Sarah Sues Santa

  She came to what looked like a playroom, though Sarah struggled to call it that.  Broken toys and ripped teddy bears lay scattered across the floor.  Old tables and chairs covered in scratches and with the occasional leg missing were in the corners of the room, each with a case of crayons that looked as though they had half the crayons missing.  Picking up one of the coloring books from a table, Sarah flicked through the pages.  Every last page had been scribbled on, with barely any white space left to colour.  Shuddering, she put the book back down.  She looked up to see a clock and calendar on the wall: 7:30am, December 25th.

  In the middle of the room, there was a Christmas tree.  The saddest Christmas tree Sarah had ever seen.  It wasn’t small, but in this big room it looked tiny and lonely.  It had no decorations, except for a single star at the top which looked like it had been gold once but had lost all of it's colour years ago, and now it was just a dull grey.  No presents were under the tree. A big hand lay on Sarah's shoulder, and she nearly leapt out of her skin.  She turned, and a tall pale man in a black suit with short hair stared down at her. 

  "What are you doing out of bed?" He said quickly.

  "I, er, I'm lost," she blurted out.  She winced.  Why did I say that?

  "Lost?" The man raised an eyebrow, "You're not supposed to be out of your bedroom until eight.  How did you get lost between your bed and the bedroom?”

  Sarah stuttered and stammered, trying to think of a good answer and failing. The man gave Sarah an ice cold stare, and then he seemed to melt like snow in a hot pan.  He rubbed his forehead. “Well, it was going to happen, I guess," he said, sounding extremely tired, "I should've known you kids would be excited on Christmas.  Even if...well..."

  "So it is Christmas?" Said Sarah, suddenly feeling curious.  She pointed at the bare Christmas tree, "So why didn't Santa bring any presents?"

  The man looked at the tree and let out a long sigh.

  "Nobody brings presents to orphans," he said, "Not even Santa."

  Sarah felt as though the floor had opened up beneath her.  An orphan?  Am...am I an orphan too?

  The man's expression was hard again.  He steered her out of the playroom and back into the cold corridors.  But they didn't go back to the bedroom: they went a different way this time.

  "This way, Miss Pebbleton," said the man, "Seeing as you are up so early, you might as well help the cooks with breakfast."

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Orphanage

  The man's name was Noel Vekil.  The cooks started talking the moment he left Sarah with them.

  Sarah longed to follow him - she had so many questions - but the cooks immediately set her to work stirring a big pot of tomato soup.  It didn't look like a good soup, though: it looked as thin as water, and smelled like used socks.

  As the steam licked around her face, her mind raced.  An orphanage? So where were her parents?  Maybe she didn't want to know the answer to that question, but she kept telling herself that this wasn't real, that this was all just Santa's magic.  But this all felt so real that she couldn't help but feel sad.

  "You okay, darling?" said one of the cooks, her friendly wrinkled face peering from the other side of the pot, "You look as though you're about to burst about crying."

  "Just...thinking,"

  "About what?  Anything I can help with?"

  "I doubt it."

  The old cook watched her stirring silently for a while, then she walked around the pot to stand next to Sarah.  She stood next to Sarah for a while, not saying a word.  It made Sarah feel very uncomfortable.  Finally, she spoke.

  "You're new here, aren't you?" She croaked.

  Sarah didn't look at her.  Was she new?  She wasn't sure.

  But the old cook nodded anyway.  "I thought so." She nodded at the door that Noel Vekil had walked out of.  "Don't ever call him Noel," she said, "He hates it.  Just call him Mr. Vekil.  Even the other adults here have to call him that.  We don't like him very much."

  The old cook gave a crooked grin and raised a finger to her lips.  Sarah grinned, and they both looked up.  Through the steam, Sarah looked over the dining hall.  It was a long and narrow room with plastic chairs and tables, a serving hatch next to the kitchen, and nothing else.  It was dark,  and even though she was stirring a pot of hot liquid Sarah couldn't help but shiver.

  "No wonder you're cold," said the old cook, "You're still in your pyjamas."

