u/Possible-Display-891

part 1

“Well?! Where were you?! How could you leave him alone?!” 

I couldn't bring myself to look at her. My eyes remained on the thing resting in her arms. 

“I was… out.”

Even as she continued to berate me with questions my focus was locked on that thing.

I know what I saw. I could still feel my feet aching from running. 

What the fuck was my mother holding? 

My mother snapped her fingers to get my attention. My head whipped up to meet her eyes, which seemed to catch her off guard as she stepped back a little. 

“Mom… after he was born, were you with him the whole time?” 

She raised an eyebrow, cautious to answer me. 

“Of course… Obviously for a moment they-” she stopped herself, then looked me up and down. 

She took another step back. 

I was so sure of myself, until I saw that expression on my mother's face.

It was like she couldn't recognise me.

Before I could ask anything else, the baby began to wiggle in her arms as it opened its eyes. Once it saw me, the wailing began again.

My mother patted its back and started to leave the room. 

“I've got him. You just go lie down.” 

For a moment, I just stood and watched them walk away. Not sure what else to do with myself, I dragged myself to my room and flopped down on the bed.

My body felt weak, but my mind was heavy. I felt like I was trapped in a thickening fog.

It was becoming harder to discern what was real. I could feel in my gut something was wrong, but should I really be trusting my gut? 

I definitely went somewhere.

I was holding something.

Did I put it in the carrier?

I remember doing that. Right?

Everyone always talks about a mother's intuition, from the beginning I thought something was wrong.

But at any point have I had any instincts towards being a mother?

It hurts to think. It hurts to feel. Everything hurts.

I wish I could just be numb.

I curled up in a ball and hid under the blanket. I just wanted to disappear. I didn't care about the truth anymore, I just needed this to stop. 

My bedroom door creaked open, but I kept my head under the blanket. From how they took a breath before entering, I knew it was my mother.

I felt the bed move as she sat at the end and put a hand on my leg.

“Dear, we've been talking. We think you should probably see someone.” 

I said nothing, remaining hidden.

“It's clear you're struggling.”

“We both know why.” I muttered.

My mother's hand moved away. 

“What are you implying?” 

I pulled my legs closer to myself. 

“I don't want it, mom. I never wanted it.”

“Everyone struggles at the beginning. You can learn-”

“Please, just go.” 

For a minute that stretched on for far too long, she sat there. I could hear her open her mouth to try to say something a few times, but nothing ever came out.

Then without another word, she left. 

I stopped sleeping.

I couldn't handle the images I saw. 

At first, I'd be relieved when I woke up. But with the more time that passed, the more I enjoyed the outcome of my dreams. I was even disappointed when I woke up to reality.

My mother booked me in to see a therapist. 

I debated telling the therapist everything. If she couldn't help me, she'd at least be able to separate me from it. Though that would mean ending up in some asylum somewhere. 

Though at this point maybe that was preferable.

It wasn't like my life was amounting to much anyway. Even if everyone viewed me as a monster, at least I'd be able to leave. 

Most days I just decayed in my room. 

Eating became a chore that I refused to partake in. The most I'd nibble at were the odd crackers and chips my mother would hand me.

I tried to refuse them at first, but she'd stand her ground and remain in my room until I took them.

Why did she always force me to do things I didn't want to?

I hadn't seen the baby in weeks.

I made sure to avoid it.

I feared what would happen the next time we crossed paths. I'd even begun locking my bedroom door in case I ever fell asleep and my body decided to act on its own.

When my mother realized I wasn't feeding it when she was at work, she took time off. At the beginning I would've felt guilty, but now I didn't care.

This was her fault anyway.

If she wanted a baby so bad she could have it. That just meant I wasn't her daughter anymore. 

After days of avoiding sleeping, I passed out. 

I don't even remember the exhaustion washing over me. I just recall being in my room one moment, then the next I was standing over the baby.

It slept peacefully, undisturbed by my presence. Even as its eyes peeled open it didn't cry when it saw me. 

Didn't smile either. Never did. 

I doubt it even knew I was its mother.

I was disoriented when I first opened my eyes, but any confusion was washed away by a flood of spiteful words. 

I wasn't sure what to do with my hands. I kept them by my side but every part of me was calling for me to reach down to its throat and squeeze. Just one little motion is all it would take to snap it.  There were multiple pillows around as well if that didn't work.

It was making my blood boil having to resist it. I was starting to wonder why I was resisting at all. 

It must've found my anger amusing as it began to giggle a little. 

I looked away and began to inspect its room. I couldn't see the toys I took when I attempted to abandon it. 

So I didn't imagine that part at least.

The baby caught my attention again when the laughing grew louder.

“What do you want from me?” I mumbled under my breath.

It just continued.

“Well? What the fuck do you want for me?!” 

The laughing stopped. 

It stared at me for a moment, not moving. It was as if it were a tiny porcelain doll, ready to be dressed and displayed as I pleased.

A strange noise I didn't recognise then began.

It was like a cough, but more coarse and rough. The baby moved about, struggling as its skin went red from the stress of its coughing. Small drops of saliva littered the air while tears formed in the corners of its eyes.

It was choking. 

Before when it was in danger, something always pushed me to help. I think it was more basic human empathy than any motherly instinct. 

But now, I just wanted to watch.

So I did. 

Its eyes looked to me, hoping to be saved. I just stared back. 

“What's wrong?” My mother sounded tired, but alert.

She swung open the door and approached. Without looking at her I responded.

“I think it's choking.”

My mother was already holding the baby before I got the words out. Concerned, she patted its back.

“Why were you just standing there?!”

I didn't have any explanation. 

I didn't care to come up with one either. I was too disappointed she'd arrived. 

If only it would've died quicker.

Between ‘I've got you's’ and ‘come on's my mother had begun to hit its back with more force. 

After one big thwack there was the sound of something dislodging followed by air releasing from its throat. My mother then looked in its mouth and took out the source of the problem.

In her finger was a tiny grey fluffy sphere. The saliva covering it made it look like a furball.

Unless, it really was fur.

Like that of a small rodent. 

My mother flicked it away and began to hold the baby tight. I couldn't share her relief. She grumbled suggestions about how he maybe chewed on one of his toys or blankets or something. 

But none of them were that color.

I hadn't imagined it.

I started to sleep again.

While waking up filled me with dread, the moments of relief in my dreams were too much to give up. Imagining a world where I got to get rid of that thing filled me with such joy. 

It was addicting. It was a drug I refused to give up. I needed it.

I tried to hint that it wasn't my baby to my mother and step father a few times. The only responses I'd get were concerned looks and mentions of my upcoming therapy appointment.

I couldn't sense they were in any danger so I decided to leave it be.

I needed to get out of there. I knew if I left it alive it would kill me, but I didn't want to kill it either.

It was agony resisting the desire to get rid of it. With it being so small and fragile it would be so easy.

But I knew that would make me a monster, at least I would appear to be one from everyone else's perspective. I wasn't sure if I was prepared for that yet.

One night, my stomach growled louder than my thoughts so I gave into hunger. 

The baby was quiet and my mother was asleep, so I tried my best to creep along without creaking the floorboards. I knew just one sound would set the damn thing off.

Before I made it to the kitchen, however, I saw a light in the living room. 

Sitting inside, was my mother reading a book with the lamp on. And beside her, was the baby sleeping in a cot. 

I felt my blood rush to my head and my heart rate increase. Trying my best to calm down, I didn't pay attention to my hairs on end and just continued on my path to the kitchen.

But I had already been caught.

“Diana? Come in here.”

I stopped. Then I tried to continue to make my way to the kitchen.

“You can't hide forever.” 

Her voice sounded agitated and tired.

I wasn't sure if it was fear or shame that made me obey. 

I stood awkwardly in the doorway. My mother set her book to the side and rubbed her face under her glasses. 

There was a mix of emotions on her face. Some I couldn't recognise. Concern and frustration were the most notable. 

Any words I had to say got caught in my throat. 

My mother had plenty of words of her own.

“Do you plan to hide in your room from now on? You both live in the same house, you can't avoid him forever.” 

“And whose fault is that?” I snapped back.

“Yours, Diana. It's yours.” 

I could feel my blood boil. I was so devoid of energy though, I just let it be.

She was always so damn sure of that part. Even though she never thought to ask.

She relaxed a little and tried to collect herself.

“Just come look, he-”

“I can't.” 

Her brow furrowed as her tone became harsh again.

“Diana. Like it or not, you're his mother.”

I could see her move towards the cot as she began to rise from her chair. Her arms stretched down to take the creature in her arms. An image flashed in my mind of her handing it to me just for me to tear it apart like some wild beast.

Panic took over me as my voice shook in desperation.

“I-I don't want to be! I never wanted to be!” 

The little relief I gained as she instead turned to me, left when I saw her frustration transition to rage.

“How can you say that in front of him?!”

“It's a baby! It doesn't understand what I'm saying.” 

The baby began to coo a little in its sleep. My mother gently rocked the cot and shushed it. 

I didn't care what it or she thought of me. I just wanted to be left alone. 

I turned to leave, but my mother continued.

“I'm sorry. I never meant to pressure you.” 

Surprised, I looked back at her. Any anger on her face had vanished and been replaced with guilt.

“If you didn't keep him, I would've supported you, you know that right?” 

I wasn't sure if I believed those words, even if she believed them herself. The next words I did believe though.

“But he's here now, and that doesn't have to be the end of your life. I'm certainly not going to let you throw it away. I'm here for you, ok?” 

Maybe I would've said something sweet in return under different circumstances. But I was just so tired and fed up all I could say was…

“If you want to help me, get rid of it.” 

With that sparks flew again.

“Diana!”

“What?! You never listen to me!”

“You never listen to me!”

“Listening to you is what got me stuck in this mess!” 

The baby began to toss and turn again as our voices raised higher and higher. My mother tried to bring the volume back down but I just kept raising it.

“You just don't understand mom! I-it's like… It feels like I'm drowning, constantly. A-and all you do is come paddle in the water with me but I need out! I need to be pulled out of the damn water!” 

“You don't get to pull out! You made a stupid mistake and now he's your responsibility!” 

“My responsibility?! Why do I have to deal with the aftermath and the other culprit doesn't!” 

“He does!- He should! Just because Matthew got away doesn't mean he shouldn't be here! It's unfair, but him not doing the right thing doesn't give you the right to do the same!” 

“So after everything he did, he just gets to walk away but I have to keep going?”

“After what you both did.”

“What makes you so certain I-...” I hesitated a little and tried to change my words, “I don't care what anyone did anymore! It's just not fair!”

“Of course it's not fair, but he's your baby!”

“Well just because he's my responsibility doesn't mean I have to love him!”

A long silence followed.

My mind came to a sudden halt. So did my mother's, as she just stood there.

The baby crying broke the stand still.

I tried to find something to say as my mother approached the crib. She took the babe in her arms and started patting its back while bouncing up and down.

“Leave Diana.”

“Mom-”

“Just go. You can't even call him by his name…”

I considered continuing to protest, but with my mother's back now to me all my sudden vitriol left. 

I was just so tired.

I couldn't help but think, if she knew it was me or the baby, that she'd choose it every time.

Before I could leave, the crying stopped. I thought nothing of it, my mother must've finally gotten it to stop again. 

Something about it was so sudden though…

It then began to laugh. 

A soft giggle that crescendoed louder and louder. It filled the room, echoing and ricocheting off the walls, until it sounded like it was trapped in my own head. 

I covered my ears in hopes of drowning it out but it didn't work. The volume just kept increasing, the pitch getting higher and higher. It scrapped at my brain, tearing it apart and the seams.

I didn't want to look back.

But I knew I had to.

Looking back at me over my mother's shoulder was the baby. 

Or what remained of it.

Its face was beginning to melt into a pile of blood as the bones in its skull protruded out. Its jaw clicked and clacked as it continued to laugh but its expression was wiped clean as its skin peeled off its face.

I could see the remains of the rat stuck in its hollow throat. It was lodged in the cavern, only a few muscles still on its bones. 

I wanted it to scream out for my mother to run, but I kept it inside when I realized he had no interest in her.

It just kept looking at me.

“What do you want?” I managed to mumble out.

It just continued to laugh.

“What do you want from me?!” 

My mother looked back at me.

“Diana?”

“Why won't you just leave me alone?!”

I lunged forward as its laugh reverberated in my bones.

I wasn't sure what my plan was, I just wanted to shut it up. I'd do whatever it took just to make it quiet.

My mother turned, covering it in her arms. I think she shouted something but I couldn't make it out over that laugh.

I clawed at it, trying to reach it as my mother shielded it with her back. She then dropped to the floor and cradled it inside a cocoon I couldn't manage to tear apart.

“Just leave us alone! Leave me the fuck alone!”

I thrashed about, trying to squeeze my way between my mother's arms but to no avail.

It only fuelled my rage. I had to get to it. I had to break through and remove it from this world. It wasn't supposed to exist, I never wanted it to, it had to go.

I needed it gone. I hated it.

That laugh. That cry. That face. 

Why did its face look like his? Why?

Why couldn't it just die?!

“Diana!” 

I stopped. 

The laughter was gone. The baby was back to normal. Instead, it was crying as it had been moments before.

Tears also filled my mother's eyes. Petrified, the whites of her eyes visible as she sat crouched in a disheveled heap.

Her skin was covered in scratches from my unkempt nails. Some dripped with small trickles of blood but most were just purple and bruised. 

Clumps of hair had been torn from her skull and lay in clumps on the ground. A few strands were still wrapped around my fingers, her blood and skin was under my nails.

Her glasses were smashed on the floor and her shirt was tattered. 

Her eyes refused to move away from me. It was as if she feared even blinking would set me off. 

I stood up, and began backing out of the room.

“I didn't- You don't understand… that's not… that's…”

My mother said nothing, backing into the corner of the room while trying to keep the baby from my sight.

“M-mom. Please, it's not… that's not my baby…You have to believe me.” 

I could already see her hand reaching into her pocket for her phone.

Not sure what else to do, I ran. 

I couldn't bring myself to look back. Even as I could hear the sirens gathering in the distance, not once did I look back.

I just ran and ran and ran. 

Until eventually I collapsed in the middle of nowhere, and let myself drift off to sleep to forget it all.

I'm sure if I returned home and agreed to get help, my mother would've welcomed me.

But I didn't need help.

I don't know what happened in that hospital. Maybe in that moment, me or the baby were meant to die and now the world was trying to balance itself. Maybe it was some creature sent to torment me or my real baby was switched out in the maternity unit.

All I knew, was that was no baby.

While my dreams continued, being away from it made all those moments more vivid to me. My mind is clearer, a bit less foggy and whatever that thing was it was dangerous.

If it ate that rat, it could go after mom next. I won't let that happen.

I stopped sleeping again, but I just know it in my gut. I know that's not human. I just know it.

And I know what I have to do.

It's me or it. 

I've considered letting it live and taking myself out. It would maybe be for the best. But no matter how many times I tried I couldn't bring myself to do it. 

So, instead I'm sitting here with a pistol and a single bullet in the chamber. 

I barely managed to salvage together the money to buy it from some random crackhead. A couple favours and some cash I managed to grab before I left the house was all it took.

It'll decide for me who it will be.

If only, my mother changed the locks after I left. Maybe she was hoping I'd come home.

I should probably get this over and done with before my mother or step father wake up.

Mom, no matter what happens, I don't know what to say other than sorry.

 

I never wanted to be a mother. 

My dreams were always filled with images of fortunes and academic successes. Instead, I was stuck with a pile of flesh that was incapable of dreaming. 

Perhaps that's presumptuous. Maybe the thing cooing in the cot beside me has simple visions of its own. 

Whatever they are, I just want to end them with a pillow over its head. 

I'd make it swift and painless, so neither of us had to suffer. Though the creature that I cradled in my arms deserved a worse fate. 

What had so often refused to feed from my bosom, what had ended my ambitions and ideas of glory, what lays in peaceful slumber, is no babe.

I refuse to believe that thing is my child. 

I had plans for college.  

Years of studying went down the drain when I saw the two lines on that stick. I went from potential Ivy League pathways, to barely being able to finish high-school.

One mistake. One mistake and a few too many drinks is all it took. 

The father made sure to move states when he heard the news. By the time his family was done moving him around, it was like he never even existed. 

We couldn't afford a lawyer. His family had an army of them. 

So, I was left with the consequences of our actions.

I wanted to get rid of it.

It was all I could think when the news was confirmed. 

I was unable to hide it from my mother. When I returned from my first secret doctor's appointment I broke down in tears. 

As regret and shame poured down my cheeks and spilled out my throat, my mother insisted on one point.

I was keeping it.

She had once been in my shoes. In her twenties she was left alone with me and only a dollar to her name. 

She managed, she claimed. So could I. 

I refused at first. Then after many arguments she talked me down to at least considering keeping it.

I don't know if she even realised what she was doing. It wasn't like she ever told me to keep it or else. Just anytime I broached the topic of aborting it she'd bombard me with alternative solutions and anecdotes about others who didn't want their kids at first but grew to love them.

By the time I realised argument after argument was only a way to guilt me from making a swift decision, it was too late. 

The labour was long and painful. 

My stomach ached like it was being torn out and everything below my waist felt as if it were on fire.

Yet despite wanting it so desperately to be over, I did not want it to end either. 

Anything to avoid looking it in the face. Anything to avoid being stuck with that parasite for the rest of my life.

My mother insisted that it be as natural a birth as possible, so I endured. I was so disoriented I just accepted whatever she said to avoid talking. But there came a point I could no longer appease her and began begging for any pain killer they had. 

I thought she'd be disappointed, but after the first eight hours of torture she seemed to agree. 

I had grown to resent her. But as I saw her go pale at the state of me and the panic in her eyes, I realized she was still my mother.

My mother, who had given up her own dreams to raise me and never complained. Who despite everything never asked how, why or when. Who married a man she felt little affection towards just to give us a stable home.

And the woman who assured me she loved me every moment she could.

I knew she blamed herself for allowing me to end up with the same fate as her. So, any comments she had to make about my actions remained to herself. 

But if that was all the case, why? 

Just why did she make me keep this tumour?

When I heard the baby's cries, I knew it was over. 

I did not recall the moment of release, or the final push. It was only the sounds from the infant that indicated it was over. 

There was something soothing about it. A new sensation moved within me as my arms reached out to it on their own. 

Everyone told me a mother's love for her child was natural and pure. I had worried I'd never feel such things, but perhaps my fears were unfounded. 

All I desired was to meet what I had pushed out of me.

It was hard to focus and my hands were unsteady. I think the nurses spoke to me, their tones switched from joy to concern. 

I tried so hard to make out what they were saying. 

It was just so hard to hear anything over the thumping in my head.

Everything went black. 

In the void, I could see myself. I held something small and red. I rocked it back and forth with sweat on my brow.

I looked exhausted. My hair was poorly kept together in a bun and my exposed stomach was carved with stretch marks. Despite just delivering a newborn my body was skin and bone.

In my arms, was something wrapped in a blanket. Then those soft cries I heard before everything became dark returned.

It didn't take me long to realise those dreams I always had were to now be replaced with a nightmare.

I reached out to the blanket and moved it to see the child's face.

The crying stopped before I could see anything clearly. It was sudden enough to make me pause. 

Trying to overcome my hesitation, I continued with my motion. 

Instead of soft skin and big eyes, I was met with a clump of red liquid and fragmented bones. 

A small skull with no flesh or muscle was drenched in blood and puss. 

My heart leaped to my throat and I felt this sudden urge to mourn something I never knew. I kept back the tears and tried to remind myself I was dreaming.

That was until something grabbed my ankle. 

Something wet and cold trickled up my leg. 

My neck stiffened, resisting looking down. 

I gave in when the red started to pool on the floor in front of me. 

A hand made of blood and puss gripped my leg, and spread its fingernails into trails of blood up my calf. The blood moved further and further, coming to my thigh just to break apart and drip down to the floor. 

The tighter the hand's grasp, the further the blood would travel. 

I tried to break free, but soon my other ankle was being kept in place. 

No matter how much I screamed and thrashed I could not move. Instead dozens of hands continued to trap my legs. 

When I looked back at the bones in the shape of a babe, I discovered only the blanket remained. 

That was until I felt something caress my cheek.

I awoke with a jolt. 

My body curled, as I gasped for air. My lower half throbbed in agony anytime I moved, so I tried my best to stay in place as I calmed my breathing.

The first thing I discovered was my mother's hand on mine.

The lines on her head were creased with worry. I could tell she was fatigued from the bags under her eyes but had come alive again as I came to.

She called for a nurse nearby to check on me. My head was still fuzzy, the only thing I could make out were the consistent beeps of machines around us.

I pieced together that I was still in the hospital. The only details I could pick up from the nurse was there was some complication during the labour and they brought me in for surgery.

It was when I heard the word ‘baby’, everything came back to me.

Part of me wanted to go back to sleep. Another part of me wished they let me bleed out.

After the nurse left, my mother began to fuss over me. 

Apparently my step-father's flight was cancelled and she had been left alone. I felt guilty making her worry, even if it was out of my control.

Eric was a good man, but he often worked overseas leaving us alone. I thought he'd manage to pull through this time.

I guess we had both been left alone. 

“The baby…?” was all I could muster. 

As if it heard me, a cooing noise came from beside me. 

My mother managed a small smile as she moved to the side to grab what had been lying next to me the whole time. I could see its small hands move as mom lifted it in her arms and rocked it up and down with a little bounce. 

“It's a boy.” Her voice was as gentle as her hands when she set it into my arms.

I stared at its face. Its eyes were shut over, still asleep. Barely the size of my forearm I was scared I would crush it if I wasn't careful. 

I tried to take in every detail and let it grab one of my fingers in its tiny hand.

This is mine. This is my baby. Who I made. 

That's what I kept saying to myself, waiting for the rush of love to enter my heart. Waiting for a tear to form in my eye or my mind to imagine our future together. 

Instead, all I could say was;

“This isn't mine." 

Bewildered doesn't begin to describe my mother's expression. 

“What?”

“This isn't my baby. It was a girl.” 

The confusion morphed to concern, but I could tell she was trying to be mindful of my condition. 

“Diana, you were unconscious before you could see him, how would you know?”

“I could tell from how it cried. Boys don't cry like that.” 

With a cautious look, she began to take the baby back into her arms.

“Well, I was there for it all dear. This is your little angel.” 

Turning away she moved back to the little box the nurses had prepared for it. 

My eyelids felt heavy and the room was still unfocused. My heart said if it was mine, I should've felt something when it was in my arms. But my mind cut through the fog to be reasonable, insisting my mother couldn't be mistaken. 

I kept my eyes on it as it slept. Watching its small breaths in and out.

“I wanted a girl.” 

“You didn't want anything.” 

My mother sounded irritated now. Realizing her patience was wearing thin, I just looked away. 

“I did say that, didn't I?” 

When we arrived home, it wouldn't stop crying. 

Every night without fail it would wail like a banshee. On and on and on. 

This cry was different from the first I had heard. Something about it scratched my brain in a way that drove it mad. It was nothing like the soothing sound I had heard in that hospital bed.

We started to become concerned, so we went back to the hospital. They insisted everything was fine. All tests came back clear and he was as healthy as could be.

If anything, the visit was embarrassing. Because every time he was in my arms the floodgates would open. But every time my mother took him, it was like an angel had rocked him to sleep. 

I could feel the eyes of the staff piercing through me. I could hear all the thoughts they had about me being a poor mother. 

They all thought I was his sister at first, which just made me feel worse.

Shame was my main motivator to grow close to him. 

I was sick of judgemental eyes, but more than that it was my own thoughts tormenting me. 

What kind of monster doesn't love her own baby? 

I was meant to be good at this, right? Maybe I wasn't born with parental skills, but I should feel something, wasn't I?

But when I looked at it crying and throwing itself about in its cot all I could feel were varying levels of anger and exhaustion. 

I'd hold him every night. I'd rub his back and try to sing him a lullaby that my mother always sang for me. No matter the tune or the lyrics or the rhythm in which I patted him on his back, he would not stop crying. 

As I'd hush him, desperate to get some sleep myself, I'd silently beg for him to stop. Anytime I tried to assure him “Mommy loves you.” I just couldn't…

The words would get stuck half way up or they'd be so drawn out they were barely strung together. Maybe it knew they were empty. 

Or maybe it wasn't my baby.

Though maybe that was easier to accept than the idea we would just forever hate each other. 

Why did I have to care for it anyway? What, it leeched off me for nine months to promise me at least eighteen more miserable years with it, and I should feel some kind of bond? 

So what if it came from between my legs and hid itself in my stomach? The one who helped put it there gets to live on without a care in the world. 

Of course people condemn him for leaving, but they accept it. It's some inevitable tragedy about the world. But while his apathy is lamented over in passing, mine is villainised? 

Why can't I run away too? 

Why did he get to do this to me? 

Even now he gets to control my life in this way. He left what is now a baby without a father, but if I leave it I'm abandoning it. I'm ensuring it is alone in this world. 

Why did I have to live with that burden?

All I could do was push on and try to ignore my lingering hatred. If I continued to let my mind run wild, we'd only grow to resent each other more. 

It was hard though.

The damn brat wouldn't even feed from me. 

No matter how many times I tried, it'd always turn its head away. If I attempted to force it, it would just start crying again.

Day after day I'd sit in the armchair in my living room and plead with it to eat. I'd beg and beg until I'd end up crying with it. 

When my mother returned from work she'd often find me despondent with my shirt still down, the baby laying on the couch beside me. 

She knew I was struggling, but didn't know what to do outside of alleviating some of my burdens. 

She'd take the formula and feed it herself. She'd change its nappies and sing it to sleep when I gave up. 

I know she was trying to help, but it just made me feel worse. Seeing her do everything I couldn't make me realise how incompetent I was.

She was doing it all without her husband as well. 

While he'd be home every other weekend, and would help where he could, most days it was just us. 

I wished I could just give them the baby and run. Hell, I wished we'd have arranged to give it up from the beginning.

Instead, I'm trapped.

And sometimes, I swear its wails sound more like laughter. 

One day, I sat once again on that arm chair.

I had no will to fight it. I just made the offer and planned to leave it at that. 

My head was already against the couch cushion, ready to shut my eyes and drift off when it started crying again. 

Instead, I felt a gentle suckle.

I was scared to move. I feared the slightest movement would put it off. 

I looked down from the corner of my eye, to see him taking his fill. He was almost peaceful. 

I sunk a little more into the couch, and in a mindless state began to stroke its little head. I stared up at the ceiling, a smile creeping in from the small success. 

I rested my head and closed my eyes…

Then a sudden pain surged up my body. 

I almost screamed, but it was so sudden it came out as a shocked gasp. I knew the source it had come from and immediately jumped up. 

The sudden movement caused it to start crying again, but I paid no attention to it. Sensing possible danger, I had this instinct to chuck the baby aside. I needed to lay it down fast so I could focus on my wound. 

Once back in its cot I looked down at my bloodied shirt. 

Right where the baby had been eating, was a large bite mark.

It bruised my skin, already going purple in the shape of its little teeth. Red streaks dripping from pierced skin, globbed together with chunks of skin that had been ripped off.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Swearing under my breath was all I could bring myself to utter as I dashed back to the kitchen. I scavenged around for bandages or something to stop the bleeding. 

I settled for an old white towel, and slumped down onto the floor in a panic. 

“Fuck, shit.” Was shit all my mind could muster.

I had no time to process what had happened, as the front door opened. 

I called out for my mom on instinct. 

From my voice, she must have known something was wrong. Dropping her bag she threw herself down in front of me and cupped my hand in hers. 

“Hey, hey, Diana, what's wrong?” Her voice trembled a little, struggling to sound reassuring.

I was incoherent due to me sobbing. 

I wasn't in pain anymore, but the shock had sent my adrenaline racing and now it was crashing.

After getting me to take a breath with her, I finally managed to calm down to explain. 

“I-I finally managed to get him to f-f-feed but” I started through sniffles, “t-t-then he bit me.”

My mother looked confused, but like she was trying her best to understand.

“Let me see, dear.”

With a gentle hand, she moved my arm and the towel away. 

“See, you're fine Diana.” 

“What?” 

I looked down, just to see the wound was gone. 

“The little guy's teeth aren't even through yet. He wasn't going to do any damage.”

“B-but-...” 

I couldn't bring myself to say anything.

Was I going mad? I could've sworn…

“How about we take this as a little victory despite the ending, ok?” 

My mother tried to help me to my feet. 

After that, she just insisted I should rest and she'd take care of the baby for the night. 

I didn't want to protest. 

I had been falling asleep at the time, maybe I imagined it? Or maybe he did bite a little and it caught me off guard?

It felt real though…

I curled up in my bed and focused on sleeping. Whatever happened, all I knew was I was tired.

And maybe mom was right. I should take the little victories, shouldn't I?

That was when the nightmares returned. 

Now instead of a skeleton in cloth, every night the baby that laid in the other room would appear in my dreams. 

And every time I would kill it.

At first it was just when I was going to bed, but soon it became whenever I tried to close my eyes. 

It was the same every time, just with different outcomes.

As always, it would cry.

The sound would get louder and louder and drown out any thoughts I had. It would eat away at me until there was nothing left but blind rage.

I'd give in and do whatever I could to make it stop.

Suffocation. Mutilation. Decapitation. Cannibalism. Dropping it on his head. Letting it fall over the banister. Burning it alive. Throwing it off a building. Leaving it under my car tire then rolling forward. Bashing it against the pavement. Throwing it onto train tracks.

It would be different each time, but the result was always the same.

Sometimes I'd try to resist it. 

I'd summon all the power I had to stay calm. I'd continue to hold it and try to shush it and tell it everything was going to be ok.

When I did, it would eventually stop crying.

That was always followed by it clawing at my skin.

It would rip out chunks as I tried my best to hold him. The pain would make me squirm, but I resisted fighting back.

I'd repeat ‘I won't kill my baby, I won't kill my baby’.

But there was always this other voice that would say, ‘It's not your baby.’ 

I'd usually fail. 

It was so hard not to give in and the pain was unbearable. 

Sometimes though, I'd keep going.

I'd let it tear me apart until my muscles and bones were visible. 

Once it realised that wasn't working, it would just stop. 

Still gripping my skin, it would start to melt down into a fleshy pulp of blood and bone. Creeping down my body it would spread apart and make its way to my legs.

Like clockwork, I'd fall back and try to swipe it away. In this state, it was impossible to remove it all though. 

As I'd try to pull it off mel, the remaining goop would continue up my thigh and do whatever it could to re-enter my womb. 

Even though it was just a dream, I swore I felt everything. All the pain, like my insides were being shredded. 

It was worse than the labour, worse than the surgeries, worse than any pain I had ever felt. 

All I could do was beg for it to stop, but it never would. 

My organs became mush, absorbing with it as my nerves screamed out for mercy. Calling for help didn't deter it, nor would anyone come. 

After a while I wouldn't be able to speak, it was too hard as I gargled on my own blood. 

From there, I'd hear a ringing as the world disappeared…

Before dying alone on the floor. 

Waking up felt like going from one nightmare to another. The sweat pooled together on my back and my body would quiver. 

At the beginning, I'd wake up to my mother asking me what was wrong. Apparently the way I'd shriek in my sleep put the fear of God back into her.

After a while though, I grew used to it and stopped screaming.

Though it always made me wonder, if the baby was crying so much because he saw the same things in his sleep. 

I wasn't sure why I started having such cruel dreams. The message was clear though.

Either I died, or the baby did.

I didn't need a dream to tell me that, it was something I already understood.

I could feel myself deteriorating day by day. My eyelids always felt heavy while my body felt light. Often, I'd forget to eat until my stomach reminded me with searing pains.

Physically and mentally I could feel myself disappearing. My body on auto pilot brought me to the baby to try the same ineffective routine again and again. 

After months of agonising over something that hated me as much as I hated it, I decided to give up.

I rotted away in my bed, shutting the blinds and putting on headphones to drown out that incessant noise. 

Not even the pits of hell could conjure a noise that vile. 

I let my mother answer it. If she wasn't around, I just ignored it. 

Her and my stepfather would persuade me to put in a little effort here and there. But it would just start making that sound again until I found myself screaming back at it.

I knew they were worried. When my step father was home I could hear them murmuring in their bedroom. 

It was only a matter of time before they sent me to some nut house.

A mother who can't look after her own baby, what cure would they have for that?

What hurt more than the empty pit that grew in my stomach and the fear of being fundamentally broken, was that they couldn't hear it.

Why couldn't they hear it? 

It wasn't just crying, it was screeching. 

My mind at first compared it to an animal, then a ghoul. But nothing my mind could comprehend could even begin to describe that awful sound. 

Every time it started my stomach tried to empty itself. 

Worst of all, no one could hear it laughing in-between howls.

I found myself standing, staring at it. 

There was no crying this time, my mother had just put it to bed. 

The more I stared the more it looked like a demon than a child. Some hollow husk that appeared to be a baby, but was really something sinister. 

I sighed and caught myself on the frames of the cot to avoid falling when my knees gave way. 

What was I saying? 

Of course it was a baby. What else would it be?

Was I really more willing to accept that it was some grotesque monster than me being a bad mother? 

I never wanted to be a mother, of course I was a bad one. 

If anything, I could feel myself losing my humanity. 

I hated what I was becoming. All I could do was cry at night and curse the man that fled. 

Even though I wanted to be nowhere near him, I couldn't help but wonder if this would've been more natural for him. 

I couldn't hold myself upright anymore and just collapsed to the ground. I covered my mouth to contain my silent sobs. 

I was scared. 

I was so scared. I needed help. I really, really needed help. 

But who would help someone who wanted to kill their own baby? 

The baby's movement caught my attention. Its arms moved about in the air, as if trying to reach out for someone to pick it up. 

My bones shook in anticipation, waiting for that sound to tear me apart again. 

But it never did. 

It just continued to wait, patient for someone to spot it, or content to go back to bed if no one came. 

While I watched between the bars, there was a moment of peace in my mind. As it dozed off, I rested my head against the cot and couldn't help but smile a little.

I was so used to it crying all the time, I didn't get to see it this way often. 

The small moment only solidified a growing idea in my mind. 

I need to get it out of here. 

The more dark thoughts that lingered after every dream, the more I knew it couldn't go on like this. 

Either there was more to these dreams and they were a warning, or I was losing mind. Both options would only lead to misery for me and the baby.

I knew my mother would never forgive me, but I had to give it up.

Really I should've from the beginning, it was mom who convinced me to keep it. It was always in an irritating way where I couldn't call her out for pressuring me. 

I think she thought I'd be like her. That, despite the struggles, I'd grow to love my baby like she did me. That I'd see it was all worth it in the end.

Based on the fact she clearly didn't know what to do with me lately, I doubt her struggles were anything like mine. 

I felt nothing towards this baby. 

I tried and tried, but the best I could feel was relief when it shut up. 

That apathy mixed with my erratic psyche was a dangerous mix. I knew it was. 

So, the next day when mom was at work, I prepared to leave the baby at a fire station.

I wasn't sure where else to leave it. That's what they did in the movies and shows I watched, it was all I had to go off. 

Anything else that came up online sounded too official, or I'd have to look someone in the eye. I needed a solution I could act upon and not be afraid I'd change my mind. 

It also couldn't be a long process so mom couldn't try to persuade me out of it.

I waited until the evening. 

I didn't want to go out in broad daylight. No one wants to be seen dumping a baby. 

I also felt bad, thinking one day it might grow up and think it was unwanted. It was wanted, just not by me. 

In hopes they'd one day be passed on, I took a couple teddies mom had purchased for him and tucked them in the hand carrier beside him. 

For once, he slept without a fuss. Even as I walked at a rapid pace against the cold breeze there wasn't a peep out of him.

I kept my hood up, in part to hide my disheveled appearance, but mostly to remain unnoticed. We lived in a big town so I doubt anyone would recognise me in this area, but I couldn't be sure. 

My skin on my feet was starting to blister, I had been walking for so long. If I could drive it would've taken me twenty minutes to get there. 

That was a plan for my next year in college though. I had no license and no car. It didn't help that I hadn't been outside in weeks, maybe even months now. 

The light was irritating my eyes. It was dim, just after sunset. When it went fully dark the bright street lights didn't help.

I tried my best to think about having to walk back home. I maybe should've brought money for a taxi on the way back. 

Something about the idea of making small talk with a stranger after abandoning my own kid didn't sound like a good time though. 

I was worried about becoming a monster, but I already was one, wasn't I? 

This kid will forever wonder who I am. They'll want to know why I left them. And if they ever search for me one day I'll have to explain to them I was trying to protect them.

I could just imagine his face when I said I was protecting him from myself. 

The more steps I took forward the more I considered turning back. 

If anything, maybe I should be running away. I should be the one to leave. He could just stay with my mother.

But I had no money. 

Maybe I deserved to rot on the streets.

I was concerned about hurting the baby, but there was always the other option. It wasn't like I cared much for life lately anyway. 

My primal instinct to survive had not yet been overcome however. If it ever came to that though, I wouldn't let my dreams happen. I'd go out on my own terms. 

It wasn't until my two feet stopped by themselves that I realised I was at my destination.

Whoever worked at the station was nowhere in sight. Some lights were on inside however, so I needed to be quiet.

Shit, holy shit, am I actually doing this? 

I started to look around for somewhere to leave it.

I thought there were like designated points or something, where the fuck am I supposed to put it? 

I'm a horrible person. I am a horrible woman. I am a horrible mother. 

I heard movement from an open window. Panicking, I just set the baby by the door. 

I'm sure they'll find it soon. It would start crying then they'd hear it. 

I took a few steps back.

Is that it? Is this what I am doing?

I started to pivot, then hesitated and pivoted back. Just to repeat that again a few more times until I crouched down on the ground wanting to disappear.

Hugging my knees, I laid my head down and hid.

It's for the best. 

You didn't even want it. You still don't want it.

