Perhaps you’ve read my previous post. It was all I could do, you must understand. To publish her letters even anonymously is such a risk even now. I was afraid, I was ashamed, and I was determined to survive. I am safer now, but the time has not yet come for you to know me. Instead, I wish to tell you a bit more of the place Annie related to her Alexander in those nearly forgotten letters.
Droughton Hill was no safe haven for lost children. It wore the guise, the skin of a home, but nothing more. The nannies took but a few nights to learn its true nature, and by that time they had no choice. The children, for the most part, knew no better. And if they did, what could they have done for it? Who would hear them if they complained? It would do them no worse to scream their injustice into the frozen mountains. Believe me, they did.
But there was some hope for those lost souls, trapped somewhere so inexplicably horrible. There was some relief to be found. Here is another of the letters I have found or kept from Draughton Hill.
-C
Nellie, if you read this, know that I am glad you escaped. When you first arrived at the lodge, I knew you would be special. In your interviews, you told us that you wanted to be a light in a dark world. You wanted to bring joy to children who knew so little of it. It was that defiance, that determination, that caught my attention.
After your first night, I was sure. The others before you had been so uninteresting. They would simply bark their orders, and lock the hatch at bed time. They hid their fear behind their rigid exterior. But you were different.
“Hello, loves,” You had said that first night, before your introduction. “I hope to know each of your names some time soon. Until then, you may know mine. I am Mrs. Pembrooke. Anyone who greets me by it tomorrow will get one piece of candy. Sleep well, I will see you all tomorrow!” It was such a pleasant introduction. I’m sure I haven’t related it perfectly in writing. You had clearly rehearsed it, always the overachiever. If only you could have read the hundred little eyes which peered at you from behind their blankets. You would not have wanted to know their names then, and you would not have promised to see them in the morning.
But during their nightly test, you too were tested by the knowledge of it. “What is that thing?” you asked, your hand covering your mouth. The screen seemed to burn you with its grainy picture as you observed. “We’ve got to…” And then I watched you notice. I watched you put the pieces together. The strict schedule, the precautionary measures, the door. “You knew this would happen?” And you looked right at me, right through the lens. It was beautiful.
I saw the way you scrambled to the corridor, fire extinguisher in hand. Did you intend to spray it? That might have worked for a moment, but only that much. Of course, the corridor would have the same time-locked door which barred the sleeping quarters. The entire facility outside of your observation quarters would be inaccessible to you. I watched you bash the window, shouting, cursing. You became very unlike yourself, Nellie, but all the more wonderful for it. It didn’t take you long to realize our intentions. You were there to watch. And so you did, lulled into a false sense of security by its regularity. The abominable thing made its brisk march around and around, shifting between a crawl and a stumble, but never changing its pace.
None were harmed that night, and so you watched it. You did not yet know the severity of its game, the gravity of its consequences. You watched the sun trickle through the window, heard through the walls what force shut the door as the creature left. And there were still several hours until morning for the children. You watched how some got up, a few cried, you must have noticed how many of them simply rolled over and went to sleep.
None of them knew your name that morning, which didn’t surprise you or I. But all the same, you surprised me. You chose to smile, to be kind to them. When the other nannies came, their watchful eyes must have warned you. You did not bother them with questions. I was truly captivated by you. You were so perceptive, so contained, and yet so kind. During their lessons, you sat with them. When little- oh what was her name? She didn’t live long that one- well, when she drifted off to sleep, and Madam Laurent brought the ruler to her hand, you resisted the urge to stop her. It was so clearly offensive to you, yet your face showed nothing. Instead, you sat with her, patting her arm to keep her attentive. You waited, holding your response until after. You, being the unpredictably intelligent woman you are, requested to teach the lessons on Madam Laurent’s behalf.
You were truly magnificent. During their eye-stimulation treatments, you gave them teddy bears. When they were interviewed for long-exposure testing, you learned to trick them into failing the test. At every stop, you fooled me. At every curve, I watched a beautiful woman do kind things, not thinking for a moment that she might know better than I did what effect they might have. But you did know. You were trying to save them. Finally, you witnessed how one of them died. You saw it with your own eyes. You had insisted upon observation duty, claiming you were covering for Mrs. Price, who had been sick for several days. She had been, after all. Was that your doing? And you were so kind, weren’t you? I suppose you had to know why some children would not return to breakfast, why some children went to bed only to never appear again.
I remember this boy, Evan. It was your duty to bring him to his bed, to help him make it, to ensure that he had his bedclothes. You were the only nanny who actually kept this responsibility on nights like these. Despite what you had learned from the hushed whispers of “muppet,” what it did to those children who stirred, how it took them away, you were kind to him. You must have warned him. He really tried. But he cried, didn’t he? And so you saw what happened to them when it heard them, or saw them stir. You saw the way it bashed them and dashed them and dragged them away.
You knew why they were so frightened now. You knew what it was capable of. And so you began asking questions in the meal line. Our kitchen staff did not answer you, but I know now why you were asking. You wanted to contact the outside. You knew that they received supplies. It was simple logic really. But what I do not know even now is how you escaped. How did you know when the shipment was coming? How did you manage to survive the cold long enough to reach the delivery unit? I do not know. You must have been determined. I would have expected you to try and take that one child with you, the one who seemed so attached to you. Yet, she most certainly would not have survived the cold. But then again neither would you. You really are incredible, Nellie.
But of course I am not here to congratulate you. You made it far enough to frighten me. When our driver called me, he said that you had held a kitchen knife to his throat. While he managed to convince you of his innocence, he was forced to bring you to civilization, to that damned ranger and his damned walkies. God only knows what you told them. By the time I arrived they were talking about calling the authorities. Thankfully, Ben was clever. He told them you’d held him hostage. He wasn’t even lying. And so you were a crazy woman in the mountains. My brilliant, defiant, benevolent Nellie, labeled as “hysterical.” And so I found you. I am presented with a choice. I can forgive you, reintroduce you to our southern facility, bring you back under my protective wing. But Nellie, In all practicality, you’ve been outside. You know the landscape now. I couldn’t have you cluing in any other aspiring Harriets. I hope you can forgive me.
-Micheal
I wish that I could tell you where I found this letter. I am afraid that any bread crumbs may lead them to me. As much as I want to be brave, as deeply as I burn to see those children free, I could tell you for certain that bad things come to those who are found by Droughton Hill. Until next time,
-C.