Читать книгу My Sister is Missing: The most creepy and gripping thriller of 2019 - Carissa Lynch Ann - Страница 9

When I woke up, the house was shaking, the tat tat tat of heavy rain pounding the windows and rooftop like a gangster from a black-and-white mobster movie. Startled, I sat up straight in bed. Mom’s old sewing room drifted back into focus.

Coming back to Bare Border hadn’t been a dream after all. Too bad.

As though my movements were their own version of an alarm, someone rapped on the door.

‘I’m up, Madi,’ I grumbled.

‘It’s Ben.’ The door creaked open and one big brown eye peered in at me through the crack.

‘It’s storming. Can I get in bed with you?’

I was surprised but tried not to show it. I’d only met my nephew yesterday. ‘Yes, of course.’

I pushed the covers back and motioned for him to crawl in beside me. He bounded toward me like a Saint Bernard minus the slobber. He jumped up and down on the bed, to the count of eight, then wriggled like a worm beneath the blankets.

I wrapped an arm around him and sniffed his soft brown hair. It was too long, scruffy around his ears and hanging too low in his eyes, but it felt soft like feathers and it smelled like the same shampoo Madeline used.

Stealing a glance at my cell phone on the nightstand, I was surprised to see it was nearly eleven in the morning. Sleeping this late wasn’t all that unusual for me, but I was surprised Madeline wasn’t up making breakfast, or whatever motherly things she did on Saturday mornings.

‘Where’s your sister?’ I asked, stroking my fingers through his hair. He shied away from me now, skirting closer to the edge of the bed.

‘She’s been up for hours, too. She’s watching Teen Titans Go. I turned it on for her and poured her a cup of juice. I did spill some on the floor though…’

‘Where’s your mom?’

‘Where’s your mom?’ he repeated my words.

Madeline told me he liked to do this too – repeat words and phrases, and sometimes echo back what he’d just heard. I wasn’t sure if I should repeat my question or move on.

‘Okay, buddy. Let’s just get up. When I was your age, I liked to watch cartoons on Saturday. What is your favorite cartoon?’

‘I don’t watch cartoons. I play Five Nights at Freddy’s. Maybe they will turn it into a cartoon. Want to play it with me?’

I assured him that I would soon and listened as he described every level of the game while I pulled on cotton shorts and my favorite morning hoodie.

Ben told me more about the game as I padded down the hallway and made my way to the kitchen. Coffee. Why hasn’t Madi made coffee yet?

‘Is your mom sleeping in, too?’ I fiddled with the fifteen buttons on the coffee machine before I realized it wasn’t plugged in. Ben didn’t answer me, just stared up at the swooshing black tail on the cat clock, hypnotized. As I scavenged through the cupboard for coffee cups, my foot landed in a puddle of juice.

‘Okay,’ I said, flustered, switching my focus to finding paper towels.

After I cleaned up the spill, I made my way toward my sister’s room. On the way, I passed Shelley. She was sitting pretzel-style on the floor in her room. She was indeed watching Teen Titans Go and her lips were stained purple from the juice drink.

The door to my sister’s bedroom was closed.

‘Does Mommy normally sleep this late? I don’t want to wake her up…’

Shelley noticed me, finally, and waddled out into the hall.

‘No, Mom’s an early bird. Early birds eat worms.’

I smiled. I might have been my mother’s favorite, but she and Madeline had a lot in common; they both liked to get up early – too early for my tastes.

‘Well, your mom and I were up pretty late last night. I probably wore her out.’

Softly, I knocked on my sister’s bedroom door, then waited. Ben clung to my legs now, squeezing my thighs like a vice grip, as he rambled on about that game.

Shelley tiptoed up beside me, gave me a knowing look, and tapped the door with her pointer finger. She was right—it wasn’t closed all the way, and when she jabbed it, the door wobbled forward.

‘Madeline, are you still asleep?’ But even from here, I could see that she wasn’t.

