“She loves me you know, I take care of her, and she loves me.” That was all the kid said when I found him in the root cellar beneath the little orphanage. He was on his knees, a thin layer of blood and other fluids lined the floor around him and the statue as he stared lovingly up at it. He didn’t respond to me as I tried to get his attention, he looked as if he were in a trance. It wasn’t until I accidentally stepped into the edge of the blood pool that the child realized I was there. Upstairs, in the orphanage, everything looked prim and proper. Everything was in its place, and there didn’t seem to be any signs of a struggle or altercation. Neighbors reported hearing screams, however when they stopped and the neighbors investigated they found the place was devoid of people. They grew worried and figured to call the police. They were about to leave when a passerby mentioned seeing them all head out back behind the house towards the cellar. The stone statue, covered in blood ...