There's an orphanage situated in northern Pennsylvania in a small town so isolated from the rest of the world that it might as well not exist.

Why, in God's name, anyone decided to put Dawson's home for special children here, I'll never know.

But without any other opportunities in life, I'm stuck here until the day I draw my last breath.

Don't get me wrong.

Now that I've been here for well over a decade, I'd never leave.

If I can give even a single one of the children a better future in life, this pain will have been well worth it.

But the kits they send up here aren't exactly ordinary.

They're the ones abandoned on a doorstep, left behind by their families without anyone to care for them.

They usually move from orphanage to orphanage, acting in ways their caretakers just can't understand.

It's not like they're bad kids, but rather odd.

It's a fickle thing to describe beings that don't abide by the laws of science and physics.

To most, these kids might sound like mythical beings or just alluded stories told by someone

suffering from mental illness.

Honestly, that was my first impression as well.

But then they showed me Laura, the girl that never aged.

She'd been ten for generations, but even a mine never matured,

because her memory kept getting wiped on a birthday,

leaving her in a perpetual cycle that never ended.

She wasn't enough to convince me.

Next, they showed me Alexander. He was a boy without a face, born

flawless skin replacing each feature of his head. How he could breathe of how he

navigated the house without bumping into each and every wall was an amazing

...