The bed was perfectly made, the corners tucked in tightly, military-style the way she liked them. I pushed the door all the way open. My sister wasn’t in her room.

‘Madi?’ I called out again. I’d almost forgotten, there was a master bathroom attached. I jiggled Ben off my legs and walked toward the bathroom.

But one glance inside the open door revealed she wasn’t in there either. The bathroom was pristine, clean white counters with bottles of perfume perfectly aligned.

It almost looked like she never slept in the bed or used the bathroom at all.

‘Maybe she got up early and went to the grocery store.’ I shrugged. A quick glance out the front curtains revealed I was right – the tan Jeep was gone, only the rented Civic remained in the driveway.

‘While we wait for her to get back, why don’t I make you guys a late breakfast?’ The idea of me cooking was ridiculous, but I felt like I had to do something. If I couldn’t help Madi out financially, I could at least pitch in for a little while, with housekeeping and cooking chores.

I opened the fridge and peered inside. There was plenty of food, and I thought it was unlikely that Madeline had gone out to get groceries after all.

‘How do you guys like your eggs?’ They were standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking up at me like eager puppies.

‘We don’t do eggs,’ Shelley said.

‘Ew,’ Ben concurred.

‘Okay, well, then what do you guys want to eat?’ I asked, exasperated.

‘Mac and cheese?’ Shelley suggested, with a hopeful smile.

Mac and cheese actually sounded good to me, too, and it’s one of the few things I knew how to make. In fact, pasta from a box was about all I ate myself anymore.

It took me a minute to find the macaroni, pot, and spoon. And then another few minutes to figure out how to light Madeline’s gas stove.

While I boiled the water and softened the noodles, Ben told me more about his favorite game. Shelley was intent on helping me. At first, I was worried about letting her stir, afraid she would get burned, but she seemed to know what she was doing, and she was eager to mix in the cheese and milk when it was done.

‘I’m going to be a chef,’ she told me, but it sounded more like ‘seff’ when she said it with her tiny baby voice.

I watched the children eat, my own appetite gone. Moving to the kitchen window, I looked out at the backyard from my childhood. Water shimmered on the trees in the forest, and from here, they seemed to be covered in tiny wet diamonds. But other than that, there were no traces of the storm I’d heard when I first woke up.

I wondered where Madeline had gone, and why she didn’t tell me first. What if the kids had gotten hurt and I hadn’t heard them? Would she leave me alone with the kids all the time now that I was staying here? I didn’t mind helping out, but I was definitely not equipped to be a babysitter. I didn’t have the experience, or the patience…

After lunch, Ben showed me his game and insisted I play it, too. Shelley watched and cheered us on, lining up Barbies as spectators. Finally, Ben was ready for a break, so he and Shelley played with their toys and chalkboard in the living room, while I checked the windows often, waiting for Madeline to get back.

When Shelley stood up from playing, I noticed a dark, circular stain on her pajama pants. She saw me looking, and said, ‘I peed my pants.’ Her lip trembled, and my heart lurched.

While Ben shouted for Shelley to come back and play, I scooped my hands under her armpits and carried her to the bathroom, careful to keep her urine-laden clothes from touching mine. My biceps burned as I lowered her onto the bathroom floor. Struggling, I peeled the wet bottoms off as I tried to coax Ben. ‘She’ll be right back!’ I huffed.

By the time I’d located clean shorts for Shelley and got her changed, it was nearly five o’clock.

I was starting to get annoyed. It wasn’t that I minded spending time with my niece and nephew, but I was still wondering why Madeline hadn’t at least bothered telling me she had somewhere to go. Shelley seemed fine without her mother here, but Ben was getting more and more restless, causing my own panic level to rise.

‘Where is my mommy?’ he asked, for nearly the tenth time. Like me, he paced in front of the living room window, looking out often.

‘Out shopping, I guess. I don’t know,’ I mumbled, wringing my hands.

