Chapter 6: The Forgotten

She lay on the bed, hands twisted in the sheets, her mouth stretched in that same awful grin I’d seen on Buddy. The sight made my skin crawl, and I nearly collapsed right there on the floor.

Her hands were locked on the blanket, knuckles white. That smile—too wide, too sharp—was just like Buddy’s. I felt sick, the room spinning, moonlight painting everything in ghostly silver, the wind rattling the windowpanes.

I ran to the living room, flicked on every light, and grabbed the push-button phone from the wall. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped it, the cord tangling around my fingers. I called Mrs. Holloway, voice cracking, barely able to get out, “Marissa is in trouble!” She started screaming, promising to come right away. I was already crying, panic making my voice high and thin. Then I called the sheriff, blurting, “Marissa, she... she’s dead! It was Buddy, I saw him—he’s here!”

My hands trembled as I dialed, the rotary phone clicking under my fingers. My words tumbled out, broken and desperate. Mrs. Holloway’s voice turned sharp with fear, promising to come right away. The sheriff’s tone was gruff, but I could hear real alarm when I mentioned Buddy. “Stay put, Eli! Don’t move!” he barked. Tears streaked my cheeks, hot and bitter.

The sheriff answered fast, his voice tight. “What? Don’t panic... I’ll be right there!”

I stammered, “I... I’m scared Buddy’s in the house... he’s turned into something evil!”

Even as I said it, I thought about running outside. But the sheriff’s voice came back, deeper, almost scared. “No! Don’t leave the house! Don’t go outside! It’s too dark out there, too dangerous—just stay put! I’ll be there soon!” His words weren’t reassuring. It sounded like he was afraid—afraid of me getting out.

His voice was harsh, almost desperate. “Don’t you dare step outside, Eli! Stay put!” It felt like a warning, not a comfort. I huddled by the phone, eyes locked on the door, the wind moaning outside, and for a second, I thought I heard something scratching at the porch.

Soon, headlights swept across the yard. Mrs. Holloway and the sheriff arrived together, even though she lived just next door. The sheriff brought Mr. Jasper—the oldest man in town, the one everyone called for funerals, for settling old family feuds, for blessing the harvest. Why he’d show up at my house in the middle of the night, I couldn’t guess.

Mr. Jasper looked ancient, dressed in worn denim overalls and a battered felt hat, his fingers stained with tobacco. He’d been around forever, his face craggy as an old fence post. When he stepped inside, he took off his hat, eyes scanning the room, and I felt a chill settle in my bones.

The first thing he asked was strange. “Eli... how long have you been awake?”

I stared at him, confused. Why did that matter?

His gaze was sharp, searching my face for something I didn’t understand. The sheriff and Mrs. Holloway exchanged worried glances, the air thick with tension. My thoughts scattered, trying to make sense of it.

“Um... about... half an hour,” I managed, voice small.

As I answered, I noticed something else—Mrs. Holloway was standing behind Mr. Jasper, arms crossed tight, not looking anxious at all. She’d come with the sheriff, so she must’ve known what “trouble” meant. Why wasn’t she panicking? I was shaking apart inside.

She looked at me, eyes tired and distant, lips pressed thin. I wanted to scream at her, to make her understand how scared I was. My heart thudded, palms sweating.

“No... you all come in and see for yourselves!” I shouted, leading them to Marissa’s room. But when I burst in, I froze. The bed was empty—sheets smooth, pillow untouched. Marissa was gone.

The room smelled faintly of her shampoo, the pillow still warm where her head should’ve been. I spun around, panic clawing at my chest. Had I dreamed it? Was I losing my mind?

Behind me, Mr. Jasper’s voice was gentle but heavy. “Your friend Marissa died when you were little... did you forget?”

His words hit like a punch. The world tilted. I stared at him, mouth open, trying to make sense of it.

“Impossible, impossible, I clearly...” My voice cracked. “I clearly just saw her...”

Mr. Jasper crouched beside me, his voice soft, almost kind. “You do this often, Eli. You forget things. Come on out, let’s talk, nice and slow.”

His tone was so gentle, like he was talking to a scared child. The sheriff’s hand was heavy on my shoulder, guiding me back to the living room. My thoughts scattered, everything blurring together.

Full of doubt, I shuffled out, feet dragging, the floor creaking beneath me. The hallway felt impossibly long, the walls lined with old family photos—faces I barely remembered.

Back in the living room, the sheriff was locking the door, boots thudding on the floor. Mrs. Holloway hovered in the hallway, her face lined with worry. As I looked around, it hit me—they all looked older, more worn down than before.

The sheriff’s hair was silvered, his badge dull. Mrs. Holloway’s hands shook as she clutched her robe, her eyes ringed with exhaustion. Even the couch looked shabbier, the patterns faded. My memories didn’t match what I saw.

Mr. Jasper spoke first, voice low and steady. “It’s alright, it’s alright... nothing supernatural here. It’s just... his old illness is back.”

He kept his voice soft, glancing at me with a hint of pity. The others nodded, relief flickering across their faces, like they’d expected this. Like it wasn’t the first time I’d lost myself.

Old illness? Were they talking about me? What illness? My head spun, and the room seemed to tilt, the couch too far away to reach.

I tried to argue, but my voice died in my throat. A cold fear crept up my spine—had I been sick all along? Were my memories just stories I’d told myself?

Only then did Mrs. Holloway let out a long, shaky sigh, her hands trembling as she rifled through the TV cabinet for something—maybe a photo album, maybe an old toy. I wanted to protest, to shout that I’d seen Marissa, but the words stuck in my chest, too heavy to say.

She turned, voice trembling. “Eli, honey, let’s not talk about Marissa anymore, okay?” Her eyes were soft, pleading. “You remember, don’t you?” She reached for an old picture frame, her hands barely steady. I wanted to yell that Marissa had just been here, but the memory already felt far away.

Mrs. Holloway interrupted me gently: “You mustn’t mention your friend Marissa anymore... she, she’s been gone for ten years, haven’t you remembered?”

Ten years? My legs went weak, and I nearly dropped to the floor.

The room spun, the walls closing in. Ten years? How could that be? I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to sort out what was real and what wasn’t. But all I could see was the memory of Buddy’s grin, the scratch of his claws on the rafters, and the glint of green eyes watching me from the darkness, waiting.