The silver moon illuminated the world after the sun dipped below the horizon. It was almost curfew. Soon the lights would be out and all the occupants would be ordered to bed. I hurriedly stowed the comic book under my pillow and tucked myself under the covers. As the soft footfalls of the hall monitors died away and the lights dimmed, I reached for the forbidden comic book and quietly made my way over to the desk on the other side of the room. The bright light of the moon touched the surface of the desk through the window, providing barely enough light to make sense of the pages. It wasn't enough light to read by, but it made the pictures look visible enough to follow the story. I quit reading before I got too sleepy, taking great care in hiding the comic. If they found it, I would never see it again, and I would be stuck with the small selection of books that they allowed each of the occupants. Mine consisted of Beowulf, A Linguist's Guide to Foreign Languages, and Life in the Ocean: a Deep-Sea Rollercoaster. I had already read each about fifty times now.

I tucked myself into the bed covers again and stared up at the white-washed ceiling. It had been three months since my parents sent me here. Father had given me a pat on the shoulder as he walked away. Mother hadn't even said goodbye. I remember the day as clear as crystal. Breakfast was normal, as usual. Mother had on her frilly pink apron as she cooked the pancakes. Father sat at the table, reading his newspaper. I sat down nervously as I watched him grab the silver spoon and shove a pile of oatmeal into his mouth. They were angry yesterday. It was terrifying. I had never heard Father say such fowl things or listened to Mother scream so loud. Now, he said nothing. Mother had finished the pancakes and set them on the table in front of me. She smiled warmly at me and my mood lifted. I happily shoveled the food into my mouth. Whatever happened yesterday, it was no big deal today.

After breakfast, Father said that he was going to take me somewhere special. I gaped at him. He never took me out on any family outings, so this news made me incredibly happy. I raced out the door and stood between our red corvette and our blue pickup truck, asking Father which one we would take. He chose the corvette. As we pulled out of the driveway, I saw Mother in the doorway, tears streaming down her face. Why was Mother crying? Were they tears of joy, after finding out Father wanted to do something with me? I pushed the thought from my mind and watched the scenery roll by as Father drove to our destination. We arrived at a large estate that looked to be over a hundred years old. The corvette drove past the iron gates and parked at the front of the establishment. Father exited the car and brought out a suitcase that he must have put in the trunk before I had awoken. I stared at it curiously as we made our way inside.

They told me my parents would come back for me. They said that if I was a good little boy, I could go home and be with them. They told me I would be here no longer than a week. Three months later, and I am still here, still lying in this white-washed room, still waiting for my parents to come get me. I longed to see Mother's smile and hear Father's voice. I missed Mother's cooking terribly. The food palette here consisted mainly of gruel and stale bread, which was delivered through a slot in my perpetually locked door. They would only ever let us out to use the bathroom, but nothing more. I didn't even know who the other occupants were. I turned over in my bed and closed my eyes to sleep. My parents would get me soon, I knew they would. I had always been a good boy. Good boys always get a happy ending, right?