The nuns seemed to have little interest in their practice, and for that we were grateful. They were stern in their mannerisms, but hell, it was an orphanage. Us kids got along with each other for the most part.
I had been there six months when we started having the dreams. All of us. Freaked the nuns out and after that they doubled down on the God. We dreamed of a vast land of sinewy rainbows, or perhaps yarn underwater. And this freaky woman. She just stood there, her clothing undulating in time with the landscape. She had eyes that looked nowhere and everywhere at once. When she spoke no words emerged.
It was about this time that we began hearing vague, unidentifiable sounds from the attic. This, combined with the dreams, left us all exhausted. And then one night the nuns were gone. We older kids decided to look around to calm everyone down, discovering that the attic door was ajar. Upon entering, we were greeted by little more than a pile of dusty broken furniture humped in a dimly lit corner. Underwhelmed, we turned to leave.
Suddenly there was a great noise like a zipper being pulled, followed by a gush of wind that sent dust billowing clouds as the air itself came undone. The woman from the dreams stepped through a tall, narrow slit, her suit as bright as day in the dim grey space. She said she came from a world where yarn was the way of things. She had been trying to contact us through our subconscious and now begged we come with her; apparently our world was on the brink of invasion from dark place populated by… things not yarn. As she held out her hand we screamed, running from that place.
After that the dreams stopped.
If only we had listened to that stupid yarn lady and took her up on her offer. A fortnight later more zippers opened, many more, and now we live in a world of those things not yarn.