I texted her again, and when she still didn’t answer, I called. Her phone rang and rang, finally reaching her voicemail. I left another shaky, awkward message, trying to hide my indignation. It was the fourth or fifth message I’d left so far, and I was starting to feel resentful that she hadn’t, in the very least, called back to tell me where she was or what she was doing…

‘What’s for dinner?’ Shelley squeaked. Tiredly, I rubbed the back of my neck. Do these kids ever stop eating or playing? An image popped up of one of those battery commercials … they keep going and going…

I wanted to take a shower and relax in my room, but the kids kept me moving. My own stomach was rumbling now, too, and I wondered briefly if there was a pizza place that delivered nearby. But I already knew the answer to that. There was nothing much around here. The closest pizzeria was twenty miles south of Bare Border. You want pizza around here, you either drive to get it or you settle for the waxy crap they sell at the store.

My mouth watered as I thought of the Chinese carryout store near my apartment. Takeout sounds so good right now … the peaceful silence of my apartment sounds good, too.

My phone rung and I jumped up from the couch, eager to talk to Madi. I was disappointed when I saw that the caller wasn’t her.

I recognized the number – it was my landlord, Jin. He knew I’d lost my job, and he was probably calling to see if I’d made arrangements to move out yet. I wasn’t sure if that’s what I wanted to do, but without a job, I wouldn’t have much choice. I silenced the call. Shelley and Ben were still staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

‘Not your mom. But I’m sure she’ll be here soon.’ They didn’t look convinced, my own voice shaky, unsure.

I tried one more time to call her, reaching her voicemail again. Damn you, Madi. Where did you go?

‘Alright,’ I said, sighing, ‘So, what do you guys want for dinner? Chicken noodle soup, hotdogs…?’

‘It’s time to go to the woods!’ Ben leapt up from the floor where he’d been playing and ran for the door. Shoes were piled on top of each other next to the front door and Ben struggled into a cute pair of green Chucks.

‘Ben, let’s wait on that. We need to eat, and your mom will be home soon…’

‘Mom always lets us go play in the woods before dinner. Ben will get mad if we don’t go. He likes to do things at the same time every day,’ Shelley warned.

‘She lets you go by yourself?’ I asked, bewildered.

‘No. I won’t go by myself,’ Ben answered, his eyes widening in fear. He paced back and forth in the front of the door, like a puppy waiting to be let out.

My stomach turned as I thought about going down to those woods. I took a deep breath in through my mouth and blew it out my nose, like a mad bull preparing for battle. I can’t do it.

Just the thought of going into those woods was enough to trigger a panic attack. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I actually took them down there…

Ben rocked back and forth, the shrill screech of that squeal ripping through my head in waves. Where are you Madi? I can’t deal with these kids right now!

‘Okay. Shelley, do you know how to put on your shoes? Let me get mine on, too. But only for a few minutes, guys – you all need to eat dinner, and I’m getting hungry, too…’ It was like someone else was saying the words, some puppet master pulling my strings. Could I really face those woods again, after what happened down there?

But therein lies the problem – what did happen down there? I’d played in those woods all my life and then one day something had gone seriously wrong. The details leading up to that day were not only sketchy, they didn’t exist at all. Flashes come and go sometimes, but I haven’t thought about it for a while. I could remember going down there to play after school. I could remember the pain and the red, red, red, and the hospital room after … but other than that, my accident was a gray, smudgy speck on the part of my brain that controlled my memories.

‘I want to go now! It’s after five! We should be down there already.’ Ben was tugging at the door handle now, impervious to the fact that it was locked.

‘I can’t get it open. Open up, door!’ He smacked the door with an open, frustrated palm.

‘Ben, chill out! I’m getting my shoes on.’ What the hell does my sister do when he acts like this? And where is she, anyway?

My sandals were lined up next to the random shoe pile, my sister’s blue Nikes sitting next to mine. She was wearing those yesterday when I arrived. Did she wear a different pair of shoes to the store?