  Soon, the other kids filed into the kitchen.  Some were older than Sarah, maybe even as old as fourteen.  Some were younger than her, barely taller than the tables they tried to sit at.

  The old lady took the ladle from Sarah. "That should do it, dear," she croaked, "Now run along, go and sit by your friends."

  Who are my friends here?  Do I have any friends at all?  Sarah's mind raced as she walked out of the kitchens, took a deep breath at the door of the dining hall, and pushed her way through the doors.

  Already the hall was bustling with movement as kids lined up to collect their breakfast.  As Sarah joined the back of the queue, three of the older kids pushed in front her, staring at her as though daring her to say something.  As Sarah looked away she spotted the girl from the top bunk further up the queue, looking straight at her.

  "Sarah!  Come here!" She called, "I have something to show you!"

  Not daring to look at the scowling older kids, Sarah jumped up the queue to where the girl from the top bunk waited.  The other girl called Becky was there as well.

  "What is it?" Sarah said quietly.

  "Huh?"

  "The thing you wanted to show me."

  "Oh that!" said the girl from the top bunk, "It's not important now.  Come on, stand next to us."

  "You're very brave, Anna," said Becky, looking over her shoulder, "You're going to make the big kids angry if you keep doing stuff like that."

  "They don't scare me," said Anna brightly, "They think they're tough, but all they do is pick on the new kid." Anna patted Sarah on the shoulder, "They should try picking on someone their own size.  Anyway, I quite like you Sarah.  You seem nice."

  Sarah managed a small smile.

  "Be careful about being too nice, though," said Becky, rolling her eyes, "Otherwise you'll end up getting adopted."

  Adopted...the word made Sarah's stomach churn.

  Anna and Becky chatted away as the queue moved towards the hatch where breakfast was served.  Not once did Sarah hear them mention Christmas.  Finally, they collected their plates and took a seat in the corner of the room, away from the crowd.

  Sarah looked down at her breakfast.  There was the thin soup that she had stirred, a bowl of oatmeal and a paper cup of orange squash.  Sarah wouldn't even call this a nice breakfast on a normal day, let alone Christmas.

  "It hasn't always been like this," said Becky, noticing how Sarah stared at her meal, "Not if you believe what Margaret says, anyway."

  "Who?"

  Becky and Anna pointed across the room to where the old cook stood, ladling the soup into bowls, always smiling toothlessly.

  "Margaret keeps saying that this place actually used to be quite nice," Becky went on, whispering even though nobody else was nearby, "I mean, she says that the orphanage has never had that much money, but at least it used to be fun here."

  "What happened?"

  Anna and Becky exchanged dark looks.  They looked around them to make absolutely sure nobody was listening.

  "Mr. Vekil," Anna hissed, "He took over the orphanage about five years ago.  Nobody had heard about him before he turned up, and even now nobody really knows anything about him.

  “There’s lots of rumors, though,” said Becky, lowering her voice even more so Sarah had to lean in, “Like him being an old gangster who is hiding from his angry boss.”

  “Or under the control of giant lizard aliens!” Anna added excitedly.

  Becky rolled her eyes. “The only thing that’s for sure is that Mr. Vekil turned this place into what it is now: miserab
le, cold and not fun at all.”

  “Or Christmassy.”

  Becky and Anna exchanged dark looks again.

  “What is it?” said Sarah, looking from one to the other.

  Becky and Anna seemed to be having a silent conversation with each other, as though they weren’t sure how much they could say. With one more look over their shoulder to make absolutely sure nobody could hear, Becky spoke.

  “It’s just another rumor, but this one makes a lot of sense,” said Becky, “They say that Mr. Vekil hates Christmas, but his family loves it. That’s why his parents named him Noel. When he was a kid, his family would basically celebrate Christmas all year.”

  Sarah thought of how she was now on her fourth Christmas Day in a row. “I can see how that could get annoying.”

  “So Mr. Vekil escaped to run this orphanage. It was a clever move, really, because he knows that orphanages don’t get a lot of money. He could live in the orphanage with all the kids, and his family couldn’t tell him to celebrate Christmas, because that would mean spending money on decorations and presents when it should be spent on food and heating.”

