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“Moses,” Loveth whispered from the doorway.
He turned his head.
“Did you feel anything when Marco touched you?”
He thought for a moment. “Something woke up.” he said
Her throat closed. She moved closer, smoothing his hair. “You must be gentle,” she said. “Even when the world isn’t.”
He nodded.
But his fingers curled slowly into the blanket, leaving shallow tears in the fabric. Yet her words has become his mantra.
Outside, beneath the mango tree, the wolf watched the windows until the candles burned out.
And in the dark, something ancient shifted quietly pleased that the child had begun to notice himself... Ulric.
- Writer