Why would you force yourself to keep a baby you don't even want? 

Hell, it's not even about that anymore. You know it's not safe in your supposed ‘care’. At the rate things are going you are either going to end up killing it or yourself. 

Either way you'd make your poor mother cry.

I took a breath and stood up.  

It was for the best. I knew that. 

I shook myself a little, then got ready to leave. 

When I took a final glance back at my own flesh and blood, the very being I was leaving in the hands of strangers, I saw something move.

From under a gutter, out came a rat. 

Instincts took over as I turned to flee. My disgust was interrupted by a realization.

The baby.

What if it bit it? Or gave it some horrid disease or rabies or something? 

I wanted rid of it but the whole plan was to try keep it alive. I couldn't leave it to be devoured by rodents.

I'd just have to chase it off without making a sound.

When I turned back, the rat was gone. 

I was confused. My best guess was it went back under the gutters. It was weird I didn't hear it though. I heard it's little patters coming out, you would think it would be the same going back in.

I don't know why, but the pitch black void that surrounded us suddenly seemed a lot darker. 

I ventured forward to investigate. I was cautious, only approaching with little steps at a time. 

When I peered over the hand carrier to see where it went, I only found a strange stain on the ground.

It was dark, almost black, with tinges of red and white.

That, and a long thick tail, with no rat attached.

It was then I realized the trickles of white were tiny shards of bone. 

Something was moving. I couldn't see it, only hear it. It sounded like some form of goopy substance, some thick liquid moving every so often.

I felt my body begin to stiffen, but it continued to move to check the one thing it knew it had to. 

The baby was gone. 

My feet acted on their own and broke out into a sprint. 

I ignored the pain on my soles and heels, I ignored trying to hide from people passing by, I ignored everything other than the motion of putting one foot in front of the other.

That thing was not my baby. 

I don't know what it was, but I was getting far away from it. 

Everything became a blur as I passed it. I wasn't even sure what street I was on anymore or if I was going the right way.

Home. Just get home. 

I just wanted to be far away from that thing.

I won't let my dreams happen. I saw the blood move towards me as I left. I won't let it happen. I won't.

Just because I spared its life doesn't mean I have to die.

I could feel my dream coming to life as my imagination ran wild. The thought of it clawing out my insides, mangling me and turning me into a gelatinous mold of blood and mucus like it. 

I could hear it laughing at me as it felt satisfied with its actions. Then that ringing as everything became dark and I was left to meet the nothing that was death.

No, no, no. It won't happen. 

I won't let it.

By the time I was home, I was out of breath. 

Safety was in reach, but I had become so distracted in my dash, I had forgotten to prepare for my mother's reaction.

Her car was parked in the driveway. 

She was home. The baby wasn't. 

That thing wasn't.

I debated telling her the truth. 

Mother may have insisted on going back for it. I wasn't sure what it was capable of, we could all be in danger. I wasn't sure how to explain it without sounding like a mad woman though.

…was I a mad woman?

It wasn't like I knelt down to check the baby. It could've been a trick of the light or it may have been buried in the layers of blankets I swaddled it in. 

No, but that doesn't explain the rat. 

Fuck, I don't know anymore. 

My head felt like it was going to explode. I needed to clear my thoughts.

What was even happening? I felt lucid, I was tired but not on the verge of falling asleep like before. 

But what could possibly explain what just happened other than some kind of misunderstanding. 

The fatigue could've caught up to me. Or maybe I shut my eyes for a moment without realizing and the dream started up again.

Or it was real. I was right. 

That was no baby.

How did it end up like that then? 

I found myself pacing up and down the pavement. 

My head hurt. Thinking about it just made it hurt more. Every explanation I could conjure didn't explain it. I feared feeling vindicated in my emotions, I didn't want to justify the hatred I had for my own child.

But maybe it really wasn't my child.

I tried to collect myself. 

There are two options. That baby was mine, or it was something else. If my assumptions were mad or sane in that regard, it didn't matter. 

The baby was in danger and so was I. That remains true for both options. So either way, it had been left where it needed to be. 

All I could do was deal with one problem at a time. 

I opened the front door.

As soon as it clicked shut, I could hear my mother's voice.

“Diana?!” her voice sounded accusatory. 

I was running just moments before, but now I could barely bring myself to move through my own home. 

I could hear my mother coming to me.

“Diana?! Where have you been?! What have you done?!” 

I thought she'd still be in panic mode, but she was already angry. 

I couldn't lift my head. I just stopped and waited for her to come to me.

“Mom I…” 

My heart froze when she met me in the hallway. 

There she stood beneath the doorway...

With the baby in her arms. 

I never wanted to be a mother. 

My dreams were always filled with images of fortunes and academic successes. Instead, I was stuck with a pile of flesh that was incapable of dreaming. 

Perhaps that's presumptuous. Maybe the thing cooing in the cot beside me has simple visions of its own. 

Whatever they are, I just want to end them with a pillow over its head. 

I'd make it swift and painless, so neither of us had to suffer. Though the creature that I cradled in my arms deserved a worse fate. 

What had so often refused to feed from my bosom, what had ended my ambitions and ideas of glory, what lays in peaceful slumber, is no babe.

I refuse to believe that thing is my child. 

I had plans for college.  

Years of studying went down the drain when I saw the two lines on that stick. I went from potential Ivy League pathways, to barely being able to finish high-school.

One mistake. One mistake and a few too many drinks is all it took. 

The father made sure to move states when he heard the news. By the time his family was done moving him around, it was like he never even existed. 

We couldn't afford a lawyer. His family had an army of them. 

So, I was left with the consequences of our actions.

I wanted to get rid of it.

It was all I could think when the news was confirmed. 

I was unable to hide it from my mother. When I returned from my first secret doctor's appointment I broke down in tears. 

As regret and shame poured down my cheeks and spilled out my throat, my mother insisted on one point.

I was keeping it.

She had once been in my shoes. In her twenties she was left alone with me and only a dollar to her name. 

She managed, she claimed. So could I. 

I refused at first. Then after many arguments she talked me down to at least considering keeping it.

I don't know if she even realised what she was doing. It wasn't like she ever told me to keep it or else. Just anytime I broached the topic of aborting it she'd bombard me with alternative solutions and anecdotes about others who didn't want their kids at first but grew to love them.

By the time I realised argument after argument was only a way to guilt me from making a swift decision, it was too late. 

The labour was long and painful. 

My stomach ached like it was being torn out and everything below my waist felt as if it were on fire.

Yet despite wanting it so desperately to be over, I did not want it to end either. 

Anything to avoid looking it in the face. Anything to avoid being stuck with that parasite for the rest of my life.

My mother insisted that it be as natural a birth as possible, so I endured. I was so disoriented I just accepted whatever she said to avoid talking. But there came a point I could no longer appease her and began begging for any pain killer they had. 

I thought she'd be disappointed, but after the first eight hours of torture she seemed to agree. 

I had grown to resent her. But as I saw her go pale at the state of me and the panic in her eyes, I realized she was still my mother.

My mother, who had given up her own dreams to raise me and never complained. Who despite everything never asked how, why or when. Who married a man she felt little affection towards just to give us a stable home.

And the woman who assured me she loved me every moment she could.

I knew she blamed herself for allowing me to end up with the same fate as her. So, any comments she had to make about my actions remained to herself. 

But if that was all the case, why? 

Just why did she make me keep this tumour?

When I heard the baby's cries, I knew it was over. 

I did not recall the moment of release, or the final push. It was only the sounds from the infant that indicated it was over. 

There was something soothing about it. A new sensation moved within me as my arms reached out to it on their own. 

Everyone told me a mother's love for her child was natural and pure. I had worried I'd never feel such things, but perhaps my fears were unfounded. 

All I desired was to meet what I had pushed out of me.

It was hard to focus and my hands were unsteady. I think the nurses spoke to me, their tones switched from joy to concern. 

I tried so hard to make out what they were saying. 

It was just so hard to hear anything over the thumping in my head.

Everything went black. 

In the void, I could see myself. I held something small and red. I rocked it back and forth with sweat on my brow.

I looked exhausted. My hair was poorly kept together in a bun and my exposed stomach was carved with stretch marks. Despite just delivering a newborn my body was skin and bone.

In my arms, was something wrapped in a blanket. Then those soft cries I heard before everything became dark returned.

It didn't take me long to realise those dreams I always had were to now be replaced with a nightmare.

I reached out to the blanket and moved it to see the child's face.

The crying stopped before I could see anything clearly. It was sudden enough to make me pause. 

Trying to overcome my hesitation, I continued with my motion. 

Instead of soft skin and big eyes, I was met with a clump of red liquid and fragmented bones. 

A small skull with no flesh or muscle was drenched in blood and puss. 

My heart leaped to my throat and I felt this sudden urge to mourn something I never knew. I kept back the tears and tried to remind myself I was dreaming.

That was until something grabbed my ankle. 

Something wet and cold trickled up my leg. 

My neck stiffened, resisting looking down. 

I gave in when the red started to pool on the floor in front of me. 

A hand made of blood and puss gripped my leg, and spread its fingernails into trails of blood up my calf. The blood moved further and further, coming to my thigh just to break apart and drip down to the floor. 

The tighter the hand's grasp, the further the blood would travel. 

I tried to break free, but soon my other ankle was being kept in place. 

No matter how much I screamed and thrashed I could not move. Instead dozens of hands continued to trap my legs. 

When I looked back at the bones in the shape of a babe, I discovered only the blanket remained. 

That was until I felt something caress my cheek.

I awoke with a jolt. 

My body curled, as I gasped for air. My lower half throbbed in agony anytime I moved, so I tried my best to stay in place as I calmed my breathing.

The first thing I discovered was my mother's hand on mine.

The lines on her head were creased with worry. I could tell she was fatigued from the bags under her eyes but had come alive again as I came to.

She called for a nurse nearby to check on me. My head was still fuzzy, the only thing I could make out were the consistent beeps of machines around us.

I pieced together that I was still in the hospital. The only details I could pick up from the nurse was there was some complication during the labour and they brought me in for surgery.

It was when I heard the word ‘baby’, everything came back to me.

Part of me wanted to go back to sleep. Another part of me wished they let me bleed out.

After the nurse left, my mother began to fuss over me. 

Apparently my step-father's flight was cancelled and she had been left alone. I felt guilty making her worry, even if it was out of my control.

Eric was a good man, but he often worked overseas leaving us alone. I thought he'd manage to pull through this time.

I guess we had both been left alone. 

“The baby…?” was all I could muster. 

As if it heard me, a cooing noise came from beside me. 

My mother managed a small smile as she moved to the side to grab what had been lying next to me the whole time. I could see its small hands move as mom lifted it in her arms and rocked it up and down with a little bounce. 

“It's a boy.” Her voice was as gentle as her hands when she set it into my arms.

I stared at its face. Its eyes were shut over, still asleep. Barely the size of my forearm I was scared I would crush it if I wasn't careful. 

I tried to take in every detail and let it grab one of my fingers in its tiny hand.

This is mine. This is my baby. Who I made. 

That's what I kept saying to myself, waiting for the rush of love to enter my heart. Waiting for a tear to form in my eye or my mind to imagine our future together. 

Instead, all I could say was;

“This isn't mine." 

Bewildered doesn't begin to describe my mother's expression. 

“What?”

“This isn't my baby. It was a girl.” 

The confusion morphed to concern, but I could tell she was trying to be mindful of my condition. 

“Diana, you were unconscious before you could see him, how would you know?”

“I could tell from how it cried. Boys don't cry like that.” 

With a cautious look, she began to take the baby back into her arms.

“Well, I was there for it all dear. This is your little angel.” 

Turning away she moved back to the little box the nurses had prepared for it. 

My eyelids felt heavy and the room was still unfocused. My heart said if it was mine, I should've felt something when it was in my arms. But my mind cut through the fog to be reasonable, insisting my mother couldn't be mistaken. 

I kept my eyes on it as it slept. Watching its small breaths in and out.

“I wanted a girl.” 

“You didn't want anything.” 

My mother sounded irritated now. Realizing her patience was wearing thin, I just looked away. 

“I did say that, didn't I?” 

When we arrived home, it wouldn't stop crying. 

Every night without fail it would wail like a banshee. On and on and on. 

This cry was different from the first I had heard. Something about it scratched my brain in a way that drove it mad. It was nothing like the soothing sound I had heard in that hospital bed.

We started to become concerned, so we went back to the hospital. They insisted everything was fine. All tests came back clear and he was as healthy as could be.

If anything, the visit was embarrassing. Because every time he was in my arms the floodgates would open. But every time my mother took him, it was like an angel had rocked him to sleep. 

I could feel the eyes of the staff piercing through me. I could hear all the thoughts they had about me being a poor mother. 

They all thought I was his sister at first, which just made me feel worse.

Shame was my main motivator to grow close to him. 

I was sick of judgemental eyes, but more than that it was my own thoughts tormenting me. 

What kind of monster doesn't love her own baby? 

I was meant to be good at this, right? Maybe I wasn't born with parental skills, but I should feel something, wasn't I?

But when I looked at it crying and throwing itself about in its cot all I could feel were varying levels of anger and exhaustion. 

I'd hold him every night. I'd rub his back and try to sing him a lullaby that my mother always sang for me. No matter the tune or the lyrics or the rhythm in which I patted him on his back, he would not stop crying. 

As I'd hush him, desperate to get some sleep myself, I'd silently beg for him to stop. Anytime I tried to assure him “Mommy loves you.” I just couldn't…

The words would get stuck half way up or they'd be so drawn out they were barely strung together. Maybe it knew they were empty. 

Or maybe it wasn't my baby.

Though maybe that was easier to accept than the idea we would just forever hate each other. 

Why did I have to care for it anyway? What, it leeched off me for nine months to promise me at least eighteen more miserable years with it, and I should feel some kind of bond? 

So what if it came from between my legs and hid itself in my stomach? The one who helped put it there gets to live on without a care in the world. 

Of course people condemn him for leaving, but they accept it. It's some inevitable tragedy about the world. But while his apathy is lamented over in passing, mine is villainised? 

Why can't I run away too? 

Why did he get to do this to me? 

Even now he gets to control my life in this way. He left what is now a baby without a father, but if I leave it I'm abandoning it. I'm ensuring it is alone in this world. 

Why did I have to live with that burden?

All I could do was push on and try to ignore my lingering hatred. If I continued to let my mind run wild, we'd only grow to resent each other more. 

It was hard though.

The damn brat wouldn't even feed from me. 

No matter how many times I tried, it'd always turn its head away. If I attempted to force it, it would just start crying again.

Day after day I'd sit in the armchair in my living room and plead with it to eat. I'd beg and beg until I'd end up crying with it. 

When my mother returned from work she'd often find me despondent with my shirt still down, the baby laying on the couch beside me. 

She knew I was struggling, but didn't know what to do outside of alleviating some of my burdens. 

She'd take the formula and feed it herself. She'd change its nappies and sing it to sleep when I gave up. 

I know she was trying to help, but it just made me feel worse. Seeing her do everything I couldn't make me realise how incompetent I was.

She was doing it all without her husband as well. 

While he'd be home every other weekend, and would help where he could, most days it was just us. 

I wished I could just give them the baby and run. Hell, I wished we'd have arranged to give it up from the beginning.

Instead, I'm trapped.

And sometimes, I swear its wails sound more like laughter. 

One day, I sat once again on that arm chair.

I had no will to fight it. I just made the offer and planned to leave it at that. 

My head was already against the couch cushion, ready to shut my eyes and drift off when it started crying again. 

Instead, I felt a gentle suckle.

I was scared to move. I feared the slightest movement would put it off. 

I looked down from the corner of my eye, to see him taking his fill. He was almost peaceful. 

I sunk a little more into the couch, and in a mindless state began to stroke its little head. I stared up at the ceiling, a smile creeping in from the small success. 

I rested my head and closed my eyes…

Then a sudden pain surged up my body. 

I almost screamed, but it was so sudden it came out as a shocked gasp. I knew the source it had come from and immediately jumped up. 

The sudden movement caused it to start crying again, but I paid no attention to it. Sensing possible danger, I had this instinct to chuck the baby aside. I needed to lay it down fast so I could focus on my wound. 

Once back in its cot I looked down at my bloodied shirt. 

Right where the baby had been eating, was a large bite mark.

It bruised my skin, already going purple in the shape of its little teeth. Red streaks dripping from pierced skin, globbed together with chunks of skin that had been ripped off.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Swearing under my breath was all I could bring myself to utter as I dashed back to the kitchen. I scavenged around for bandages or something to stop the bleeding. 

I settled for an old white towel, and slumped down onto the floor in a panic. 

“Fuck, shit.” Was shit all my mind could muster.

I had no time to process what had happened, as the front door opened. 

I called out for my mom on instinct. 

From my voice, she must have known something was wrong. Dropping her bag she threw herself down in front of me and cupped my hand in hers. 

“Hey, hey, Diana, what's wrong?” Her voice trembled a little, struggling to sound reassuring.

I was incoherent due to me sobbing. 

I wasn't in pain anymore, but the shock had sent my adrenaline racing and now it was crashing.

After getting me to take a breath with her, I finally managed to calm down to explain. 

“I-I finally managed to get him to f-f-feed but” I started through sniffles, “t-t-then he bit me.”

My mother looked confused, but like she was trying her best to understand.

“Let me see, dear.”

With a gentle hand, she moved my arm and the towel away. 

“See, you're fine Diana.” 

“What?” 

I looked down, just to see the wound was gone. 

“The little guy's teeth aren't even through yet. He wasn't going to do any damage.”

“B-but-...” 

I couldn't bring myself to say anything.

Was I going mad? I could've sworn…

“How about we take this as a little victory despite the ending, ok?” 

My mother tried to help me to my feet. 

After that, she just insisted I should rest and she'd take care of the baby for the night. 

I didn't want to protest. 

I had been falling asleep at the time, maybe I imagined it? Or maybe he did bite a little and it caught me off guard?

It felt real though…

I curled up in my bed and focused on sleeping. Whatever happened, all I knew was I was tired.

And maybe mom was right. I should take the little victories, shouldn't I?

That was when the nightmares returned. 

Now instead of a skeleton in cloth, every night the baby that laid in the other room would appear in my dreams. 

And every time I would kill it.

At first it was just when I was going to bed, but soon it became whenever I tried to close my eyes. 

It was the same every time, just with different outcomes.

As always, it would cry.

The sound would get louder and louder and drown out any thoughts I had. It would eat away at me until there was nothing left but blind rage.

I'd give in and do whatever I could to make it stop.

Suffocation. Mutilation. Decapitation. Cannibalism. Dropping it on his head. Letting it fall over the banister. Burning it alive. Throwing it off a building. Leaving it under my car tire then rolling forward. Bashing it against the pavement. Throwing it onto train tracks.

It would be different each time, but the result was always the same.

Sometimes I'd try to resist it. 

I'd summon all the power I had to stay calm. I'd continue to hold it and try to shush it and tell it everything was going to be ok.

When I did, it would eventually stop crying.

That was always followed by it clawing at my skin.

It would rip out chunks as I tried my best to hold him. The pain would make me squirm, but I resisted fighting back.

I'd repeat ‘I won't kill my baby, I won't kill my baby’.

But there was always this other voice that would say, ‘It's not your baby.’ 

I'd usually fail. 

It was so hard not to give in and the pain was unbearable. 

Sometimes though, I'd keep going.

I'd let it tear me apart until my muscles and bones were visible. 

Once it realised that wasn't working, it would just stop. 

Still gripping my skin, it would start to melt down into a fleshy pulp of blood and bone. Creeping down my body it would spread apart and make its way to my legs.

Like clockwork, I'd fall back and try to swipe it away. In this state, it was impossible to remove it all though. 

As I'd try to pull it off mel, the remaining goop would continue up my thigh and do whatever it could to re-enter my womb. 

Even though it was just a dream, I swore I felt everything. All the pain, like my insides were being shredded. 

It was worse than the labour, worse than the surgeries, worse than any pain I had ever felt. 

All I could do was beg for it to stop, but it never would. 

My organs became mush, absorbing with it as my nerves screamed out for mercy. Calling for help didn't deter it, nor would anyone come. 

After a while I wouldn't be able to speak, it was too hard as I gargled on my own blood. 

From there, I'd hear a ringing as the world disappeared…

Before dying alone on the floor. 

Waking up felt like going from one nightmare to another. The sweat pooled together on my back and my body would quiver. 

At the beginning, I'd wake up to my mother asking me what was wrong. Apparently the way I'd shriek in my sleep put the fear of God back into her.

After a while though, I grew used to it and stopped screaming.

Though it always made me wonder, if the baby was crying so much because he saw the same things in his sleep. 

I wasn't sure why I started having such cruel dreams. The message was clear though.

Either I died, or the baby did.

I didn't need a dream to tell me that, it was something I already understood.

I could feel myself deteriorating day by day. My eyelids always felt heavy while my body felt light. Often, I'd forget to eat until my stomach reminded me with searing pains.

Physically and mentally I could feel myself disappearing. My body on auto pilot brought me to the baby to try the same ineffective routine again and again. 

After months of agonising over something that hated me as much as I hated it, I decided to give up.

I rotted away in my bed, shutting the blinds and putting on headphones to drown out that incessant noise. 

Not even the pits of hell could conjure a noise that vile. 

I let my mother answer it. If she wasn't around, I just ignored it. 

Her and my stepfather would persuade me to put in a little effort here and there. But it would just start making that sound again until I found myself screaming back at it.

I knew they were worried. When my step father was home I could hear them murmuring in their bedroom. 

It was only a matter of time before they sent me to some nut house.

A mother who can't look after her own baby, what cure would they have for that?

What hurt more than the empty pit that grew in my stomach and the fear of being fundamentally broken, was that they couldn't hear it.

Why couldn't they hear it? 

It wasn't just crying, it was screeching. 

My mind at first compared it to an animal, then a ghoul. But nothing my mind could comprehend could even begin to describe that awful sound. 

Every time it started my stomach tried to empty itself. 

Worst of all, no one could hear it laughing in-between howls.

I found myself standing, staring at it. 

There was no crying this time, my mother had just put it to bed. 

The more I stared the more it looked like a demon than a child. Some hollow husk that appeared to be a baby, but was really something sinister. 

I sighed and caught myself on the frames of the cot to avoid falling when my knees gave way. 

What was I saying? 

Of course it was a baby. What else would it be?

Was I really more willing to accept that it was some grotesque monster than me being a bad mother? 

I never wanted to be a mother, of course I was a bad one. 

If anything, I could feel myself losing my humanity. 

I hated what I was becoming. All I could do was cry at night and curse the man that fled. 

Even though I wanted to be nowhere near him, I couldn't help but wonder if this would've been more natural for him. 

I couldn't hold myself upright anymore and just collapsed to the ground. I covered my mouth to contain my silent sobs. 

I was scared. 

I was so scared. I needed help. I really, really needed help. 

But who would help someone who wanted to kill their own baby? 

The baby's movement caught my attention. Its arms moved about in the air, as if trying to reach out for someone to pick it up. 

My bones shook in anticipation, waiting for that sound to tear me apart again. 

But it never did. 

It just continued to wait, patient for someone to spot it, or content to go back to bed if no one came. 

While I watched between the bars, there was a moment of peace in my mind. As it dozed off, I rested my head against the cot and couldn't help but smile a little.

I was so used to it crying all the time, I didn't get to see it this way often. 

The small moment only solidified a growing idea in my mind. 

I need to get it out of here. 

The more dark thoughts that lingered after every dream, the more I knew it couldn't go on like this. 

Either there was more to these dreams and they were a warning, or I was losing mind. Both options would only lead to misery for me and the baby.

I knew my mother would never forgive me, but I had to give it up.

Really I should've from the beginning, it was mom who convinced me to keep it. It was always in an irritating way where I couldn't call her out for pressuring me. 

I think she thought I'd be like her. That, despite the struggles, I'd grow to love my baby like she did me. That I'd see it was all worth it in the end.

Based on the fact she clearly didn't know what to do with me lately, I doubt her struggles were anything like mine. 

I felt nothing towards this baby. 

I tried and tried, but the best I could feel was relief when it shut up. 

That apathy mixed with my erratic psyche was a dangerous mix. I knew it was. 

So, the next day when mom was at work, I prepared to leave the baby at a fire station.

I wasn't sure where else to leave it. That's what they did in the movies and shows I watched, it was all I had to go off. 

Anything else that came up online sounded too official, or I'd have to look someone in the eye. I needed a solution I could act upon and not be afraid I'd change my mind. 

It also couldn't be a long process so mom couldn't try to persuade me out of it.

I waited until the evening. 

I didn't want to go out in broad daylight. No one wants to be seen dumping a baby. 

I also felt bad, thinking one day it might grow up and think it was unwanted. It was wanted, just not by me. 

In hopes they'd one day be passed on, I took a couple teddies mom had purchased for him and tucked them in the hand carrier beside him. 

For once, he slept without a fuss. Even as I walked at a rapid pace against the cold breeze there wasn't a peep out of him.

I kept my hood up, in part to hide my disheveled appearance, but mostly to remain unnoticed. We lived in a big town so I doubt anyone would recognise me in this area, but I couldn't be sure. 

My skin on my feet was starting to blister, I had been walking for so long. If I could drive it would've taken me twenty minutes to get there. 

That was a plan for my next year in college though. I had no license and no car. It didn't help that I hadn't been outside in weeks, maybe even months now. 

The light was irritating my eyes. It was dim, just after sunset. When it went fully dark the bright street lights didn't help.

I tried my best to think about having to walk back home. I maybe should've brought money for a taxi on the way back. 

Something about the idea of making small talk with a stranger after abandoning my own kid didn't sound like a good time though. 

I was worried about becoming a monster, but I already was one, wasn't I? 

This kid will forever wonder who I am. They'll want to know why I left them. And if they ever search for me one day I'll have to explain to them I was trying to protect them.

I could just imagine his face when I said I was protecting him from myself. 

The more steps I took forward the more I considered turning back. 

If anything, maybe I should be running away. I should be the one to leave. He could just stay with my mother.

But I had no money. 

Maybe I deserved to rot on the streets.

I was concerned about hurting the baby, but there was always the other option. It wasn't like I cared much for life lately anyway. 

My primal instinct to survive had not yet been overcome however. If it ever came to that though, I wouldn't let my dreams happen. I'd go out on my own terms. 

It wasn't until my two feet stopped by themselves that I realised I was at my destination.

Whoever worked at the station was nowhere in sight. Some lights were on inside however, so I needed to be quiet.

Shit, holy shit, am I actually doing this? 

I started to look around for somewhere to leave it.

I thought there were like designated points or something, where the fuck am I supposed to put it? 

I'm a horrible person. I am a horrible woman. I am a horrible mother. 

I heard movement from an open window. Panicking, I just set the baby by the door. 

I'm sure they'll find it soon. It would start crying then they'd hear it. 

I took a few steps back.

Is that it? Is this what I am doing?

I started to pivot, then hesitated and pivoted back. Just to repeat that again a few more times until I crouched down on the ground wanting to disappear.

Hugging my knees, I laid my head down and hid.

It's for the best. 

You didn't even want it. You still don't want it.

Why would you force yourself to keep a baby you don't even want? 

Hell, it's not even about that anymore. You know it's not safe in your supposed ‘care’. At the rate things are going you are either going to end up killing it or yourself. 

Either way you'd make your poor mother cry.

I took a breath and stood up.  

It was for the best. I knew that. 

I shook myself a little, then got ready to leave. 

When I took a final glance back at my own flesh and blood, the very being I was leaving in the hands of strangers, I saw something move.

From under a gutter, out came a rat. 

Instincts took over as I turned to flee. My disgust was interrupted by a realization.

The baby.

What if it bit it? Or gave it some horrid disease or rabies or something? 

I wanted rid of it but the whole plan was to try keep it alive. I couldn't leave it to be devoured by rodents.

I'd just have to chase it off without making a sound.

When I turned back, the rat was gone. 

I was confused. My best guess was it went back under the gutters. It was weird I didn't hear it though. I heard it's little patters coming out, you would think it would be the same going back in.

I don't know why, but the pitch black void that surrounded us suddenly seemed a lot darker. 

I ventured forward to investigate. I was cautious, only approaching with little steps at a time. 

When I peered over the hand carrier to see where it went, I only found a strange stain on the ground.

It was dark, almost black, with tinges of red and white.

That, and a long thick tail, with no rat attached.

It was then I realized the trickles of white were tiny shards of bone. 

Something was moving. I couldn't see it, only hear it. It sounded like some form of goopy substance, some thick liquid moving every so often.

I felt my body begin to stiffen, but it continued to move to check the one thing it knew it had to. 

The baby was gone. 

My feet acted on their own and broke out into a sprint. 

I ignored the pain on my soles and heels, I ignored trying to hide from people passing by, I ignored everything other than the motion of putting one foot in front of the other.

That thing was not my baby. 

I don't know what it was, but I was getting far away from it. 

Everything became a blur as I passed it. I wasn't even sure what street I was on anymore or if I was going the right way.

Home. Just get home. 

I just wanted to be far away from that thing.

I won't let my dreams happen. I saw the blood move towards me as I left. I won't let it happen. I won't.

Just because I spared its life doesn't mean I have to die.

I could feel my dream coming to life as my imagination ran wild. The thought of it clawing out my insides, mangling me and turning me into a gelatinous mold of blood and mucus like it. 

I could hear it laughing at me as it felt satisfied with its actions. Then that ringing as everything became dark and I was left to meet the nothing that was death.

No, no, no. It won't happen. 

I won't let it.

By the time I was home, I was out of breath. 

Safety was in reach, but I had become so distracted in my dash, I had forgotten to prepare for my mother's reaction.

Her car was parked in the driveway. 

She was home. The baby wasn't. 

That thing wasn't.

I debated telling her the truth. 

Mother may have insisted on going back for it. I wasn't sure what it was capable of, we could all be in danger. I wasn't sure how to explain it without sounding like a mad woman though.

…was I a mad woman?

It wasn't like I knelt down to check the baby. It could've been a trick of the light or it may have been buried in the layers of blankets I swaddled it in. 

No, but that doesn't explain the rat. 

Fuck, I don't know anymore. 

My head felt like it was going to explode. I needed to clear my thoughts.

What was even happening? I felt lucid, I was tired but not on the verge of falling asleep like before. 

But what could possibly explain what just happened other than some kind of misunderstanding. 

The fatigue could've caught up to me. Or maybe I shut my eyes for a moment without realizing and the dream started up again.

Or it was real. I was right. 

That was no baby.

How did it end up like that then? 

I found myself pacing up and down the pavement. 

My head hurt. Thinking about it just made it hurt more. Every explanation I could conjure didn't explain it. I feared feeling vindicated in my emotions, I didn't want to justify the hatred I had for my own child.

But maybe it really wasn't my child.

I tried to collect myself. 

There are two options. That baby was mine, or it was something else. If my assumptions were mad or sane in that regard, it didn't matter. 

The baby was in danger and so was I. That remains true for both options. So either way, it had been left where it needed to be. 

All I could do was deal with one problem at a time. 

I opened the front door.

As soon as it clicked shut, I could hear my mother's voice.

“Diana?!” her voice sounded accusatory. 

I was running just moments before, but now I could barely bring myself to move through my own home. 

I could hear my mother coming to me.

“Diana?! Where have you been?! What have you done?!” 

I thought she'd still be in panic mode, but she was already angry. 

I couldn't lift my head. I just stopped and waited for her to come to me.

“Mom I…” 

My heart froze when she met me in the hallway. 

There she stood beneath the doorway...

With the baby in her arms. 

part 2

I remember this one quote.

It has been stuck in my mind ever since I opened that book in my mother's study. It was a compilation of humanity's worst moments, all detailing similar terrible tales.

The quote was from a survivor of the Rwandan Genocide.

A group of militia men caught her trying to flee. Once they had decided what they'd do to her, they brought her in front of some school boys.

And what those men said to those children was;

“Watch. So we can show you how to rape a woman.”

Those words echoed in my mind as I watched my mother be dragged away.

I hid beneath the floorboards of an old dilapidated church. My mother's last act of free will was to hide me in that spot, the soldiers had caught her before she could find her own.

I heard her plea with her captors, begging for mercy and trying to appeal to what little humanity they had left.

Soon her wails mixed with the other women's outside.

It was followed by a trail of gunshots hours later.

The world must have gone mad, was my first thought.

Though maybe sanity was the real facade. Such evil could not exist without already lurking in the hearts of these self proclaimed ‘men’.

I could hear every detail of what fate had in store for me if I came out from my refuge.

If I knew I'd just be shot, despair would've led me to take every bullet. But I knew these men would not be so kind.

For while I was still a child, I was 14, I knew that would be woman enough for those greedy eyes.

So I laid, holding my breath as the footsteps of soldiers pattered around the church halls. I heard the screams of children as they called out for their mothers.

Even as their blood dripped through the cracks onto my face, I did not dare make a sound.

Days after they left, I still refused to move from that spot.

I would've stayed there forever.

I debated letting myself starve to death. But after seeing so many fight for their lives, it felt like an insult to give up now.

So I emerged, now able to see in full the aftermath of what I had only caught glimpses of.

Beside me were the bloodied husks of children.

All of us had sought refuge in what was once a house of God, though divine vengeance did not concern men who believed themselves to be righteous.

I never dared to look outside. I feared the state I'd find the women in.

Perhaps God had played favourites, with me surviving in their place.

I was not the only survivor of the ordeal. There were other children that had remained hidden in their own nooks and crannies.

We did not acknowledge each other. Instead, we remained in our respective corners unless searching for food.

We also could not acknowledge those that laid lifeless across the building. If the bodies were discovered to have been buried or moved, then the soldiers would know we were there.

So, we had to just leave them. A constant reminder of what waited for us.

One by one they'd pick us off.

Every other week, they'd patrol the areas already conquered.

They wanted us gone. Wiped out.

So, they did not want to miss any potential survivors. Especially children who could one day grow up and seek revenge.

They knew we'd grow hungry. So they'd leave food in reachable places to lure us out. Others sent women with warm faces and a shoulder to cry on, just for them to drag us out to the militia.

What started as roughly 25 survivors dwindled to 15. Starvation took another 8.

I dared not to learn any names. It would only hurt more when I'd watch the light fade from their eyes.

The others must've felt the same, since my name was never asked.

We survived on whatever little we could find.

The pipes were in poor condition, rusting from old age and creaking anytime the bathroom taps were turned. Water did not run from the faucets, instead they'd drip out in odd colours.

We scavenged for food.

The leather on old books. Bugs and maggots that clung to the corpses. If lucky, there'd be the odd dead rodent which we'd silently share amongst each other.

Most days we tended to ourselves. It was only on occasions like that where we could all feast that we stopped ignoring each other.

The more time that passed, the more our options dwindled.

The soldiers stopped checking our spot. Yet, the dangers continued.

I'd find myself eating my nails to try to satiate my hunger.

Relying on the fortune of something dying for us, wasn't working.

We had torn a part the church best we could. It was becoming hard to swat the flies gathered around the bodies in our weakened states.

Which left us with taking their food source from them.

An option none of us dared to act upon. We could not risk cooking the meat, and eating it raw was something not even our hunger could motivate us to do.

That, and the flies were not the only things feasting upon their flesh.

Those that laid outside the building would be torn apart by stray dogs in the night.

The ones that were stuck with us inside dripped to their predator as they melted in the summer heat. They trickled down the gaps in the floorboard to the one place we never dared to venture.

The basement.

If anywhere still had food, it was down there.

Behind that door.

In the night we'd hear the soft snarls of something inhuman. A gentle growl that would make the rooms rumble.

On the first night, I could hear it sniffing not far from where I hid. Under where my stiff body sat, was a small slither of the basement. As blood would trail down my cheek into the crevasses below, I could make out the sounds of something licking the planks directly under me.

Even the soldiers ran from that place.

It was the last location they decided to inspect, just for one to return with a bloodied arm.

We could hear the man's screams morph with the creature's wails. Its desperation to taste flesh could be felt in our bones, as its growls seemed more like pleas.

Every time they'd check if we were still alive, they'd never go back to that room.

And neither would we.

At night, I'd listen to it pace about. It was the only way I could drown out my own thoughts.

I'd find myself cursing my body.

The torment could've ended that night with my mother if I could've known a bullet was all I'd receive.

Instead, I had to dread making the same sounds she did before being put down like a dog.

Not even animals are treated that way.

At times I'd claw at my skin, wishing I could remove it to replace it with another's.

Why must I be cursed with these lumps that grow on my chest? If these tumours had not begun to develop would I be worthy to be deemed a child? If my skin was not so soft and was rougher, if my hair was short and less fair, if I had been blessed with extra flesh between my legs, would I be spared from the scenarios that raced through my mind?

I hated men.

Men who felt so entitled to bodies they did not own. Men who felt uniforms put them above morality. Men who used women they did not even deem as people like their personal toys.

My hatred wasn't extended far enough.

Women were no better. They'd kiss those same men and congratulate them for serving the cause. They'd encourage the slaughters and celebrate our humiliation. They'd even take up arms themselves and with glee gather children to be eradicated.

Just because they did not rip the clothes off the girls begging for mercy did not mean they didn't condone those actions.

No, men nor women were the problem. It was everyone.

I hated everyone. This world, the people that populated it - everyone was complacent.

How dare we allow a world where this was an inevitability? A world where the draw of a hat decides your destiny.

A world like that God must've abandoned long ago, just like this church.

As these thoughts would consume me every night, I'd try to focus on the humming grumbles of the beast that lurked beneath our feet.

From how it paced, I wondered if it was waiting for something.

I wondered how long it had been trapped in that place like us.

Each step it took was heavy, and thundering. Though what was much louder was the sound of it dragging its body across the floor. It sounded as if its guts were being spread and mushed in the process.

When I first heard it, it made my stomach turn.

The more time ticked away, the more familiar it became.

