Chapter 2: A Sister’s Bitter Warning

She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, her clothes rumpled and stained. When she finally let go of my mouth, her fingers left little white marks on my skin. I hugged the covers tighter, teeth chattering so hard I thought they’d break.

After I promised her I wouldn’t make a sound, she let go of my mouth.

I nodded, pressing my lips together, swallowing hard. The room felt even colder now, like all the heat had been sucked out. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, loud and frantic in the quiet.

I hugged my blanket, shrinking deeper into the bed, shivering. “Sister, why is your body so cold?”

My voice came out in a whisper, barely more than a breath. I looked up at her, searching her face for some trace of the sister I used to know. All I saw was emptiness and pain.

My sister gave a bitter, self-mocking smile. “After being broken by that thing, how could I be warm? I came to tell you: take the next two days and run away, or Mom won’t let you go.”

She spoke softly, her words clipped and tired. The bitterness in her voice cut deeper than any knife. She glanced over her shoulder, as if she expected Mom to burst in at any second. My throat tightened, a lump I couldn’t swallow.

I stared at her in fear. “But, sister, I’m a boy.”

My words sounded small, childish. I tried to make sense of it, clinging to the one thing that felt safe—that I was different, that maybe Mom wouldn’t do the same to me. But deep down, I knew nothing was safe anymore.

She let out a cold, hollow laugh. “You think that matters? To Mom, even if you add the two of us together, we still don’t measure up to Johnny. If you don’t die from this, you’ll die from something else.”

Her laugh rattled around the room, empty and sharp. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing her tears. The words stung, but I knew she was right. Johnny was all Mom ever cared about now. I almost wanted to laugh, too.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that I loved her, but the words just wouldn’t come. She shook her head and slipped out of the room, leaving me alone with my fear.

The next morning, I woke to my mom’s screams.

The sound tore through the house, sharp and wild. I shot upright, heart pounding, not sure if I was still dreaming. The screams kept coming, raw and broken, and I knew something terrible had happened.

I rushed out to see what happened.

My feet barely touched the floor as I ran down the hallway, the boards creaking under me. The morning light was harsh, unforgiving, throwing long shadows across the walls. I could hear Mom sobbing, her voice cracking with every breath.

I found my sister dead.

She hung from the ceiling beam, her body swaying gently in the breeze from the open window. The rope cut deep into her neck, her face turned toward the door, eyes wide open but seeing nothing. My knees buckled, and I grabbed the doorframe to keep from collapsing.

She was wearing a bright red prom dress, hanging from the beam in our house.

It was the dress she’d saved for months to buy, the one she was supposed to wear to the dance last spring before everything went wrong. The red fabric shimmered in the morning light, a harsh, angry splash of color against the dull wood. She looked like a broken doll, left behind after the party ended. My breath caught in my throat.

My mom’s screaming was so loud it brought Uncle Larry from next door.

He lived in the old blue house across the street, always nosy, always watching. He must’ve heard the commotion and come running, pajamas barely buttoned, face flushed with worry. He burst through the door, eyes darting around until they landed on Sarah. His jaw dropped.

When he saw my sister’s body, he staggered, nearly losing his balance.

His mouth fell open, and he grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself. For a second, I thought he might faint. He took a shaky breath, running a hand through his thinning hair, his eyes never leaving Sarah’s body. I could see the shock plain as day.

Then he gritted his teeth and muttered, “Wearing red to hang herself—does she want to come back as a vengeful spirit?”

He said it under his breath, glancing nervously at the window. Around here, folks always whispered about things like this—how red meant anger, unfinished business. I shivered, remembering all those stories from when I was little.

Seeing Uncle Larry, my mom seemed to find her backbone again.

She straightened up, wiping her eyes, and turned to face him. Her voice was high and frantic, but she stood taller, like his presence gave her permission to really fall apart in front of someone else. She grabbed his arm, sobbing even harder.

She sobbed, “Johnny hasn’t come back yet, how could she die? If she’s dead, what about Johnny?”

Her words tumbled out, desperate and confused. She clung to Uncle Larry’s sleeve, her fingers digging in. The wild look in her eyes was the same as the night Johnny died. She looked lost, drowning in her own grief.

Uncle Larry slapped my mom across the face. “You can’t solve Sarah’s problem. Everyone’s dying, and you’re still thinking about Johnny.”

The slap echoed through the house—sharp, final. Mom stumbled back, stunned into silence. Uncle Larry’s face was twisted with anger, his hands shaking. He glared at her, voice trembling with barely contained rage. My heart jumped at the sound.

My mom wanted to say something, but intimidated by Uncle Larry, she shut her mouth.

She pressed her lips together, eyes darting to the floor. For once, she looked small, almost like a scolded kid. The silence pressed down on all of us, heavy as a stone.

Uncle Larry circled my sister’s body three times to the left, three times to the right.

