Baby 9

I gazed at the girl suspiciously. She had a habit of running off just when I started to get close. On some occasions I would begin to believe she was just a hallucination. But she didn’t always evade me. She had held me in her arms.

Oh, hello there, reader! I’m Baby 9, a literal infant. Well, I’ve started to toddle a bit every now and then, so you might call me a young toddler. And this is my friend—and, sometimes, enemy, Teen 4. I can tell by the look on her face she’s playing with me again. Teen 4 just loves to catch my attention, just to run away a moment later as I start to toddle after her. She knows I love it when she plays like that. Sometimes she would hide in a closet in the Sleepy-Room. I—oh, there she goes! I’d best be following.

I chased the Teen 4, my slow toddling steps aggravating me as I tried to catch up. She was just too fast! By the time I reached where she was running to—the Sleepy-Room, as always—she was nowhere to be seen.

I glanced at the closet, but the doors were shut tight. I heard a thud behind me and turned around slowly. The door had been shut. Panicked, I tried desperately to open the door. But my small, clumsy hand was no match for the smooth, silver doorknob. I pounded on the door and wailed as loud as I could,

“Help, help, somebody! Please!”

In my anguish I couldn’t hear the whistling or the opening of a closet door. The whistling came again, louder and closer. I stopped crying and turned back around to see long, jean covered legs. I tilted my head up to see Teen 4 smiling at me as she bent down and picked me up, cuddling close as she reached out and opened the door. I stared at her in shock. I hadn’t even known she was in there with me!