Despite the distractions it would bring, it still brought me no comfort knowing it was on the prowl every night.

The only thing keeping it away from us was that door.

I never dared to even look at it. I feared if I stared at it for too long, it would open like my imagination often forced me to see. Then it'd tear us apart before presenting us to the soldiers that had maimed us before it.

Despite those shared fears, one boy still attempted to persuade us towards insanity.

He was a similar age to me, maybe a few months to a year younger. After months of collective silence he made his name known along with his voice.

Emanuel.

It was a simple proposition, starve or risk the basement.

We could not last much longer without food, he was right about that. But we didn't know what we'd be fighting against.

Food was scarce, but most of us would've rather starved than face that thing.

Emanuel then presented the cause of his new found confidence.

An abandoned rifle.

“I found it down by the basement door! The soldiers must've left it in a panic. If we got this lucky without going inside, imagine what could happen if we entered.”

I couldn't help but scoff.

The arrogance of a boy with a gun was like no other.

Sensing I wasn't a fan of the plan, he turned to me.

“What's your problem?”

“Even if we shot it, it'd just draw attention to ourselves.”

“It's only if we have to! I'd rather die fighting than starve.”

Maybe if he had spoken up a couple months prior, I would've agreed. But now I was used to the sensation of my insides eating themselves. If I was to die, I'd rather it be familiar.

“Do what you want. I'll take my chances.”

I think a part of me hoped the longer we waited the higher chance someone would come to save us. Dying on a suicide mission before then would be pretty dumb.

I knew no one was coming though.

Emanuel looked frustrated, I think he thought we'd all require little convincing. He'd underestimated our growing apathy.

Maybe it was just because I was the eldest, but the others seemed to agree with me. No one spoke up, but they all hid their faces from his gaze.

Emanuel gritted his teeth.

“I need all the help I can get!”

“Please, just be quiet.”

I tried to curl up in the corner I always sat in, I'd always try to close my eyes in hopes I wouldn't wake up. Something peaceful amidst all the bloodshed.

Then I heard a click.

With unsteady hands, Emanuel pointed the rifle at my head.

“What are you doing?”

“Help me. Or I'll shoot.” There was little conviction behind his voice.

I stared down the barrel before looking back at him.

“Just shoot.”

His face went red as it twisted and contorted. His rage then turned into resolve, as he instead aimed the gun towards one of the other kids.

“Help. Or I shoot them.”

I felt a chill up my spine.

I watched as the young girl froze in the face of death. The others scrambled back, hugging the walls as they tried to flee as far as possible.

Emanuel whipped the gun around to them all.

“See?! Now you suddenly care about your lives!”

My mind struggled to process the situation as the gun turned from one child to another, each sweating from anticipation of him pulling that trigger.

As one of the girls began to cry, he peered over his shoulder at me.

They were children I never bothered to learn the names of. I suspected many would die soon anyway. He was an idiot for thinking their deaths would move me.

Yet somehow he was right.

Their eyes darted to me as if expecting me to be their saviour.

Those eyes reminded me so much of my mother's before she was dragged away.

Impatient for my response, he pressed the gun to one boy's head.

“Either you help along with everyone else, or you take your chances outside! Those who aren't willing to get more food don't deserve the little we have in here.”

“Y-you're crazy.”

“Look, either you come down there with us or go out there with them!”

Both options spelled certain death, but at least one would be quicker than the other.

“Fine.”

Emanuel almost looked relieved when he put the rifle down. As if he didn't pick it up in the first place.

The others were weary around him from there on. They'd cling to me, now expecting me to protect them.

Whatever was down there, I couldn't save them.

The stairs to the basement were only made up of a couple dozen steps. Yet with each foot forward it felt like an eternity.

I could feel the dread building in my gut as Emanuel led the way. The chains that covered the door were a more ominous omen than any message the previous residents could have left.

The silence is what scared me the most.

With us now at the door, I expected it to be louder than ever. Instead, you could hear a pin drop.

The chains we sealed over and wrapped around each other, the locks must've been destroyed by the soldiers and so without a key they had done their best to maintain it.

I could almost see the scene of the monster ripping the soldier's arm off with how his blood was still splattered across the ground.

The red flags did not deter Emanuel.

One by one he tore off the chains, instructing the kids and I to help where he needed.

With each one that clattered on the floor, I could feel the danger increasing.

The one safety net was the lock built into the door itself. It was a simple piece of metal below the handle that could turn back and forth.

As Emanuel finished with the chains, he readied the rifle.

“You all stay behind me. Try to grab anything that seems useful as we walk around and I'll take on anything that comes our way, ok?”

The kids nodded. I was too focused on the lock he was about to turn to process any of his words.

Before he sent us to our deaths, I grabbed his wrist.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“The most dangerous moment will be opening this door. We need to be ready.”

I gestured to two of the kids cowering behind us. They were the oldest of the bunch, around 9 or 10, so likely the strongest.

“You two be ready to push the door closed with all your might if we need to, ok?”

With hushed voices, they croaked back “oks”.

I then grabbed the lock.

“Emanuel, have your rifle ready and aimed.”

A little surprised, he seemed to be taking my orders in. After a moment of thought, he just nodded and readied himself.

I could see his hands trembling. No amount of reassurance was going to prepare him for the worst case scenario, so I just focused on confirming he was ready.

Once he nodded, I focused back on the lock.

Holding my breath, I turned it.

As the door creeped open, there was an uncomfortable stillness.

No one dared to make a sound as we peered into the void beyond the door. With no source of light to reveal what was inside, everything instead blurred together in a sea of black.

I could make out the vague idea of furniture but had no clues as to what each was. Layers of dust that had settled on the floor now floated about the air.

Emanuel took a few steps forward, the gun still ready to go.

He felt around the wall for a switch but to no avail. Without looking back at us, he gestured for us to move forward.

I could see the other's hesitation. I couldn't help but feel the regret plastered on their faces.

Somehow finding nothing was more frightening than facing the creature.

Realising we weren't following him, Emanuel pivoted back to the door. With the gun still ready to go, he held out his hand to encourage me to follow.

“This is our chance. Come o-”

Something dripped onto his forehead. It was wet and slimy with a tinge of red in its black hue.

Confused, he wiped off the substance with his hand. When he saw the colour stain his fingers, he began to shake.

Fear overcoming him, his eyes remained locked on us.

So, I investigated on his behalf.

As I brought my head up to look at the ceiling inside, it was still hard to make anything out. It was as black as the rest of the space, though this felt more lived in.

Like something was there.

There was a low grumble from above. One we had all become accustomed to.

All hell broke loose when Emanuel pointed the gun at it.

It clambered down from its spot, screeching and moaning as it pounced on Emanuel. It moved so fast I could not make out its features. All I knew was it had Emanuel's left half in its grasp.

I shouted for the kids to push the door closed as I grabbed onto Emanuel to pull him back.

A struggle began for Emmanuel's body.

He screamed and writhed in pain as I held onto him to pull him to our side. The door, clamping on down on his body, blocked our view of the creature but we could hear it panting and snarling as it fought to keep Emanuel in its grasp.

The other three kids joined the two at the door, as the weight of the creature thrashing against it was too much for the two alone.

Even with all 5, I knew they'd soon need my help, but with Emanuel's life still in my hands I refused to let go.

I could hear his bones popping out of place. If the door wasn't pinning him, I would've been pulled back with him into the jaws of the beast.

His flesh was beginning to tear off his skin, the blood smearing across the door frame in the process. Stringy pulps of flesh began to stick to the door as he was banged against it.

With his free hand, Emanuel attempted to bash its head repeatedly with his gun. It did not react.

“Shoot it! Shoot it!”

Once I screamed those words, Emanuel aimed the gun without hesitation.

When he pulled the trigger, nothing happened.

It was empty.

Of course they wouldn't leave a loaded gun.

The struggle suddenly came to an end as the gun dropped to the floor.

I fell back with Emanuel as the door slammed shut.

I leaped up, making sure to lock it.

I instructed the kids to begin re-barricading the door as best they could. Meanwhile, I tended to Emanuel.

His body was pale as most of his blood was now outside of him. His arm was in shreds and barely still attached, with even his torso stretched beyond its limits.

I could see his shattered bones and burst blood vessels.

He no longer reacted to the pain.

I tried my best to apply pressure to the wounds, but it was useless.

He was no longer bound for this world, and he knew it.

With a gentle hand, he stopped my efforts.

“I-it's alright.” He choked out.

Blood began to seep from the corners of his mouth as his eyes were bloodshot.

“I knew the r-risks.”

I had no tears left to cry at this point, but I still couldn't help but pity him as he bled out on the cold floor.

I was happy his decisions got him killed and not one of us, but in his own way he tried to do something to survive. He fought when we didn't.

Yet he was the one to die.

Why must a kid have to make such decisions? Why must he now lay stoic in his final moments, instead of crying in the face of such pain?

Kids should cry in moments like these, right?

At least his death was swift.

After those final words, his eyes shut over.

Behind the door I could hear the creature scuttling about. It began to bang its large body against the door.

After repeated failed attempts to escape, it screeched so loud the whole building began to shake.

Shit. There's no way the soldiers didn't hear that.

Trying to act quickly, I urged the children to follow me as I clampered up the stairs.

After facing death once again I had seemingly decided I wasn't ready to die. I had survived for so long... I had watched so many others fight for their lives.

I had to try. Even if I didn't live, maybe the others would.

So, we had to leave.

The soldiers were aware of the creature, they may wish to avoid it but they'd likely want to know what provoked it.

Anyone stationed nearby would already be on their way and I feared this time they'd be more thorough. After so many visits to know they still could've missed something would make them uneasy.

I wasn't sure where we would go yet. I wasn't from the area, me and my mother had been trying to flee over the border when we ended up there. But we could at least hide nearby, then return once the soldiers were finished.

It had been so long since I had seen daylight. It blinded me as I pushed open the door.

I tried my best to ignore our surroundings.

The bodies the stray dogs had been pecking away at all remained in the same spots. With the small glimpse I did get, some were torn beyond recognition while others were naked.

I dared to not gain any more details than that. I feared I'd recognise one as my mother.

“The coast is clear, come on.” I tried my best to encourage them as the eldest.

I covered my eyes with my hands.

I dashed for the treeline and hid in the bushes. My feet made contact with the stiff corpses a couple of times, but I just focused on staying up right.

Once safe, I opened my eyes to confirm no one saw us.

That's when I realised. I was alone.

Back at the church entrance, the other children stood huddled together. They were petrified by the flesh and bones that laid in front of them.

I waved my hand, trying to get them to follow.

Before they could react, the sounds of footsteps approached.

The children began to retreat inside. I ducked in the bushes as I could hear the voices of men responding to orders.

I covered my ears as the men began to enter the building. I already knew there was no way they would've made it to their hiding spots on time.

The gunshots began to ring out. The men's voices echoing orders over the children's screams were muffled under my hands.

Here I was once again, stuck listening to the whims of men.

I had to wait to run, I dared not risk being spotted.

I wished I could just take a bullet like them. I wished I could turn those guns on the soldiers. I wished, I wished.

Yet here I was, with nothing I could do.

There was nothing I could do.

Nothing… Nothing I could…

I stared at the church as my mind schemed.

If I was to die that day, I would take them with me.

I knew that church better than they did, and my destination was right beside the entrance door.

Once I was sure all the soldiers were inside, I snuck back over. I did not need to worry about the creaking of the door as the careless men had left it wide open.

I slipped inside.

The soldiers were sitting talking, somehow already satisfied with their slaughter.

I could see new bodies, but I could not tell how many.

That didn't matter. I just had to focus.

I ducked behind the pews and crawled towards the stairs I had run up not long ago. With a new found determination, I stared at the basement door.

I made my way down the stairs and avoided Emanuel's lifeless body.

We had left in a hurry so there were less chains than before. I tried my best to set each down gently.

I could hear rumbling behind the door with each. Like it was waiting to be released.

That rumbling was overpowered by the sound of thundering footsteps and voices.

I abandoned my caution. There was no time. I tossed the last chains to the side and readied to turn the lock.

I hesitated, turning to look at Emanuel's mangled corpse.

I had never seen the face of this creature.

What if what it had in store was worse than those upstairs?

I heard their laughter as they strolled along without a care in the world.

It must be easy, killing children.

Nothing behind that door could be worse than those men.

And even if it was, I hated them and this world so much I'd gladly die condemning them all.

I turned the lock.

As soon as I did, the soldiers appeared into view at the top of the stairs. When they spotted me, still holding the door handle, they lifted their guns.

But it was too late.

Something large bashed open the door, sending me flying against the wall.

I felt the air escape my lungs from the impact. My breath failed to return to me when I felt a weight on my body.

On top of me, was what had been haunting these halls for so long.

All this time I thought it was eating the flesh that seeped into its lair. I was wrong.

It was the flesh.

A grotesque abomination was crouched on top of me. It was made of pounds of tissue and bones, each bubbling to the surface as round surfaces of fat.

It had many faces and limbs, all mushed together beyond recognition.

It was as if a bloodied battlefield gathered together to form one creature.

One of its many mouths with crooked human teeth huffed and puffed onto my face, hitting me with the putrid smell of death.

I couldn't take my eyes off it, as its veins pulsated and its body wriggled and squirmed.

This was it, wasn't it? This was to be my resting place. Another face in its collection.

As the thought faded in my mind, I watched as it slumped its large body to face the men pointing their weapons at it.

Its attention left me as it lunged towards them.

It tore through them, tearing them to pieces with its many hands and sharp nails before absorbing them into its folds of fat. Their bullets bounced off it as their eyes darted about, unable to keep up with its speed.

I watched in awe as what were once human beings became nothing more than watery stains on the ground.

Human beings? Please. All I was doing was watching monsters kill each other.

I waited for my turn, knowing there was no way I could escape something like that.

But it never came.

Once it was done devouring the last bloodstains on the walls, it just wobbled to face me.

Hundreds of eyelids opened up, taking time to inspect me as they turned up and down, up and down.

They then closed before it continued on, moving through the room we had left untouched for it.

I could hear the slurping sounds of bodies merging with its form as I was left to ponder why I was still alive.

I looked at my hands, blood smeared across them.

I tried to cry, but for some reason it came out as a laugh.

Ever since I've been following it. I don't know if one day it'll turn on me but all I know is it kills anyone who holds a gun. That's good enough for me.

It grows bigger with each feast.

I tried to see if any of the other kids survived. I couldn't find any signs of life in that building. By the time this thing was done, there were no bodies to identify either.

I don't know where it came from. I don't know what its goals are, if it has any. I don't know and I don't care.

I'll follow it to the ends of the earth if it continues to consume those who I despise so dearly.

For now, I must say goodbye. It is time we move.

Part 1

After dozens of trips to the hospital, it was clear they were sick of us.

In a rather condescending manner they told Caroline to return when there was a real problem. Until then she'd be better with a child psychologist.

It definitely got under her skin.

Before we even left the parking lot, her and dad started arguing outside the car.

Me and Lucy-Lou sat inside, pretending not to hear. I couldn't tell if Caroline was boiling over with rage or on the verge of tears. Maybe both.

Lucy-Lou just sat there. Not moving.

“Lucy, why do you keep lying?”

“I'm not. I did eat them.”

I don't know why, but I believed her. So, I asked a simple question.

“Why?”

Turning to me, she beamed a big smile.

“They keep me warm!”

I could still hear Caroline breaking down outside the car. Rather than continue to scream, she opted to break down in tears. I couldn't gauge dad's reaction.

Lucy-Lou just stared ahead, waiting to get going.

I didn't know what to do with myself. So, I just pulled Lucy close to me and hugged her tight.

I don't think she understood what was happening, but she embraced me. As we held each other, I couldn't help but notice her skin on mine.

It was cold. Cold as the day she died.

The pattern continued. Locking batteries away helped but we couldn't hide everything.

Guilt consumed me. Witnessing the fracturing of my once cheerful family was tearing me apart inside.

I could've prevented this.

This was my fault. Lucy-Lou was hurt because of me. I caused all of this. But I didn't know how to fix it.

Caroline didn't have the energy to resent me anymore. That just made me feel worse.

Sometimes I debated falling on my knees and begging for forgiveness. I knew it was something she'd never give me, but it felt wrong watching her hatred turn to apathy.

I'd rather she hate me. Then I'd know she still felt something.

If I could just figure out what was wrong, I could fix all of this.

Maybe if I could find where Lucy-Lou was putting all the batteries that would help.

No matter where I looked I could never find them. If I asked Lucy, she'd just give the usual answer.

I could see dad had the same idea. On a few occasions I found him digging up the garden. When I'd ask what he was up to, he'd claim he was tidying things up a bit.

Creating holes across your garden doesn't tend to have a ‘tidy’ look.

I knew what he was doing though. I'd see him watch Lucy-Lou's movements when she went out on the grass. Every spot she'd stop to take in the scenery, he'd tear a part the next day.

Eventually he gave up. From the beginning of his searches, I think he knew he'd never find anything.

The more hope he lost, the less he checked in on Lucy. Knowing she'd never give an honest answer made it pointless asking in the first place.

She used to tell dad everything.

It came to a head one night when I heard screeching outside my window.

Once again, Lucy-Lou had somehow managed to make it to the car. Even after we hid the keys.

Caroline found her first, and had decided to try to drag her out.

It should've been easy. Lucy was small and could only move the upper half of her body, but she was putting up a hell of a fight.

I watched as she pushed against Caroline's face, digging her nails into her skin, trying to escape her tight grasp. It was like watching an animal thrashing about.

Dad also heard the commotion, I could hear him scrambling out of his bedroom. With how fast he was moving, I'm surprised he didn't take a short cut and jump out the window.

I followed.

Caroline and Lucy were shouting so loud I could hear what they were saying before we even reached the front door.

“Come back inside!” Caroline kept repeating as Lucy just said no again and again and again.

“Inside! Now!” The demand sounded final this time.

Caroline had run out of patience a long time ago.

When we threw open the door to run outside, I could see Lucy lean in to whisper something in Caroline's ear.

I could see the moment Caroline's heart dropped. White as a sheet, for a moment she just stopped.

Until rage consumed her.

“Who are you?!?! Where is my daughter?! Tell me where she is!”

Violently she shook Lucy, ignoring my dad as he begged her to stop. Lucy's cries were dry but chilling.

It sounded like a survival instinct more than an emotion. I've heard prey animals call for their parents in similar ways before they were about to be torn apart.

Dad barely managed to pull Caroline away, leaving Lucy to fall to the dirt. Caroline just kept demanding answers as dad held her back.

Never once had I seen her blow up like that.

I didn't have time to question it. My focus remained on Lucy. I took her in my arms and carried her inside as fast as my feet could manage.

I ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind us. As the adrenaline wore off and my breathing became heavier, I slid my back down the door.

I cradled Lucy, refusing to let her go despite her looking unfazed.

In what must've been an attempt to calm me down, she patted my head.

I stared at her as she just smiled back at me.

“Don't worry Sammy, I'm ok!”

I knew she couldn't be. How could she be?

She hadn't been ok for a while now. Why was she acting so weird? I know the accident was going to cause problems but I just didn't get it.

And why wouldn't she just tell me what was wrong?

I expected her smile to fade, but she just sat there. I could've just continued to sit like that until it was safe to leave, but curiosity tempted me.

“Lucy… what did you say to your mom?”

Her expression remained the same, not even a twitch in reaction to my question.

Still looking me in the eye, she answered, “I asked her if she was going to kill me like she killed our siblings.”

“What? What siblings?”

Still not even a wrinkle of movement on her face.

“We never got to meet them.”

At first, I didn't understand what she could be implying. That's when I remembered something from before Lucy was born.

Dad and Caroline had been married for a number of years before they had Lucy. I thought nothing of it at the time, but in retrospect it was strange they waited so long to have a kid of their own.

Except now it dawned on me.

Before Caroline was pregnant with Lucy, my parents were somber. I remember Caroline had to go to the hospital a lot and I never knew why.

There was one time Caroline locked herself in the bathroom and told me to go get dad. I remember crying because she shouted at me unexpectedly.

After they left for another hospital trip.

Caroline started praying a lot in those years. It all meant nothing to me as a child, but now…

Was Lucy not their first attempt?

Lucy sat there, waiting for my next question.

“How… How did you know that?”

Nothing. Still nothing. Just that same damn smile and piercing blue eyes in the dark.

Before I could ask anything else, there was a gentle knock on the door.

Dad assured me it was safe to come out. Caroline left to go cool off at our grandpa's house.

I opened the door, expecting him to be all over Lucy-Lou. But he only briefly asked if she was alright, as if it were only out of obligation.

After we brought her back to her bed, he seemed more concerned about me. Asking if I was ok, or if anything happened, or if I was rattled by the situation.

I answered honestly, that I was fine but a bit freaked out. But I'd manage.

He offered to sleep on the armchair in my bedroom, something he'd do when I was little and had a nightmare.

I tried my best to insist I was fine, and that Lucy probably needed his company more than I did.

When he didn't respond, a realization hit me.

He didn't agree with Caroline, did he?

“Dad?-”

“Goodnight Sam.”

He left without another word.

The days grew longer after that incident. The sense of dread in the house kept growing.

Caroline avoided Lucy. Dad tried his best to interact with her, but I could tell it was forced.

I couldn't understand what was happening. Only I seemed to care about my little sister, only I seemed to be giving her the time of day.

The way our roles had switched left me uneasy.

Over time, Lucy's skin began to grow pale, with an almost blue tint. Still she'd complain about the cold no matter how many heaters and blankets I brought her.

I could swear her eyes were brighter. They'd reflect in the night like a cat's, her unkempt hair making her look even more feral.

Items continued to disappear. The nightly car routine also restarted.

I didn't want to leave her alone, so I returned to sleeping there with her. My dad didn't stop us but he tried his best to sway me otherwise.

Then one day the car engine stopped working. Dad had to phone in late to work when we discovered the battery was gone.

Before we could get it replaced, Caroline found her car wouldn't start the next day either.

Soon the fuse box went, along with the oil tank being drained.

Then the birds.

Dead birds. Everywhere. In the garden, her room, the kitchen. All drained of their life source like everything else.

Blood.

The culprit was willing to give herself up as always.

I begged Lucy to tell me what was wrong. I burst into tears on multiple occasions, she could tell me anything I'd assure her again and again.

She'd always say nothing was wrong. She's just cold.

Another night came where I found her bed empty. So, I ventured outside to join her.

Yet, the cars were empty too.

I bolted back inside, frantic to figure out where she went.

Instead, I found my parents sitting in the kitchen.

Dad was leaning against the counter top, while Caroline sat beside it, her hand rubbing her forehead.

“Where's Lucy?!”

“Gone. She left.” Caroline kept her head down, refusing to face me.

“Gone?! Gone where?! Her wheelchair is still here!”

Neither of them answered, as if I should be able to guess myself. I could feel myself getting agitated.

“She couldn't have crawled away!”

“I doubt she crawled.”

Caroline was the only one to answer, but dad never disagreed.

“W-we have to go after he-”

“A priest is coming by tomorrow.”

A mixture of confusion and disgust washed over me.

“A priest? She's sick, she needs help, not a priest!"

Caroline chuckled a little, “Of course you wouldn't understand. That's not her.”

“What the hell are you saying?! Who else would it be?! Have you both gone mad?!”

“Sam, she's changed.” Dad finally chimed in.

“She almost died! Of course she changed! What?! Did you think she'd come back all fixed as good as new?!”

Instead of responding, dad emptied a cardboard box onto the counter that had been sitting beside him.

Dozens and dozens of items, all broken or missing batteries. It was as if there was a graveyard of electronics spread across the marble top.

“This isn't normal, Sam. She… my little girl would never act like that. At night sometimes she just… I find her staring at me from the foot of my bed… Smiling.” I could see the whites of my father's eyes as he spoke, like he was recounting the horrors of war.

“She needs help, but she-”

“We've tried professionals. We've switched her therapist so many times but… I don't know what happened to the real Lucy but that's not her.”

I could see his eyes go glossy as he teared up.

Caroline was more apathetic as she spoke, “I don't know what that thing is but it took my daughter. If it never returns, so be it.”

“Y-you're both crazy. She's out there alone right now! She needs our help! And you are just abandoning-”

“You don't get to lecture me about my kid when you left her to die in the first place!”

Caroline smacked the counter so hard I could hear her knuckles crack.

It was an anger I always knew was there. Simmering. What hurt more, was when my own father didn't come to my defence.

Or Lucy's.

I stood there like an idiot. Not knowing what to say, with no defence for myself.

“...You're right. It's my fault. Which is why I won't leave her alone again.”

I pivoted to run out the door before either of them could stop me. I could hear dad shouting for me to stop but I blocked him out and just focused on making it out.

Once outside, I ran barefoot, ignoring the pains of the stones beneath my feet.

I kept running and running, not realising my dad's begging had already faded out behind me.

I couldn't be sure where Lucy went. I had a good hunch though.

I wouldn't leave her. Something was wrong, I knew that. I didn't know if it was psychological, or physical or something else. All I knew was she needed my help.

That's all I needed to know.

By the time I made it to the junkyard, my feet were bleeding. When I passed the scene of the incident that started this all, it didn't even process in my mind.

I was too focused on my destination.

I called out for Lucy-Lou. I tried my best to tempt her out, praying she was there to hear my requests.

I searched everywhere I could. No car went unchecked. No scrap metal unturned.

Every time I found nothing, a little of me died inside.

If she wasn't here, I wouldn't have had any other ideas. It would mean I lost her for good this time.

I couldn't.

Losing her would mean I failed. That I never made up for my mistakes. I don't think I could bear that.

Yet my desires meant nothing. If she was gone, she was gone.

I was ready to give into despair when I heard metal clacking from behind.

I whipped around, desperate to find the source.

When I looked up, I saw her silhouetted on top of one of the piles of metallic husks.

The only feature I could make out were her eyes, almost turquoise and dilated. They were focused on me, shining on top of the opaque shadows surrounding them.

The way she was postured looked unnatural, almost on all fours as she crouched over, the innards of one cars still clutched in her now spindly hands.

I told myself it must be a trick of the light.

Her once delicate hands were more adjacent to claws. Each knuckle bone pierced through the skin.

It was like looking at a malnourished child. As if she were only skin and bone with hollow insides.

Her spine was wrong, her shirt partly ripped to reveal it poking out of her skin, as if tempting to claw its way out.

The details were obscured in the darkness. The stillness somehow made it harder to tell if my mind was betraying me.

Yet it felt like I was looking death in the eyes.

I swallowed. I could not let fear get in the way.

“Lucy-Lou… can we please go home?”

As if on queue, one by one she clambered down each vehicle.

The way she moved as unnatural, as if each step was calculated yet sporadic at the same time. I could hear her spine pop with each movement.

I was scared of what I'd see once she was lit by the moonlight.

But when she was finally visible again, she just looked like my Lucy-Lou.

Face smothered in oil, she wiped it as it dripped down her chin. The smile she always wore had disappeared, replaced by a cold stare.

“You want me to come home?”

I just nodded.

I waited for her to ask more. Those questions never came so I persevered.

“Please Lucy, let me help you…”

Lucy-Lou took in the junkyard around her, spinning to survey her surroundings.

Once finished, she gave a gentle smile.

“Ok, Sammy.”

I felt a wave of relief. I held out my hand for her to take. At first she didn't seem to understand, then took it on her own.

The whole way home we walked in silence. I wasn't sure what to say, hoping she'd begin the conversation first.

By the time we returned home, dad and Caroline were already in their room. I'm sure dad was comforted knowing I had returned, he just wouldn't want to see what with.

“Lucy, want to sleep in my room tonight?”

With a look of glee, she nodded.

I gathered her blankets and pushed her mattress into my room. To the best of my abilities, I threw together a blanket fort in the corner.

That night I couldn't bring myself to join her though.

I offered her my own bed but she said she liked the mattress better.

I tried my best to give her a smile before saying good night. With how quickly that smile faltered, I'm sure she knew it was forced.

I then set a torch beside her, batteries still inside.

She looked at me surprised.

“Lucy, I'm here if you need me. Remember that.”

I expected her usual facade, but instead she laid down to sleep.

I crawled into my own bed, not even bothering to pull my blanket up. I just laid on my back, staring at my ceiling.

I could feel a sharp pain shoot through my foot. My injuries from running had caught up to me. I couldn't ignore the pain but I had no will to go find a solution.

I don't know how a priest could fix Lucy-Lou. Maybe my parents were right, while she may have appeared to be herself once visible, I knew what I saw.

I knew she was still in there though. They thought Lucy was gone, but they hadn't seen those glimpses of her I did.

How she'd hold me in the back of the car. How she'd tell me stories about her friends at school. How she'd light up when doodling.

I knew she was in there.

I looked down at my feet, expecting to see the blood smearing across my bedsheets.

Instead, I saw Lucy's eyes peering over the bed frame.

It was as if they were staring into my soul. Unmoving, unblinking.

That unbroken focus as she stared at me sent a chill up my spine. It was like watching a predator sizing up its prey, debating if it should swallow it whole or take its time.

I could feel my heart in my throat. I didn't know what to say.

Then I noticed the blood on my bedsheets was all over her hands.

“What are you doing?”

I could still only see her eyes.

“It's warm.”

We remained at a standstill. I could feel my heart beating faster. My mind raced with all the ideas Caroline and dad had put into my head.

I took a deep breath, relaxing as I remembered who I was looking at.

“Sleep well, Lucy-Lou.”

The stand off ended as I turned to my side. Despite my moment of courage, I didn't unwind until I heard her walk back to her mattress.

“Night Sammmy, love you.”

It was the first time she ever said those words to me. Despite the situation, I couldn't contain my smile.

“Love you too, Luc.”

I don't know how, but I managed to fall asleep.

Adrenaline and fear had still been pumping through my veins all the way until I closed my eyes and drifted off.

Somehow I knew, even if dad and Caroline were right, Lucy wouldn't hurt me. Even if that wasn't the real Lucy, I could tell a piece of her was still in there.

Why else would she remind me she loved me?

That night remained unpeaceful as I awoke again.

I heard some slight muffled sounds, followed by something smashing.

I was still half asleep, so it took a while before I realised what I heard.

What caught my attention was my dad's agonising scream.

I shot up in my bed. To my horror, Lucy-Lou wasn't on her mattress.

No. No, no. She wouldn't. She wouldn't, she wouldn't.

I kept repeating it to myself as I dashed down the hallway. I slipped on the carpet, struggling to stay up right, going too fast and almost missing their bedroom door.

My hand hovered over the door handle. Dread took over me, as I trembled in place.

I resolved myself to continue, swinging open the door.

I just stood there. Watching the same scene play out before me all over again.

No one wants to see a corpse. Especially the mangled one of some you know. Someone you love.

Especially when it's your fault.

And this time you knew, whatever being you had been bargaining with, just enjoyed toying with you.

The once cream bedroom was now painted red. Detailed patterns on the wall were now smothered in a crimson pulp making them unrecognisable. The family portrait dad kept by his bedside drawer was in pieces on the ground.

Caroline's head was twisted up to the ceiling, so far back her neck snapped. A slash was across it, exposing her trachea.

Her eyes were shut over, suggesting a peaceful slumber before her life was cut short.

Unlike dad, whose jaw was ripped open. The bottom row of teeth so far down it was only attached by some fleshy strings.

Worse than this fate, was the expression imprinted into his face. The look of terror as he sat upright in his bed, the tears still streaming down his cheeks.

And who stood a top of him other than Lucy-Lou.

Or whatever remained of her.

Her skin was an icey-blue. With her back now facing me, I could see the details of her veins pulsating down her spine. The once broken legs now bent the opposite way they were supposed too.

I could see her draw her long finger nails across dad's neck, piercing the skin as a long spiralling tongue unravelled to lick up every drop of blood.

It was then I saw those once beautiful eyes shining back at me.

Her attention locked on me.

No… No, no, no. I was meant to help. No, not again. I can't lose them. I can't lose her again. I made a promise.

I'm meant to fix things this time.

The way she moved was particular, her head tilting as if to decipher my reaction. Once off the bed, she began her approach.

So focused on her, I lost my footing and fell backwards. Landing on the ground and shuffling back in a panic.

“L-Lucy please…”

I debated running, but I was shaking so much. And where would I run to? Even if she didn't catch me, she was all I had left.

I have to fix this. I have to fix this.

I could see her hands crack and turn, the proportions morphing back into something more human.

Yet despite the mutation reverting back, I knew her intent was the same.

“Luc… i-it's me Sammy… please…”

Not sure what else to do, I searched through my pockets.

I kept it on at all times as a reminder, making sure even my pajamas had pockets so it never left my side.

I tried my best to unfold the paper and present it despite my hands shivering with every fearful breath.

The only thing I had I left to try. The only chance I had of survival.

The drawing she made of us.

“L-look! It's us, see?!”

Pausing, she tilted her head.

“It's me, and dad, and, your mom! Pl-please Lucy I-I don't know what's happening to you but please… ”

She continued to just stare at me, not moving.

“I promised I'd be better this time. I'm not abandoning you! I don't why you… W-we can fix this please…”

The grotesque form she had taken, cracked and convulsed until it was back in its original state. That of the little girl I loved so dearly.

All except, those luminous all seeing eyes.

“...you.” She croaked out.

I couldn't understand the expression she was making. It consisted of a scrunched nose and an intense stare. The eyebrows curled and pushed the folds of the skin together. The entire time the eyes remained glued to me despite attempting to calculate something.

It took a few steps towards me. I had nowhere behind me to retreat to.

I just waited for my fate, still trying to understand that bizarre expression.

Then it stopped at my feet.

“You still think I am her?”

I felt my heart shatter as a feeling of disgust creeped up inside. Rage, devastation and detachment came alongside it.

I now understood that expression.

Pity.

I sat frozen in fear, even as it came closer.

“I guess, you wouldn't know the difference, would you? If you never knew her.”

It leaned down in front of me. Its bones creaked as it crouched. With a gentle touch, it took my chin and raised it to face it.

Looking straight into my eyes, I could see myself reflect in its pupils.

“If only, you had kept an eye on her…”

Its nails slid under my eyelids, digging into my eyeball. Careful, it dislodged it from its place. I could feel the strain of my socket as it pulled against its force.

I could feel the pain but I did not process it.

The further it was pulled out the more my other eye could see it detach from the remaining read threads.

Until it snapped.

It then took the eye and swallowed it whole. Before leaving without another word.

And I just sat there, staring at what remained of our family.

I stayed in that state until the next morning when the priest found me. I hadn't moved all night.

I never spoke again after that. This is the only way I can communicate now. Fractured ramblings in texts as an attempt to write my scattered thoughts.

I think the police were suspicious of me at first, but after the state they found me in and the details the priest already knew about Lucy-Lou they dropped me as a suspect.

I went to live with my grandparents. There was nowhere else for me to go, but even after all these years I can tell they don't know what to do with me.

Lucy-Lou was never found, or whatever that thing was. The police only resolved to find a body not a person, presuming she met the same fate as my parents.

They'd never see a little girl as a serious culprit.

They just presumed my parents asked the wrong people to help us out with the demon conspiracy theories. The story was they became convinced their traumatized daughter was possessed by a demon and started asking around those too willing to help out.

And with me now a recent mute I couldn't defend their legacy.

That is until now. Not that anyone will believe this anyway.

I'm not sure what to believe myself. It's clear to me now that my judgments were always wrong.

Why did that thing keep me alive? Why do I not get to join my family? Why must I live with the guilt?

What decided to give me the false hope I could ever get a second chance with Lucy-Lou?

Or maybe it thought it was being merciful somehow.

What keeps me up at night, is what happened to the real Lucy-Lou? Did she get to pass on peacefully? Is she still in there somewhere trapped?

Is she suffering in that things place, in whatever hell hole it came from?

Even after all this time, I still have that picture in my pocket. The drawing it handed to me in the hospital is in my hand as we speak.

I know it is wrong. I know it means nothing. But no matter how I try, I can't let it go.

I would've kept the real Lucy-Lou's drawings, but I always threw them in the trash.

Maybe that's why that thing kept me alive. The cruelty that fueled it was mirrored in me.

Whatever happened, it is my fault. And even if my family could hear my hollow apologies they'd mean nothing now.

All I can do is mourn a sister I never knew.

After dozens of trips to the hospital, it was clear they were sick of us.

In a rather condescending manner they told Caroline to return when there was a real problem. Until then she'd be better with a child psychologist.

I definitely got under her skin.

Before we even left the parking lot, her and dad started arguing outside the car.

Me and Lucy-Lou sat inside, pretending not to hear. I couldn't tell if Caroline was boiling over with rage or on the verge of tears. Maybe both.

Lucy-Lou just sat there. Not moving.

“Lucy, why do you keep lying?”

“I'm not. I did eat them.”

I don't know why, but I believed her. So, I asked a simple question.

“Why?”

Turning to me, she beamed a big smile.

“They keep me warm!”

I could still hear Caroline breaking down outside the car. Rather than continue to scream, she opted to break down in tears. I couldn't gauge dad's reaction.

Lucy-Lou just stared ahead, waiting to get going.

I didn't know what to do with myself. So, I just pulled Lucy close to me and hugged her tight.

I don't think she understood what was happening, but she embraced me. As we held each other, I couldn't help but notice her skin on mine.

It was cold. Cold as the day she died.

The pattern continued. Locking batteries away helped but we couldn't hide everything.

Guilt consumed me. Witnessing the fracturing of my once cheerful family was tearing me apart inside.

I could've prevented this.

This was my fault. Lucy-Lou was hurt because of me. I caused all of this. But I didn't know how to fix it.

Caroline didn't have the energy to resent me anymore. That just made me feel worse.

Sometimes I debated falling on my knees and begging for forgiveness. I knew it was something she'd never give me, but it felt wrong watching her hatred turn to apathy.

I'd rather she hate me. Then I'd know she still felt something.

If I could just figure out what was wrong, I could fix all of this.