I decided then that there was no store in this scenario – the chances of her grocery shopping for five hours were pretty slim. She must have put on different shoes, but where the heck had she gone? She hadn’t said anything about having to work today, and surely, the kids went to daycare while she worked…

I considered the possibility that maybe my sister had gone to speak to John. That was probably it. She probably used the opportunity of having me here, to go and try to rekindle things with him.

Ben reached for my right hand and yanked on it. Shelley pulled on the other. As I thought about going down to those woods, my face felt hot and tingly.

I stared at my sister’s sneakers. This strange thought was taking shape, that if I wore her shoes, the answers to all my questions would seep into my skin, like where she went and what this mysterious thing was she needed to talk to me about…

I did, in fact, put her sneakers on. My sandals wouldn’t hold up well in the woods, anyway.

‘Alright, let’s go … oh, hold on. Wait, guys.’ I rushed back into the kitchen and pulled out a pad of paper and pen from the junk drawer. With shaky hands, I scrawled a short, sloppy note on the paper: Took the kids to the woods. BRB.

We went out the front door, Shelley leading the way and Ben marching behind her. Together, we circled around the inn, and both children made a beeline for the woods.

There was a narrow path at the center of the forest, the same path I’d followed as a kid…

I stopped walking, the world around me tilting left, then right, and then forward and back. I tried to steady myself, breathing in through my nose.

From here, the path appeared to be moving like a twisted snake. The mouth of the woods the snake’s gaping, waiting mouth … waiting to devour me whole.

‘I can’t.’ I choked the words out, bending at the waist and closing my eyes to stop the dizzy spell. Ben and Shelley were running straight for the snake’s mouth, much to my dismay.

‘Stop! Stop now!’ I screamed. At my wild cry, they both halted immediately.

‘Back in the house. Back in now! Please,’ I whispered, motioning them to come back toward me. Reluctantly, they shuffled back.

‘Let’s go inside. It’s going to rain,’ I rested my hand on their backs, practically pushing them back toward the inn.

‘No, it’s not! Look at the sun!’ Ben shouted. ‘I want to go now.’ The words came out strangled through his clenched teeth.

‘Now,’ he repeated, stomping his foot as he turned back toward the woods. Shelley hunkered down, looking as though she might cry.

‘It’s okay. We can come back later. We’ll play pretend inside,’ Shelley tried to coax her brother. Ben rocked back and forth, finally dropping down to the ground.

‘But Mommy takes me every day,’ he moaned, anxiously rubbing his own cheeks until they looked red and splotchy.

‘I’ll bring you later, I promise. I just … not right now, okay? I want to go inside and wait for your mom.’

‘I’m staying here,’ Ben huffed. He crossed his arms over his chest.

What am I going to do with this kid? My eyes travelled back to the woods. The path looked normal now, just a dirt-trodden trail I’d followed a million times as a kid, but as I considered going, the path turned wavy again.

I need to get inside now. As I bent down to pick up Ben, I forgot about that whole ‘lift with your knees’ bit. Lifting him from the ground, I let out a painful groan. To make matters worse, he started to kick and twist in my arms.

‘No! I’m staying out here!’ He threw his head back, nearly slamming against my teeth as I whipped my own head back to get out of his way. I trudged back up the hill, Shelley in my shadow and Ben flopping doggedly in my arms.

Back inside, I released him from my arms, panting. Worried he might try to run back out, I collapsed on the living room carpet beside him. Shelley sat down too, giving herself distance from Ben.

‘I’m sorry if I disappointed you. I know your mommy and you have a routine. But, when I was a kid, I fell down and hurt my head in those woods. Now, every time I think about going down there, I get really sick and nervous. Do you know what it feels like to be nervous, Ben?’

Ben looked exhausted now, curling up in a ball on the floor. The tantrum had sucked the life right out of both of us. I need Madi here to help me, I thought, dejectedly.

‘I get nervous a lot,’ Ben whispered. He surprised me by scooting close to me, and the next thing I knew, he was curled up on my lap.