  “I don't think he even does that,” said Sarah, looking down at her watery soup, “I mean, if it was so nice before, why would he make it so bad?”

  Anna shrugged. “You can ask him if you want.”

  Becky gave a short laugh. “Ha! As if! Nobody speaks to Mr. Vekil.”

  “I did.” said Sarah.

  Becky and Anna stared at her. “You…what? When?”

  “This morning. He saw me walking around.”

  “YOU’RE JOKING!” Anna leapt out of her seat as though she was given an electric shock and nearly knocking over her breakfast tray. Several of the nearby kids looked in their direction.

  “Sit down,” Becky muttered through gritted teeth, “People are watching.”

  “S-sorry,” said Anna, lowering herself back onto the plastic seat, “But still…wow! I don’t think I’ve met any other kid that’s actually spoken to Mr. Vekil.”

  “He didn’t seem that bad, really,” said Sarah, sipping on her soup.

  “That’s just because you don’t know him yet,” said Becky, “It sounds like you were lucky. If he is not so bad, Sarah, then how come he turned this orphanage into this?” she waved an arm around the dark dining hall, all of the kids huddled over their steaming bowls for warmth on this chilly Christmas morning.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Secret Room

  As Sarah queued to hand in her tray, she noticed that the other kids started to clean the dining room, grabbing cloths and wiping down chairs and tables while others grabbed brooms and mops from a big cupboard at the back of the room and started to clean.

  “What’s going on?” said Sarah as she handed her tray to Margaret.

  “Chores,” she said, “Everyone has a place they need to clean.”

  “Oh,” said Sarah, “Erm…where do I –”

  But Margaret waved her hand. “You already did your chores this morning,” she said with a kind smile, “You go and relax, dearie.”

  “Oh, lucky you!” said Becky and Anna.

  Sarah headed out of the dining hall. Children were scattered everywhere, brushing the floor and wiping the windows. She wandered around, not really sure where to go or what to do. Her mind was too full of what Becky and Anna had told her. Was what they said true? Was Mr. Vekil really a bad man? As Sarah watched two little boys on their knees scrubbing a grimy floor with old socks, Sarah had to agree. What kind of person makes kids do cleaning on Christmas Day?

  Sarah rounded a corner, and snapped out of her daydreaming. Looking around, she noticed that she was far away from any of the other children and their cleaning. This corridor looked a little brighter than the other ones she’d seen: big windows on one side looked over a courtyard covered in snow. And on the other wall was a long line of lockers, each with a number. Is one of these mine? Maybe…but what number would my locker be? Straightaway, she knew the answer. Number 12, her house number. She went to locker 12, and there was a turn-dial with all of the letters of the alphabet on it. She rubbed her chin. Her password…what could it be? It could be any word...

  She spun the dial around and spelled the word SANTA. The locker didn’t open. Maybe her surname? PEBBLETON. Nope, that didn’t work either. Think, Sarah…a word that is important to me, something I will never forget…

  Sarah smiled. Of course. How could it be anything else? UBERWOMAN. The locker clicked, and she pulled it open. Inside were her clothes. She immediately pulled out her jeans and dug a hand into her pocket. Her fingers closed around a scrunched up piece of paper. The ticket. She still had it. She could finally escape.

  She looked around. Nobody else was here. It would be easy to just open one of these windows, climb out, use one of the drainpipes to climb up onto the roof and escape this horrible place. She slid open the window latch, and laid a hand on the glass. No, she didn’t want to leave just yet. Something about this orphanage and Noel Vekil…it was like a mystery that hadn’t been solved. And Uberwoman never left mysteries unsolved! Besides, Santa had sent her here for a reason. Maybe this was it?

  She slid the latch shut and locked the window again. No. Not yet.

  Sarah walked around the maze of corridors and up the stairs to the second floor. This place is huge! Far bigger than an orphanage needs to be. Many of the rooms were empty, or stacked with old tables and chairs. But then she came to a door that was locked and bolted. Every door she’d seen had been wide open…except this one. That just makes me want to see inside. She rattled the handle, then immediately stopped, wincing as the sound echoed down the corridors. She tried to peek through the crack under the door, but it was too narrow. She stood on tiptoe and tied to see through the dusty windows on the door. At first, she nearly jumped away in fright – were those ghosts inside? – but when she looked closer, she saw that that it was a huge white sheet stretched over something big, so big it filled the whole room. What is that?