Maybe if I could find where Lucy-Lou was putting all the batteries that would help.

No matter where I looked I could never find them. If I asked Lucy, she'd just give the usual answer.

I could see dad had the same idea. On a few occasions I found him digging up the garden. When I'd ask what he was up to, he'd claim he was tidying things up a bit.

Creating holes across your garden doesn't tend to have a ‘tidy’ look.

I knew what he was doing though. I'd see him watch Lucy-Lou's movements when she went out on the grass. Every spot she'd stop to take in the scenery, he'd tear a part the next day.

Eventually he gave up. From the beginning of his searches, I think he knew he'd never find anything.

The more hope he lost, the less he checked in on Lucy. Knowing she'd never give an honest answer made it pointless asking in the first place.

She used to tell dad everything.

It came to a head one night when I heard screeching outside my window.

Once again, Lucy-Lou had somehow managed to make it to the car. Even after we hid the keys.

Caroline found her first, and had decided to try to drag her out.

It should've been easy. Lucy was small and could only move the upper half of her body, but she was putting up a hell of a fight.

I watched as she pushed against Caroline's face, digging her nails into her skin, trying to escape her tight grasp. It was like watching an animal thrashing about.

Dad also heard the commotion, I could hear him scrambling out of his bedroom. With how fast he was moving, I'm surprised he didn't take a short cut and jump out the window.

I followed.

Caroline and Lucy were shouting so loud I could hear what they were saying before we even reached the front door.

“Come back inside!” Caroline kept repeating as Lucy just said no again and again and again.

“Inside! Now!” The demand sounded final this time.

Caroline had run out of patience a long time ago.

When we threw open the door to run outside, I could see Lucy lean in to whisper something in Caroline's ear.

I could see the moment Caroline's heart dropped. White as a sheet, for a moment she just stopped.

Until rage consumed her.

“Who are you?!?! Where is my daughter?! Tell me where she is!”

Violently she shook Lucy, ignoring my dad as he begged her to stop. Lucy's cries were dry but chilling.

It sounded like a survival instinct more than an emotion. I've heard prey animals call for their parents in similar ways before they were about to be torn apart.

Dad barely managed to pull Caroline away, leaving Lucy to fall to the dirt. Caroline just kept demanding answers as dad held her back.

Never once had I seen her blow up like that.

I didn't have time to question it. My focus remained on Lucy. I took her in my arms and carried her inside as fast as my feet could manage.

I ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind us. As the adrenaline wore off and my breathing became heavier, I slid my back down the door.

I cradled Lucy, refusing to let her go despite her looking unfazed.

In what must've been an attempt to calm me down, she patted my head.

I stared at her as she just smiled back at me.

“Don't worry Sammy, I'm ok!”

I knew she couldn't be. How could she be?

She hadn't been ok for a while now. Why was she acting so weird? I know the accident was going to cause problems but I just didn't get it.

And why wouldn't she just tell me what was wrong?

I expected her smile to fade, but she just sat there. I could've just continued to sit like that until it was safe to leave, but curiosity tempted me.

“Lucy… what did you say to your mom?”

Her expression remained the same, not even a twitch in reaction to my question.

Still looking me in the eye, she answered, “I asked her if she was going to kill me like she killed our siblings.”

“What? What siblings?”

Still not even a wrinkle of movement on her face.

“We never got to meet them.”

At first, I didn't understand what she could be implying. That's when I remembered something from before Lucy was born.

Dad and Caroline had been married for a number of years before they had Lucy. I thought nothing of it at the time, but in retrospect it was strange they waited so long to have a kid of their own.

Except now it dawned on me.

Before Caroline was pregnant with Lucy, my parents were somber. I remember Caroline had to go to the hospital a lot and I never knew why.

There was one time Caroline locked herself in the bathroom and told me to go get dad. I remember crying because she shouted at me unexpectedly.

After they left for another hospital trip.

Caroline started praying a lot in those years. It all meant nothing to me as a child, but now…

Was Lucy not their first attempt?

Lucy sat there, waiting for my next question.

“How… How did you know that?”

Nothing. Still nothing. Just that same damn smile and piercing blue eyes in the dark.

Before I could ask anything else, there was a gentle knock on the door.

Dad assured me it was safe to come out. Caroline left to go cool off at our grandpa's house.

I opened the door, expecting him to be all over Lucy-Lou. But he only briefly asked if she was alright, as if it were only out of obligation.

After we brought her back to her bed, he seemed more concerned about me. Asking if I was ok, or if anything happened, or if I was rattled by the situation.

I answered honestly, that I was fine but a bit freaked out. But I'd manage.

He offered to sleep on the armchair in my bedroom, something he'd do when I was little and had a nightmare.

I tried my best to insist I was fine, and that Lucy probably needed his company more than I did.

When he didn't respond, a realization hit me.

He didn't agree with Caroline, did he?

“Dad?-”

“Goodnight Sam.”

He left without another word.

The days grew longer after that incident. The sense of dread in the house kept growing.

Caroline avoided Lucy. Dad tried his best to interact with her, but I could tell it was forced.

I couldn't understand what was happening. Only I seemed to care about my little sister, only I seemed to be giving her the time of day.

The way our roles had switched left me uneasy.

Over time, Lucy's skin began to grow pale, with an almost blue tint. Still she'd complain about the cold no matter how many heaters and blankets I brought her.

I could swear her eyes were brighter. They'd reflect in the night like a cat's, her unkempt hair making her look even more feral.

Items continued to disappear. The nightly car routine also restarted.

I didn't want to leave her alone, so I returned to sleeping there with her. My dad didn't stop us but he tried his best to sway me otherwise.

Then one day the car engine stopped working. Dad had to phone in late to work when we discovered the battery was gone.

Before we could get it replaced, Caroline found her car wouldn't start the next day either.

Soon the fuse box went, along with the oil tank being drained.

Then the birds.

Dead birds. Everywhere. In the garden, her room, the kitchen. All drained of their life source like everything else.

Blood.

The culprit was willing to give herself up as always.

I begged Lucy to tell me what was wrong. I burst into tears on multiple occasions, she could tell me anything I'd assure her again and again.

She'd always say nothing was wrong. She's just cold.

Another night came where I found her bed empty. So, I ventured outside to join her.

Yet, the cars were empty too.

I bolted back inside, frantic to figure out where she went.

Instead, I found my parents sitting in the kitchen.

Dad was leaning against the counter top, while Caroline sat beside it, her hand rubbing her forehead.

“Where's Lucy?!”

“Gone. She left.” Caroline kept her head down, refusing to face me.

“Gone?! Gone where?! Her wheelchair is still here!”

Neither of them answered, as if I should be able to guess myself. I could feel myself getting agitated.

“She couldn't have crawled away!”

“I doubt she crawled.”

Caroline was the only one to answer, but dad never disagreed.

“W-we have to go after he-”

“A priest is coming by tomorrow.”

A mixture of confusion and disgust washed over me.

“A priest? She's sick, she needs help, not a priest!"

Caroline chuckled a little, “Of course you wouldn't understand. That's not her.”

“What the hell are you saying?! Who else would it be?! Have you both gone mad?!”

“Sam, she's changed.” Dad finally chimed in.

“She almost died! Of course she changed! What?! Did you think she'd come back all fixed as good as new?!”

Instead of responding, dad emptied a cardboard box onto the counter that had been sitting beside him.

Dozens and dozens of items, all broken or missing batteries. It was as if there was a graveyard of electronics spread across the marble top.

“This isn't normal, Sam. She… my little girl would never act like that. At night sometimes she just… I find her staring at me from the foot of my bed… Smiling.” I could see the whites of my father's eyes as he spoke, like he was recounting the horrors of war.

“She needs help, but she-”

“We've tried professionals. We've switched her therapist so many times but… I don't know what happened to the real Lucy but that's not her.”

I could see his eyes go glossy as he teared up.

Caroline was more apathetic as she spoke, “I don't know what that thing is but it took my daughter. If it never returns, so be it.”

“Y-you're both crazy. She's out there alone right now! She needs our help! And you are just abandoning-”

“You don't get to lecture me about my kid when you left her to die in the first place!”

Caroline smacked the counter so hard I could hear her knuckles crack.

It was an anger I always knew was there. Simmering. What hurt more, was when my own father didn't come to my defence.

Or Lucy's.

I stood there like an idiot. Not knowing what to say, with no defence for myself.

“...You're right. It's my fault. Which is why I won't leave her alone again.”

I pivoted to run out the door before either of them could stop me. I could hear dad shouting for me to stop but I blocked him out and just focused on making it out.

Once outside, I ran barefoot, ignoring the pains of the stones beneath my feet.

I kept running and running, not realising my dad's begging had already faded out behind me.

I couldn't be sure where Lucy went. I had a good hunch though.

I wouldn't leave her. Something was wrong, I knew that. I didn't know if it was psychological, or physical or something else. All I knew was she needed my help.

That's all I needed to know.

By the time I made it to the junkyard, my feet were bleeding. When I passed the scene of the incident that started this all, it didn't even process in my mind.

I was too focused on my destination.

I called out for Lucy-Lou. I tried my best to tempt her out, praying she was there to hear my requests.

I searched everywhere I could. No car went unchecked. No scrap metal unturned.

Every time I found nothing, a little of me died inside.

If she wasn't here, I wouldn't have had any other ideas. It would mean I lost her for good this time.

I couldn't.

Losing her would mean I failed. That I never made up for my mistakes. I don't think I could bear that.

Yet my desires meant nothing. If she was gone, she was gone.

I was ready to give into despair when I heard metal clacking from behind.

I whipped around, desperate to find the source.

When I looked up, I saw her silhouetted on top of one of the piles of metallic husks.

The only feature I could make out were her eyes, almost turquoise and dilated. They were focused on me, shining on top of the opaque shadows surrounding them.

The way she was postured looked unnatural, almost on all fours as she crouched over, the innards of one cars still clutched in her now spindly hands.

I told myself it must be a trick of the light.

Her once delicate hands were more adjacent to claws. Each knuckle bone pierced through the skin.

It was like looking at a malnourished child. As if she were only skin and bone with hollow insides.

Her spine was wrong, her shirt partly ripped to reveal it poking out of her skin, as if tempting to claw its way out.

The details were obscured in the darkness. The stillness somehow made it harder to tell if my mind was betraying me.

Yet it felt like I was looking death in the eyes.

I swallowed. I could not let fear get in the way.

“Lucy-Lou… can we please go home?”

As if on queue, one by one she clambered down each vehicle.

The way she moved as unnatural, as if each step was calculated yet sporadic at the same time. I could hear her spine pop with each movement.

I was scared of what I'd see once she was lit by the moonlight.

But when she was finally visible again, she just looked like my Lucy-Lou.

Face smothered in oil, she wiped it as it dripped down her chin. The smile she always wore had disappeared, replaced by a cold stare.

“You want me to come home?”

I just nodded.

I waited for her to ask more. Those questions never came so I persevered.

“Please Lucy, let me help you…”

Lucy-Lou took in the junkyard around her, spinning to survey her surroundings.

Once finished, she gave a gentle smile.

“Ok, Sammy.”

I felt a wave of relief. I held out my hand for her to take. At first she didn't seem to understand, then took it on her own.

The whole way home we walked in silence. I wasn't sure what to say, hoping she'd begin the conversation first.

By the time we returned home, dad and Caroline were already in their room. I'm sure dad was comforted knowing I had returned, he just wouldn't want to see what with.

“Lucy, want to sleep in my room tonight?”

With a look of glee, she nodded.

I gathered her blankets and pushed her mattress into my room. To the best of my abilities, I threw together a blanket fort in the corner.

That night I couldn't bring myself to join her though.

I offered her my own bed but she said she liked the mattress better.

I tried my best to give her a smile before saying good night. With how quickly that smile faltered, I'm sure she knew it was forced.

I then set a torch beside her, batteries still inside.

She looked at me surprised.

“Lucy, I'm here if you need me. Remember that.”

I expected her usual facade, but instead she laid down to sleep.

I crawled into my own bed, not even bothering to pull my blanket up. I just laid on my back, staring at my ceiling.

I could feel a sharp pain shoot through my foot. My injuries from running had caught up to me. I couldn't ignore the pain but I had no will to go find a solution.

I don't know how a priest could fix Lucy-Lou. Maybe my parents were right, while she may have appeared to be herself once visible, I knew what I saw.

I knew she was still in there though. They thought Lucy was gone, but they hadn't seen those glimpses of her I did.

How she'd hold me in the back of the car. How she'd tell me stories about her friends at school. How she'd light up when doodling.

I knew she was in there.

I looked down at my feet, expecting to see the blood smearing across my bedsheets.

Instead, I saw Lucy's eyes peering over the bed frame.

It was as if they were staring into my soul. Unmoving, unblinking.

That unbroken focus as she stared at me sent a chill up my spine. It was like watching a predator sizing up its prey, debating if it should swallow it whole or take its time.

I could feel my heart in my throat. I didn't know what to say.

Then I noticed the blood on my bedsheets was all over her hands.

“What are you doing?”

I could still only see her eyes.

“It's warm.”

We remained at a standstill. I could feel my heart beating faster. My mind raced with all the ideas Caroline and dad had put into my head.

I took a deep breath, relaxing as I remembered who I was looking at.

“Sleep well, Lucy-Lou.”

The stand off ended as I turned to my side. Despite my moment of courage, I didn't unwind until I heard her walk back to her mattress.

“Night Sammmy, love you.”

It was the first time she ever said those words to me. Despite the situation, I couldn't contain my smile.

“Love you too, Luc.”

I don't know how, but I managed to fall asleep.

Adrenaline and fear had still been pumping through my veins all the way until I closed my eyes and drifted off.

Somehow I knew, even if dad and Caroline were right, Lucy wouldn't hurt me. Even if that wasn't the real Lucy, I could tell a piece of her was still in there.

Why else would she remind me she loved me?

That night remained unpeaceful as I awoke again.

I heard some slight muffled sounds, followed by something smashing.

I was still half asleep, so it took a while before I realised what I heard.

What caught my attention was my dad's agonising scream.

I shot up in my bed. To my horror, Lucy-Lou wasn't on her mattress.

No. No, no. She wouldn't. She wouldn't, she wouldn't.

I kept repeating it to myself as I dashed down the hallway. I slipped on the carpet, struggling to stay up right, going too fast and almost missing their bedroom door.

My hand hovered over the door handle. Dread took over me, as I trembled in place.

I resolved myself to continue, swinging open the door.

I just stood there. Watching the same scene play out before me all over again.

No one wants to see a corpse. Especially the mangled one of some you know. Someone you love.

Especially when it's your fault.

And this time you knew, whatever being you had been bargaining with, just enjoyed toying with you.

The once cream bedroom was now painted red. Detailed patterns on the wall were now smothered in a crimson pulp making them unrecognisable. The family portrait dad kept by his bedside drawer was in pieces on the ground.

Caroline's head was twisted up to the ceiling, so far back her neck snapped. A slash was across it, exposing her trachea.

Her eyes were shut over, suggesting a peaceful slumber before her life was cut short.

Unlike dad, whose jaw was ripped open. The bottom row of teeth so far down it was only attached by some fleshy strings.

Worse than this fate, was the expression imprinted into his face. The look of terror as he sat upright in his bed, the tears still streaming down his cheeks.

And who stood a top of him other than Lucy-Lou.

Or whatever remained of her.

Her skin was an icey-blue. With her back now facing me, I could see the details of her veins pulsating down her spine. The once broken legs now bent the opposite way they were supposed too.

I could see her draw her long finger nails across dad's neck, piercing the skin as a long spiralling tongue unravelled to lick up every drop of blood.

It was then I saw those once beautiful eyes shining back at me.

Her attention locked on me.

No… No, no, no. I was meant to help. No, not again. I can't lose them. I can't lose her again. I made a promise.

I'm meant to fix things this time.

The way she moved was particular, her head tilting as if to decipher my reaction. Once off the bed, she began her approach.

So focused on her, I lost my footing and fell backwards. Landing on the ground and shuffling back in a panic.

“L-Lucy please…”

I debated running, but I was shaking so much. And where would I run to? Even if she didn't catch me, she was all I had left.

I have to fix this. I have to fix this.

I could see her hands crack and turn, the proportions morphing back into something more human.

Yet despite the mutation reverting back, I knew her intent was the same.

“Luc… i-it's me Sammy… please…”

Not sure what else to do, I searched through my pockets.

I kept it on at all times as a reminder, making sure even my pajamas had pockets so it never left my side.

I tried my best to unfold the paper and present it despite my hands shivering with every fearful breath.

The only thing I had I left to try. The only chance I had of survival.

The drawing she made of us.

“L-look! It's us, see?!”

Pausing, she tilted her head.

“It's me, and dad, and, your mom! Pl-please Lucy I-I don't know what's happening to you but please… ”

She continued to just stare at me, not moving.

“I promised I'd be better this time. I'm not abandoning you! I don't why you… W-we can fix this please…”

The grotesque form she had taken, cracked and convulsed until it was back in its original state. That of the little girl I loved so dearly.

All except, those luminous all seeing eyes.

“...you.” She croaked out.

I couldn't understand the expression she was making. It consisted of a scrunched nose and an intense stare. The eyebrows curled and pushed the folds of the skin together. The entire time the eyes remained glued to me despite attempting to calculate something.

It took a few steps towards me. I had nowhere behind me to retreat to.

I just waited for my fate, still trying to understand that bizarre expression.

Then it stopped at my feet.

“You still think I am her?”

I felt my heart shatter as a feeling of disgust creeped up inside. Rage, devastation and detachment came alongside it.

I now understood that expression.

Pity.

I sat frozen in fear, even as it came closer.

“I guess, you wouldn't know the difference, would you? If you never knew her.”

It leaned down in front of me. Its bones creaked as it crouched. With a gentle touch, it took my chin and raised it to face it.

Looking straight into my eyes, I could see myself reflect in its pupils.

“If only, you had kept an eye on her…”

Its nails slid under my eyelids, digging into my eyeball. Careful, it dislodged it from its place. I could feel the strain of my socket as it pulled against its force.

I could feel the pain but I did not process it.

The further it was pulled out the more my other eye could see it detach from the remaining read threads.

Until it snapped.

It then took the eye and swallowed it whole. Before leaving without another word.

And I just sat there, staring at what remained of our family.

I stayed in that state until the next morning when the priest found me. I hadn't moved all night.

I never spoke again after that. This is the only way I can communicate now. Fractured ramblings in texts as an attempt to write my scattered thoughts.

I think the police were suspicious of me at first, but after the state they found me in and the details the priest already knew about Lucy-Lou they dropped me as a suspect.

I went to live with my grandparents. There was nowhere else for me to go, but even after all these years I can tell they don't know what to do with me.

Lucy-Lou was never found, or whatever that thing was. The police only resolved to find a body not a person, presuming she met the same fate as my parents.

They'd never see a little girl as a serious culprit.

They just presumed my parents asked the wrong people to help us out with the demon conspiracy theories. The story was they became convinced their traumatized daughter was possessed by a demon and started asking around those too willing to help out.

And with me now a recent mute I couldn't defend their legacy.

That is until now. Not that anyone will believe this anyway.

I'm not sure what to believe myself. It's clear to me now that my judgments were always wrong.

Why did that thing keep me alive? Why do I not get to join my family? Why must I live with the guilt?

What decided to give me the false hope I could ever get a second chance with Lucy-Lou?

Or maybe it thought it was being merciful somehow.

What keeps me up at night, is what happened to the real Lucy-Lou? Did she get to pass on peacefully? Is she still in there somewhere trapped?

Is she suffering in that things place, in whatever hell hole it came from?

Even after all this time, I still have that picture in my pocket. The drawing it handed to me in the hospital is in my hand as we speak.

I know it is wrong. I know it means nothing. But no matter how I try, I can't let it go.

I would've kept the real Lucy-Lou's drawings, but I always threw them in the trash.

Maybe that's why that thing kept me alive. The cruelty that fueled it was mirrored in me.

Whatever happened, it is my fault. And even if my family could hear my hollow apologies they'd mean nothing now.

All I can do is mourn a sister I never knew.

Part 1

After dozens of trips to the hospital, it was clear they were sick of us.

In a rather condescending manner they told Caroline to return when there was a real problem. Until then she'd be better with a child psychologist.

I definitely got under her skin.

Before we even left the parking lot, her and dad started arguing outside the car.

Me and Lucy-Lou sat inside, pretending not to hear. I couldn't tell if Caroline was boiling over with rage or on the verge of tears. Maybe both.

Lucy-Lou just sat there. Not moving.

“Lucy, why do you keep lying?”

“I'm not. I did eat them.”

I don't know why, but I believed her. So, I asked a simple question.

“Why?”

Turning to me, she beamed a big smile.

“They keep me warm!”

I could still hear Caroline breaking down outside the car. Rather than continue to scream, she opted to break down in tears. I couldn't gauge dad's reaction.

Lucy-Lou just stared ahead, waiting to get going.

I didn't know what to do with myself. So, I just pulled Lucy close to me and hugged her tight.

I don't think she understood what was happening, but she embraced me. As we held each other, I couldn't help but notice her skin on mine.

It was cold. Cold as the day she died.

The pattern continued. Locking batteries away helped but we couldn't hide everything.

Guilt consumed me. Witnessing the fracturing of my once cheerful family was tearing me apart inside.

I could've prevented this.

This was my fault. Lucy-Lou was hurt because of me. I caused all of this. But I didn't know how to fix it.

Caroline didn't have the energy to resent me anymore. That just made me feel worse.

Sometimes I debated falling on my knees and begging for forgiveness. I knew it was something she'd never give me, but it felt wrong watching her hatred turn to apathy.

I'd rather she hate me. Then I'd know she still felt something.

If I could just figure out what was wrong, I could fix all of this.

Maybe if I could find where Lucy-Lou was putting all the batteries that would help.

No matter where I looked I could never find them. If I asked Lucy, she'd just give the usual answer.

I could see dad had the same idea. On a few occasions I found him digging up the garden. When I'd ask what he was up to, he'd claim he was tidying things up a bit.

Creating holes across your garden doesn't tend to have a ‘tidy’ look.

I knew what he was doing though. I'd see him watch Lucy-Lou's movements when she went out on the grass. Every spot she'd stop to take in the scenery, he'd tear a part the next day.

Eventually he gave up. From the beginning of his searches, I think he knew he'd never find anything.

The more hope he lost, the less he checked in on Lucy. Knowing she'd never give an honest answer made it pointless asking in the first place.

She used to tell dad everything.

It came to a head one night when I heard screeching outside my window.

Once again, Lucy-Lou had somehow managed to make it to the car. Even after we hid the keys.

Caroline found her first, and had decided to try to drag her out.

It should've been easy. Lucy was small and could only move the upper half of her body, but she was putting up a hell of a fight.

I watched as she pushed against Caroline's face, digging her nails into her skin, trying to escape her tight grasp. It was like watching an animal thrashing about.

Dad also heard the commotion, I could hear him scrambling out of his bedroom. With how fast he was moving, I'm surprised he didn't take a short cut and jump out the window.

I followed.

Caroline and Lucy were shouting so loud I could hear what they were saying before we even reached the front door.

“Come back inside!” Caroline kept repeating as Lucy just said no again and again and again.

“Inside! Now!” The demand sounded final this time.

Caroline had run out of patience a long time ago.

When we threw open the door to run outside, I could see Lucy lean in to whisper something in Caroline's ear.

I could see the moment Caroline's heart dropped. White as a sheet, for a moment she just stopped.

Until rage consumed her.

“Who are you?!?! Where is my daughter?! Tell me where she is!”

Violently she shook Lucy, ignoring my dad as he begged her to stop. Lucy's cries were dry but chilling.

It sounded like a survival instinct more than an emotion. I've heard prey animals call for their parents in similar ways before they were about to be torn apart.

Dad barely managed to pull Caroline away, leaving Lucy to fall to the dirt. Caroline just kept demanding answers as dad held her back.

Never once had I seen her blow up like that.

I didn't have time to question it. My focus remained on Lucy. I took her in my arms and carried her inside as fast as my feet could manage.

I ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind us. As the adrenaline wore off and my breathing became heavier, I slid my back down the door.

I cradled Lucy, refusing to let her go despite her looking unfazed.

In what must've been an attempt to calm me down, she patted my head.

I stared at her as she just smiled back at me.

“Don't worry Sammy, I'm ok!”

I knew she couldn't be. How could she be?

She hadn't been ok for a while now. Why was she acting so weird? I know the accident was going to cause problems but I just didn't get it.

And why wouldn't she just tell me what was wrong?

I expected her smile to fade, but she just sat there. I could've just continued to sit like that until it was safe to leave, but curiosity tempted me.

“Lucy… what did you say to your mom?”

Her expression remained the same, not even a twitch in reaction to my question.

Still looking me in the eye, she answered, “I asked her if she was going to kill me like she killed our siblings.”

“What? What siblings?”

Still not even a wrinkle of movement on her face.

“We never got to meet them.”

At first, I didn't understand what she could be implying. That's when I remembered something from before Lucy was born.

Dad and Caroline had been married for a number of years before they had Lucy. I thought nothing of it at the time, but in retrospect it was strange they waited so long to have a kid of their own.

Except now it dawned on me.

Before Caroline was pregnant with Lucy, my parents were somber. I remember Caroline had to go to the hospital a lot and I never knew why.

There was one time Caroline locked herself in the bathroom and told me to go get dad. I remember crying because she shouted at me unexpectedly.

After they left for another hospital trip.

Caroline started praying a lot in those years. It all meant nothing to me as a child, but now…

Was Lucy not their first attempt?

Lucy sat there, waiting for my next question.

“How… How did you know that?”

Nothing. Still nothing. Just that same damn smile and piercing blue eyes in the dark.

Before I could ask anything else, there was a gentle knock on the door.

Dad assured me it was safe to come out. Caroline left to go cool off at our grandpa's house.

I opened the door, expecting him to be all over Lucy-Lou. But he only briefly asked if she was alright, as if it were only out of obligation.

After we brought her back to her bed, he seemed more concerned about me. Asking if I was ok, or if anything happened, or if I was rattled by the situation.

I answered honestly, that I was fine but a bit freaked out. But I'd manage.

He offered to sleep on the armchair in my bedroom, something he'd do when I was little and had a nightmare.

I tried my best to insist I was fine, and that Lucy probably needed his company more than I did.

When he didn't respond, a realization hit me.

He didn't agree with Caroline, did he?

“Dad?-”

“Goodnight Sam.”

He left without another word.

The days grew longer after that incident. The sense of dread in the house kept growing.

Caroline avoided Lucy. Dad tried his best to interact with her, but I could tell it was forced.

I couldn't understand what was happening. Only I seemed to care about my little sister, only I seemed to be giving her the time of day.

The way our roles had switched left me uneasy.

Over time, Lucy's skin began to grow pale, with an almost blue tint. Still she'd complain about the cold no matter how many heaters and blankets I brought her.

I could swear her eyes were brighter. They'd reflect in the night like a cat's, her unkempt hair making her look even more feral.

Items continued to disappear. The nightly car routine also restarted.

I didn't want to leave her alone, so I returned to sleeping there with her. My dad didn't stop us but he tried his best to sway me otherwise.

Then one day the car engine stopped working. Dad had to phone in late to work when we discovered the battery was gone.

Before we could get it replaced, Caroline found her car wouldn't start the next day either.

Soon the fuse box went, along with the oil tank being drained.

Then the birds.

Dead birds. Everywhere. In the garden, her room, the kitchen. All drained of their life source like everything else.

Blood.

The culprit was willing to give herself up as always.

I begged Lucy to tell me what was wrong. I burst into tears on multiple occasions, she could tell me anything I'd assure her again and again.

She'd always say nothing was wrong. She's just cold.

Another night came where I found her bed empty. So, I ventured outside to join her.

Yet, the cars were empty too.

I bolted back inside, frantic to figure out where she went.

Instead, I found my parents sitting in the kitchen.

Dad was leaning against the counter top, while Caroline sat beside it, her hand rubbing her forehead.

“Where's Lucy?!”

“Gone. She left.” Caroline kept her head down, refusing to face me.

“Gone?! Gone where?! Her wheelchair is still here!”

Neither of them answered, as if I should be able to guess myself. I could feel myself getting agitated.

“She couldn't have crawled away!”

“I doubt she crawled.”

Caroline was the only one to answer, but dad never disagreed.

“W-we have to go after he-”

“A priest is coming by tomorrow.”

A mixture of confusion and disgust washed over me.

“A priest? She's sick, she needs help, not a priest!"

Caroline chuckled a little, “Of course you wouldn't understand. That's not her.”

“What the hell are you saying?! Who else would it be?! Have you both gone mad?!”

“Sam, she's changed.” Dad finally chimed in.

“She almost died! Of course she changed! What?! Did you think she'd come back all fixed as good as new?!”

Instead of responding, dad emptied a cardboard box onto the counter that had been sitting beside him.

Dozens and dozens of items, all broken or missing batteries. It was as if there was a graveyard of electronics spread across the marble top.

“This isn't normal, Sam. She… my little girl would never act like that. At night sometimes she just… I find her staring at me from the foot of my bed… Smiling.” I could see the whites of my father's eyes as he spoke, like he was recounting the horrors of war.

“She needs help, but she-”

“We've tried professionals. We've switched her therapist so many times but… I don't know what happened to the real Lucy but that's not her.”

I could see his eyes go glossy as he teared up.

Caroline was more apathetic as she spoke, “I don't know what that thing is but it took my daughter. If it never returns, so be it.”

“Y-you're both crazy. She's out there alone right now! She needs our help! And you are just abandoning-”

“You don't get to lecture me about my kid when you left her to die in the first place!”

Caroline smacked the counter so hard I could hear her knuckles crack.

It was an anger I always knew was there. Simmering. What hurt more, was when my own father didn't come to my defence.

Or Lucy's.

I stood there like an idiot. Not knowing what to say, with no defence for myself.

“...You're right. It's my fault. Which is why I won't leave her alone again.”

I pivoted to run out the door before either of them could stop me. I could hear dad shouting for me to stop but I blocked him out and just focused on making it out.

Once outside, I ran barefoot, ignoring the pains of the stones beneath my feet.

I kept running and running, not realising my dad's begging had already faded out behind me.

I couldn't be sure where Lucy went. I had a good hunch though.

I wouldn't leave her. Something was wrong, I knew that. I didn't know if it was psychological, or physical or something else. All I knew was she needed my help.

That's all I needed to know.

By the time I made it to the junkyard, my feet were bleeding. When I passed the scene of the incident that started this all, it didn't even process in my mind.

I was too focused on my destination.

I called out for Lucy-Lou. I tried my best to tempt her out, praying she was there to hear my requests.

I searched everywhere I could. No car went unchecked. No scrap metal unturned.

Every time I found nothing, a little of me died inside.

If she wasn't here, I wouldn't have had any other ideas. It would mean I lost her for good this time.

I couldn't.

Losing her would mean I failed. That I never made up for my mistakes. I don't think I could bear that.

Yet my desires meant nothing. If she was gone, she was gone.

I was ready to give into despair when I heard metal clacking from behind.

I whipped around, desperate to find the source.

When I looked up, I saw her silhouetted on top of one of the piles of metallic husks.

The only feature I could make out were her eyes, almost turquoise and dilated. They were focused on me, shining on top of the opaque shadows surrounding them.

The way she was postured looked unnatural, almost on all fours as she crouched over, the innards of one cars still clutched in her now spindly hands.

I told myself it must be a trick of the light.

Her once delicate hands were more adjacent to claws. Each knuckle bone pierced through the skin.

It was like looking at a malnourished child. As if she were only skin and bone with hollow insides.

Her spine was wrong, her shirt partly ripped to reveal it poking out of her skin, as if tempting to claw its way out.

The details were obscured in the darkness. The stillness somehow made it harder to tell if my mind was betraying me.

Yet it felt like I was looking death in the eyes.

I swallowed. I could not let fear get in the way.

“Lucy-Lou… can we please go home?”

As if on queue, one by one she clambered down each vehicle.

The way she moved as unnatural, as if each step was calculated yet sporadic at the same time. I could hear her spine pop with each movement.

I was scared of what I'd see once she was lit by the moonlight.

But when she was finally visible again, she just looked like my Lucy-Lou.

Face smothered in oil, she wiped it as it dripped down her chin. The smile she always wore had disappeared, replaced by a cold stare.

“You want me to come home?”

I just nodded.

I waited for her to ask more. Those questions never came so I persevered.

“Please Lucy, let me help you…”

Lucy-Lou took in the junkyard around her, spinning to survey her surroundings.

Once finished, she gave a gentle smile.

“Ok, Sammy.”

I felt a wave of relief. I held out my hand for her to take. At first she didn't seem to understand, then took it on her own.

The whole way home we walked in silence. I wasn't sure what to say, hoping she'd begin the conversation first.

By the time we returned home, dad and Caroline were already in their room. I'm sure dad was comforted knowing I had returned, he just wouldn't want to see what with.

“Lucy, want to sleep in my room tonight?”

With a look of glee, she nodded.

I gathered her blankets and pushed her mattress into my room. To the best of my abilities, I threw together a blanket fort in the corner.

That night I couldn't bring myself to join her though.

I offered her my own bed but she said she liked the mattress better.

I tried my best to give her a smile before saying good night. With how quickly that smile faltered, I'm sure she knew it was forced.

I then set a torch beside her, batteries still inside.

She looked at me surprised.

“Lucy, I'm here if you need me. Remember that.”

I expected her usual facade, but instead she laid down to sleep.

I crawled into my own bed, not even bothering to pull my blanket up. I just laid on my back, staring at my ceiling.

I could feel a sharp pain shoot through my foot. My injuries from running had caught up to me. I couldn't ignore the pain but I had no will to go find a solution.

I don't know how a priest could fix Lucy-Lou. Maybe my parents were right, while she may have appeared to be herself once visible, I knew what I saw.

I knew she was still in there though. They thought Lucy was gone, but they hadn't seen those glimpses of her I did.

How she'd hold me in the back of the car. How she'd tell me stories about her friends at school. How she'd light up when doodling.

I knew she was in there.

I looked down at my feet, expecting to see the blood smearing across my bedsheets.

Instead, I saw Lucy's eyes peering over the bed frame.

It was as if they were staring into my soul. Unmoving, unblinking.

That unbroken focus as she stared at me sent a chill up my spine. It was like watching a predator sizing up its prey, debating if it should swallow it whole or take its time.

I could feel my heart in my throat. I didn't know what to say.

Then I noticed the blood on my bedsheets was all over her hands.

“What are you doing?”

I could still only see her eyes.

“It's warm.”

We remained at a standstill. I could feel my heart beating faster. My mind raced with all the ideas Caroline and dad had put into my head.

I took a deep breath, relaxing as I remembered who I was looking at.

“Sleep well, Lucy-Lou.”

The stand off ended as I turned to my side. Despite my moment of courage, I didn't unwind until I heard her walk back to her mattress.

“Night Sammmy, love you.”

It was the first time she ever said those words to me. Despite the situation, I couldn't contain my smile.

“Love you too, Luc.”

I don't know how, but I managed to fall asleep.

Adrenaline and fear had still been pumping through my veins all the way until I closed my eyes and drifted off.

Somehow I knew, even if dad and Caroline were right, Lucy wouldn't hurt me. Even if that wasn't the real Lucy, I could tell a piece of her was still in there.

Why else would she remind me she loved me?

That night remained unpeaceful as I awoke again.

I heard some slight muffled sounds, followed by something smashing.

I was still half asleep, so it took a while before I realised what I heard.

What caught my attention was my dad's agonising scream.

I shot up in my bed. To my horror, Lucy-Lou wasn't on her mattress.

No. No, no. She wouldn't. She wouldn't, she wouldn't.

I kept repeating it to myself as I dashed down the hallway. I slipped on the carpet, struggling to stay up right, going too fast and almost missing their bedroom door.

My hand hovered over the door handle. Dread took over me, as I trembled in place.

I resolved myself to continue, swinging open the door.

I just stood there. Watching the same scene play out before me all over again.

No one wants to see a corpse. Especially the mangled one of some you know. Someone you love.

Especially when it's your fault.

And this time you knew, whatever being you had been bargaining with, just enjoyed toying with you.

The once cream bedroom was now painted red. Detailed patterns on the wall were now smothered in a crimson pulp making them unrecognisable. The family portrait dad kept by his bedside drawer was in pieces on the ground.

Caroline's head was twisted up to the ceiling, so far back her neck snapped. A slash was across it, exposing her trachea.

Her eyes were shut over, suggesting a peaceful slumber before her life was cut short.

Unlike dad, whose jaw was ripped open. The bottom row of teeth so far down it was only attached by some fleshy strings.

Worse than this fate, was the expression imprinted into his face. The look of terror as he sat upright in his bed, the tears still streaming down his cheeks.

And who stood a top of him other than Lucy-Lou.

Or whatever remained of her.

Her skin was an icey-blue. With her back now facing me, I could see the details of her veins pulsating down her spine. The once broken legs now bent the opposite way they were supposed too.

I could see her draw her long finger nails across dad's neck, piercing the skin as a long spiralling tongue unravelled to lick up every drop of blood.

It was then I saw those once beautiful eyes shining back at me.

Her attention locked on me.

No… No, no, no. I was meant to help. No, not again. I can't lose them. I can't lose her again. I made a promise.

I'm meant to fix things this time.

The way she moved was particular, her head tilting as if to decipher my reaction. Once off the bed, she began her approach.

So focused on her, I lost my footing and fell backwards. Landing on the ground and shuffling back in a panic.

“L-Lucy please…”

I debated running, but I was shaking so much. And where would I run to? Even if she didn't catch me, she was all I had left.

I have to fix this. I have to fix this.

I could see her hands crack and turn, the proportions morphing back into something more human.

Yet despite the mutation reverting back, I knew her intent was the same.

