Bebegigs
Chapter 52's

As pale as moonlight, the orange seemed to float across the grassy courtyard. His long hair was waving by the night breeze.

His white silk nightgown glittered in a gentle light, fluttering without sound.

With his eyes closed tightly, the orange walked unhindered, like a subtle spirit, his bare feet on the tall grass.

The choir of tree frogs began to sound, but the commotion did not disturb his sleep.

A moment later the singing suddenly stopped as it had started. Now the only sound he could hear was his breath, heavy and disordered, the only sign that he was alive, prostrating, and not a ghost.

he had reached the low fence in the corner of the courtyard, then turned around as if there was a radar controlling him from the inside.

A car turned and drove quickly. The sleepy driver didn't even see it.

Hidden behind the shadow of a slow-moving night, the orange hovers along the fence. With her long hair choppy, her pale white skin, her shimmering and bulging nightgown all around her body, she looked like a figure in a painting, she said, one of the great portraits of the Victorian era is hanging in the museum.

When his eyes finally opened, he did not know where he was.

At first he lowered his head and saw his feet wet by the thick summer dew. Even though the air was warm that night, he shivered in the cold.

I was just wearing a nightgown, he realized. And then: I'm outside.

But outside where?

I'm having a weird dream.

The house suddenly appeared in front of him, as if it could also hover across the grass.

I'm in the new boarding house. Just in a nightgown.

A black cloud blocked the full moon. The shadow around the orange suddenly faded and moved.

The orange realized that the cold that reached him was not because of the air, but because of fear.

he looked at his boarding house, his new residence. It looks so different, so big and foreign. Window's dark. No one is awake there.

No one knew the orange was outside, standing among the cold, wet grass.

How am I supposed to get out here? Am I awake or asleep?

What the hell is going on with me?

This house is not right! The orange concluded, then rushed into the house.

It felt like a long time ago he entered the room, trying to sleep. He closed his eyes. The wind blew between the trees.

For hours he moved restlessly on the bed, to the point that the blanket was tangled.

This is the first night that Orange slept in her new boarding house. The owner is an old woman who lives alone, accompanied only by a black cat. The tenant is also only a single orange, and he lives at home with his owner.

The house is equipped with modern furniture— seats and sofas of black leather and chrome, glass living table. The walls were filled with rows of bookshelves from floor to ceiling.

The stunning orange in the house is a strange little jewelry collection. The objects filled the writing table, display table, and window sill; arranged in a special glass display box, and placed next to the books on the shelf.

The orange also finds colorful vases and antique carvings of porcelain in the form of strange figures, antique pelles containing seashells, feathers, or colored powders, carvings of cats and birds of wood or stone, a pair of small yellow white gloves, frameless and single-lens goggles, faded dried flowers, ceramic chicken feet, some crescent moon carvings, preserved white owls.

No "RECEIVE KOST" billboards installed in front of the house or at the gate.

No one will know that the house is rented out unless specifically recommended by word of mouth.

Orange also found out about it from her close friend, Violet.

According to Violet, the owner of the house actually did not intend to rent it. But he did not mind accepting some girls boarding house on the condition that the tenant was willing to be part of his family and treat the house like his own home— in the sense of taking care of as best as possible, he said, treat the owner of the house like his own parents.

The owner of the house loves to read. And now that he was old, his eyes were too tired to read, so he preferred to be read to others.

Orange did not mind the terms at all, especially since the house was adjacent to Violet's house. The price is also very cheap.

Orange tried to guess why the owner of the house kept all the items. But it is not easy to find the reason why people put a small preserved mouse on a piano near the pig mask of a pulp and a bronze statue of a one-armed boy.

Maybe I should talk to my dad! thought Orange while glancing at the lake through the window of his room.

The lake is surrounded by a thick and green forest.

Who is that swimming there?

The orange squinted its eyes to see more clearly.

No. gabe.

There was no one in the lake.

Her imagination.

He often imagines the no-no!

He turned from the window and prepared to go back to bed.

The wind started roaring.

The orange hears something like the sound of a slap and a flap.

It must have been the sound of the sunshade slapping the window, he thought. But then he remembered in this house there were no blinds in the window.

Then he heard a scream. Her eyes widened. Then look around.

His room was watered by moonlight. The shadows fell on the bed, on the floor, everywhere. He threw his blanket and again threw a glance out the window.

Then hold your breath!

The sky is crowded with bats!

The bats were circling in front of his room.

Squeaking and fizzing with the fuss.

A very large crow perched on the frame of his window, staring at the Orange with its deep, jet-black eyes. Then he pecked the window glass.

The bird tried to say something to me, he thought.

Wow, what a weird thought.

But all this is weird.

Why are those bats circling in front of my room?

Fizzing and squeaking so noisily and insistent?

They're like trying to warn me something-warning me.

This house seems to be wrong!

I have to go home! Orange decides. I need to talk to my dad!

The next day…

At breakfast, Orange say goodbye to the owner of the house. "There are things to take," he reasoned.

But before he left, there was a loud knock on the front door.

"Who is that?" ask the owner of the house. With support on his staff he tried to stand up. The knock was heard again, a little louder. "Patience, patience. We're coming."

The orange came to the door first and opened it. A middle-aged and red-faced bald man, looked at him with an angry look.