  “You are very good at ending up in places where you’re not supposed to be, Miss Pebbleton.”

  Sarah nearly leapt out of her skin. She spun around so fast she nearly fell over. Mr. Vekil stood over her, his perfect suit looking very out of place in these dusty corridors, although his stare was just as cold.

  “I – I was just…” Sarah scrambled for words, but Mr. Vekil held up a hand.

  “Don’t make excuses,” he snapped, “I don’t want to hear them. Just get out of here and never, ever come back here. Do you I make myself clear?”

  “Yes!”

  “What should you never do?”

  “Come back here!”

  “Good. Now go. GO!”

  Sarah ran as fast as she could, not daring to look back.

  Sarah sat in the playroom, flicking through an old picture book without really looking at it. Try as she may, she couldn’t take her mind off of that room. What was Mr. Vekil hiding?

  Sarah looked glumly around the room. Not many kids were here: most had gone back to their rooms. Sarah didn’t blame them; there wasn’t much to play with in the playroom. They didn’t even have a pen and some sticky notes to play that game she’d learned from her poor family. They weren’t allowed outside either, and Sarah didn’t dare wander around the orphanage again in case she met Mr. Vekil.

  Sarah was so bored that by the time the bell rang for the evening meal, she was almost glad to have something to do, even if she already knew that the food would be terrible. And sure enough, it was: vegetables so boiled that they had no flavor left in them and cold, dry slices of chicken that had no gravy.

  “It kind of looks like a Christmas dinner,” said Anna, “I mean, if you think really, really hard.”

  Becky snorted. “Thinking doesn’t make it taste better, though.”

  “You okay, Sarah?” said Anna, “You look like you’re thinking a little bit too hard.”

  Sarah had been pushing the last few peas around her plate, deep in thought. At Anna?
??s words, she snapped her head up. “Oh! Yeah, I’m great!”

  What if I tell them about the secret room? Maybe they will go with me? It won’t be so scary if we go in a group…

  Sarah looked up to ask them a question, but the girls were staring wide-eyed over her shoulder. Before she could turn around, she felt something pull on her pocket, and a hand snatched her last two tickets away. Sarah looked up to see the older kids from before, sneering down at her.

  “Well, well! What’s this?” he said, The tallest one looked over the tickets.

  It was the big kids from before, the ones she met in the queue at breakfast.

  "Give them back!" Said Sarah, reaching up to grab it. The big kid just held it higher.

  "That's not yours, Michael," said Anna, her face stern, "You're stealing Sarah's stuff."

  The boy called Michael shrugged. "Hey, I just want to look!"

  "If you wanted to look at it, you could've just asked," said Sarah hotly, "Now give it here!"

  But Michael just pushed Sarah in the forehead with a single finger, and she stumbled backwards into her chair. The other big kids laughed, and Sarah felt her face flush a deep red.

  Michael unfolded the tickets and looked over it.

  "Tickets?" He frowned, "Tickets to where?"

  "None of your business."

  "Now now, no need to be rude," said Michael, waving the ticket in front of Sarah's face, "I'm just helping Mr. Vekil to make sure all the kids here follow the rules."

  "That's rich coming from you!" Anna snapped, but Michael ignored her. He kept staring at Sarah, as though he suddenly found her very interesting. Lots of the other kids in the dining hall were turning to watch too.

  "Are you planning to go somewhere, little girl?" He sneered, "You think you can just leave on your own? You realise that all of the doors out of this place are locked and we're forbidden from going outside? Buying a train ticket doesn't automatically give you permission to leave."

  "They’re not train tickets." Sarah growled.

  "Oh? Then tell me what it is."

  Silence. Michael and Sarah stared at each other. The whole dining room was quiet now, leaning in to watch. Finally, Michael stood up straight and stuffed the tickets in his pocket.