“Luc… i-it's me Sammy… please…”

Not sure what else to do, I searched through my pockets.

I kept it on at all times as a reminder, making sure even my pajamas had pockets so it never left my side.

I tried my best to unfold the paper and present it despite my hands shivering with every fearful breath.

The only thing I had I left to try. The only chance I had of survival.

The drawing she made of us.

“L-look! It's us, see?!”

Pausing, she tilted her head.

“It's me, and dad, and, your mom! Pl-please Lucy I-I don't know what's happening to you but please… ”

She continued to just stare at me, not moving.

“I promised I'd be better this time. I'm not abandoning you! I don't why you… W-we can fix this please…”

The grotesque form she had taken, cracked and convulsed until it was back in its original state. That of the little girl I loved so dearly.

All except, those luminous all seeing eyes.

“...you.” She croaked out.

I couldn't understand the expression she was making. It consisted of a scrunched nose and an intense stare. The eyebrows curled and pushed the folds of the skin together. The entire time the eyes remained glued to me despite attempting to calculate something.

It took a few steps towards me. I had nowhere behind me to retreat to.

I just waited for my fate, still trying to understand that bizarre expression.

Then it stopped at my feet.

“You still think I am her?”

I felt my heart shatter as a feeling of disgust creeped up inside. Rage, devastation and detachment came alongside it.

I now understood that expression.

Pity.

I sat frozen in fear, even as it came closer.

“I guess, you wouldn't know the difference, would you? If you never knew her.”

It leaned down in front of me. Its bones creaked as it crouched. With a gentle touch, it took my chin and raised it to face it.

Looking straight into my eyes, I could see myself reflect in its pupils.

“If only, you had kept an eye on her…”

Its nails slid under my eyelids, digging into my eyeball. Careful, it dislodged it from its place. I could feel the strain of my socket as it pulled against its force.

I could feel the pain but I did not process it.

The further it was pulled out the more my other eye could see it detach from the remaining read threads.

Until it snapped.

It then took the eye and swallowed it whole. Before leaving without another word.

And I just sat there, staring at what remained of our family.

I stayed in that state until the next morning when the priest found me. I hadn't moved all night.

I never spoke again after that. This is the only way I can communicate now. Fractured ramblings in texts as an attempt to write my scattered thoughts.

I think the police were suspicious of me at first, but after the state they found me in and the details the priest already knew about Lucy-Lou they dropped me as a suspect.

I went to live with my grandparents. There was nowhere else for me to go, but even after all these years I can tell they don't know what to do with me.

Lucy-Lou was never found, or whatever that thing was. The police only resolved to find a body not a person, presuming she met the same fate as my parents.

They'd never see a little girl as a serious culprit.

They just presumed my parents asked the wrong people to help us out with the demon conspiracy theories. The story was they became convinced their traumatized daughter was possessed by a demon and started asking around those too willing to help out.

And with me now a recent mute I couldn't defend their legacy.

That is until now. Not that anyone will believe this anyway.

I'm not sure what to believe myself. It's clear to me now that my judgments were always wrong.

Why did that thing keep me alive? Why do I not get to join my family? Why must I live with the guilt?

What decided to give me the false hope I could ever get a second chance with Lucy-Lou?

Or maybe it thought it was being merciful somehow.

What keeps me up at night, is what happened to the real Lucy-Lou? Did she get to pass on peacefully? Is she still in there somewhere trapped?

Is she suffering in that things place, in whatever hell hole it came from?

Even after all this time, I still have that picture in my pocket. The drawing it handed to me in the hospital is in my hand as we speak.

I know it is wrong. I know it means nothing. But no matter how I try, I can't let it go.

I would've kept the real Lucy-Lou's drawings, but I always threw them in the trash.

Maybe that's why that thing kept me alive. The cruelty that fueled it was mirrored in me.

Whatever happened, it is my fault. And even if my family could hear my hollow apologies they'd mean nothing now.

All I can do is mourn a sister I never knew.

No one wants to find a body.

Viewing a mangled corpse can fuck with your head as is. But when you once knew the now hollow shell, it's a unique kind of pain. You find yourself uttering a prayer to the reaper, or god, or whomever is daring to take them away.

A simple prayer.

Not yet, give us more time.

I found myself trying to bargain for my sister. A sister, I never gave the time of day. I didn't just want more time, I needed it. I needed to fix it.

To fix us.

Pinned between a car and a tree, was Lucy-Lou's limp body.

Her skin was already beginning to change hues in the cold evening air. The lights behind her eyes had already faded out, now they were glassy, cold and unmoving.

Blood trickled from the folds of her lips, her body positioned like a rag doll. It was if she were a discarded toy, forever propped against the tree she was abandoned against.

Beside her, on the grass, laid a bloodied page with a simple crayon drawing. On it, two figures were holding hands. One labelled ‘me’, the other ‘big sister Sammy’.

What had I done?

I couldn't bring myself to cry like Caroline. I couldn't bring myself to try to call for help like dad.

I just stood there. Helpless. Taking in the horrors before me.

Then that subconscious plea began.

I should've been careful what I wished for.

\*\*\*

I don’t remember my mom.

When she died, I was too young to understand what a mother even was. Yet, when dad announced he was remarrying - it hurt.

One would think I'd direct my anger at Caroline, the step mother to-be. Instead, my loathing always laid with the half-sister she created.

I don't know why I hated Lucy-Lou. Heck, did I even hate her?

I think she was just an easier target, giving Caroline a hard time meant being scolded by dad. With Lucy-Lou, however, she was too young to recognise I was giving her the cold shoulder. So, she could never report my behaviour.

I never did anything that bad. I didn't actively pick on her or anything like that.

I'd just ignore her.

I'd ignore her stupid crayon drawings. I'd pretend not to hear her asking me to push her on the swing. I'd drown out her incessant ‘are we there yet?’s on every trip.

I thought I'd grow out of it. When Lucy-Lou was born, I was only 6. By the time I had definitively decided I didn't like her, I was 11.

But even when I hit 16, nothing changed.

It just became routine to go our separate ways. Her desperate begging to play together had long since stopped.

I could tell she still wanted to spend time with me. Every time I was near her, she'd eagerly wait to see if I would glance her way. Once she'd realise her hopes were dashed, she'd deflate and go back to her drawings.

It wasn't all bad. At family gatherings, she was more tolerable. Caroline always bragged about Lucy-Lou’s good manners, the praise always meant she'd try to impress.

Acting like a maid, she'd serve everyone dinner and gather everyone's empty plates. Behind her mother's back, she'd even smuggle me some extra candy grandpa had slipped her under the table.

She was a good kid.

But when I looked at Lucy-Lou, I could see her mother's piercing blue eyes stare back. The fact they were Caroline's instead of my mother's was enough to make my skin crawl.

Maybe if I wasn't such an asshole, I could've protected her; been a real big sister.

Roughly a year ago, I was given a simple task.

Every day after school, Lucy-Lou would get off the school bus, just outside our property.

To get to our house, it required a long walk up a steep hill. So, Caroline would be there to greet Lucy-Lou each day, making sure she made it to the house in one piece.

I never understood her paranoia. No one ever drove up that road, the only places it led to was our house and an old abandoned junkyard buried deep into the countryside.

So, when Caroline asked me to be there in her place one morning, I protested.

Caroline had to work over time for some dumb conference, and dad was never home until late into the evening. That left me to be Lucy's escort.

I eventually gave in, it was a headache but so was arguing. At least I was used to ignoring Lucy-Lou.

Lucy's excitement at the news didn't help matters. I could tell she was trying to contain it, but her pestering questions while we got ready were a dead give away.

‘Where will you be waiting?’, ‘Will we be home alone for long?’, ‘Will you help me with homework?’ ‘Can you draw with me after?’

I gave blunt answers to each. By the time she got to her last question, she realised the change in plans didn't signal a change in our dynamic. Afterall, why would it?

Though, that last question did sting.

“Sammy, do you even like me?”

There wasn't any hope behind her voice. Not a twinge of expectation. It was as if she'd already figured out the answer long ago.

I hesitated.

I wasn't expecting her to be so direct. My hesitation seemed to be the only response she needed, as she left my bedroom without another word.

That silence continued for the rest of the morning.

I swallowed the guilt. I wasn't obligated to like her just because we shared half of the same blood. Right?

\*\*\*

When my friends approached me at the end of the school day, asking to hang out, I was more than tempted.

We tended to go to the junkyard a lot. We could smash things up consequence free. Along with some other activities we wanted to keep out of our parents’ sights.

Originally, I planned to join them after I dropped Lucy-Lou home. Angela was quick to try to persuade me otherwise.

Lucy-Lou's elementary school was on the other side of town, our house was the last stop on the bus route. The mix of traffic and all the prior stops meant she was usually back later than we were. And Angela had to be across town by 4pm for some date she'd arranged.

According to her we hadn't spent time together in ages and she didn't want to go without me. That then put pressure on me from the whole group because they wanted us both to come.

It didn't take much to convince me.

The junkyard was only a 15 minute walk down the road. If anything was wrong, I wouldn't be far away. Not that anything could go wrong anyway. It was an empty road.

I sent Lucy-Lou a text, she didn't have a mobile, just a crappy flip phone for emergencies. I let her know where I'd be.

I never got a response, but I could see she read my text.

We always had a lot of fun at that junkyard. Smashing already dismembered cars and hiking up the piles of metal.

Sometimes we'd chuck things at particularly unstable piles to see if we could get the whole thing to tumble. We had some half successes but never managed the full thing. This time we were determined though. We said we weren't leaving till we did some real damage.

Which meant we lost track of time.

Until Caroline called me.

It was at 6.47pm. Remember that to this day. Angela had already left with a couple of the others and I'd just finished watching Simon chug a bottle of Budweiser in one go.

I told everyone to hush while I picked up. If Lucy-Lou had tattled on me I had an excuse prepared.

“Hey Caroline, what-”

“Is Lucy-Lou still with you?” There was a dormant panic behind her voice.

“...No. Why?” I was cautious with my words, not wanting to give the truth away just yet.

“Then where is she? She isn't home.”

The following silence gave myself away. Caroline's voice became more demanding, “You walked her home, didn't you?!”

I looked to my friends who had picked up the conversation that wasn't going well. They shrugged at me.

“...No. I didn't.”

I could hear a slight gasp on the other side of the phone. Not from a realisation, but from a confirmation of her fears.

“She couldn't have gone far, Caroline. I told her to call me if-”

“Get home, now. We need to look for her.”

Before she hung up, I could hear my dad entering the house in the background. The last thing that came through the speakers were Caroline's sobs.

I left, feeling a bit guilty for causing a panic.

Lucy-Lou was annoying, but not stupid. She'd be walking around the area somewhere. With how she always doodled her surroundings, she was probably wandering down the road chasing a butterfly or something.

It had only been a couple hours anyway. The bus would've arrived around 3.30pm. Angela may have spotted her on her way out, we could always ask her what direction Lucy went.

Lucy-Lou will be fine, they are worried for no reason.

The lies I told myself were torn apart when I heard Caroline's distant screams.

It was a horrible cacophony of wails mixed with shrieks. Words may have been attached to each sound, but they were incoherent behind her tears.

I ran to the source. What would've been a 5 minute walk became a 30 second sprint.

That’s when I saw it.

Lucy-Lou's head was barely visible over the bonnet of the car. The vehicle was so big compared to her tiny body. Its engine was still running, whoever owned it left in a hurry.

The car was ancient, rusting in areas, and a model I didn't recognise.

I couldn't think about it too in-depth. My thoughts were all consumed by Caroline's broken words to a god that did not care.

“My baby… my baby… give her back…” she kept repeating.

I don't remember when, but I collapsed to my knees.

Everything hurt, but I didn't know how to scream. I just wanted another chance. One more chance to make things right.

She was just a kid. Why was I so cruel to her? Why? She sat all day in school, fantasising about spending time with me and this is the fate I left her to?

Were her last thoughts of me? How I had abandoned her? How I hated her?

But I didn't. No, no, I didn't. I never did. I was just mad. I don't know what at, I was just mad and she was just there and now…

She was gone. And it was my fault.

Please someone, just give me time. Give me time to fix this.

Please.

That's when movement caught my eye.

Despite her chest being hidden behind the car, it appeared to move. I couldn't tell for sure if I was going mad.

Then I saw a small cloud of condensation leaving Lucy-Lou's mouth.

“Holy shit… Holy shit, dad she's breathing! Tell the paramedics she's breathing!”

I scrambled to her side. Her eyes were still open, but she didn't seem to be awake. But now that I was closer, I could see her tiny inhales and exhales.

Not sure what else to do, I held her hand in mine. I told her everything was going to be ok and I was there. I was with her this time.

I promised I'd be better. Promised I'd draw with her. Promised I'd do whatever she wanted. Anything to make her smile.

I wouldn't abandon her again.

\*\*\*

The doctors said it was a miracle.

The way the car was positioned kept most of Lucy-Lou’s blood inside her. Even her organs had somehow stayed compacted together, preventing any major internal bleeding.

For someone her size she should’ve died on impact, but according to one nurse ‘she just got lucky’.

The same couldn’t be said for her spine. Lucy-Lou may have lived, but she’d never walk again.

The police asked me and my friends a lot of questions. According to Angela, she saw Lucy-Lou get off her bus as normal before walking up the hill. The car however somehow alluded to her, despite her walking down the only road it could’ve come from.

It had no license plate. No DNA anywhere inside. And no handy ID laying anywhere in the vehicle. Only the keys remained, still in the ignition.

They never found the owner.

I didn’t care much for a witch hunt anyway. While I wanted whoever it was in prison, the only monster I could blame was myself.

I left Lucy-Lou alone. If I had walked her home, she’d have never been in danger in the first place.

I think Caroline shared the same sentiment. I’d catch her glaring at me anytime I talked to or about Lucy. Whatever comments she had were kept to herself.

If Lucy-Lou hadn’t pulled through the surgery I think our family would’ve been shattered.

Especially poor dad, he already lost a wife. The death of his daughter would’ve eaten him alive.

‘An act of God’, that’s what Caroline would always say. God doesn't answer such prayers, for him death is final and inescapable.

The devil loved accepting the requests God never granted.

\*\*\*

When Lucy-Lou first woke up, I couldn’t bring myself to face her. In the past, it was because I didn’t want to see her. Now, it’s all I wanted to do but I was too much of a coward.

It wasn’t until she ushered me into her hospital room that I finally spoke to her.

Caroline and dad had stepped away to talk to the doctor. I was nervous when Lucy-Lou called me over, but my anxiety vanished when she presented me with her little project.

“I drew one for you before but I lost it in the accident. But I made an even better one!” she announced, handing me a new crayon creation.

On the page was one of her signature drawings. She was getting quite good at them.

Despite only being one step above stick figures, I could tell each figure was dad, Caroline and me. We had wings and were floating in the sky around another small drawing.

“Why do we have wings?”

“Because you guys are my angels! You saved me.” her words were accompanied by a big smile.

“So… this other drawing is you?”

I wish I could say her artistic skills resulted in a tear jerking masterpiece, but I was just confused.

What was apparently Lucy-Lou didn’t look like her at all. It was just a weird scribbled red and blue blob.

After she confirmed it was her, I felt the need to inquire further, “Why do you look like that?”

“Because I died.”

The comment hurt. It was stated so casually. As if that aspect was as self-explanatory as the rest.

“But Lucy-Lou, you lived.”

This time I didn’t get a response, just that big grin.

My first thought was to hand the drawing to the doctor.

It was clear she wasn’t processing everything well. But when I saw her big eyes staring at me, anticipating what I’d do with her gift, I decided I could mention it in passing without needing to give the page up.

I folded it up and put it in my pocket. That's where I'd keep it for the rest of my days.

“I’ll keep this with me from now on. It'll be a good luck charm.”

My decision made her giddy, she leaned in to hug me. I was a bit taken back, and without realising, my eyes began to water.

I held her close and said, “I'll be better this time. I'll change, I promise.”

I think she was confused at my words, but she continued to hug me anyway.

Lucy-Lou was stuck in that bed for a while. It took months before she was ready to leave the hospital. The accident had occurred at the beginning of fall and yet she still remained in that hospital room all the way through winter.

I felt bad seeing her cooped up inside.

I'd come to draw with her after school to keep her company, but I felt she could use some fresh air. I managed to convince her doctor and Caroline it'd be safe to bring her to the playground outside.

For younger patients they had a couple slides and a swing set beside the hospital. I thought pushing her on the swing for a while would do no harm.

From now on, Lucy-Lou wouldn’t be able to swing by herself. So it'd be my job to help her.

When we got to the swing set she said she was determined to loop around the top. I agreed to help her in her endeavors and pushed as hard as I could.

We both knew she’d never make it high enough, but hearing her laugh felt good.

I wish I had tried to do this sooner.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a figure in the hospital window across the road.

Caroline.

Even from where I stood I could feel her conflicted feelings. I knew she wasn’t fond of me, I don’t know if she ever was but now, I was a constant reminder of how she almost lost her daughter.

And how I couldn’t be trusted.

The emotion she settled on must’ve been relief as she walked away. For the moment, her daughter was happy. That’s all she needed.

In the time I had stopped to watch Caroline, I had forgotten to keep pushing Lucy-Lou.

When I looked back down, Lucy-Lou was chewing on the metal chains.

“Lucy-Lou, what are you doing?”

“It tastes nice.”

I wasn’t sure how to react. She was too old to be acting like this. Not sure what else to say, I just smiled.

“You shouldn’t, don’t you know your tongue can freeze to metal when it’s cold!”

She looked me up and down, trying to decipher my lie.

“Don’t worry Sammy, I’ll stop. It won’t keep me warm anyway.”

Kids say strange stuff sometimes, but I wasn’t sure what to make of Lucy-Lou’s comments.

I just asked if she was cold and wanted to go back inside. With a simple nod, she raised her arms up for me to carry her back to her wheelchair.

Lucy-Lou complained about being cold a lot.

Even when we got back home, she’d often ask for us to start the fire. No matter if it was lit or unlit, it’d never be enough.

That’s when she began a strange habit.

One night, I had gotten out of bed to use the lady’s room. It was a night like any other, but when I saw Lucy-Lou’s bedroom door slightly cracked open, I felt the urge to look inside.

To my dismay, she was gone.

Panic set in, where could she have gone? Her wheelchair was still folded by her bed.

My first thought was to go to our parents. If she wasn’t with them, then something bad must’ve happened.

That was the plan, until I peered outside her bedroom window. Dad’s car was in the driveway. There was movement inside.

Lucy-Lou.

I put on my slippers and stepped outside. I was still considering waking Caroline or dad, but I wanted to question Lucy-Lou myself.

Low and behold when I opened the car door, there was Lucy-Lou, fast asleep.

How’d she get here? Did she drag herself all the way out?

I could see from the scuff marks on her knees, she had done just that.

My sudden interruption of her slumber prompted an exaggerated yawn from her.

When she saw me, she looked confused. Not surprised, just confused. As if she didn’t understand why I came out to find her.

“Why are you out here?” I whispered, being careful to not make too much noise.

She shrugged, “It's warm.”

“What is?”

“The car.”

It was freezing outside. The car didn’t retain much heat without the engine running either.

How could she possibly be warm?

The doctor had warned after accidents, patients often experienced trauma responses. She didn’t want to speculate, but from her experience that usually meant avoiding scenes similar to the incident. So, we suspected she’d be at least a little nervous around cars.

Yet here she was.

“You’ll freeze out here Lucy, come back inside.”

“But it’s warm.”

I tried to think of what to do. Maybe Caroline could coax her back indoors. I could also drag her in kicking and screaming, but that was less than ideal.

I thought this was maybe her way of coping. With a still half asleep sigh, I told her I’d be back before returning with a large blanket.

“What are you doing Sammy?”

“I’m not leaving you out here by yourself. You take the blanket, I’ll sleep in the front seat.”

“No. Stay back here. With me.”

I went to argue, but then saw her staring at me with anticipation. Maybe she didn’t like being alone out there.

I relented and gave her a smile.

“Sure Luc, just scooch over.”

Lucy-Lou slid to the far side of the seats as I climbed in with the blanket, making sure it covered her more than it did me.

We laid so our feet were beside each other’s heads. It was a struggle to find a comfortable position for us both, but after some careful navigation we managed.

I regretted not bringing a pillow. I was definitely going to get a bad creak in my neck the next morning. It was worth it though to know Lucy-Lou was safe.

It’s strange. In the past, I would’ve left her in the car by herself without a second thought. Now the mere idea made me anxious.

I felt Lucy-Lou’s arms wrap around my legs and pull me in tight.

“You alright?” I glanced down to try to get a look at her.

“You’re warm.”

Her bright blue eyes shot through the dark. The only colour in the shadows that engulfed us.

I reached down to stroke her head, “Goodnight, Lucy-Lou.”

To my surprise, it was a peaceful night's sleep.

It could’ve been the exhaustion of the past few months finally catching up to me, but I was happy I felt well rested the next day.

That peace was swiftly interrupted by an upset Caroline.

Caroline scolded us for doing something ‘so stupid’. We had overslept, so she woke up well before us and started to freak out. That was until she ran outside to search for us and saw us tucked away in the backseat. Dad was moments away from calling the police again.

When I explained what had happened, she called me an idiot. Rightfully so, sleeping outside on a cold winter night was not a great plan.

But my sister needed me. So here pleas mattered more to me than Caroline's complaints.

We made sure to not be caught in the future.

It wasn't every night, but often Lucy-Lou would ask me before bed if I could sneak out again. I always obliged.

Sometimes before we fell asleep, we'd grab some flashlights and make a makeshift blanket fort in the backseats. Even though it was hard to draw on top of the leather cushions, Lucy-Lou would doodle away as I'd hand her whichever crayon she demanded of me.

At the time, they were some of my happiest memories.

I remember being so disappointed when I couldn't find the batteries for the flashlight.

While Lucy-Lou would continue to complain about the cold and insist on our nightly escapades, she acted like a normal kid.

I thought she'd struggle knowing she'd never walk again. Anytime I asked her though, she said she was content having me push her around.

While some adjustments had to be made to her life, she was a good sport about it all.

For the first couple months of her being home there were no obvious signs.

That was until she returned to school.

\*\*\*

We had considered waiting until the next school year before we sent her back. Caroline felt it'd be easier to hold her back a year than force her to catch up on all the work she missed.

Lucy-Lou begged and pleaded to go. Apparently she missed her friends and was growing bored of the few locations she got to see day-to-day.

So, she went back.

Again, at first her teachers said she was doing well. Despite missing a lot she kept up with the other kids and she seemed to be enjoying herself.

That was until her teacher came to me in a panic.

Dad had been picking Lucy-Lou up from school after work, but on this occasion he couldn't make it so he asked me to go in his place.

That meant I got to leave class a bit early to make it across town. I felt a little awkward having to take the bus with a bunch of elementary school kids, but I agreed without hesitation anyway.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

When I arrived, however, her teacher Ms. Gracey was also waiting for me.

“Are you here for Lucy?” The anxiety in her voice was seeping out with every word.

“Uh, yeah. I'm Sammy, her sister.”

Her pensive eyes scanned me up and down, as if she was trying to will me into being my parents instead of a dumb teenager.

In a bit of a rush, she pulled me aside.

“I think you need to bring her to a hospital.”

Lucy-Lou sat in her wheelchair behind her, doodling away as always.

She looked fine to me.

“Why? What's the matter?”

Ms Gracey tried to start her sentence a few times, I could see her trying to process her explanation in real time. I think she knew what she was about to say was bizarre.

“We were doing a little science experiment with circuits at the end of the school day. I asked all the kids to tidy up before the final bell but… some of Lucy-Lou's equipment went missing…”

My confusion was visible as my eyebrow raised to the sky. I didn't understand where she was going with this.

She continued, “The batteries went missing. So I asked Lucy-Lou if she knew where they went and she said she did. When I asked where they were she… she said she ate them?”

I was too baffled to respond. I think she continued on, apologising for not noticing and how the school nurse had left that day early.

At first she thought kids just say weird shit sometimes. But then her lab buddy said they saw her do it.

Not sure what else to do, I just thanked Ms. Gracey for letting me know and called my dad.

He had the same reaction I did.

Eating batteries? If she was younger maybe but, this just had to be some weird miscommunication.

Kids just kind of say things sometimes, there's no way she'd just do something so strange.

Yet, when we all asked her directly she repeated what she said to Ms. Gracey. It was as if she didn't understand what we were so worked up about.

We decided it'd be safer to go to the hospital. It might have just been a weird attempt at attention seeking, but it wasn't worth the risk of not finding out.

Of course, there was nothing out of the ordinary in her stomach.

The scans came up normal. Not a battery in sight. The relief was replaced with an unnerving feeling.

Why would she lie?

The doctor just recommended we schedule her in for some therapy sessions. Perhaps this was her new way of coping, telling strange lies to make people worry about her.

Lucy-Lou appeared unbothered by it all. If she was caught in a lie or being falsely accused, either way she didn't seem to care.

We chose not to think much of it.

Dad thought he'd instead book us a nice holiday away, he was thinking maybe Disney Land would be nice in the Summer.

It was his way of trying to let her know we cared about her. Until then we could only hope she'd open up to us more.

But then it kept happening.

Panicked phone calls from Ms Gracey. Random appliances and devices no longer working at home. Smoke detectors not going off when dad burned breakfast.

Every time the same thing was missing.

The batteries.

At the same time, Lucy-Lou would always admit she was the culprit. Yet again and again, the scans would show her stomach was empty.

Therapy didn't seem to help. Neither did our attempts to reach out to her.

You wouldn't know anything was wrong looking at her. Life went on as usual in her world.

It started smaller. Coin cells. Then A27s. Then AAs, AAAs, AAAAs, D cells. Phone batteries, remote batteries, old toy batteries.

It never ended.

Not sure what else to do, we started locking them out of sight. At first we had hid them in places she couldn't reach but somehow they'd still end up missing.

When we locked them up, dad's office computer was just torn to pieces instead.

Lucy-Lou's behaviour, while for the most part it was the same, there'd be these odd episodes of apathy. Particularly when we tried to pull her away from the fire.

It was like she wasn't there anymore. Glued to the sight of flames she'd watch them dance for hours on end. When we tried to lure her away, it was like talking to a wall.

She was always cold. Even in the coming Summer heat.

On one occasion, she was so mesmerised by the fire she almost stuck her hand inside. I managed to pull her back just on time.

I convinced dad and Caroline to get her an electric heater after that.

We would still sleep in the car most nights. I worried I was indulging her too much, maybe I was making her symptoms worse.

Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night just to see her staring back at me. No matter how we laid, she'd always cling to me tight.

I'd ask her how she was, and she would always respond, “I am happy with you.”

The longer this continued however, the less convinced I was by her answer.

“Lucy, I think we should stop sleeping in the car.”

“But I like it! It's warm here!”

I avoided looking at her, I hated it when she was upset at me.

“I know but… You're obviously not ok Luc. I don't think this is a good idea anymo-”

When I glanced her way, I expected to see a look of disappointment. Maybe some frustration or desperation.

Instead, there was a flash of anger.

Then as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Alright Sammy. I don't want to worry you.”

“It's my job to be worried.”

I tried my best to give her a little smile.

But that look she gave me… I couldn't get it out of my mind.

I had never seen her angry ever, the odd tantrum when she was little, but never genuine rage. I didn't know a child could make an expression like that.

We stopped sleeping in the car.

I made sure to let dad know what we had been up to.

In turn, he made sure to remind me I was an idiot, but he appreciated I was trying to help and said he'd pass the information onto the therapist.

I could tell he wasn't doing well.

My dad had always been a simple man, as plain as they come. Kind and gentle, but stern when he needed to be. A more than capable father, always ready to give his girls the world.

Despite his simple nature, he always shone so brightly.

Now that light was dim.

Lucy-Lou's recent attitude had started to chip away at Caroline. When the stress wasn't vocalised it would instead be visible in her mannerisms.

Caroline could be a bit uptight, a no-nonsense type of woman, but she'd always unwind when she spent time with her daughter.

Now instead, she'd pick away at the arm of the couch in the living room, tearing it apart in a daze.

She'd taken time off work to be with Lucy-Lou, but that only made her anxiety grow.

I remember always seeing them laughing together at the dumb shows they'd find on the TV. I remember them playing dress up when Lucy-Lou was too small for the outfits they'd throw together.

They always seemed to share this unspoken understanding. There wasn't anything in particular they did to show that bond, but I could just tell by how in sync they always were.

There was a time I envied that bond.

Now I miss it.

Their joyful banter was replaced by an empty coldness. They'd sit in the same room, barely exchanging a word.

Lucy-Lou didn't seem to notice the change. Caroline was broken. You could tell with how she'd stare blankly out the kitchen window.

It was as if Caroline couldn't recognise her own daughter anymore.

Dad could feel the family fracturing, powerless to stop it. I tried my best to take the weight of his shoulders, but I wasn't sure what to do.

Dad's bond with Lucy-Lou had also weakened. Before it was like Lucy and me were his life source. Yet here we were, draining it away instead.

He'd continue his dumb dad jokes and try to make us laugh. But even when Lucy-Lou reacted how he wanted, I could tell he didn't believe it for some reason.

Perhaps he could see something I couldn't.

Part 2

No one wants to find a body.

Viewing a mangled corpse can fuck with your head as is. But when you once knew the now hollow shell, it's a unique kind of pain. You find yourself uttering a prayer to the reaper, or god, or whomever is daring to take them away.

A simple prayer.

Not yet, give us more time.

I found myself trying to bargain for my sister. A sister, I never gave the time of day. I didn't just want more time, I needed it. I needed to fix it.

To fix us.

Pinned between a car and a tree, was Lucy-Lou's limp body.

Her skin was already beginning to change hues in the cold evening air. The lights behind her eyes had already faded out, now they were glassy, cold and unmoving.

Blood trickled from the folds of her lips, her body positioned like a rag doll. It was if she were a discarded toy, forever propped against the tree she was abandoned against.

Beside her, on the grass, laid a bloodied page with a simple crayon drawing. On it, two figures were holding hands. One labelled ‘me’, the other ‘big sister Sammy’.

What had I done?

I couldn't bring myself to cry like Caroline. I couldn't bring myself to try to call for help like dad.

I just stood there. Helpless. Taking in the horrors before me.

Then that subconscious plea began.

I should've been careful what I wished for.

\*\*\*

I don’t remember my mom.

When she died, I was too young to understand what a mother even was. Yet, when dad announced he was remarrying - it hurt.

One would think I'd direct my anger at Caroline, the step mother to-be. Instead, my loathing always laid with the half-sister she created.

I don't know why I hated Lucy-Lou. Heck, did I even hate her?

I think she was just an easier target, giving Caroline a hard time meant being scolded by dad. With Lucy-Lou, however, she was too young to recognise I was giving her the cold shoulder. So, she could never report my behaviour.

I never did anything that bad. I didn't actively pick on her or anything like that.

I'd just ignore her.

I'd ignore her stupid crayon drawings. I'd pretend not to hear her asking me to push her on the swing. I'd drown out her incessant ‘are we there yet?’s on every trip.

I thought I'd grow out of it. When Lucy-Lou was born, I was only 6. By the time I had definitively decided I didn't like her, I was 11.

But even when I hit 16, nothing changed.

It just became routine to go our separate ways. Her desperate begging to play together had long since stopped.

I could tell she still wanted to spend time with me. Every time I was near her, she'd eagerly wait to see if I would glance her way. Once she'd realise her hopes were dashed, she'd deflate and go back to her drawings.

It wasn't all bad. At family gatherings, she was more tolerable. Caroline always bragged about Lucy-Lou’s good manners, the praise always meant she'd try to impress.

Acting like a maid, she'd serve everyone dinner and gather everyone's empty plates. Behind her mother's back, she'd even smuggle me some extra candy grandpa had slipped her under the table.

She was a good kid.

But when I looked at Lucy-Lou, I could see her mother's piercing blue eyes stare back. The fact they were Caroline's instead of my mother's was enough to make my skin crawl.

Maybe if I wasn't such an asshole, I could've protected her; been a real big sister.

Roughly a year ago, I was given a simple task.

Every day after school, Lucy-Lou would get off the school bus, just outside our property.

To get to our house, it required a long walk up a steep hill. So, Caroline would be there to greet Lucy-Lou each day, making sure she made it to the house in one piece.

I never understood her paranoia. No one ever drove up that road, the only places it led to was our house and an old abandoned junkyard buried deep into the countryside.

So, when Caroline asked me to be there in her place one morning, I protested.

Caroline had to work over time for some dumb conference, and dad was never home until late into the evening. That left me to be Lucy's escort.

I eventually gave in, it was a headache but so was arguing. At least I was used to ignoring Lucy-Lou.

Lucy's excitement at the news didn't help matters. I could tell she was trying to contain it, but her pestering questions while we got ready were a dead give away.

‘Where will you be waiting?’, ‘Will we be home alone for long?’, ‘Will you help me with homework?’ ‘Can you draw with me after?’

I gave blunt answers to each. By the time she got to her last question, she realised the change in plans didn't signal a change in our dynamic. Afterall, why would it?

Though, that last question did sting.

“Sammy, do you even like me?”

There wasn't any hope behind her voice. Not a twinge of expectation. It was as if she'd already figured out the answer long ago.

I hesitated.

I wasn't expecting her to be so direct. My hesitation seemed to be the only response she needed, as she left my bedroom without another word.

That silence continued for the rest of the morning.

I swallowed the guilt. I wasn't obligated to like her just because we shared half of the same blood. Right?

\*\*\*

When my friends approached me at the end of the school day, asking to hang out, I was more than tempted.

We tended to go to the junkyard a lot. We could smash things up consequence free. Along with some other activities we wanted to keep out of our parents’ sights.

Originally, I planned to join them after I dropped Lucy-Lou home. Angela was quick to try to persuade me otherwise.

Lucy-Lou's elementary school was on the other side of town, our house was the last stop on the bus route. The mix of traffic and all the prior stops meant she was usually back later than we were. And Angela had to be across town by 4pm for some date she'd arranged.

According to her we hadn't spent time together in ages and she didn't want to go without me. That then put pressure on me from the whole group because they wanted us both to come.

It didn't take much to convince me.

The junkyard was only a 15 minute walk down the road. If anything was wrong, I wouldn't be far away. Not that anything could go wrong anyway. It was an empty road.

I sent Lucy-Lou a text, she didn't have a mobile, just a crappy flip phone for emergencies. I let her know where I'd be.

I never got a response, but I could see she read my text.

We always had a lot of fun at that junkyard. Smashing already dismembered cars and hiking up the piles of metal.

Sometimes we'd chuck things at particularly unstable piles to see if we could get the whole thing to tumble. We had some half successes but never managed the full thing. This time we were determined though. We said we weren't leaving till we did some real damage.

Which meant we lost track of time.

Until Caroline called me.

It was at 6.47pm. Remember that to this day. Angela had already left with a couple of the others and I'd just finished watching Simon chug a bottle of Budweiser in one go.

I told everyone to hush while I picked up. If Lucy-Lou had tattled on me I had an excuse prepared.

“Hey Caroline, what-”

“Is Lucy-Lou still with you?” There was a dormant panic behind her voice.

“...No. Why?” I was cautious with my words, not wanting to give the truth away just yet.

“Then where is she? She isn't home.”

The following silence gave myself away. Caroline's voice became more demanding, “You walked her home, didn't you?!”

I looked to my friends who had picked up the conversation that wasn't going well. They shrugged at me.

“...No. I didn't.”

I could hear a slight gasp on the other side of the phone. Not from a realisation, but from a confirmation of her fears.

“She couldn't have gone far, Caroline. I told her to call me if-”

“Get home, now. We need to look for her.”

Before she hung up, I could hear my dad entering the house in the background. The last thing that came through the speakers were Caroline's sobs.

I left, feeling a bit guilty for causing a panic.

Lucy-Lou was annoying, but not stupid. She'd be walking around the area somewhere. With how she always doodled her surroundings, she was probably wandering down the road chasing a butterfly or something.

It had only been a couple hours anyway. The bus would've arrived around 3.30pm. Angela may have spotted her on her way out, we could always ask her what direction Lucy went.

Lucy-Lou will be fine, they are worried for no reason.

The lies I told myself were torn apart when I heard Caroline's distant screams.

It was a horrible cacophony of wails mixed with shrieks. Words may have been attached to each sound, but they were incoherent behind her tears.

I ran to the source. What would've been a 5 minute walk became a 30 second sprint.

That’s when I saw it.

Lucy-Lou's head was barely visible over the bonnet of the car. The vehicle was so big compared to her tiny body. Its engine was still running, whoever owned it left in a hurry.

The car was ancient, rusting in areas, and a model I didn't recognise.

I couldn't think about it too in-depth. My thoughts were all consumed by Caroline's broken words to a god that did not care.

“My baby… my baby… give her back…” she kept repeating.

I don't remember when, but I collapsed to my knees.

Everything hurt, but I didn't know how to scream. I just wanted another chance. One more chance to make things right.

She was just a kid. Why was I so cruel to her? Why? She sat all day in school, fantasising about spending time with me and this is the fate I left her to?

Were her last thoughts of me? How I had abandoned her? How I hated her?

But I didn't. No, no, I didn't. I never did. I was just mad. I don't know what at, I was just mad and she was just there and now…

She was gone. And it was my fault.

Please someone, just give me time. Give me time to fix this.

Please.

That's when movement caught my eye.

Despite her chest being hidden behind the car, it appeared to move. I couldn't tell for sure if I was going mad.

Then I saw a small cloud of condensation leaving Lucy-Lou's mouth.

“Holy shit… Holy shit, dad she's breathing! Tell the paramedics she's breathing!”

I scrambled to her side. Her eyes were still open, but she didn't seem to be awake. But now that I was closer, I could see her tiny inhales and exhales.

Not sure what else to do, I held her hand in mine. I told her everything was going to be ok and I was there. I was with her this time.