***

We ate dinner at the table. Noodles again. My sister didn’t come home, and she didn’t call back either.

Ben loved the noodles, although by the time he was finished, there was more pasta covering his lap and chair, than he could have possibly consumed. Shelley, on the other hand, was nice and neat, wiping her mouth more than necessary, and tucking her napkin onto her lap like a fancy lady. They couldn’t be any more different from each other, but they were hooked at the hip, despite their age difference.

Ben seemed fine now, the temper tantrum temporarily forgotten. What will happen tomorrow when he wants to go again? I wondered. But then I thought, Madeline will be back by then. I’ll let her take him.

After dinner, I gave them both a bath. They insisted on taking one together, assuring me that it was okay, and they always did that. It felt strange, being around children like this, and being the one in charge. I couldn’t help feeling as though I was one of them, just playing the part of grown-up in our own made-up play.

Ben and Shelley didn’t wash much; they splashed around, squirting each other with green and pink rubber duckies, until the other screamed and got mad. By the time they were through, the tile floor in the bathroom was covered with a thin coat of water. I sighed, drying up the floor before lifting their bodies, like slippery noodles, out of the tub. Madi and I used to be the same way, fighting constantly but loving every minute of it. My heart ached as I thought about my sister – where in the hell was she?

My anger and frustration were becoming something else – concern. Why would Madi leave without telling me? Did she go talk to John, did they get into a fight?

Again, I realized that I barely knew him. Hell, I barely know her anymore. We’d been close when we were kids, but whatever sort of bond we’d once had had come untethered over the years. When your relationship consists mostly of monthly texts and Facebook updates, it loses its fortitude.

I tucked the kids into bed around ten o’clock. Shelley wanted to watch Elmo on her Tinkerbell TV set, but Ben insisted on me reading to him. I turned the DVD on for Shelley, and then I chose a book from one of the bookshelves in the family room for Ben. It was a tattered, old book called Where’s Goldie? The fading sticker on the front said it cost only sixty-nine cents. Sure enough, when I opened the cover, I found my own name inside, scrawled in sloppy cursive.

Peering at the shelves, I realized most of the books were either mine or Mom’s. I used to be territorial with my books. Well, I still was, actually, but back then, I used to scribble my name on everything. I took the book back to Ben’s room, relieved to see that Shelley was already asleep as I passed by. The tune to Elmo’s World rang out through the speakers.

Ben was pleased with my book choice and bragged that he always knew where to find Goldie, the naughty little yellow bird that hid from her perpetually perplexed owner, Maggie.

I had to do three full read-throughs before he even closed his eyes. I lay beside him for nearly a half hour, listening to the sounds of his soft breathing, like the purr of a happy cat. That tantrum today had sucked the life out of me, but Ben seemed perfectly fine now.

I listened for sounds outside, hoping I’d hear the Jeep pulling up in the driveway. My stomach churned as I realized I was alone again. With the kids asleep and Madi gone, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. Something was wrong, I could feel it.

I might not know my sister as well as I once did, but she still wouldn’t leave me, of all people, in charge of her kids without saying something first.

Finally, I pushed myself out of bed, careful not to wake up Ben. I crept down the hallway, and walked through the house, turning off excess lights. Back in the living room, I flipped on the porch light for Madeline. All those late nights I’d waited up for her, so eager to hear stories about her night – parties with alcohol and boys who knew how to kiss … it wasn’t until later, in our twenties, that she confessed her stories weren’t true. Some of them, yes. But mostly, they were embellished. She wanted to impress me, but more than anything, she wanted the stories to be true. As a teenager, Madi could be a liar and a fantasist sometimes. Was that what was going on now? Would she show up at the door, like she did all those years ago, with some wild story to explain her absence today?

Sitting down in her office chair, I spun around in circles, feeling childish. I held my phone in my lap, staring down at the blank screen. My landlord had left a voicemail earlier, but I didn’t feel like hearing his wheezy voice right now.