He moved slow and deliberate, muttering under his breath. It was something I’d seen him do at funerals before—a small-town superstition, a way to keep angry spirits at bay. With every circle, the air grew colder, and I hugged myself, wishing I could disappear.

Then he waved me over.

He crooked his finger, calling me closer. I hesitated, glancing at Mom, but she just glared at me, daring me to disobey. My feet felt like cement, but I shuffled forward, heart thumping.

I was scared, but my mom kicked me forward.

Her foot caught me right in the backside, hard enough to make me stumble. I bit back a yelp, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. Uncle Larry caught my arm, steadying me.

Uncle Larry wasn’t as fierce as before. Facing me, his expression softened.

He crouched down to my level, his eyes kind but tired. He brushed a stray hair from my forehead, voice low and gentle. For a moment, I almost felt safe, like maybe things could go back to normal.

He gently patted my head. “Eli, your sister always treated you well. Tonight, you’ll keep vigil for her.”

His words were soft, but there was no room for argument. He squeezed my shoulder, giving me a sad smile. I swallowed hard, fighting back tears that stung my eyes.

I shivered in fright and waved my hands to refuse.

“No, please, Uncle Larry,” I whispered, shaking my head. The thought of spending the night alone with Sarah’s body made my skin crawl. I tried to back away, but he held me firm.

But Uncle Larry wouldn’t let me. “Your sister died wronged. If no family keeps her company tonight, she’ll come back angry and never find peace. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Besides, your sister loved you most when she was alive. She won’t hurt you after death.”

His voice was gentle, but there was steel in it. He looked me right in the eye, waiting for me to understand. I bit my lip, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. I wanted to believe him, but fear gnawed at my insides.

I still shook my head.

I couldn’t make myself say yes, couldn’t force the words out. My hands shook, and I stared at the floor, wishing someone—anyone—would step in. But no one did.

But my mom stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a kitchen knife, and glared at me. “If you don’t go, if you even dare to refuse, I’ll kill you right now.”

She brandished the knife, her knuckles white. The threat in her voice was real, and I knew better than to push her. My legs buckled, and I nodded, swallowing my fear. Uncle Larry stepped between us, hands up, trying to calm her down.

Terrified, I shut up and didn’t dare object again.

I ducked my head, eyes fixed on the floor. My heart was pounding, and my hands were slick with sweat. I didn’t want to die—not like Sarah, not like this. I’d do whatever they wanted, just to survive another day.

Uncle Larry was satisfied, patting my head. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen. Even if something does, a new ghost on the first night isn’t that dangerous.”

He tried to sound reassuring, but his voice shook a little. He gave me a weak smile, squeezing my shoulder one last time before stepping back. I nodded, trying to believe him, but dread sat heavy in my gut.

That night, I leaned against my sister’s coffin, trembling.

The living room was cold and still, the only light coming from a flickering candle on the mantle. I sat on the old armchair, knees pulled up to my chest, eyes glued to the coffin. Every creak of the house made me jump. Shadows danced on the walls, and I kept thinking I saw Sarah move.

After staring at her body for a while, I wasn’t as scared anymore. Instead, I just felt sad.

The fear faded, replaced by this hollow ache. I remembered how she used to braid my hair, sneak me cookies when Mom wasn’t looking. Tears welled up, blurring everything. I missed her, more than I’d ever missed anyone.

I wiped my tears and whispered, “Sister, no wonder you came to me last night and told me to run. Turns out you already planned this. Honestly, maybe it’s better that you’re gone—at least you won’t be humiliated anymore. Next time you come back, keep your eyes open. Even if you come back as a dog or a stray cat, it’s better than being born into our family.”

My voice trembled, barely more than a whisper. I pressed my forehead to the cool wood of the coffin, closing my eyes. I hoped she could hear me, wherever she was. I hoped she was finally free. My chest ached, and for a moment, I just let myself cry.

While I was muttering, the door suddenly banged open.

The sound echoed through the room, making me jump out of my skin. The candle flickered, casting wild shadows on the walls. My heart leapt into my throat, and I scrambled to my feet, eyes wide with fear.

I jumped in fright.

I nearly knocked over the chair, stumbling backward. My hands shook so hard I could barely keep them at my sides. I stared at the doorway, waiting for something terrible to come through. My breath caught in my chest.

After calming down, I saw it was my mom.

She stepped into the room, her face hidden in shadow. Her shoulders were hunched, and she moved with a strange, jerky gait. I could see the outline of the snake in her hand, coiled and restless. My heart dropped.

She was shrouded in darkness, so I couldn’t see her face clearly.

The only light was from the candle, and it threw her features into sharp relief. Her eyes gleamed, wild and feverish. She looked more like a stranger than my mother. I felt a chill run through me.

When she got closer, I saw she was holding the black snake in her hand.

The snake twisted and writhed, its tongue flicking out. Mom stroked its head, murmuring softly. The sight of it made my skin crawl, and I took a step back, bumping into the wall. My stomach knotted.