I promised I'd be better. Promised I'd draw with her. Promised I'd do whatever she wanted. Anything to make her smile.

I wouldn't abandon her again.

\*\*\*

The doctors said it was a miracle.

The way the car was positioned kept most of Lucy-Lou’s blood inside her. Even her organs had somehow stayed compacted together, preventing any major internal bleeding.

For someone her size she should’ve died on impact, but according to one nurse ‘she just got lucky’.

The same couldn’t be said for her spine. Lucy-Lou may have lived, but she’d never walk again.

The police asked me and my friends a lot of questions. According to Angela, she saw Lucy-Lou get off her bus as normal before walking up the hill. The car however somehow alluded to her, despite her walking down the only road it could’ve come from.

It had no license plate. No DNA anywhere inside. And no handy ID laying anywhere in the vehicle. Only the keys remained, still in the ignition.

They never found the owner.

I didn’t care much for a witch hunt anyway. While I wanted whoever it was in prison, the only monster I could blame was myself.

I left Lucy-Lou alone. If I had walked her home, she’d have never been in danger in the first place.

I think Caroline shared the same sentiment. I’d catch her glaring at me anytime I talked to or about Lucy. Whatever comments she had were kept to herself.

If Lucy-Lou hadn’t pulled through the surgery I think our family would’ve been shattered.

Especially poor dad, he already lost a wife. The death of his daughter would’ve eaten him alive.

‘An act of God’, that’s what Caroline would always say. God doesn't answer such prayers, for him death is final and inescapable.

The devil loved accepting the requests God never granted.

\*\*\*

When Lucy-Lou first woke up, I couldn’t bring myself to face her. In the past, it was because I didn’t want to see her. Now, it’s all I wanted to do but I was too much of a coward.

It wasn’t until she ushered me into her hospital room that I finally spoke to her.

Caroline and dad had stepped away to talk to the doctor. I was nervous when Lucy-Lou called me over, but my anxiety vanished when she presented me with her little project.

“I drew one for you before but I lost it in the accident. But I made an even better one!” she announced, handing me a new crayon creation.

On the page was one of her signature drawings. She was getting quite good at them.

Despite only being one step above stick figures, I could tell each figure was dad, Caroline and me. We had wings and were floating in the sky around another small drawing.

“Why do we have wings?”

“Because you guys are my angels! You saved me.” her words were accompanied by a big smile.

“So… this other drawing is you?”

I wish I could say her artistic skills resulted in a tear jerking masterpiece, but I was just confused.

What was apparently Lucy-Lou didn’t look like her at all. It was just a weird scribbled red and blue blob.

After she confirmed it was her, I felt the need to inquire further, “Why do you look like that?”

“Because I died.”

The comment hurt. It was stated so casually. As if that aspect was as self-explanatory as the rest.

“But Lucy-Lou, you lived.”

This time I didn’t get a response, just that big grin.

My first thought was to hand the drawing to the doctor.

It was clear she wasn’t processing everything well. But when I saw her big eyes staring at me, anticipating what I’d do with her gift, I decided I could mention it in passing without needing to give the page up.

I folded it up and put it in my pocket. That's where I'd keep it for the rest of my days.

“I’ll keep this with me from now on. It'll be a good luck charm.”

My decision made her giddy, she leaned in to hug me. I was a bit taken back, and without realising, my eyes began to water.

I held her close and said, “I'll be better this time. I'll change, I promise.”

I think she was confused at my words, but she continued to hug me anyway.

Lucy-Lou was stuck in that bed for a while. It took months before she was ready to leave the hospital. The accident had occurred at the beginning of fall and yet she still remained in that hospital room all the way through winter.

I felt bad seeing her cooped up inside.

I'd come to draw with her after school to keep her company, but I felt she could use some fresh air. I managed to convince her doctor and Caroline it'd be safe to bring her to the playground outside.

For younger patients they had a couple slides and a swing set beside the hospital. I thought pushing her on the swing for a while would do no harm.

From now on, Lucy-Lou wouldn’t be able to swing by herself. So it'd be my job to help her.

When we got to the swing set she said she was determined to loop around the top. I agreed to help her in her endeavors and pushed as hard as I could.

We both knew she’d never make it high enough, but hearing her laugh felt good.

I wish I had tried to do this sooner.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a figure in the hospital window across the road.

Caroline.

Even from where I stood I could feel her conflicted feelings. I knew she wasn’t fond of me, I don’t know if she ever was but now, I was a constant reminder of how she almost lost her daughter.

And how I couldn’t be trusted.

The emotion she settled on must’ve been relief as she walked away. For the moment, her daughter was happy. That’s all she needed.

In the time I had stopped to watch Caroline, I had forgotten to keep pushing Lucy-Lou.

When I looked back down, Lucy-Lou was chewing on the metal chains.

“Lucy-Lou, what are you doing?”

“It tastes nice.”

I wasn’t sure how to react. She was too old to be acting like this. Not sure what else to say, I just smiled.

“You shouldn’t, don’t you know your tongue can freeze to metal when it’s cold!”

She looked me up and down, trying to decipher my lie.

“Don’t worry Sammy, I’ll stop. It won’t keep me warm anyway.”

Kids say strange stuff sometimes, but I wasn’t sure what to make of Lucy-Lou’s comments.

I just asked if she was cold and wanted to go back inside. With a simple nod, she raised her arms up for me to carry her back to her wheelchair.

Lucy-Lou complained about being cold a lot.

Even when we got back home, she’d often ask for us to start the fire. No matter if it was lit or unlit, it’d never be enough.

That’s when she began a strange habit.

One night, I had gotten out of bed to use the lady’s room. It was a night like any other, but when I saw Lucy-Lou’s bedroom door slightly cracked open, I felt the urge to look inside.

To my dismay, she was gone.

Panic set in, where could she have gone? Her wheelchair was still folded by her bed.

My first thought was to go to our parents. If she wasn’t with them, then something bad must’ve happened.

That was the plan, until I peered outside her bedroom window. Dad’s car was in the driveway. There was movement inside.

Lucy-Lou.

I put on my slippers and stepped outside. I was still considering waking Caroline or dad, but I wanted to question Lucy-Lou myself.

Low and behold when I opened the car door, there was Lucy-Lou, fast asleep.

How’d she get here? Did she drag herself all the way out?

I could see from the scuff marks on her knees, she had done just that.

My sudden interruption of her slumber prompted an exaggerated yawn from her.

When she saw me, she looked confused. Not surprised, just confused. As if she didn’t understand why I came out to find her.

“Why are you out here?” I whispered, being careful to not make too much noise.

She shrugged, “It's warm.”

“What is?”

“The car.”

It was freezing outside. The car didn’t retain much heat without the engine running either.

How could she possibly be warm?

The doctor had warned after accidents, patients often experienced trauma responses. She didn’t want to speculate, but from her experience that usually meant avoiding scenes similar to the incident. So, we suspected she’d be at least a little nervous around cars.

Yet here she was.

“You’ll freeze out here Lucy, come back inside.”

“But it’s warm.”

I tried to think of what to do. Maybe Caroline could coax her back indoors. I could also drag her in kicking and screaming, but that was less than ideal.

I thought this was maybe her way of coping. With a still half asleep sigh, I told her I’d be back before returning with a large blanket.

“What are you doing Sammy?”

“I’m not leaving you out here by yourself. You take the blanket, I’ll sleep in the front seat.”

“No. Stay back here. With me.”

I went to argue, but then saw her staring at me with anticipation. Maybe she didn’t like being alone out there.

I relented and gave her a smile.

“Sure Luc, just scooch over.”

Lucy-Lou slid to the far side of the seats as I climbed in with the blanket, making sure it covered her more than it did me.

We laid so our feet were beside each other’s heads. It was a struggle to find a comfortable position for us both, but after some careful navigation we managed.

I regretted not bringing a pillow. I was definitely going to get a bad creak in my neck the next morning. It was worth it though to know Lucy-Lou was safe.

It’s strange. In the past, I would’ve left her in the car by herself without a second thought. Now the mere idea made me anxious.

I felt Lucy-Lou’s arms wrap around my legs and pull me in tight.

“You alright?” I glanced down to try to get a look at her.

“You’re warm.”

Her bright blue eyes shot through the dark. The only colour in the shadows that engulfed us.

I reached down to stroke her head, “Goodnight, Lucy-Lou.”

To my surprise, it was a peaceful night's sleep.

It could’ve been the exhaustion of the past few months finally catching up to me, but I was happy I felt well rested the next day.

That peace was swiftly interrupted by an upset Caroline.

Caroline scolded us for doing something ‘so stupid’. We had overslept, so she woke up well before us and started to freak out. That was until she ran outside to search for us and saw us tucked away in the backseat. Dad was moments away from calling the police again.

When I explained what had happened, she called me an idiot. Rightfully so, sleeping outside on a cold winter night was not a great plan.

But my sister needed me. So here pleas mattered more to me than Caroline's complaints.

We made sure to not be caught in the future.

It wasn't every night, but often Lucy-Lou would ask me before bed if I could sneak out again. I always obliged.

Sometimes before we fell asleep, we'd grab some flashlights and make a makeshift blanket fort in the backseats. Even though it was hard to draw on top of the leather cushions, Lucy-Lou would doodle away as I'd hand her whichever crayon she demanded of me.

At the time, they were some of my happiest memories.

I remember being so disappointed when I couldn't find the batteries for the flashlight.

While Lucy-Lou would continue to complain about the cold and insist on our nightly escapades, she acted like a normal kid.

I thought she'd struggle knowing she'd never walk again. Anytime I asked her though, she said she was content having me push her around.

While some adjustments had to be made to her life, she was a good sport about it all.

For the first couple months of her being home there were no obvious signs.

That was until she returned to school.

\*\*\*

We had considered waiting until the next school year before we sent her back. Caroline felt it'd be easier to hold her back a year than force her to catch up on all the work she missed.

Lucy-Lou begged and pleaded to go. Apparently she missed her friends and was growing bored of the few locations she got to see day-to-day.

So, she went back.

Again, at first her teachers said she was doing well. Despite missing a lot she kept up with the other kids and she seemed to be enjoying herself.

That was until her teacher came to me in a panic.

Dad had been picking Lucy-Lou up from school after work, but on this occasion he couldn't make it so he asked me to go in his place.

That meant I got to leave class a bit early to make it across town. I felt a little awkward having to take the bus with a bunch of elementary school kids, but I agreed without hesitation anyway.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

When I arrived, however, her teacher Ms. Gracey was also waiting for me.

“Are you here for Lucy?” The anxiety in her voice was seeping out with every word.

“Uh, yeah. I'm Sammy, her sister.”

Her pensive eyes scanned me up and down, as if she was trying to will me into being my parents instead of a dumb teenager.

In a bit of a rush, she pulled me aside.

“I think you need to bring her to a hospital.”

Lucy-Lou sat in her wheelchair behind her, doodling away as always.

She looked fine to me.

“Why? What's the matter?”

Ms Gracey tried to start her sentence a few times, I could see her trying to process her explanation in real time. I think she knew what she was about to say was bizarre.

“We were doing a little science experiment with circuits at the end of the school day. I asked all the kids to tidy up before the final bell but… some of Lucy-Lou's equipment went missing…”

My confusion was visible as my eyebrow raised to the sky. I didn't understand where she was going with this.

She continued, “The batteries went missing. So I asked Lucy-Lou if she knew where they went and she said she did. When I asked where they were she… she said she ate them?”

I was too baffled to respond. I think she continued on, apologising for not noticing and how the school nurse had left that day early.

At first she thought kids just say weird shit sometimes. But then her lab buddy said they saw her do it.

Not sure what else to do, I just thanked Ms. Gracey for letting me know and called my dad.

He had the same reaction I did.

Eating batteries? If she was younger maybe but, this just had to be some weird miscommunication.

Kids just kind of say things sometimes, there's no way she'd just do something so strange.

Yet, when we all asked her directly she repeated what she said to Ms. Gracey. It was as if she didn't understand what we were so worked up about.

We decided it'd be safer to go to the hospital. It might have just been a weird attempt at attention seeking, but it wasn't worth the risk of not finding out.

Of course, there was nothing out of the ordinary in her stomach.

The scans came up normal. Not a battery in sight. The relief was replaced with an unnerving feeling.

Why would she lie?

The doctor just recommended we schedule her in for some therapy sessions. Perhaps this was her new way of coping, telling strange lies to make people worry about her.

Lucy-Lou appeared unbothered by it all. If she was caught in a lie or being falsely accused, either way she didn't seem to care.

We chose not to think much of it.

Dad thought he'd instead book us a nice holiday away, he was thinking maybe Disney Land would be nice in the Summer.

It was his way of trying to let her know we cared about her. Until then we could only hope she'd open up to us more.

But then it kept happening.

Panicked phone calls from Ms Gracey. Random appliances and devices no longer working at home. Smoke detectors not going off when dad burned breakfast.

Every time the same thing was missing.

The batteries.

At the same time, Lucy-Lou would always admit she was the culprit. Yet again and again, the scans would show her stomach was empty.

Therapy didn't seem to help. Neither did our attempts to reach out to her.

You wouldn't know anything was wrong looking at her. Life went on as usual in her world.

It started smaller. Coin cells. Then A27s. Then AAs, AAAs, AAAAs, D cells. Phone batteries, remote batteries, old toy batteries.

It never ended.

Not sure what else to do, we started locking them out of sight. At first we had hid them in places she couldn't reach but somehow they'd still end up missing.

When we locked them up, dad's office computer was just torn to pieces instead.

Lucy-Lou's behaviour, while for the most part it was the same, there'd be these odd episodes of apathy. Particularly when we tried to pull her away from the fire.

It was like she wasn't there anymore. Glued to the sight of flames she'd watch them dance for hours on end. When we tried to lure her away, it was like talking to a wall.

She was always cold. Even in the coming Summer heat.

On one occasion, she was so mesmerised by the fire she almost stuck her hand inside. I managed to pull her back just on time.

I convinced dad and Caroline to get her an electric heater after that.

We would still sleep in the car most nights. I worried I was indulging her too much, maybe I was making her symptoms worse.

Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night just to see her staring back at me. No matter how we laid, she'd always cling to me tight.

I'd ask her how she was, and she would always respond, “I am happy with you.”

The longer this continued however, the less convinced I was by her answer.

“Lucy, I think we should stop sleeping in the car.”

“But I like it! It's warm here!”

I avoided looking at her, I hated it when she was upset at me.

“I know but… You're obviously not ok Luc. I don't think this is a good idea anymo-”

When I glanced her way, I expected to see a look of disappointment. Maybe some frustration or desperation.

Instead, there was a flash of anger.

Then as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Alright Sammy. I don't want to worry you.”

“It's my job to be worried.”

I tried my best to give her a little smile.

But that look she gave me… I couldn't get it out of my mind.

I had never seen her angry ever, the odd tantrum when she was little, but never genuine rage. I didn't know a child could make an expression like that.

We stopped sleeping in the car.

I made sure to let dad know what we had been up to.

In turn, he made sure to remind me I was an idiot, but he appreciated I was trying to help and said he'd pass the information onto the therapist.

I could tell he wasn't doing well.

My dad had always been a simple man, as plain as they come. Kind and gentle, but stern when he needed to be. A more than capable father, always ready to give his girls the world.

Despite his simple nature, he always shone so brightly.

Now that light was dim.

Lucy-Lou's recent attitude had started to chip away at Caroline. When the stress wasn't vocalised it would instead be visible in her mannerisms.

Caroline could be a bit uptight, a no-nonsense type of woman, but she'd always unwind when she spent time with her daughter.

Now instead, she'd pick away at the arm of the couch in the living room, tearing it apart in a daze.

She'd taken time off work to be with Lucy-Lou, but that only made her anxiety grow.

I remember always seeing them laughing together at the dumb shows they'd find on the TV. I remember them playing dress up when Lucy-Lou was too small for the outfits they'd throw together.

They always seemed to share this unspoken understanding. There wasn't anything in particular they did to show that bond, but I could just tell by how in sync they always were.

There was a time I envied that bond.

Now I miss it.

Their joyful banter was replaced by an empty coldness. They'd sit in the same room, barely exchanging a word.

Lucy-Lou didn't seem to notice the change. Caroline was broken. You could tell with how she'd stare blankly out the kitchen window.

It was as if Caroline couldn't recognise her own daughter anymore.

Dad could feel the family fracturing, powerless to stop it. I tried my best to take the weight of his shoulders, but I wasn't sure what to do.

Dad's bond with Lucy-Lou had also weakened. Before it was like Lucy and me were his life source. Yet here we were, draining it away instead.

He'd continue his dumb dad jokes and try to make us laugh. But even when Lucy-Lou reacted how he wanted, I could tell he didn't believe it for some reason.

Perhaps he could see something I couldn't.

Part 2

No one wants to find a body.

Viewing a mangled corpse can fuck with your head as is. But when you once knew the now hollow shell, it's a unique kind of pain. You find yourself uttering a prayer to the reaper, or god, or whomever is daring to take them away.

A simple prayer.

Not yet, give us more time.

I found myself trying to bargain for my sister. A sister, I never gave the time of day. I didn't just want more time, I needed it. I needed to fix it.

To fix us.

Pinned between a car and a tree, was Lucy-Lou's limp body.

Her skin was already beginning to change hues in the cold evening air. The lights behind her eyes had already faded out, now they were glassy, cold and unmoving.

Blood trickled from the folds of her lips, her body positioned like a rag doll. It was if she were a discarded toy, forever propped against the tree she was abandoned against.

Beside her, on the grass, laid a bloodied page with a simple crayon drawing. On it, two figures were holding hands. One labelled ‘me’, the other ‘big sister Sammy’.

What had I done?

I couldn't bring myself to cry like Caroline. I couldn't bring myself to try to call for help like dad.

I just stood there. Helpless. Taking in the horrors before me.

Then that subconscious plea began.

I should've been careful what I wished for.

\*\*\*

I don’t remember my mom.

When she died, I was too young to understand what a mother even was. Yet, when dad announced he was remarrying - it hurt.

One would think I'd direct my anger at Caroline, the step mother to-be. Instead, my loathing always laid with the half-sister she created.

I don't know why I hated Lucy-Lou. Heck, did I even hate her?

I think she was just an easier target, giving Caroline a hard time meant being scolded by dad. With Lucy-Lou, however, she was too young to recognise I was giving her the cold shoulder. So, she could never report my behaviour.

I never did anything that bad. I didn't actively pick on her or anything like that.

I'd just ignore her.

I'd ignore her stupid crayon drawings. I'd pretend not to hear her asking me to push her on the swing. I'd drown out her incessant ‘are we there yet?’s on every trip.

I thought I'd grow out of it. When Lucy-Lou was born, I was only 6. By the time I had definitively decided I didn't like her, I was 11.

But even when I hit 16, nothing changed.

It just became routine to go our separate ways. Her desperate begging to play together had long since stopped.

I could tell she still wanted to spend time with me. Every time I was near her, she'd eagerly wait to see if I would glance her way. Once she'd realise her hopes were dashed, she'd deflate and go back to her drawings.

It wasn't all bad. At family gatherings, she was more tolerable. Caroline always bragged about Lucy-Lou’s good manners, the praise always meant she'd try to impress.

Acting like a maid, she'd serve everyone dinner and gather everyone's empty plates. Behind her mother's back, she'd even smuggle me some extra candy grandpa had slipped her under the table.

She was a good kid.

But when I looked at Lucy-Lou, I could see her mother's piercing blue eyes stare back. The fact they were Caroline's instead of my mother's was enough to make my skin crawl.

Maybe if I wasn't such an asshole, I could've protected her; been a real big sister.

Roughly a year ago, I was given a simple task.

Every day after school, Lucy-Lou would get off the school bus, just outside our property.

To get to our house, it required a long walk up a steep hill. So, Caroline would be there to greet Lucy-Lou each day, making sure she made it to the house in one piece.

I never understood her paranoia. No one ever drove up that road, the only places it led to was our house and an old abandoned junkyard buried deep into the countryside.

So, when Caroline asked me to be there in her place one morning, I protested.

Caroline had to work over time for some dumb conference, and dad was never home until late into the evening. That left me to be Lucy's escort.

I eventually gave in, it was a headache but so was arguing. At least I was used to ignoring Lucy-Lou.

Lucy's excitement at the news didn't help matters. I could tell she was trying to contain it, but her pestering questions while we got ready were a dead give away.

‘Where will you be waiting?’, ‘Will we be home alone for long?’, ‘Will you help me with homework?’ ‘Can you draw with me after?’

I gave blunt answers to each. By the time she got to her last question, she realised the change in plans didn't signal a change in our dynamic. Afterall, why would it?

Though, that last question did sting.

“Sammy, do you even like me?”

There wasn't any hope behind her voice. Not a twinge of expectation. It was as if she'd already figured out the answer long ago.

I hesitated.

I wasn't expecting her to be so direct. My hesitation seemed to be the only response she needed, as she left my bedroom without another word.

That silence continued for the rest of the morning.

I swallowed the guilt. I wasn't obligated to like her just because we shared half of the same blood. Right?

\*\*\*

When my friends approached me at the end of the school day, asking to hang out, I was more than tempted.

We tended to go to the junkyard a lot. We could smash things up consequence free. Along with some other activities we wanted to keep out of our parents’ sights.

Originally, I planned to join them after I dropped Lucy-Lou home. Angela was quick to try to persuade me otherwise.

Lucy-Lou's elementary school was on the other side of town, our house was the last stop on the bus route. The mix of traffic and all the prior stops meant she was usually back later than we were. And Angela had to be across town by 4pm for some date she'd arranged.

According to her we hadn't spent time together in ages and she didn't want to go without me. That then put pressure on me from the whole group because they wanted us both to come.

It didn't take much to convince me.

The junkyard was only a 15 minute walk down the road. If anything was wrong, I wouldn't be far away. Not that anything could go wrong anyway. It was an empty road.

I sent Lucy-Lou a text, she didn't have a mobile, just a crappy flip phone for emergencies. I let her know where I'd be.

I never got a response, but I could see she read my text.

We always had a lot of fun at that junkyard. Smashing already dismembered cars and hiking up the piles of metal.

Sometimes we'd chuck things at particularly unstable piles to see if we could get the whole thing to tumble. We had some half successes but never managed the full thing. This time we were determined though. We said we weren't leaving till we did some real damage.

Which meant we lost track of time.

Until Caroline called me.

It was at 6.47pm. Remember that to this day. Angela had already left with a couple of the others and I'd just finished watching Simon chug a bottle of Budweiser in one go.

I told everyone to hush while I picked up. If Lucy-Lou had tattled on me I had an excuse prepared.

“Hey Caroline, what-”

“Is Lucy-Lou still with you?” There was a dormant panic behind her voice.

“...No. Why?” I was cautious with my words, not wanting to give the truth away just yet.

“Then where is she? She isn't home.”

The following silence gave myself away. Caroline's voice became more demanding, “You walked her home, didn't you?!”

I looked to my friends who had picked up the conversation that wasn't going well. They shrugged at me.

“...No. I didn't.”

I could hear a slight gasp on the other side of the phone. Not from a realisation, but from a confirmation of her fears.

“She couldn't have gone far, Caroline. I told her to call me if-”

“Get home, now. We need to look for her.”

Before she hung up, I could hear my dad entering the house in the background. The last thing that came through the speakers were Caroline's sobs.

I left, feeling a bit guilty for causing a panic.

Lucy-Lou was annoying, but not stupid. She'd be walking around the area somewhere. With how she always doodled her surroundings, she was probably wandering down the road chasing a butterfly or something.

It had only been a couple hours anyway. The bus would've arrived around 3.30pm. Angela may have spotted her on her way out, we could always ask her what direction Lucy went.

Lucy-Lou will be fine, they are worried for no reason.

The lies I told myself were torn apart when I heard Caroline's distant screams.

It was a horrible cacophony of wails mixed with shrieks. Words may have been attached to each sound, but they were incoherent behind her tears.

I ran to the source. What would've been a 5 minute walk became a 30 second sprint.

That’s when I saw it.

Lucy-Lou's head was barely visible over the bonnet of the car. The vehicle was so big compared to her tiny body. Its engine was still running, whoever owned it left in a hurry.

The car was ancient, rusting in areas, and a model I didn't recognise.

I couldn't think about it too in-depth. My thoughts were all consumed by Caroline's broken words to a god that did not care.

“My baby… my baby… give her back…” she kept repeating.

I don't remember when, but I collapsed to my knees.

Everything hurt, but I didn't know how to scream. I just wanted another chance. One more chance to make things right.

She was just a kid. Why was I so cruel to her? Why? She sat all day in school, fantasising about spending time with me and this is the fate I left her to?

Were her last thoughts of me? How I had abandoned her? How I hated her?

But I didn't. No, no, I didn't. I never did. I was just mad. I don't know what at, I was just mad and she was just there and now…

She was gone. And it was my fault.

Please someone, just give me time. Give me time to fix this.

Please.

That's when movement caught my eye.

Despite her chest being hidden behind the car, it appeared to move. I couldn't tell for sure if I was going mad.

Then I saw a small cloud of condensation leaving Lucy-Lou's mouth.

“Holy shit… Holy shit, dad she's breathing! Tell the paramedics she's breathing!”

I scrambled to her side. Her eyes were still open, but she didn't seem to be awake. But now that I was closer, I could see her tiny inhales and exhales.

Not sure what else to do, I held her hand in mine. I told her everything was going to be ok and I was there. I was with her this time.

I promised I'd be better. Promised I'd draw with her. Promised I'd do whatever she wanted. Anything to make her smile.

I wouldn't abandon her again.

\*\*\*

The doctors said it was a miracle.

The way the car was positioned kept most of Lucy-Lou’s blood inside her. Even her organs had somehow stayed compacted together, preventing any major internal bleeding.

For someone her size she should’ve died on impact, but according to one nurse ‘she just got lucky’.

The same couldn’t be said for her spine. Lucy-Lou may have lived, but she’d never walk again.

The police asked me and my friends a lot of questions. According to Angela, she saw Lucy-Lou get off her bus as normal before walking up the hill. The car however somehow alluded to her, despite her walking down the only road it could’ve come from.

It had no license plate. No DNA anywhere inside. And no handy ID laying anywhere in the vehicle. Only the keys remained, still in the ignition.

They never found the owner.

I didn’t care much for a witch hunt anyway. While I wanted whoever it was in prison, the only monster I could blame was myself.

I left Lucy-Lou alone. If I had walked her home, she’d have never been in danger in the first place.

I think Caroline shared the same sentiment. I’d catch her glaring at me anytime I talked to or about Lucy. Whatever comments she had were kept to herself.

If Lucy-Lou hadn’t pulled through the surgery I think our family would’ve been shattered.

Especially poor dad, he already lost a wife. The death of his daughter would’ve eaten him alive.

‘An act of God’, that’s what Caroline would always say. God doesn't answer such prayers, for him death is final and inescapable.

The devil loved accepting the requests God never granted.

\*\*\*

When Lucy-Lou first woke up, I couldn’t bring myself to face her. In the past, it was because I didn’t want to see her. Now, it’s all I wanted to do but I was too much of a coward.

It wasn’t until she ushered me into her hospital room that I finally spoke to her.

Caroline and dad had stepped away to talk to the doctor. I was nervous when Lucy-Lou called me over, but my anxiety vanished when she presented me with her little project.

“I drew one for you before but I lost it in the accident. But I made an even better one!” she announced, handing me a new crayon creation.

On the page was one of her signature drawings. She was getting quite good at them.

Despite only being one step above stick figures, I could tell each figure was dad, Caroline and me. We had wings and were floating in the sky around another small drawing.

“Why do we have wings?”

“Because you guys are my angels! You saved me.” her words were accompanied by a big smile.

“So… this other drawing is you?”

I wish I could say her artistic skills resulted in a tear jerking masterpiece, but I was just confused.

What was apparently Lucy-Lou didn’t look like her at all. It was just a weird scribbled red and blue blob.

After she confirmed it was her, I felt the need to inquire further, “Why do you look like that?”

“Because I died.”

The comment hurt. It was stated so casually. As if that aspect was as self-explanatory as the rest.

“But Lucy-Lou, you lived.”

This time I didn’t get a response, just that big grin.

My first thought was to hand the drawing to the doctor.

It was clear she wasn’t processing everything well. But when I saw her big eyes staring at me, anticipating what I’d do with her gift, I decided I could mention it in passing without needing to give the page up.

I folded it up and put it in my pocket. That's where I'd keep it for the rest of my days.

“I’ll keep this with me from now on. It'll be a good luck charm.”

My decision made her giddy, she leaned in to hug me. I was a bit taken back, and without realising, my eyes began to water.

I held her close and said, “I'll be better this time. I'll change, I promise.”

I think she was confused at my words, but she continued to hug me anyway.

Lucy-Lou was stuck in that bed for a while. It took months before she was ready to leave the hospital. The accident had occurred at the beginning of fall and yet she still remained in that hospital room all the way through winter.

I felt bad seeing her cooped up inside.

I'd come to draw with her after school to keep her company, but I felt she could use some fresh air. I managed to convince her doctor and Caroline it'd be safe to bring her to the playground outside.

For younger patients they had a couple slides and a swing set beside the hospital. I thought pushing her on the swing for a while would do no harm.

From now on, Lucy-Lou wouldn’t be able to swing by herself. So it'd be my job to help her.

When we got to the swing set she said she was determined to loop around the top. I agreed to help her in her endeavors and pushed as hard as I could.

We both knew she’d never make it high enough, but hearing her laugh felt good.

I wish I had tried to do this sooner.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a figure in the hospital window across the road.

Caroline.

Even from where I stood I could feel her conflicted feelings. I knew she wasn’t fond of me, I don’t know if she ever was but now, I was a constant reminder of how she almost lost her daughter.

And how I couldn’t be trusted.

The emotion she settled on must’ve been relief as she walked away. For the moment, her daughter was happy. That’s all she needed.

In the time I had stopped to watch Caroline, I had forgotten to keep pushing Lucy-Lou.

When I looked back down, Lucy-Lou was chewing on the metal chains.

“Lucy-Lou, what are you doing?”

“It tastes nice.”

I wasn’t sure how to react. She was too old to be acting like this. Not sure what else to say, I just smiled.

“You shouldn’t, don’t you know your tongue can freeze to metal when it’s cold!”

She looked me up and down, trying to decipher my lie.

“Don’t worry Sammy, I’ll stop. It won’t keep me warm anyway.”

Kids say strange stuff sometimes, but I wasn’t sure what to make of Lucy-Lou’s comments.

I just asked if she was cold and wanted to go back inside. With a simple nod, she raised her arms up for me to carry her back to her wheelchair.

Lucy-Lou complained about being cold a lot.

Even when we got back home, she’d often ask for us to start the fire. No matter if it was lit or unlit, it’d never be enough.

That’s when she began a strange habit.

One night, I had gotten out of bed to use the lady’s room. It was a night like any other, but when I saw Lucy-Lou’s bedroom door slightly cracked open, I felt the urge to look inside.

To my dismay, she was gone.

Panic set in, where could she have gone? Her wheelchair was still folded by her bed.

My first thought was to go to our parents. If she wasn’t with them, then something bad must’ve happened.

That was the plan, until I peered outside her bedroom window. Dad’s car was in the driveway. There was movement inside.

Lucy-Lou.

I put on my slippers and stepped outside. I was still considering waking Caroline or dad, but I wanted to question Lucy-Lou myself.

Low and behold when I opened the car door, there was Lucy-Lou, fast asleep.

How’d she get here? Did she drag herself all the way out?

I could see from the scuff marks on her knees, she had done just that.

My sudden interruption of her slumber prompted an exaggerated yawn from her.

When she saw me, she looked confused. Not surprised, just confused. As if she didn’t understand why I came out to find her.

“Why are you out here?” I whispered, being careful to not make too much noise.

She shrugged, “It's warm.”

“What is?”

“The car.”

It was freezing outside. The car didn’t retain much heat without the engine running either.

How could she possibly be warm?

The doctor had warned after accidents, patients often experienced trauma responses. She didn’t want to speculate, but from her experience that usually meant avoiding scenes similar to the incident. So, we suspected she’d be at least a little nervous around cars.

Yet here she was.

“You’ll freeze out here Lucy, come back inside.”

“But it’s warm.”

I tried to think of what to do. Maybe Caroline could coax her back indoors. I could also drag her in kicking and screaming, but that was less than ideal.

I thought this was maybe her way of coping. With a still half asleep sigh, I told her I’d be back before returning with a large blanket.

“What are you doing Sammy?”

“I’m not leaving you out here by yourself. You take the blanket, I’ll sleep in the front seat.”

“No. Stay back here. With me.”

I went to argue, but then saw her staring at me with anticipation. Maybe she didn’t like being alone out there.

I relented and gave her a smile.

“Sure Luc, just scooch over.”

Lucy-Lou slid to the far side of the seats as I climbed in with the blanket, making sure it covered her more than it did me.

We laid so our feet were beside each other’s heads. It was a struggle to find a comfortable position for us both, but after some careful navigation we managed.

I regretted not bringing a pillow. I was definitely going to get a bad creak in my neck the next morning. It was worth it though to know Lucy-Lou was safe.

It’s strange. In the past, I would’ve left her in the car by herself without a second thought. Now the mere idea made me anxious.

I felt Lucy-Lou’s arms wrap around my legs and pull me in tight.

“You alright?” I glanced down to try to get a look at her.

“You’re warm.”

Her bright blue eyes shot through the dark. The only colour in the shadows that engulfed us.

I reached down to stroke her head, “Goodnight, Lucy-Lou.”

To my surprise, it was a peaceful night's sleep.

It could’ve been the exhaustion of the past few months finally catching up to me, but I was happy I felt well rested the next day.

That peace was swiftly interrupted by an upset Caroline.

Caroline scolded us for doing something ‘so stupid’. We had overslept, so she woke up well before us and started to freak out. That was until she ran outside to search for us and saw us tucked away in the backseat. Dad was moments away from calling the police again.

When I explained what had happened, she called me an idiot. Rightfully so, sleeping outside on a cold winter night was not a great plan.

But my sister needed me. So here pleas mattered more to me than Caroline's complaints.

We made sure to not be caught in the future.

It wasn't every night, but often Lucy-Lou would ask me before bed if I could sneak out again. I always obliged.

Sometimes before we fell asleep, we'd grab some flashlights and make a makeshift blanket fort in the backseats. Even though it was hard to draw on top of the leather cushions, Lucy-Lou would doodle away as I'd hand her whichever crayon she demanded of me.

At the time, they were some of my happiest memories.

I remember being so disappointed when I couldn't find the batteries for the flashlight.

While Lucy-Lou would continue to complain about the cold and insist on our nightly escapades, she acted like a normal kid.

I thought she'd struggle knowing she'd never walk again. Anytime I asked her though, she said she was content having me push her around.

While some adjustments had to be made to her life, she was a good sport about it all.

For the first couple months of her being home there were no obvious signs.

That was until she returned to school.

\*\*\*

We had considered waiting until the next school year before we sent her back. Caroline felt it'd be easier to hold her back a year than force her to catch up on all the work she missed.

Lucy-Lou begged and pleaded to go. Apparently she missed her friends and was growing bored of the few locations she got to see day-to-day.

So, she went back.

Again, at first her teachers said she was doing well. Despite missing a lot she kept up with the other kids and she seemed to be enjoying herself.

That was until her teacher came to me in a panic.

Dad had been picking Lucy-Lou up from school after work, but on this occasion he couldn't make it so he asked me to go in his place.

That meant I got to leave class a bit early to make it across town. I felt a little awkward having to take the bus with a bunch of elementary school kids, but I agreed without hesitation anyway.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

When I arrived, however, her teacher Ms. Gracey was also waiting for me.

“Are you here for Lucy?” The anxiety in her voice was seeping out with every word.

“Uh, yeah. I'm Sammy, her sister.”

Her pensive eyes scanned me up and down, as if she was trying to will me into being my parents instead of a dumb teenager.

In a bit of a rush, she pulled me aside.

“I think you need to bring her to a hospital.”

Lucy-Lou sat in her wheelchair behind her, doodling away as always.

She looked fine to me.

“Why? What's the matter?”

Ms Gracey tried to start her sentence a few times, I could see her trying to process her explanation in real time. I think she knew what she was about to say was bizarre.

“We were doing a little science experiment with circuits at the end of the school day. I asked all the kids to tidy up before the final bell but… some of Lucy-Lou's equipment went missing…”

My confusion was visible as my eyebrow raised to the sky. I didn't understand where she was going with this.

She continued, “The batteries went missing. So I asked Lucy-Lou if she knew where they went and she said she did. When I asked where they were she… she said she ate them?”

I was too baffled to respond. I think she continued on, apologising for not noticing and how the school nurse had left that day early.

At first she thought kids just say weird shit sometimes. But then her lab buddy said they saw her do it.

Not sure what else to do, I just thanked Ms. Gracey for letting me know and called my dad.

He had the same reaction I did.

Eating batteries? If she was younger maybe but, this just had to be some weird miscommunication.

Kids just kind of say things sometimes, there's no way she'd just do something so strange.

Yet, when we all asked her directly she repeated what she said to Ms. Gracey. It was as if she didn't understand what we were so worked up about.

We decided it'd be safer to go to the hospital. It might have just been a weird attempt at attention seeking, but it wasn't worth the risk of not finding out.

Of course, there was nothing out of the ordinary in her stomach.

The scans came up normal. Not a battery in sight. The relief was replaced with an unnerving feeling.

Why would she lie?

The doctor just recommended we schedule her in for some therapy sessions. Perhaps this was her new way of coping, telling strange lies to make people worry about her.

Lucy-Lou appeared unbothered by it all. If she was caught in a lie or being falsely accused, either way she didn't seem to care.

We chose not to think much of it.

Dad thought he'd instead book us a nice holiday away, he was thinking maybe Disney Land would be nice in the Summer.