I thought about calling my sister again, but then I thought better of it. I was acting like one of those babysitters that call every twenty minutes and ruin the parents’ night out.

But I’m not the babysitter. She didn’t even ask me to watch them. For the first time all day, I wondered if I should be seriously worried. If I should perhaps phone the police.

I considered the possibility that something really was wrong, some sort of desperate emergency. But I knew it wasn’t family related – Mom and Dad were both dead, the few aunts and cousins we had lived thousands of miles away, and we barely spoke to them anyway.

It must be something to do with John, I decided. But what if she got into an accident or got hurt somehow…?

Slowly, I strolled up and down the hallway, looking at our family photographs. Last night, it’d been too dark to see them all, but now the hall was lit, old photographs of my mother and father illuminated on its walls. There were so many pictures of the four of us – Mom, Dad, Madeline, and I. There were a couple of our grandparents, too, and toward the end of the stretch were pictures of my sister and John, and baby pictures of Shelley and Ben.

In their wedding photo, John and Madeline stood behind a giant white cake, John holding a silver knife as he prepared to make the ceremonial cut. A crazy thought flashed through my head – what if John had taken my sister? What if he’d hurt her?

‘I’ve really freaking lost it now,’ I muttered. I’d been watching too many of those true crime mystery shows on the Discovery channel. I was up late every night, and there wasn’t much else on besides those types of shows and info commercials.

I pulled my eyes away from the happy couple and headed for my own room to change my clothes. I passed Dad’s office on the way. Last night, I hadn’t paid it much attention, but now it sat stark and empty, even his old desk was gone. Instead the room seemed to be used for storage; boxes of books and paint supplies were stacked in one corner of the room and several see-through plastic tubs of old clothes.

I sniffed the air, half-expecting to smell my father’s aftershave and pungent cigar smoke floating in the room. He’s gone. Every last trace of him is gone. And I didn’t even go to the funeral to say goodbye…

Guilt festered inside me, but, like always, I pushed myself to move forward, to forget what I had or hadn’t done.

In the guest room, I gathered a change of clothes and then went back down the hallway to the bathroom. I was worried about being able to hear the kids if they woke up and needed something, so I left the door open a crack as I showered.

After scrubbing the dirt and sweat from my face and hair, I went back out to the living room, giving the driveway one last, wistful look, hoping my sister would return. It was nearly midnight by now. This was getting ridiculous.

Torn between irritation and concern, I fought the urge to text or call again. Finally, I made my way to her bedroom. It seemed wrong to sleep in her room, but the Mello Yellow room was too far from the kids. I didn’t trust myself to wake up if one of them cried out in the night or got sick. What would I even do if they got sick or hurt? I wondered.

As happy as I was to meet my niece and nephew, I didn’t know much about kids. And I definitely didn’t feel comfortable being in charge of them for this long.

My sister’s room was still pristine, and it smelled like some sort of cleanser – bleach, maybe? Turning on the fan to battle the fumes, I folded down her strawberry quilt, and climbed beneath the sheets. The bed was cold, like lying in an ice cube tray. Tucking the covers up to my chin, I flipped onto my left side like I always do. From this angle, I had a straight-on view of my sister’s closet. It was pulled most of the way shut, but there was a small gap in the white pocket doors. I could see a box labeled ‘Pictures’ sitting on the closet floor.

I flipped to my right side, staring at my sister’s billowy red curtains instead. Then it hit me – the balcony my parents used to go out on to smoke was off the master bedroom. Sliding the covers down, I emerged from the bed and pushed the curtains apart. Sure enough, the white door to the balcony was still there.

It wasn’t really a balcony since it was on the ground floor, but that’s what we always called it. My parents used to sneak out there and smoke cigarettes as though Madeline and I didn’t know what they were doing. The house would reek of it every night after we went to bed, but I never really minded. I always liked to imagine them out there kissing, like secret, star-crossed lovers, and the smoky fumes were almost a reminder, that my parents were truly in love.

