Monsters aren't born. They're made — quietly, in the dark, while no one is watching.
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Age: 6
Location: St. Agatha's Orphanage – Outskirts of the City
Silas Creed: File ID# A-0112
Age: 6
No known parents
White hair, underweight
Withdrawn. Nonverbal. Extremely intelligent.
Behavioral risk level: Low (initially)
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5:42 P.M.
Dining Hall – St. Agatha's Orphanage
The soup is cold. The bread is stale. Flies buzz in the corners.
Silas doesn't eat.
He sits, staring at the floor, small hands folded in his lap. The other children ignore him. Some throw glances. One glares.
Aaron, age 9. Bigger. Meaner. Liked by the staff for "being helpful."
Silas is new. Too quiet. Too strange.
"Hey," Aaron sneers, loud enough for others to hear. "You think you're better than us, freak?"
Silas doesn't respond.
Aaron slaps the back of his head. The spoon in Silas's hand clatters to the ground. He still doesn't move.
Everyone laughs. Even the adults.
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9:11 P.M.
Dormitory
The lights are off. The room is filled with hushed giggles and whispers.
Silas lies still in his bed, staring at the ceiling. A single moth flutters around the flickering emergency bulb.
He hears footsteps.
A blanket is ripped away. Cold air floods in.
Aaron again.
"You think you're smart, huh? Too good to talk to anyone?" he hisses.
He punches Silas once. Twice. No cries. No tears.
That makes Aaron angry.
He drags Silas from the bed, pulling him by his ankle across the old wooden floor. The others pretend to sleep.
Aaron whispers one more thing:
"No one's gonna care if you disappear."
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12:33 A.M.
Boiler Room – Basement
Silas is awake.
Still. Quiet.
The pain is still in his ribs, but something new is rising.
Something warm.
Something clean.
He walks down the creaking steps barefoot, holding a screwdriver he found beneath the floorboards.
Aaron is snoring near the old furnace. He sometimes sleeps there to avoid being caught sneaking around.
Silas kneels beside him. Watches him breathe.
His golden eyes are calm. Focused.
No rage. No tears.
Only... curiosity.
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12:44 A.M.
Silence
The first stab isn't even deep. It's exploratory.
Aaron wakes up too late.
The second goes into the throat.
The third into the eye.
Silas watches his hands work — not trembling, not scared. Just... learning. Testing how flesh gives way under pressure.
The blood soaks the old boiler room tiles. The boy doesn't scream long.
When it's done, Silas sits beside the body, watching it cool.
He smiles.
Not big. Just a little curve at the corners.
His first real smile in months.
It doesn't feel wrong.
It feels like relief.
---
1:12 A.M.
Fire
No one knows how the fire started.
The staff blamed faulty wiring. The furnace.
The flames ate through everything — the dormitories, the offices, the past.
Only one child was found outside, standing calmly in the snow, face and pajamas streaked with soot and blood.
Silas Creed.
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3 Days Later
Psych Evaluation Notes – Confidential
> "Subject has not spoken since the incident.
Shows no signs of trauma.
No tears. No emotional reaction to loss.
When asked about the other children, he simply drew a picture."
> (Attached sketch: A figure with a smile, standing alone in a burning building. Everyone else is on fire.)
> "Final note: Recommend permanent transfer to psychological care. There is something missing inside this boy."
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Final Scene
Silas, age six, stares into a small mirror in the foster transport van.
He practices his smile.
Again.
And again.
Until it looks just right.
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Final Line:
> "If they wanted me to act normal... I'll give them the best performance of their lives."
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