It was his way of trying to let her know we cared about her. Until then we could only hope she'd open up to us more.

But then it kept happening.

Panicked phone calls from Ms Gracey. Random appliances and devices no longer working at home. Smoke detectors not going off when dad burned breakfast.

Every time the same thing was missing.

The batteries.

At the same time, Lucy-Lou would always admit she was the culprit. Yet again and again, the scans would show her stomach was empty.

Therapy didn't seem to help. Neither did our attempts to reach out to her.

You wouldn't know anything was wrong looking at her. Life went on as usual in her world.

It started smaller. Coin cells. Then A27s. Then AAs, AAAs, AAAAs, D cells. Phone batteries, remote batteries, old toy batteries.

It never ended.

Not sure what else to do, we started locking them out of sight. At first we had hid them in places she couldn't reach but somehow they'd still end up missing.

When we locked them up, dad's office computer was just torn to pieces instead.

Lucy-Lou's behaviour, while for the most part it was the same, there'd be these odd episodes of apathy. Particularly when we tried to pull her away from the fire.

It was like she wasn't there anymore. Glued to the sight of flames she'd watch them dance for hours on end. When we tried to lure her away, it was like talking to a wall.

She was always cold. Even in the coming Summer heat.

On one occasion, she was so mesmerised by the fire she almost stuck her hand inside. I managed to pull her back just on time.

I convinced dad and Caroline to get her an electric heater after that.

We would still sleep in the car most nights. I worried I was indulging her too much, maybe I was making her symptoms worse.

Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night just to see her staring back at me. No matter how we laid, she'd always cling to me tight.

I'd ask her how she was, and she would always respond, “I am happy with you.”

The longer this continued however, the less convinced I was by her answer.

“Lucy, I think we should stop sleeping in the car.”

“But I like it! It's warm here!”

I avoided looking at her, I hated it when she was upset at me.

“I know but… You're obviously not ok Luc. I don't think this is a good idea anymo-”

When I glanced her way, I expected to see a look of disappointment. Maybe some frustration or desperation.

Instead, there was a flash of anger.

Then as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Alright Sammy. I don't want to worry you.”

“It's my job to be worried.”

I tried my best to give her a little smile.

But that look she gave me… I couldn't get it out of my mind.

I had never seen her angry ever, the odd tantrum when she was little, but never genuine rage. I didn't know a child could make an expression like that.

We stopped sleeping in the car.

I made sure to let dad know what we had been up to.

In turn, he made sure to remind me I was an idiot, but he appreciated I was trying to help and said he'd pass the information onto the therapist.

I could tell he wasn't doing well.

My dad had always been a simple man, as plain as they come. Kind and gentle, but stern when he needed to be. A more than capable father, always ready to give his girls the world.

Despite his simple nature, he always shone so brightly.

Now that light was dim.

Lucy-Lou's recent attitude had started to chip away at Caroline. When the stress wasn't vocalised it would instead be visible in her mannerisms.

Caroline could be a bit uptight, a no-nonsense type of woman, but she'd always unwind when she spent time with her daughter.

Now instead, she'd pick away at the arm of the couch in the living room, tearing it apart in a daze.

She'd taken time off work to be with Lucy-Lou, but that only made her anxiety grow.

I remember always seeing them laughing together at the dumb shows they'd find on the TV. I remember them playing dress up when Lucy-Lou was too small for the outfits they'd throw together.

They always seemed to share this unspoken understanding. There wasn't anything in particular they did to show that bond, but I could just tell by how in sync they always were.

There was a time I envied that bond.

Now I miss it.

Their joyful banter was replaced by an empty coldness. They'd sit in the same room, barely exchanging a word.

Lucy-Lou didn't seem to notice the change. Caroline was broken. You could tell with how she'd stare blankly out the kitchen window.

It was as if Caroline couldn't recognise her own daughter anymore.

Dad could feel the family fracturing, powerless to stop it. I tried my best to take the weight of his shoulders, but I wasn't sure what to do.

Dad's bond with Lucy-Lou had also weakened. Before it was like Lucy and me were his life source. Yet here we were, draining it away instead.

He'd continue his dumb dad jokes and try to make us laugh. But even when Lucy-Lou reacted how he wanted, I could tell he didn't believe it for some reason.

Perhaps he could see something I couldn't.

Part 2

No one wants to find a body.

Viewing a mangled corpse can fuck with your head as is. But when you once knew the now hollow shell, it's a unique kind of pain. You find yourself uttering a prayer to the reaper, or god, or whomever is daring to take them away.

A simple prayer.

Not yet, give us more time.

I found myself trying to bargain for my sister. A sister, I never gave the time of day. I didn't just want more time, I needed it. I needed to fix it.

To fix us.

Pinned between a car and a tree, was Lucy-Lou's limp body.

Her skin was already beginning to change hues in the cold evening air. The lights behind her eyes had already faded out, now they were glassy, cold and unmoving.

Blood trickled from the folds of her lips, her body positioned like a rag doll. It was if she were a discarded toy, forever propped against the tree she was abandoned against.

Beside her, on the grass, laid a bloodied page with a simple crayon drawing. On it, two figures were holding hands. One labelled ‘me’, the other ‘big sister Sammy’.

What had I done?

I couldn't bring myself to cry like Caroline. I couldn't bring myself to try to call for help like dad.

I just stood there. Helpless. Taking in the horrors before me.

Then that subconscious plea began.

I should've been careful what I wished for.

\*\*\*

I don’t remember my mom.

When she died, I was too young to understand what a mother even was. Yet, when dad announced he was remarrying - it hurt.

One would think I'd direct my anger at Caroline, the step mother to-be. Instead, my loathing always laid with the half-sister she created.

I don't know why I hated Lucy-Lou. Heck, did I even hate her?

I think she was just an easier target, giving Caroline a hard time meant being scolded by dad. With Lucy-Lou, however, she was too young to recognise I was giving her the cold shoulder. So, she could never report my behaviour.

I never did anything that bad. I didn't actively pick on her or anything like that.

I'd just ignore her.

I'd ignore her stupid crayon drawings. I'd pretend not to hear her asking me to push her on the swing. I'd drown out her incessant ‘are we there yet?’s on every trip.

I thought I'd grow out of it. When Lucy-Lou was born, I was only 6. By the time I had definitively decided I didn't like her, I was 11.

But even when I hit 16, nothing changed.

It just became routine to go our separate ways. Her desperate begging to play together had long since stopped.

I could tell she still wanted to spend time with me. Every time I was near her, she'd eagerly wait to see if I would glance her way. Once she'd realise her hopes were dashed, she'd deflate and go back to her drawings.

It wasn't all bad. At family gatherings, she was more tolerable. Caroline always bragged about Lucy-Lou’s good manners, the praise always meant she'd try to impress.

Acting like a maid, she'd serve everyone dinner and gather everyone's empty plates. Behind her mother's back, she'd even smuggle me some extra candy grandpa had slipped her under the table.

She was a good kid.

But when I looked at Lucy-Lou, I could see her mother's piercing blue eyes stare back. The fact they were Caroline's instead of my mother's was enough to make my skin crawl.

Maybe if I wasn't such an asshole, I could've protected her; been a real big sister.

Roughly a year ago, I was given a simple task.

Every day after school, Lucy-Lou would get off the school bus, just outside our property.

To get to our house, it required a long walk up a steep hill. So, Caroline would be there to greet Lucy-Lou each day, making sure she made it to the house in one piece.

I never understood her paranoia. No one ever drove up that road, the only places it led to was our house and an old abandoned junkyard buried deep into the countryside.

So, when Caroline asked me to be there in her place one morning, I protested.

Caroline had to work over time for some dumb conference, and dad was never home until late into the evening. That left me to be Lucy's escort.

I eventually gave in, it was a headache but so was arguing. At least I was used to ignoring Lucy-Lou.

Lucy's excitement at the news didn't help matters. I could tell she was trying to contain it, but her pestering questions while we got ready were a dead give away.

‘Where will you be waiting?’, ‘Will we be home alone for long?’, ‘Will you help me with homework?’ ‘Can you draw with me after?’

I gave blunt answers to each. By the time she got to her last question, she realised the change in plans didn't signal a change in our dynamic. Afterall, why would it?

Though, that last question did sting.

“Sammy, do you even like me?”

There wasn't any hope behind her voice. Not a twinge of expectation. It was as if she'd already figured out the answer long ago.

I hesitated.

I wasn't expecting her to be so direct. My hesitation seemed to be the only response she needed, as she left my bedroom without another word.

That silence continued for the rest of the morning.

I swallowed the guilt. I wasn't obligated to like her just because we shared half of the same blood. Right?

\*\*\*

When my friends approached me at the end of the school day, asking to hang out, I was more than tempted.

We tended to go to the junkyard a lot. We could smash things up consequence free. Along with some other activities we wanted to keep out of our parents’ sights.

Originally, I planned to join them after I dropped Lucy-Lou home. Angela was quick to try to persuade me otherwise.

Lucy-Lou's elementary school was on the other side of town, our house was the last stop on the bus route. The mix of traffic and all the prior stops meant she was usually back later than we were. And Angela had to be across town by 4pm for some date she'd arranged.

According to her we hadn't spent time together in ages and she didn't want to go without me. That then put pressure on me from the whole group because they wanted us both to come.

It didn't take much to convince me.

The junkyard was only a 15 minute walk down the road. If anything was wrong, I wouldn't be far away. Not that anything could go wrong anyway. It was an empty road.

I sent Lucy-Lou a text, she didn't have a mobile, just a crappy flip phone for emergencies. I let her know where I'd be.

I never got a response, but I could see she read my text.

We always had a lot of fun at that junkyard. Smashing already dismembered cars and hiking up the piles of metal.

Sometimes we'd chuck things at particularly unstable piles to see if we could get the whole thing to tumble. We had some half successes but never managed the full thing. This time we were determined though. We said we weren't leaving till we did some real damage.

Which meant we lost track of time.

Until Caroline called me.

It was at 6.47pm. Remember that to this day. Angela had already left with a couple of the others and I'd just finished watching Simon chug a bottle of Budweiser in one go.

I told everyone to hush while I picked up. If Lucy-Lou had tattled on me I had an excuse prepared.

“Hey Caroline, what-”

“Is Lucy-Lou still with you?” There was a dormant panic behind her voice.

“...No. Why?” I was cautious with my words, not wanting to give the truth away just yet.

“Then where is she? She isn't home.”

The following silence gave myself away. Caroline's voice became more demanding, “You walked her home, didn't you?!”

I looked to my friends who had picked up the conversation that wasn't going well. They shrugged at me.

“...No. I didn't.”

I could hear a slight gasp on the other side of the phone. Not from a realisation, but from a confirmation of her fears.

“She couldn't have gone far, Caroline. I told her to call me if-”

“Get home, now. We need to look for her.”

Before she hung up, I could hear my dad entering the house in the background. The last thing that came through the speakers were Caroline's sobs.

I left, feeling a bit guilty for causing a panic.

Lucy-Lou was annoying, but not stupid. She'd be walking around the area somewhere. With how she always doodled her surroundings, she was probably wandering down the road chasing a butterfly or something.

It had only been a couple hours anyway. The bus would've arrived around 3.30pm. Angela may have spotted her on her way out, we could always ask her what direction Lucy went.

Lucy-Lou will be fine, they are worried for no reason.

The lies I told myself were torn apart when I heard Caroline's distant screams.

It was a horrible cacophony of wails mixed with shrieks. Words may have been attached to each sound, but they were incoherent behind her tears.

I ran to the source. What would've been a 5 minute walk became a 30 second sprint.

That’s when I saw it.

Lucy-Lou's head was barely visible over the bonnet of the car. The vehicle was so big compared to her tiny body. Its engine was still running, whoever owned it left in a hurry.

The car was ancient, rusting in areas, and a model I didn't recognise.

I couldn't think about it too in-depth. My thoughts were all consumed by Caroline's broken words to a god that did not care.

“My baby… my baby… give her back…” she kept repeating.

I don't remember when, but I collapsed to my knees.

Everything hurt, but I didn't know how to scream. I just wanted another chance. One more chance to make things right.

She was just a kid. Why was I so cruel to her? Why? She sat all day in school, fantasising about spending time with me and this is the fate I left her to?

Were her last thoughts of me? How I had abandoned her? How I hated her?

But I didn't. No, no, I didn't. I never did. I was just mad. I don't know what at, I was just mad and she was just there and now…

She was gone. And it was my fault.

Please someone, just give me time. Give me time to fix this.

Please.

That's when movement caught my eye.

Despite her chest being hidden behind the car, it appeared to move. I couldn't tell for sure if I was going mad.

Then I saw a small cloud of condensation leaving Lucy-Lou's mouth.

“Holy shit… Holy shit, dad she's breathing! Tell the paramedics she's breathing!”

I scrambled to her side. Her eyes were still open, but she didn't seem to be awake. But now that I was closer, I could see her tiny inhales and exhales.

Not sure what else to do, I held her hand in mine. I told her everything was going to be ok and I was there. I was with her this time.

I promised I'd be better. Promised I'd draw with her. Promised I'd do whatever she wanted. Anything to make her smile.

I wouldn't abandon her again.

\*\*\*

The doctors said it was a miracle.

The way the car was positioned kept most of Lucy-Lou’s blood inside her. Even her organs had somehow stayed compacted together, preventing any major internal bleeding.

For someone her size she should’ve died on impact, but according to one nurse ‘she just got lucky’.

The same couldn’t be said for her spine. Lucy-Lou may have lived, but she’d never walk again.

The police asked me and my friends a lot of questions. According to Angela, she saw Lucy-Lou get off her bus as normal before walking up the hill. The car however somehow alluded to her, despite her walking down the only road it could’ve come from.

It had no license plate. No DNA anywhere inside. And no handy ID laying anywhere in the vehicle. Only the keys remained, still in the ignition.

They never found the owner.

I didn’t care much for a witch hunt anyway. While I wanted whoever it was in prison, the only monster I could blame was myself.

I left Lucy-Lou alone. If I had walked her home, she’d have never been in danger in the first place.

I think Caroline shared the same sentiment. I’d catch her glaring at me anytime I talked to or about Lucy. Whatever comments she had were kept to herself.

If Lucy-Lou hadn’t pulled through the surgery I think our family would’ve been shattered.

Especially poor dad, he already lost a wife. The death of his daughter would’ve eaten him alive.

‘An act of God’, that’s what Caroline would always say. God doesn't answer such prayers, for him death is final and inescapable.

The devil loved accepting the requests God never granted.

\*\*\*

When Lucy-Lou first woke up, I couldn’t bring myself to face her. In the past, it was because I didn’t want to see her. Now, it’s all I wanted to do but I was too much of a coward.

It wasn’t until she ushered me into her hospital room that I finally spoke to her.

Caroline and dad had stepped away to talk to the doctor. I was nervous when Lucy-Lou called me over, but my anxiety vanished when she presented me with her little project.

“I drew one for you before but I lost it in the accident. But I made an even better one!” she announced, handing me a new crayon creation.

On the page was one of her signature drawings. She was getting quite good at them.

Despite only being one step above stick figures, I could tell each figure was dad, Caroline and me. We had wings and were floating in the sky around another small drawing.

“Why do we have wings?”

“Because you guys are my angels! You saved me.” her words were accompanied by a big smile.

“So… this other drawing is you?”

I wish I could say her artistic skills resulted in a tear jerking masterpiece, but I was just confused.

What was apparently Lucy-Lou didn’t look like her at all. It was just a weird scribbled red and blue blob.

After she confirmed it was her, I felt the need to inquire further, “Why do you look like that?”

“Because I died.”

The comment hurt. It was stated so casually. As if that aspect was as self-explanatory as the rest.

“But Lucy-Lou, you lived.”

This time I didn’t get a response, just that big grin.

My first thought was to hand the drawing to the doctor.

It was clear she wasn’t processing everything well. But when I saw her big eyes staring at me, anticipating what I’d do with her gift, I decided I could mention it in passing without needing to give the page up.

I folded it up and put it in my pocket. That's where I'd keep it for the rest of my days.

“I’ll keep this with me from now on. It'll be a good luck charm.”

My decision made her giddy, she leaned in to hug me. I was a bit taken back, and without realising, my eyes began to water.

I held her close and said, “I'll be better this time. I'll change, I promise.”

I think she was confused at my words, but she continued to hug me anyway.

Lucy-Lou was stuck in that bed for a while. It took months before she was ready to leave the hospital. The accident had occurred at the beginning of fall and yet she still remained in that hospital room all the way through winter.

I felt bad seeing her cooped up inside.

I'd come to draw with her after school to keep her company, but I felt she could use some fresh air. I managed to convince her doctor and Caroline it'd be safe to bring her to the playground outside.

For younger patients they had a couple slides and a swing set beside the hospital. I thought pushing her on the swing for a while would do no harm.

From now on, Lucy-Lou wouldn’t be able to swing by herself. So it'd be my job to help her.

When we got to the swing set she said she was determined to loop around the top. I agreed to help her in her endeavors and pushed as hard as I could.

We both knew she’d never make it high enough, but hearing her laugh felt good.

I wish I had tried to do this sooner.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a figure in the hospital window across the road.

Caroline.

Even from where I stood I could feel her conflicted feelings. I knew she wasn’t fond of me, I don’t know if she ever was but now, I was a constant reminder of how she almost lost her daughter.

And how I couldn’t be trusted.

The emotion she settled on must’ve been relief as she walked away. For the moment, her daughter was happy. That’s all she needed.

In the time I had stopped to watch Caroline, I had forgotten to keep pushing Lucy-Lou.

When I looked back down, Lucy-Lou was chewing on the metal chains.

“Lucy-Lou, what are you doing?”

“It tastes nice.”

I wasn’t sure how to react. She was too old to be acting like this. Not sure what else to say, I just smiled.

“You shouldn’t, don’t you know your tongue can freeze to metal when it’s cold!”

She looked me up and down, trying to decipher my lie.

“Don’t worry Sammy, I’ll stop. It won’t keep me warm anyway.”

Kids say strange stuff sometimes, but I wasn’t sure what to make of Lucy-Lou’s comments.

I just asked if she was cold and wanted to go back inside. With a simple nod, she raised her arms up for me to carry her back to her wheelchair.

Lucy-Lou complained about being cold a lot.

Even when we got back home, she’d often ask for us to start the fire. No matter if it was lit or unlit, it’d never be enough.

That’s when she began a strange habit.

One night, I had gotten out of bed to use the lady’s room. It was a night like any other, but when I saw Lucy-Lou’s bedroom door slightly cracked open, I felt the urge to look inside.

To my dismay, she was gone.

Panic set in, where could she have gone? Her wheelchair was still folded by her bed.

My first thought was to go to our parents. If she wasn’t with them, then something bad must’ve happened.

That was the plan, until I peered outside her bedroom window. Dad’s car was in the driveway. There was movement inside.

Lucy-Lou.

I put on my slippers and stepped outside. I was still considering waking Caroline or dad, but I wanted to question Lucy-Lou myself.

Low and behold when I opened the car door, there was Lucy-Lou, fast asleep.

How’d she get here? Did she drag herself all the way out?

I could see from the scuff marks on her knees, she had done just that.

My sudden interruption of her slumber prompted an exaggerated yawn from her.

When she saw me, she looked confused. Not surprised, just confused. As if she didn’t understand why I came out to find her.

“Why are you out here?” I whispered, being careful to not make too much noise.

She shrugged, “It's warm.”

“What is?”

“The car.”

It was freezing outside. The car didn’t retain much heat without the engine running either.

How could she possibly be warm?

The doctor had warned after accidents, patients often experienced trauma responses. She didn’t want to speculate, but from her experience that usually meant avoiding scenes similar to the incident. So, we suspected she’d be at least a little nervous around cars.

Yet here she was.

“You’ll freeze out here Lucy, come back inside.”

“But it’s warm.”

I tried to think of what to do. Maybe Caroline could coax her back indoors. I could also drag her in kicking and screaming, but that was less than ideal.

I thought this was maybe her way of coping. With a still half asleep sigh, I told her I’d be back before returning with a large blanket.

“What are you doing Sammy?”

“I’m not leaving you out here by yourself. You take the blanket, I’ll sleep in the front seat.”

“No. Stay back here. With me.”

I went to argue, but then saw her staring at me with anticipation. Maybe she didn’t like being alone out there.

I relented and gave her a smile.

“Sure Luc, just scooch over.”

Lucy-Lou slid to the far side of the seats as I climbed in with the blanket, making sure it covered her more than it did me.

We laid so our feet were beside each other’s heads. It was a struggle to find a comfortable position for us both, but after some careful navigation we managed.

I regretted not bringing a pillow. I was definitely going to get a bad creak in my neck the next morning. It was worth it though to know Lucy-Lou was safe.

It’s strange. In the past, I would’ve left her in the car by herself without a second thought. Now the mere idea made me anxious.

I felt Lucy-Lou’s arms wrap around my legs and pull me in tight.

“You alright?” I glanced down to try to get a look at her.

“You’re warm.”

Her bright blue eyes shot through the dark. The only colour in the shadows that engulfed us.

I reached down to stroke her head, “Goodnight, Lucy-Lou.”

To my surprise, it was a peaceful night's sleep.

It could’ve been the exhaustion of the past few months finally catching up to me, but I was happy I felt well rested the next day.

That peace was swiftly interrupted by an upset Caroline.

Caroline scolded us for doing something ‘so stupid’. We had overslept, so she woke up well before us and started to freak out. That was until she ran outside to search for us and saw us tucked away in the backseat. Dad was moments away from calling the police again.

When I explained what had happened, she called me an idiot. Rightfully so, sleeping outside on a cold winter night was not a great plan.

But my sister needed me. So here pleas mattered more to me than Caroline's complaints.

We made sure to not be caught in the future.

It wasn't every night, but often Lucy-Lou would ask me before bed if I could sneak out again. I always obliged.

Sometimes before we fell asleep, we'd grab some flashlights and make a makeshift blanket fort in the backseats. Even though it was hard to draw on top of the leather cushions, Lucy-Lou would doodle away as I'd hand her whichever crayon she demanded of me.

At the time, they were some of my happiest memories.

I remember being so disappointed when I couldn't find the batteries for the flashlight.

While Lucy-Lou would continue to complain about the cold and insist on our nightly escapades, she acted like a normal kid.

I thought she'd struggle knowing she'd never walk again. Anytime I asked her though, she said she was content having me push her around.

While some adjustments had to be made to her life, she was a good sport about it all.

For the first couple months of her being home there were no obvious signs.

That was until she returned to school.

\*\*\*

We had considered waiting until the next school year before we sent her back. Caroline felt it'd be easier to hold her back a year than force her to catch up on all the work she missed.

Lucy-Lou begged and pleaded to go. Apparently she missed her friends and was growing bored of the few locations she got to see day-to-day.

So, she went back.

Again, at first her teachers said she was doing well. Despite missing a lot she kept up with the other kids and she seemed to be enjoying herself.

That was until her teacher came to me in a panic.

Dad had been picking Lucy-Lou up from school after work, but on this occasion he couldn't make it so he asked me to go in his place.

That meant I got to leave class a bit early to make it across town. I felt a little awkward having to take the bus with a bunch of elementary school kids, but I agreed without hesitation anyway.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

When I arrived, however, her teacher Ms. Gracey was also waiting for me.

“Are you here for Lucy?” The anxiety in her voice was seeping out with every word.

“Uh, yeah. I'm Sammy, her sister.”

Her pensive eyes scanned me up and down, as if she was trying to will me into being my parents instead of a dumb teenager.

In a bit of a rush, she pulled me aside.

“I think you need to bring her to a hospital.”

Lucy-Lou sat in her wheelchair behind her, doodling away as always.

She looked fine to me.

“Why? What's the matter?”

Ms Gracey tried to start her sentence a few times, I could see her trying to process her explanation in real time. I think she knew what she was about to say was bizarre.

“We were doing a little science experiment with circuits at the end of the school day. I asked all the kids to tidy up before the final bell but… some of Lucy-Lou's equipment went missing…”

My confusion was visible as my eyebrow raised to the sky. I didn't understand where she was going with this.

She continued, “The batteries went missing. So I asked Lucy-Lou if she knew where they went and she said she did. When I asked where they were she… she said she ate them?”

I was too baffled to respond. I think she continued on, apologising for not noticing and how the school nurse had left that day early.

At first she thought kids just say weird shit sometimes. But then her lab buddy said they saw her do it.

Not sure what else to do, I just thanked Ms. Gracey for letting me know and called my dad.

He had the same reaction I did.

Eating batteries? If she was younger maybe but, this just had to be some weird miscommunication.

Kids just kind of say things sometimes, there's no way she'd just do something so strange.

Yet, when we all asked her directly she repeated what she said to Ms. Gracey. It was as if she didn't understand what we were so worked up about.

We decided it'd be safer to go to the hospital. It might have just been a weird attempt at attention seeking, but it wasn't worth the risk of not finding out.

Of course, there was nothing out of the ordinary in her stomach.

The scans came up normal. Not a battery in sight. The relief was replaced with an unnerving feeling.

Why would she lie?

The doctor just recommended we schedule her in for some therapy sessions. Perhaps this was her new way of coping, telling strange lies to make people worry about her.

Lucy-Lou appeared unbothered by it all. If she was caught in a lie or being falsely accused, either way she didn't seem to care.

We chose not to think much of it.

Dad thought he'd instead book us a nice holiday away, he was thinking maybe Disney Land would be nice in the Summer.

It was his way of trying to let her know we cared about her. Until then we could only hope she'd open up to us more.

But then it kept happening.

Panicked phone calls from Ms Gracey. Random appliances and devices no longer working at home. Smoke detectors not going off when dad burned breakfast.

Every time the same thing was missing.

The batteries.

At the same time, Lucy-Lou would always admit she was the culprit. Yet again and again, the scans would show her stomach was empty.

Therapy didn't seem to help. Neither did our attempts to reach out to her.

You wouldn't know anything was wrong looking at her. Life went on as usual in her world.

It started smaller. Coin cells. Then A27s. Then AAs, AAAs, AAAAs, D cells. Phone batteries, remote batteries, old toy batteries.

It never ended.

Not sure what else to do, we started locking them out of sight. At first we had hid them in places she couldn't reach but somehow they'd still end up missing.

When we locked them up, dad's office computer was just torn to pieces instead.

Lucy-Lou's behaviour, while for the most part it was the same, there'd be these odd episodes of apathy. Particularly when we tried to pull her away from the fire.

It was like she wasn't there anymore. Glued to the sight of flames she'd watch them dance for hours on end. When we tried to lure her away, it was like talking to a wall.

She was always cold. Even in the coming Summer heat.

On one occasion, she was so mesmerised by the fire she almost stuck her hand inside. I managed to pull her back just on time.

I convinced dad and Caroline to get her an electric heater after that.

We would still sleep in the car most nights. I worried I was indulging her too much, maybe I was making her symptoms worse.

Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night just to see her staring back at me. No matter how we laid, she'd always cling to me tight.

I'd ask her how she was, and she would always respond, “I am happy with you.”

The longer this continued however, the less convinced I was by her answer.

“Lucy, I think we should stop sleeping in the car.”

“But I like it! It's warm here!”

I avoided looking at her, I hated it when she was upset at me.

“I know but… You're obviously not ok Luc. I don't think this is a good idea anymo-”

When I glanced her way, I expected to see a look of disappointment. Maybe some frustration or desperation.

Instead, there was a flash of anger.

Then as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Alright Sammy. I don't want to worry you.”

“It's my job to be worried.”

I tried my best to give her a little smile.

But that look she gave me… I couldn't get it out of my mind.

I had never seen her angry ever, the odd tantrum when she was little, but never genuine rage. I didn't know a child could make an expression like that.

We stopped sleeping in the car.

I made sure to let dad know what we had been up to.

In turn, he made sure to remind me I was an idiot, but he appreciated I was trying to help and said he'd pass the information onto the therapist.

I could tell he wasn't doing well.

My dad had always been a simple man, as plain as they come. Kind and gentle, but stern when he needed to be. A more than capable father, always ready to give his girls the world.

Despite his simple nature, he always shone so brightly.

Now that light was dim.

Lucy-Lou's recent attitude had started to chip away at Caroline. When the stress wasn't vocalised it would instead be visible in her mannerisms.

Caroline could be a bit uptight, a no-nonsense type of woman, but she'd always unwind when she spent time with her daughter.

Now instead, she'd pick away at the arm of the couch in the living room, tearing it apart in a daze.

She'd taken time off work to be with Lucy-Lou, but that only made her anxiety grow.

I remember always seeing them laughing together at the dumb shows they'd find on the TV. I remember them playing dress up when Lucy-Lou was too small for the outfits they'd throw together.

They always seemed to share this unspoken understanding. There wasn't anything in particular they did to show that bond, but I could just tell by how in sync they always were.

There was a time I envied that bond.

Now I miss it.

Their joyful banter was replaced by an empty coldness. They'd sit in the same room, barely exchanging a word.

Lucy-Lou didn't seem to notice the change. Caroline was broken. You could tell with how she'd stare blankly out the kitchen window.

It was as if Caroline couldn't recognise her own daughter anymore.

Dad could feel the family fracturing, powerless to stop it. I tried my best to take the weight of his shoulders, but I wasn't sure what to do.

Dad's bond with Lucy-Lou had also weakened. Before it was like Lucy and me were his life source. Yet here we were, draining it away instead.

He'd continue his dumb dad jokes and try to make us laugh. But even when Lucy-Lou reacted how he wanted, I could tell he didn't believe it for some reason.

Perhaps he could see something I couldn't.

[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/anxietypilled/comments/1syimrl/my\\\_little\\\_sister\\\_keeps\\\_eating\\\_batteries\\\_part\\\_2/?utm\\\_source=share&utm\\\_medium=mweb3x&utm\\\_name=mweb3xcss&utm\\\_term=1&utm\\\_content=share\\\_button)

Part 1

After dozens of trips to the hospital, it was clear they were sick of us.

In a rather condescending manner they told Caroline to return when there was a real problem. Until then she'd be better with a child psychologist.

It definitely got under her skin.

Before we even left the parking lot, her and dad started arguing outside the car.

Me and Lucy-Lou sat inside, pretending not to hear. I couldn't tell if Caroline was boiling over with rage or on the verge of tears. Maybe both.

Lucy-Lou just sat there. Not moving.

“Lucy, why do you keep lying?”

“I'm not. I did eat them.”

I don't know why, but I believed her. So, I asked a simple question.

“Why?”

Turning to me, she beamed a big smile.

“They keep me warm!”

I could still hear Caroline breaking down outside the car. Rather than continue to scream, she opted to break down in tears. I couldn't gauge dad's reaction.

Lucy-Lou just stared ahead, waiting to get going.

I didn't know what to do with myself. So, I just pulled Lucy close to me and hugged her tight.

I don't think she understood what was happening, but she embraced me. As we held each other, I couldn't help but notice her skin on mine.

It was cold. Cold as the day she died.

The pattern continued. Locking batteries away helped but we couldn't hide everything.

Guilt consumed me. Witnessing the fracturing of my once cheerful family was tearing me apart inside.

I could've prevented this.

This was my fault. Lucy-Lou was hurt because of me. I caused all of this. But I didn't know how to fix it.

Caroline didn't have the energy to resent me anymore. That just made me feel worse.

Sometimes I debated falling on my knees and begging for forgiveness. I knew it was something she'd never give me, but it felt wrong watching her hatred turn to apathy.

I'd rather she hate me. Then I'd know she still felt something.

If I could just figure out what was wrong, I could fix all of this.

Maybe if I could find where Lucy-Lou was putting all the batteries that would help.

No matter where I looked I could never find them. If I asked Lucy, she'd just give the usual answer.

I could see dad had the same idea. On a few occasions I found him digging up the garden. When I'd ask what he was up to, he'd claim he was tidying things up a bit.

Creating holes across your garden doesn't tend to have a ‘tidy’ look.

I knew what he was doing though. I'd see him watch Lucy-Lou's movements when she went out on the grass. Every spot she'd stop to take in the scenery, he'd tear a part the next day.

Eventually he gave up. From the beginning of his searches, I think he knew he'd never find anything.

The more hope he lost, the less he checked in on Lucy. Knowing she'd never give an honest answer made it pointless asking in the first place.

She used to tell dad everything.

It came to a head one night when I heard screeching outside my window.

Once again, Lucy-Lou had somehow managed to make it to the car. Even after we hid the keys.

Caroline found her first, and had decided to try to drag her out.

It should've been easy. Lucy was small and could only move the upper half of her body, but she was putting up a hell of a fight.

I watched as she pushed against Caroline's face, digging her nails into her skin, trying to escape her tight grasp. It was like watching an animal thrashing about.

Dad also heard the commotion, I could hear him scrambling out of his bedroom. With how fast he was moving, I'm surprised he didn't take a short cut and jump out the window.

I followed.

Caroline and Lucy were shouting so loud I could hear what they were saying before we even reached the front door.

“Come back inside!” Caroline kept repeating as Lucy just said no again and again and again.

“Inside! Now!” The demand sounded final this time.

Caroline had run out of patience a long time ago.

When we threw open the door to run outside, I could see Lucy lean in to whisper something in Caroline's ear.

I could see the moment Caroline's heart dropped. White as a sheet, for a moment she just stopped.

Until rage consumed her.

“Who are you?!?! Where is my daughter?! Tell me where she is!”

Violently she shook Lucy, ignoring my dad as he begged her to stop. Lucy's cries were dry but chilling.

It sounded like a survival instinct more than an emotion. I've heard prey animals call for their parents in similar ways before they were about to be torn apart.

Dad barely managed to pull Caroline away, leaving Lucy to fall to the dirt. Caroline just kept demanding answers as dad held her back.

Never once had I seen her blow up like that.

I didn't have time to question it. My focus remained on Lucy. I took her in my arms and carried her inside as fast as my feet could manage.

I ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind us. As the adrenaline wore off and my breathing became heavier, I slid my back down the door.

I cradled Lucy, refusing to let her go despite her looking unfazed.

In what must've been an attempt to calm me down, she patted my head.

I stared at her as she just smiled back at me.

“Don't worry Sammy, I'm ok!”

I knew she couldn't be. How could she be?

She hadn't been ok for a while now. Why was she acting so weird? I know the accident was going to cause problems but I just didn't get it.

And why wouldn't she just tell me what was wrong?

I expected her smile to fade, but she just sat there. I could've just continued to sit like that until it was safe to leave, but curiosity tempted me.

“Lucy… what did you say to your mom?”

Her expression remained the same, not even a twitch in reaction to my question.

Still looking me in the eye, she answered, “I asked her if she was going to kill me like she killed our siblings.”

“What? What siblings?”

Still not even a wrinkle of movement on her face.

“We never got to meet them.”

At first, I didn't understand what she could be implying. That's when I remembered something from before Lucy was born.

Dad and Caroline had been married for a number of years before they had Lucy. I thought nothing of it at the time, but in retrospect it was strange they waited so long to have a kid of their own.

Except now it dawned on me.

Before Caroline was pregnant with Lucy, my parents were somber. I remember Caroline had to go to the hospital a lot and I never knew why.

There was one time Caroline locked herself in the bathroom and told me to go get dad. I remember crying because she shouted at me unexpectedly.

After they left for another hospital trip.

Caroline started praying a lot in those years. It all meant nothing to me as a child, but now…

Was Lucy not their first attempt?

Lucy sat there, waiting for my next question.

“How… How did you know that?”

Nothing. Still nothing. Just that same damn smile and piercing blue eyes in the dark.

Before I could ask anything else, there was a gentle knock on the door.

Dad assured me it was safe to come out. Caroline left to go cool off at our grandpa's house.

I opened the door, expecting him to be all over Lucy-Lou. But he only briefly asked if she was alright, as if it were only out of obligation.

After we brought her back to her bed, he seemed more concerned about me. Asking if I was ok, or if anything happened, or if I was rattled by the situation.

I answered honestly, that I was fine but a bit freaked out. But I'd manage.

He offered to sleep on the armchair in my bedroom, something he'd do when I was little and had a nightmare.

I tried my best to insist I was fine, and that Lucy probably needed his company more than I did.

When he didn't respond, a realization hit me.

He didn't agree with Caroline, did he?

“Dad?-”

“Goodnight Sam.”

He left without another word.

The days grew longer after that incident. The sense of dread in the house kept growing.

Caroline avoided Lucy. Dad tried his best to interact with her, but I could tell it was forced.

I couldn't understand what was happening. Only I seemed to care about my little sister, only I seemed to be giving her the time of day.

The way our roles had switched left me uneasy.

Over time, Lucy's skin began to grow pale, with an almost blue tint. Still she'd complain about the cold no matter how many heaters and blankets I brought her.

I could swear her eyes were brighter. They'd reflect in the night like a cat's, her unkempt hair making her look even more feral.

Items continued to disappear. The nightly car routine also restarted.

I didn't want to leave her alone, so I returned to sleeping there with her. My dad didn't stop us but he tried his best to sway me otherwise.

Then one day the car engine stopped working. Dad had to phone in late to work when we discovered the battery was gone.

Before we could get it replaced, Caroline found her car wouldn't start the next day either.

Soon the fuse box went, along with the oil tank being drained.

Then the birds.

Dead birds. Everywhere. In the garden, her room, the kitchen. All drained of their life source like everything else.

Blood.

The culprit was willing to give herself up as always.

I begged Lucy to tell me what was wrong. I burst into tears on multiple occasions, she could tell me anything I'd assure her again and again.

She'd always say nothing was wrong. She's just cold.

Another night came where I found her bed empty. So, I ventured outside to join her.

Yet, the cars were empty too.

I bolted back inside, frantic to figure out where she went.

Instead, I found my parents sitting in the kitchen.

Dad was leaning against the counter top, while Caroline sat beside it, her hand rubbing her forehead.

“Where's Lucy?!”