But that wasn’t the case, was it? Their love was as fake as these loose-fitting curtains covering the door. It wasn’t real, none of it was.

The bolt on the door was stiff, as though Madeline hadn’t used the balcony in years. I gripped the metal latch and pulled on it until my hands burned. Finally, it snapped over, pinching the tender spot between my thumb and pointer finger.

The gold knob twisted easily, and I pushed the double doors out, the cool night air hitting me with such force that my nightgown blew up above my waist. It was black as a raven out here, but I stepped out onto the balcony anyway, breathing in the cool lilac summer air. The balcony wasn’t very wide, just enough to stand at the wrought iron railing and catch a breath of air, or lean over it, puffing on a cigarette with your spouse…

A streak of moonlight constellated edges of the tree line, the path I’d feared earlier coming into focus. A sudden chill trickled up my spine as I remembered my flashback near the ominous entrance of the woods. Why couldn’t I remember that day?

Bits and pieces came back, every so often, but most of my memories from that summer day were of the crisp white hospital room where machines whistled and whirred, a small team of doctors bandaging up my head. They didn’t let me go to sleep, I had to fight through the concussion as they stitched my head back together.

My eyes sought truth in the darkness. ‘Why was it so traumatic? It’s not like I hadn’t got hurt while playing before.’ The words were whispered, a plea to the forest gods: tell me why.

My eyes scanned the tree line, for animals or man. A strange smell filled my nostrils – like something charring over an open fire.

My neck prickled as I tried to shake away the sudden sensation that someone was watching me from out there. Waiting. Watching.

All these years, I’d assumed it was just a freak accident – that I’d tripped and hit my head so hard that I couldn’t remember the fall. But if that was truly the case, then why was I so scared to go back? It was just an accident, an incident that could have happened to any kid … kids get hurt all the time. But there was something so scary about the not knowing, the fear of memories lost … what happened in those moments leading up to the fall? Why did those memories never come back? I wondered.

I’m going to have to face those woods and face my fears sooner or later, I decided.

Childishly, I rushed back in, slamming the heavy door behind me. I whipped the curtains closed, covering the door completely.

What I needed to do was get some sleep, but I felt wide awake. Plus, part of me felt like I needed to stay up. I needed to wait for Madi to come home.

My gaze wandered back over to the closet doors. Trembling, I slid the pocket doors apart. Then I slid the cardboard box labelled ‘Pictures’ out onto the carpet next to the bed. There were stacks and stacks of photo albums, some plain and generic, others flowery and neat. I lifted the first album from the top and gently, I flipped through its pages.

These were more photos of my sister and John. I could tell the difference immediately, the before and after children photos. Before, there were pictures of John and Madeline, smiling over plates of fancy food, low-lit smiles in the corner of some bar. There were pictures of them at a rock concert, Madeline flashing a peace sign at the cameraman, who I presumed was John. He, too, looked young and silly in his pictures, sticking his tongue out at my sister.

The after-children photos looked happy, too, but they were of zoo trips and family portraits –a more subdued life. I wondered what happened between them. Why did it all fall apart?

You need to come in here. I can’t deal with these fucking kids. John’s words in the background came floating back to me. Was that what he really said, or was my mind just filling in the blanks?

He seemed normal at the wedding, but what did I really know about him? Maybe having kids changed him … maybe he couldn’t handle Ben with his schedules and quirks? Whatever led to the affair wasn’t any of my business, but I sincerely hoped my sister hadn’t gone after him, trying to get him to come back home. The thought of her doing that, of seeming so desperate, made my stomach curl. But where else could she be? I remembered that worried mask she wore last night … something heavy was on her mind. Was it just about John, or something else?

I sat that album aside and reached for the next. Instantly, I recognized myself in one of the photos. It was my first-grade class photo, and next to it was Madeline’s fourth-grade photo. We almost looked alike at that age.

I kept flipping, past photos of Madeline in cheerleading and me in band, and both of us in our prom dresses. Madeline was asked to the prom by several boys, but she coyly told them all no. I’d almost forgotten until now how tied to the hip Madi was with her two best friends in high school. Right on cue, the next photo was of Madi, her arms looped around Jessica Feeler and Rhonda Sheckles. Oh, how I loathed those girls…

The three of them couldn’t have been any more different from each other, Jessica with her bone-straight blonde hair, Rhonda with swirly red curls and freckles, and Madi in the middle, with her blondish brown hair cut in a jagged bob. But, in this particular picture, Madeline’s hair was dyed platinum blonde. I remembered her begging Mom to buy the dye, to let her change her hair. Rhonda and Jessica stayed over that night, helping her apply the malodorous color to her hair.

At that point, Madeline had moved upstairs to the bonus rooms, to get away from the rest of us. I could remember creeping up those steps, slithering on my belly, as I tried to catch a glimpse of what she and the older girls were up to…

I held the album up, studying the contours of my sister’s face. She was pretty then, and still so pretty now. A little triangle of film poked out from behind the picture of the girls. Gripping it between my nails, I slid another photo out from behind theirs.

I gasped, staring down at the small school photo in my hand. It was a picture of a girl named Sarah Goins. She was probably in fourth grade in this picture. She and I were in the same class, but we may as well have been from different planets.

While most kids spent their free time playing on the swings or chasing each other in a game of tag, Sarah spent her time in the dirt. She liked to make up stories and talk to herself, sometimes even pouring bits of loose gravel and dirt over her own head. Her hair was greasy and limp, her lips and eyes the color of dust balls and slate. I stared at the picture, mesmerized by the girl looking back at me. She was less of a girl, and more like a ghost.

Sarah Goins looked haunted, but wasn’t that what they always said about pictures of dead girls?

Sarah had disappeared in sixth grade. Everyone suspected that she either drowned in Moon Lake by accident or went crazy and ran off. She wasn’t a happy child. Maybe she did run away, but, deep down, I knew she had to be dead. Why else wouldn’t she have come back home?

But, then, I thought about myself … I hadn’t been back home either. Until now.

I didn’t really know Sarah well, none of us did. But a memory was rising – didn’t she give me this picture? I remembered now … Sarah, in her dirt-stained overalls, racing around the playground, a toothy smile on her face. She was handing out these photos of herself; she wanted to trade pictures with the other kids. She came from a poor family; her father dead and her mom left to run the farm on her own. ‘Mom bought my school pictures this year. Here, I want you to have one!’ She looked so happy as she thrust one of the photos into my hand. I told her thank you, and feeling self-conscious, tucked it quickly away in my jeans pocket. Next Sarah approached a group of girls by the jungle gym. ‘Here, please take one,’ she told a girl I didn’t recognize. Sneering, the girl accepted the photo and then promptly, ripped it to pieces. In a flash, she had yanked the rest of the stack from Sarah’s hands. One by one, she shredded the pictures to pieces and then, in a final dramatic gesture, she threw them up in the air. Tiny white flakes of photo paper caught in the air and floated around the playground like a miniature snowstorm.

‘How could you?!’ Sarah screamed, clawing at her own cheeks. Her face was so red, so angry in that moment … and who could really blame her?

‘She can’t even spell her own last name!’ someone shouted. ‘G-o-i-n! Do you know what that spells, Sarah! Go in! Go in! We don’t want you on this playground!’ And just like that, the other kids were chanting, their fists pumping the air, their giggles high and cruel. ‘Go in!’ they sang in chorus.

I squeezed my eyes shut at the memory, trying to keep the tears at bay. Finally, I opened my eyes and slammed the album closed, but not before stuffing Sarah’s picture back inside.

I climbed back into my sister’s bed and pulled the covers up over my head. I tried to force myself to sleep, but those chants wouldn’t go away. Like a broken record, or a song stuck in my head, the voices called out, ‘Go in! Go in!’

And one of those voices was mine.