“Gone. She left.” Caroline kept her head down, refusing to face me.

“Gone?! Gone where?! Her wheelchair is still here!”

Neither of them answered, as if I should be able to guess myself. I could feel myself getting agitated.

“She couldn't have crawled away!”

“I doubt she crawled.”

Caroline was the only one to answer, but dad never disagreed.

“W-we have to go after he-”

“A priest is coming by tomorrow.”

A mixture of confusion and disgust washed over me.

“A priest? She's sick, she needs help, not a priest!"

Caroline chuckled a little, “Of course you wouldn't understand. That's not her.”

“What the hell are you saying?! Who else would it be?! Have you both gone mad?!”

“Sam, she's changed.” Dad finally chimed in.

“She almost died! Of course she changed! What?! Did you think she'd come back all fixed as good as new?!”

Instead of responding, dad emptied a cardboard box onto the counter that had been sitting beside him.

Dozens and dozens of items, all broken or missing batteries. It was as if there was a graveyard of electronics spread across the marble top.

“This isn't normal, Sam. She… my little girl would never act like that. At night sometimes she just… I find her staring at me from the foot of my bed… Smiling.” I could see the whites of my father's eyes as he spoke, like he was recounting the horrors of war.

“She needs help, but she-”

“We've tried professionals. We've switched her therapist so many times but… I don't know what happened to the real Lucy but that's not her.”

I could see his eyes go glossy as he teared up.

Caroline was more apathetic as she spoke, “I don't know what that thing is but it took my daughter. If it never returns, so be it.”

“Y-you're both crazy. She's out there alone right now! She needs our help! And you are just abandoning-”

“You don't get to lecture me about my kid when you left her to die in the first place!”

Caroline smacked the counter so hard I could hear her knuckles crack.

It was an anger I always knew was there. Simmering. What hurt more, was when my own father didn't come to my defence.

Or Lucy's.

I stood there like an idiot. Not knowing what to say, with no defence for myself.

“...You're right. It's my fault. Which is why I won't leave her alone again.”

I pivoted to run out the door before either of them could stop me. I could hear dad shouting for me to stop but I blocked him out and just focused on making it out.

Once outside, I ran barefoot, ignoring the pains of the stones beneath my feet.

I kept running and running, not realising my dad's begging had already faded out behind me.

I couldn't be sure where Lucy went. I had a good hunch though.

I wouldn't leave her. Something was wrong, I knew that. I didn't know if it was psychological, or physical or something else. All I knew was she needed my help.

That's all I needed to know.

By the time I made it to the junkyard, my feet were bleeding. When I passed the scene of the incident that started this all, it didn't even process in my mind.

I was too focused on my destination.

I called out for Lucy-Lou. I tried my best to tempt her out, praying she was there to hear my requests.

I searched everywhere I could. No car went unchecked. No scrap metal unturned.

Every time I found nothing, a little of me died inside.

If she wasn't here, I wouldn't have had any other ideas. It would mean I lost her for good this time.

I couldn't.

Losing her would mean I failed. That I never made up for my mistakes. I don't think I could bear that.

Yet my desires meant nothing. If she was gone, she was gone.

I was ready to give into despair when I heard metal clacking from behind.

I whipped around, desperate to find the source.

When I looked up, I saw her silhouetted on top of one of the piles of metallic husks.

The only feature I could make out were her eyes, almost turquoise and dilated. They were focused on me, shining on top of the opaque shadows surrounding them.

The way she was postured looked unnatural, almost on all fours as she crouched over, the innards of one cars still clutched in her now spindly hands.

I told myself it must be a trick of the light.

Her once delicate hands were more adjacent to claws. Each knuckle bone pierced through the skin.

It was like looking at a malnourished child. As if she were only skin and bone with hollow insides.

Her spine was wrong, her shirt partly ripped to reveal it poking out of her skin, as if tempting to claw its way out.

The details were obscured in the darkness. The stillness somehow made it harder to tell if my mind was betraying me.

Yet it felt like I was looking death in the eyes.

I swallowed. I could not let fear get in the way.

“Lucy-Lou… can we please go home?”

As if on queue, one by one she clambered down each vehicle.

The way she moved as unnatural, as if each step was calculated yet sporadic at the same time. I could hear her spine pop with each movement.

I was scared of what I'd see once she was lit by the moonlight.

But when she was finally visible again, she just looked like my Lucy-Lou.

Face smothered in oil, she wiped it as it dripped down her chin. The smile she always wore had disappeared, replaced by a cold stare.

“You want me to come home?”

I just nodded.

I waited for her to ask more. Those questions never came so I persevered.

“Please Lucy, let me help you…”

Lucy-Lou took in the junkyard around her, spinning to survey her surroundings.

Once finished, she gave a gentle smile.

“Ok, Sammy.”

I felt a wave of relief. I held out my hand for her to take. At first she didn't seem to understand, then took it on her own.

The whole way home we walked in silence. I wasn't sure what to say, hoping she'd begin the conversation first.

By the time we returned home, dad and Caroline were already in their room. I'm sure dad was comforted knowing I had returned, he just wouldn't want to see what with.

“Lucy, want to sleep in my room tonight?”

With a look of glee, she nodded.

I gathered her blankets and pushed her mattress into my room. To the best of my abilities, I threw together a blanket fort in the corner.

That night I couldn't bring myself to join her though.

I offered her my own bed but she said she liked the mattress better.

I tried my best to give her a smile before saying good night. With how quickly that smile faltered, I'm sure she knew it was forced.

I then set a torch beside her, batteries still inside.

She looked at me surprised.

“Lucy, I'm here if you need me. Remember that.”

I expected her usual facade, but instead she laid down to sleep.

I crawled into my own bed, not even bothering to pull my blanket up. I just laid on my back, staring at my ceiling.

I could feel a sharp pain shoot through my foot. My injuries from running had caught up to me. I couldn't ignore the pain but I had no will to go find a solution.

I don't know how a priest could fix Lucy-Lou. Maybe my parents were right, while she may have appeared to be herself once visible, I knew what I saw.

I knew she was still in there though. They thought Lucy was gone, but they hadn't seen those glimpses of her I did.

How she'd hold me in the back of the car. How she'd tell me stories about her friends at school. How she'd light up when doodling.

I knew she was in there.

I looked down at my feet, expecting to see the blood smearing across my bedsheets.

Instead, I saw Lucy's eyes peering over the bed frame.

It was as if they were staring into my soul. Unmoving, unblinking.

That unbroken focus as she stared at me sent a chill up my spine. It was like watching a predator sizing up its prey, debating if it should swallow it whole or take its time.

I could feel my heart in my throat. I didn't know what to say.

Then I noticed the blood on my bedsheets was all over her hands.

“What are you doing?”

I could still only see her eyes.

“It's warm.”

We remained at a standstill. I could feel my heart beating faster. My mind raced with all the ideas Caroline and dad had put into my head.

I took a deep breath, relaxing as I remembered who I was looking at.

“Sleep well, Lucy-Lou.”

The stand off ended as I turned to my side. Despite my moment of courage, I didn't unwind until I heard her walk back to her mattress.

“Night Sammmy, love you.”

It was the first time she ever said those words to me. Despite the situation, I couldn't contain my smile.

“Love you too, Luc.”

I don't know how, but I managed to fall asleep.

Adrenaline and fear had still been pumping through my veins all the way until I closed my eyes and drifted off.

Somehow I knew, even if dad and Caroline were right, Lucy wouldn't hurt me. Even if that wasn't the real Lucy, I could tell a piece of her was still in there.

Why else would she remind me she loved me?

That night remained unpeaceful as I awoke again.

I heard some slight muffled sounds, followed by something smashing.

I was still half asleep, so it took a while before I realised what I heard.

What caught my attention was my dad's agonising scream.

I shot up in my bed. To my horror, Lucy-Lou wasn't on her mattress.

No. No, no. She wouldn't. She wouldn't, she wouldn't.

I kept repeating it to myself as I dashed down the hallway. I slipped on the carpet, struggling to stay up right, going too fast and almost missing their bedroom door.

My hand hovered over the door handle. Dread took over me, as I trembled in place.

I resolved myself to continue, swinging open the door.

I just stood there. Watching the same scene play out before me all over again.

No one wants to see a corpse. Especially the mangled one of some you know. Someone you love.

Especially when it's your fault.

And this time you knew, whatever being you had been bargaining with, just enjoyed toying with you.

The once cream bedroom was now painted red. Detailed patterns on the wall were now smothered in a crimson pulp making them unrecognisable. The family portrait dad kept by his bedside drawer was in pieces on the ground.

Caroline's head was twisted up to the ceiling, so far back her neck snapped. A slash was across it, exposing her trachea.

Her eyes were shut over, suggesting a peaceful slumber before her life was cut short.

Unlike dad, whose jaw was ripped open. The bottom row of teeth so far down it was only attached by some fleshy strings.

Worse than this fate, was the expression imprinted into his face. The look of terror as he sat upright in his bed, the tears still streaming down his cheeks.

And who stood a top of him other than Lucy-Lou.

Or whatever remained of her.

Her skin was an icey-blue. With her back now facing me, I could see the details of her veins pulsating down her spine. The once broken legs now bent the opposite way they were supposed too.

I could see her draw her long finger nails across dad's neck, piercing the skin as a long spiralling tongue unravelled to lick up every drop of blood.

It was then I saw those once beautiful eyes shining back at me.

Her attention locked on me.

No… No, no, no. I was meant to help. No, not again. I can't lose them. I can't lose her again. I made a promise.

I'm meant to fix things this time.

The way she moved was particular, her head tilting as if to decipher my reaction. Once off the bed, she began her approach.

So focused on her, I lost my footing and fell backwards. Landing on the ground and shuffling back in a panic.

“L-Lucy please…”

I debated running, but I was shaking so much. And where would I run to? Even if she didn't catch me, she was all I had left.

I have to fix this. I have to fix this.

I could see her hands crack and turn, the proportions morphing back into something more human.

Yet despite the mutation reverting back, I knew her intent was the same.

“Luc… i-it's me Sammy… please…”

Not sure what else to do, I searched through my pockets.

I kept it on at all times as a reminder, making sure even my pajamas had pockets so it never left my side.

I tried my best to unfold the paper and present it despite my hands shivering with every fearful breath.

The only thing I had I left to try. The only chance I had of survival.

The drawing she made of us.

“L-look! It's us, see?!”

Pausing, she tilted her head.

“It's me, and dad, and, your mom! Pl-please Lucy I-I don't know what's happening to you but please… ”

She continued to just stare at me, not moving.

“I promised I'd be better this time. I'm not abandoning you! I don't why you… W-we can fix this please…”

The grotesque form she had taken, cracked and convulsed until it was back in its original state. That of the little girl I loved so dearly.

All except, those luminous all seeing eyes.

“...you.” She croaked out.

I couldn't understand the expression she was making. It consisted of a scrunched nose and an intense stare. The eyebrows curled and pushed the folds of the skin together. The entire time the eyes remained glued to me despite attempting to calculate something.

It took a few steps towards me. I had nowhere behind me to retreat to.

I just waited for my fate, still trying to understand that bizarre expression.

Then it stopped at my feet.

“You still think I am her?”

I felt my heart shatter as a feeling of disgust creeped up inside. Rage, devastation and detachment came alongside it.

I now understood that expression.

Pity.

I sat frozen in fear, even as it came closer.

“I guess, you wouldn't know the difference, would you? If you never knew her.”

It leaned down in front of me. Its bones creaked as it crouched. With a gentle touch, it took my chin and raised it to face it.

Looking straight into my eyes, I could see myself reflect in its pupils.

“If only, you had kept an eye on her…”

Its nails slid under my eyelids, digging into my eyeball. Careful, it dislodged it from its place. I could feel the strain of my socket as it pulled against its force.

I could feel the pain but I did not process it.

The further it was pulled out the more my other eye could see it detach from the remaining read threads.

Until it snapped.

It then took the eye and swallowed it whole. Before leaving without another word.

And I just sat there, staring at what remained of our family.

I stayed in that state until the next morning when the priest found me. I hadn't moved all night.

I never spoke again after that. This is the only way I can communicate now. Fractured ramblings in texts as an attempt to write my scattered thoughts.

I think the police were suspicious of me at first, but after the state they found me in and the details the priest already knew about Lucy-Lou they dropped me as a suspect.

I went to live with my grandparents. There was nowhere else for me to go, but even after all these years I can tell they don't know what to do with me.

Lucy-Lou was never found, or whatever that thing was. The police only resolved to find a body not a person, presuming she met the same fate as my parents.

They'd never see a little girl as a serious culprit.

They just presumed my parents asked the wrong people to help us out with the demon conspiracy theories. The story was they became convinced their traumatized daughter was possessed by a demon and started asking around those too willing to help out.

And with me now a recent mute I couldn't defend their legacy.

That is until now. Not that anyone will believe this anyway.

I'm not sure what to believe myself. It's clear to me now that my judgments were always wrong.

Why did that thing keep me alive? Why do I not get to join my family? Why must I live with the guilt?

What decided to give me the false hope I could ever get a second chance with Lucy-Lou?

Or maybe it thought it was being merciful somehow.

What keeps me up at night, is what happened to the real Lucy-Lou? Did she get to pass on peacefully? Is she still in there somewhere trapped?

Is she suffering in that things place, in whatever hell hole it came from?

Even after all this time, I still have that picture in my pocket. The drawing it handed to me in the hospital is in my hand as we speak.

I know it is wrong. I know it means nothing. But no matter how I try, I can't let it go.

I would've kept the real Lucy-Lou's drawings, but I always threw them in the trash.

Maybe that's why that thing kept me alive. The cruelty that fueled it was mirrored in me.

Whatever happened, it is my fault. And even if my family could hear my hollow apologies they'd mean nothing now.

All I can do is mourn a sister I never knew.

No one wants to find a body.

Viewing a mangled corpse can fuck with your head as is. But when you once knew the now hollow shell, it's a unique kind of pain. You find yourself uttering a prayer to the reaper, or god, or whomever is daring to take them away.

A simple prayer.

Not yet, give us more time.

I found myself trying to bargain for my sister. A sister, I never gave the time of day. I didn't just want more time, I needed it. I needed to fix it.

To fix us.

Pinned between a car and a tree, was Lucy-Lou's limp body.

Her skin was already beginning to change hues in the cold evening air. The lights behind her eyes had already faded out, now they were glassy, cold and unmoving.

Blood trickled from the folds of her lips, her body positioned like a rag doll. It was if she were a discarded toy, forever propped against the tree she was abandoned against.

Beside her, on the grass, laid a bloodied page with a simple crayon drawing. On it, two figures were holding hands. One labelled ‘me’, the other ‘big sister Sammy’.

What had I done?

I couldn't bring myself to cry like Caroline. I couldn't bring myself to try to call for help like dad.

I just stood there. Helpless. Taking in the horrors before me.

Then that subconscious plea began.

I should've been careful what I wished for.

***

I don’t remember my mom.

When she died, I was too young to understand what a mother even was. Yet, when dad announced he was remarrying - it hurt.

One would think I'd direct my anger at Caroline, the step mother to-be. Instead, my loathing always laid with the half-sister she created.

I don't know why I hated Lucy-Lou. Heck, did I even hate her?

I think she was just an easier target, giving Caroline a hard time meant being scolded by dad. With Lucy-Lou, however, she was too young to recognise I was giving her the cold shoulder. So, she could never report my behaviour.

I never did anything that bad. I didn't actively pick on her or anything like that.

I'd just ignore her.

I'd ignore her stupid crayon drawings. I'd pretend not to hear her asking me to push her on the swing. I'd drown out her incessant ‘are we there yet?’s on every trip.

I thought I'd grow out of it. When Lucy-Lou was born, I was only 6. By the time I had definitively decided I didn't like her, I was 11.

But even when I hit 16, nothing changed.

It just became routine to go our separate ways. Her desperate begging to play together had long since stopped.

I could tell she still wanted to spend time with me. Every time I was near her, she'd eagerly wait to see if I would glance her way. Once she'd realise her hopes were dashed, she'd deflate and go back to her drawings.

It wasn't all bad. At family gatherings, she was more tolerable. Caroline always bragged about Lucy-Lou’s good manners, the praise always meant she'd try to impress.

Acting like a maid, she'd serve everyone dinner and gather everyone's empty plates. Behind her mother's back, she'd even smuggle me some extra candy grandpa had slipped her under the table.

She was a good kid.

But when I looked at Lucy-Lou, I could see her mother's piercing blue eyes stare back. The fact they were Caroline's instead of my mother's was enough to make my skin crawl.

Maybe if I wasn't such an asshole, I could've protected her; been a real big sister.

Roughly a year ago, I was given a simple task.

Every day after school, Lucy-Lou would get off the school bus, just outside our property.

To get to our house, it required a long walk up a steep hill. So, Caroline would be there to greet Lucy-Lou each day, making sure she made it to the house in one piece.

I never understood her paranoia. No one ever drove up that road, the only places it led to was our house and an old abandoned junkyard buried deep into the countryside.

So, when Caroline asked me to be there in her place one morning, I protested.

Caroline had to work over time for some dumb conference, and dad was never home until late into the evening. That left me to be Lucy's escort.

I eventually gave in, it was a headache but so was arguing. At least I was used to ignoring Lucy-Lou.

Lucy's excitement at the news didn't help matters. I could tell she was trying to contain it, but her pestering questions while we got ready were a dead give away.

‘Where will you be waiting?’, ‘Will we be home alone for long?’, ‘Will you help me with homework?’ ‘Can you draw with me after?’

I gave blunt answers to each. By the time she got to her last question, she realised the change in plans didn't signal a change in our dynamic. Afterall, why would it?

Though, that last question did sting.

“Sammy, do you even like me?”

There wasn't any hope behind her voice. Not a twinge of expectation. It was as if she'd already figured out the answer long ago.

I hesitated.

I wasn't expecting her to be so direct. My hesitation seemed to be the only response she needed, as she left my bedroom without another word.

That silence continued for the rest of the morning.

I swallowed the guilt. I wasn't obligated to like her just because we shared half of the same blood. Right?

***

When my friends approached me at the end of the school day, asking to hang out, I was more than tempted.

We tended to go to the junkyard a lot. We could smash things up consequence free. Along with some other activities we wanted to keep out of our parents’ sights.

Originally, I planned to join them after I dropped Lucy-Lou home. Angela was quick to try to persuade me otherwise.

Lucy-Lou's elementary school was on the other side of town, our house was the last stop on the bus route. The mix of traffic and all the prior stops meant she was usually back later than we were. And Angela had to be across town by 4pm for some date she'd arranged.

According to her we hadn't spent time together in ages and she didn't want to go without me. That then put pressure on me from the whole group because they wanted us both to come.

It didn't take much to convince me.

The junkyard was only a 15 minute walk down the road. If anything was wrong, I wouldn't be far away. Not that anything could go wrong anyway. It was an empty road.

I sent Lucy-Lou a text, she didn't have a mobile, just a crappy flip phone for emergencies. I let her know where I'd be.

I never got a response, but I could see she read my text.

We always had a lot of fun at that junkyard. Smashing already dismembered cars and hiking up the piles of metal.

Sometimes we'd chuck things at particularly unstable piles to see if we could get the whole thing to tumble. We had some half successes but never managed the full thing. This time we were determined though. We said we weren't leaving till we did some real damage.

Which meant we lost track of time.

Until Caroline called me.

It was at 6.47pm. Remember that to this day. Angela had already left with a couple of the others and I'd just finished watching Simon chug a bottle of Budweiser in one go.

I told everyone to hush while I picked up. If Lucy-Lou had tattled on me I had an excuse prepared.

“Hey Caroline, what-”

“Is Lucy-Lou still with you?” There was a dormant panic behind her voice.

“...No. Why?” I was cautious with my words, not wanting to give the truth away just yet.

“Then where is she? She isn't home.”

The following silence gave myself away. Caroline's voice became more demanding, “You walked her home, didn't you?!”

I looked to my friends who had picked up the conversation that wasn't going well. They shrugged at me.

“...No. I didn't.”

I could hear a slight gasp on the other side of the phone. Not from a realisation, but from a confirmation of her fears.

“She couldn't have gone far, Caroline. I told her to call me if-”

“Get home, now. We need to look for her.”

Before she hung up, I could hear my dad entering the house in the background. The last thing that came through the speakers were Caroline's sobs.

I left, feeling a bit guilty for causing a panic.

Lucy-Lou was annoying, but not stupid. She'd be walking around the area somewhere. With how she always doodled her surroundings, she was probably wandering down the road chasing a butterfly or something.

It had only been a couple hours anyway. The bus would've arrived around 3.30pm. Angela may have spotted her on her way out, we could always ask her what direction Lucy went.

Lucy-Lou will be fine, they are worried for no reason.

The lies I told myself were torn apart when I heard Caroline's distant screams.

It was a horrible cacophony of wails mixed with shrieks. Words may have been attached to each sound, but they were incoherent behind her tears.

I ran to the source. What would've been a 5 minute walk became a 30 second sprint.

That’s when I saw it.

Lucy-Lou's head was barely visible over the bonnet of the car. The vehicle was so big compared to her tiny body. Its engine was still running, whoever owned it left in a hurry.

The car was ancient, rusting in areas, and a model I didn't recognise.

I couldn't think about it too in-depth. My thoughts were all consumed by Caroline's broken words to a god that did not care.

“My baby… my baby… give her back…” she kept repeating.

I don't remember when, but I collapsed to my knees.

Everything hurt, but I didn't know how to scream. I just wanted another chance. One more chance to make things right.

She was just a kid. Why was I so cruel to her? Why? She sat all day in school, fantasising about spending time with me and this is the fate I left her to?

Were her last thoughts of me? How I had abandoned her? How I hated her?

But I didn't. No, no, I didn't. I never did. I was just mad. I don't know what at, I was just mad and she was just there and now…

She was gone. And it was my fault.

Please someone, just give me time. Give me time to fix this.

Please.

That's when movement caught my eye.

Despite her chest being hidden behind the car, it appeared to move. I couldn't tell for sure if I was going mad.

Then I saw a small cloud of condensation leaving Lucy-Lou's mouth.

“Holy shit… Holy shit, dad she's breathing! Tell the paramedics she's breathing!”

I scrambled to her side. Her eyes were still open, but she didn't seem to be awake. But now that I was closer, I could see her tiny inhales and exhales.

Not sure what else to do, I held her hand in mine. I told her everything was going to be ok and I was there. I was with her this time.

I promised I'd be better. Promised I'd draw with her. Promised I'd do whatever she wanted. Anything to make her smile.

I wouldn't abandon her again.

***

The doctors said it was a miracle.

The way the car was positioned kept most of Lucy-Lou’s blood inside her. Even her organs had somehow stayed compacted together, preventing any major internal bleeding.

For someone her size she should’ve died on impact, but according to one nurse ‘she just got lucky’.

The same couldn’t be said for her spine. Lucy-Lou may have lived, but she’d never walk again.

The police asked me and my friends a lot of questions. According to Angela, she saw Lucy-Lou get off her bus as normal before walking up the hill. The car however somehow alluded to her, despite her walking down the only road it could’ve come from.

It had no license plate. No DNA anywhere inside. And no handy ID laying anywhere in the vehicle. Only the keys remained, still in the ignition.

They never found the owner.

I didn’t care much for a witch hunt anyway. While I wanted whoever it was in prison, the only monster I could blame was myself.

I left Lucy-Lou alone. If I had walked her home, she’d have never been in danger in the first place.

I think Caroline shared the same sentiment. I’d catch her glaring at me anytime I talked to or about Lucy. Whatever comments she had were kept to herself.

If Lucy-Lou hadn’t pulled through the surgery I think our family would’ve been shattered.

Especially poor dad, he already lost a wife. The death of his daughter would’ve eaten him alive.

‘An act of God’, that’s what Caroline would always say. God doesn't answer such prayers, for him death is final and inescapable.

The devil loved accepting the requests God never granted.

***

When Lucy-Lou first woke up, I couldn’t bring myself to face her. In the past, it was because I didn’t want to see her. Now, it’s all I wanted to do but I was too much of a coward.

It wasn’t until she ushered me into her hospital room that I finally spoke to her.

Caroline and dad had stepped away to talk to the doctor. I was nervous when Lucy-Lou called me over, but my anxiety vanished when she presented me with her little project.

“I drew one for you before but I lost it in the accident. But I made an even better one!” she announced, handing me a new crayon creation.

On the page was one of her signature drawings. She was getting quite good at them.

Despite only being one step above stick figures, I could tell each figure was dad, Caroline and me. We had wings and were floating in the sky around another small drawing.

“Why do we have wings?”

“Because you guys are my angels! You saved me.” her words were accompanied by a big smile.

“So… this other drawing is you?”

I wish I could say her artistic skills resulted in a tear jerking masterpiece, but I was just confused.

What was apparently Lucy-Lou didn’t look like her at all. It was just a weird scribbled red and blue blob.

After she confirmed it was her, I felt the need to inquire further, “Why do you look like that?”

“Because I died.”

The comment hurt. It was stated so casually. As if that aspect was as self-explanatory as the rest.

“But Lucy-Lou, you lived.”

This time I didn’t get a response, just that big grin.

My first thought was to hand the drawing to the doctor.

It was clear she wasn’t processing everything well. But when I saw her big eyes staring at me, anticipating what I’d do with her gift, I decided I could mention it in passing without needing to give the page up.

I folded it up and put it in my pocket. That's where I'd keep it for the rest of my days.

“I’ll keep this with me from now on. It'll be a good luck charm.”

My decision made her giddy, she leaned in to hug me. I was a bit taken back, and without realising, my eyes began to water.

I held her close and said, “I'll be better this time. I'll change, I promise.”

I think she was confused at my words, but she continued to hug me anyway.

Lucy-Lou was stuck in that bed for a while. It took months before she was ready to leave the hospital. The accident had occurred at the beginning of fall and yet she still remained in that hospital room all the way through winter.

I felt bad seeing her cooped up inside.

I'd come to draw with her after school to keep her company, but I felt she could use some fresh air. I managed to convince her doctor and Caroline it'd be safe to bring her to the playground outside.

For younger patients they had a couple slides and a swing set beside the hospital. I thought pushing her on the swing for a while would do no harm.

From now on, Lucy-Lou wouldn’t be able to swing by herself. So it'd be my job to help her.

When we got to the swing set she said she was determined to loop around the top. I agreed to help her in her endeavors and pushed as hard as I could.

We both knew she’d never make it high enough, but hearing her laugh felt good.

I wish I had tried to do this sooner.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a figure in the hospital window across the road.

Caroline.

Even from where I stood I could feel her conflicted feelings. I knew she wasn’t fond of me, I don’t know if she ever was but now, I was a constant reminder of how she almost lost her daughter.

And how I couldn’t be trusted.

The emotion she settled on must’ve been relief as she walked away. For the moment, her daughter was happy. That’s all she needed.

In the time I had stopped to watch Caroline, I had forgotten to keep pushing Lucy-Lou.

When I looked back down, Lucy-Lou was chewing on the metal chains.

“Lucy-Lou, what are you doing?”

“It tastes nice.”

I wasn’t sure how to react. She was too old to be acting like this. Not sure what else to say, I just smiled.

“You shouldn’t, don’t you know your tongue can freeze to metal when it’s cold!”

She looked me up and down, trying to decipher my lie.

“Don’t worry Sammy, I’ll stop. It won’t keep me warm anyway.”

Kids say strange stuff sometimes, but I wasn’t sure what to make of Lucy-Lou’s comments.

I just asked if she was cold and wanted to go back inside. With a simple nod, she raised her arms up for me to carry her back to her wheelchair.

Lucy-Lou complained about being cold a lot.

Even when we got back home, she’d often ask for us to start the fire. No matter if it was lit or unlit, it’d never be enough.

That’s when she began a strange habit.

One night, I had gotten out of bed to use the lady’s room. It was a night like any other, but when I saw Lucy-Lou’s bedroom door slightly cracked open, I felt the urge to look inside.

To my dismay, she was gone.

Panic set in, where could she have gone? Her wheelchair was still folded by her bed.

My first thought was to go to our parents. If she wasn’t with them, then something bad must’ve happened.

That was the plan, until I peered outside her bedroom window. Dad’s car was in the driveway. There was movement inside.

Lucy-Lou.

I put on my slippers and stepped outside. I was still considering waking Caroline or dad, but I wanted to question Lucy-Lou myself.

Low and behold when I opened the car door, there was Lucy-Lou, fast asleep.

How’d she get here? Did she drag herself all the way out?

I could see from the scuff marks on her knees, she had done just that.

My sudden interruption of her slumber prompted an exaggerated yawn from her.

When she saw me, she looked confused. Not surprised, just confused. As if she didn’t understand why I came out to find her.

“Why are you out here?” I whispered, being careful to not make too much noise.

She shrugged, “It's warm.”

“What is?”

“The car.”

It was freezing outside. The car didn’t retain much heat without the engine running either.

How could she possibly be warm?

The doctor had warned after accidents, patients often experienced trauma responses. She didn’t want to speculate, but from her experience that usually meant avoiding scenes similar to the incident. So, we suspected she’d be at least a little nervous around cars.

Yet here she was.

“You’ll freeze out here Lucy, come back inside.”

“But it’s warm.”

I tried to think of what to do. Maybe Caroline could coax her back indoors. I could also drag her in kicking and screaming, but that was less than ideal.

I thought this was maybe her way of coping. With a still half asleep sigh, I told her I’d be back before returning with a large blanket.

“What are you doing Sammy?”

“I’m not leaving you out here by yourself. You take the blanket, I’ll sleep in the front seat.”

“No. Stay back here. With me.”

I went to argue, but then saw her staring at me with anticipation. Maybe she didn’t like being alone out there.

I relented and gave her a smile.

“Sure Luc, just scooch over.”

Lucy-Lou slid to the far side of the seats as I climbed in with the blanket, making sure it covered her more than it did me.

We laid so our feet were beside each other’s heads. It was a struggle to find a comfortable position for us both, but after some careful navigation we managed.

I regretted not bringing a pillow. I was definitely going to get a bad creak in my neck the next morning. It was worth it though to know Lucy-Lou was safe.

It’s strange. In the past, I would’ve left her in the car by herself without a second thought. Now the mere idea made me anxious.

I felt Lucy-Lou’s arms wrap around my legs and pull me in tight.

“You alright?” I glanced down to try to get a look at her.

“You’re warm.”

Her bright blue eyes shot through the dark. The only colour in the shadows that engulfed us.

I reached down to stroke her head, “Goodnight, Lucy-Lou.”

To my surprise, it was a peaceful night's sleep.

It could’ve been the exhaustion of the past few months finally catching up to me, but I was happy I felt well rested the next day.

That peace was swiftly interrupted by an upset Caroline.

Caroline scolded us for doing something ‘so stupid’. We had overslept, so she woke up well before us and started to freak out. That was until she ran outside to search for us and saw us tucked away in the backseat. Dad was moments away from calling the police again.

When I explained what had happened, she called me an idiot. Rightfully so, sleeping outside on a cold winter night was not a great plan.

But my sister needed me. So here pleas mattered more to me than Caroline's complaints.

We made sure to not be caught in the future.

It wasn't every night, but often Lucy-Lou would ask me before bed if I could sneak out again. I always obliged.

Sometimes before we fell asleep, we'd grab some flashlights and make a makeshift blanket fort in the backseats. Even though it was hard to draw on top of the leather cushions, Lucy-Lou would doodle away as I'd hand her whichever crayon she demanded of me.

At the time, they were some of my happiest memories.

I remember being so disappointed when I couldn't find the batteries for the flashlight.

While Lucy-Lou would continue to complain about the cold and insist on our nightly escapades, she acted like a normal kid.

I thought she'd struggle knowing she'd never walk again. Anytime I asked her though, she said she was content having me push her around.

While some adjustments had to be made to her life, she was a good sport about it all.

For the first couple months of her being home there were no obvious signs.

That was until she returned to school.

***

We had considered waiting until the next school year before we sent her back. Caroline felt it'd be easier to hold her back a year than force her to catch up on all the work she missed.

Lucy-Lou begged and pleaded to go. Apparently she missed her friends and was growing bored of the few locations she got to see day-to-day.

So, she went back.

Again, at first her teachers said she was doing well. Despite missing a lot she kept up with the other kids and she seemed to be enjoying herself.

That was until her teacher came to me in a panic.

Dad had been picking Lucy-Lou up from school after work, but on this occasion he couldn't make it so he asked me to go in his place.

That meant I got to leave class a bit early to make it across town. I felt a little awkward having to take the bus with a bunch of elementary school kids, but I agreed without hesitation anyway.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

When I arrived, however, her teacher Ms. Gracey was also waiting for me.

“Are you here for Lucy?” The anxiety in her voice was seeping out with every word.

“Uh, yeah. I'm Sammy, her sister.”

Her pensive eyes scanned me up and down, as if she was trying to will me into being my parents instead of a dumb teenager.

In a bit of a rush, she pulled me aside.

“I think you need to bring her to a hospital.”

Lucy-Lou sat in her wheelchair behind her, doodling away as always.

She looked fine to me.

“Why? What's the matter?”

Ms Gracey tried to start her sentence a few times, I could see her trying to process her explanation in real time. I think she knew what she was about to say was bizarre.

“We were doing a little science experiment with circuits at the end of the school day. I asked all the kids to tidy up before the final bell but… some of Lucy-Lou's equipment went missing…”

My confusion was visible as my eyebrow raised to the sky. I didn't understand where she was going with this.

She continued, “The batteries went missing. So I asked Lucy-Lou if she knew where they went and she said she did. When I asked where they were she… she said she ate them?”

I was too baffled to respond. I think she continued on, apologising for not noticing and how the school nurse had left that day early.

At first she thought kids just say weird shit sometimes. But then her lab buddy said they saw her do it.

Not sure what else to do, I just thanked Ms. Gracey for letting me know and called my dad.

He had the same reaction I did.

Eating batteries? If she was younger maybe but, this just had to be some weird miscommunication.

Kids just kind of say things sometimes, there's no way she'd just do something so strange.

Yet, when we all asked her directly she repeated what she said to Ms. Gracey. It was as if she didn't understand what we were so worked up about.

We decided it'd be safer to go to the hospital. It might have just been a weird attempt at attention seeking, but it wasn't worth the risk of not finding out.

Of course, there was nothing out of the ordinary in her stomach.

The scans came up normal. Not a battery in sight. The relief was replaced with an unnerving feeling.

Why would she lie?

The doctor just recommended we schedule her in for some therapy sessions. Perhaps this was her new way of coping, telling strange lies to make people worry about her.

Lucy-Lou appeared unbothered by it all. If she was caught in a lie or being falsely accused, either way she didn't seem to care.

We chose not to think much of it.

Dad thought he'd instead book us a nice holiday away, he was thinking maybe Disney Land would be nice in the Summer.

It was his way of trying to let her know we cared about her. Until then we could only hope she'd open up to us more.

But then it kept happening.

Panicked phone calls from Ms Gracey. Random appliances and devices no longer working at home. Smoke detectors not going off when dad burned breakfast.

Every time the same thing was missing.

The batteries.

At the same time, Lucy-Lou would always admit she was the culprit. Yet again and again, the scans would show her stomach was empty.

Therapy didn't seem to help. Neither did our attempts to reach out to her.

You wouldn't know anything was wrong looking at her. Life went on as usual in her world.

It started smaller. Coin cells. Then A27s. Then AAs, AAAs, AAAAs, D cells. Phone batteries, remote batteries, old toy batteries.

It never ended.

Not sure what else to do, we started locking them out of sight. At first we had hid them in places she couldn't reach but somehow they'd still end up missing.

When we locked them up, dad's office computer was just torn to pieces instead.

Lucy-Lou's behaviour, while for the most part it was the same, there'd be these odd episodes of apathy. Particularly when we tried to pull her away from the fire.

It was like she wasn't there anymore. Glued to the sight of flames she'd watch them dance for hours on end. When we tried to lure her away, it was like talking to a wall.

She was always cold. Even in the coming Summer heat.

On one occasion, she was so mesmerised by the fire she almost stuck her hand inside. I managed to pull her back just on time.

I convinced dad and Caroline to get her an electric heater after that.

We would still sleep in the car most nights. I worried I was indulging her too much, maybe I was making her symptoms worse.

Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night just to see her staring back at me. No matter how we laid, she'd always cling to me tight.

I'd ask her how she was, and she would always respond, “I am happy with you.”

The longer this continued however, the less convinced I was by her answer.

“Lucy, I think we should stop sleeping in the car.”

“But I like it! It's warm here!”

I avoided looking at her, I hated it when she was upset at me.

“I know but… You're obviously not ok Luc. I don't think this is a good idea anymo-”

When I glanced her way, I expected to see a look of disappointment. Maybe some frustration or desperation.

Instead, there was a flash of anger.

Then as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Alright Sammy. I don't want to worry you.”

“It's my job to be worried.”

I tried my best to give her a little smile.

But that look she gave me… I couldn't get it out of my mind.

I had never seen her angry ever, the odd tantrum when she was little, but never genuine rage. I didn't know a child could make an expression like that.

We stopped sleeping in the car.

I made sure to let dad know what we had been up to.

In turn, he made sure to remind me I was an idiot, but he appreciated I was trying to help and said he'd pass the information onto the therapist.

I could tell he wasn't doing well.

My dad had always been a simple man, as plain as they come. Kind and gentle, but stern when he needed to be. A more than capable father, always ready to give his girls the world.

Despite his simple nature, he always shone so brightly.

Now that light was dim.

Lucy-Lou's recent attitude had started to chip away at Caroline. When the stress wasn't vocalised it would instead be visible in her mannerisms.

Caroline could be a bit uptight, a no-nonsense type of woman, but she'd always unwind when she spent time with her daughter.

Now instead, she'd pick away at the arm of the couch in the living room, tearing it apart in a daze.

She'd taken time off work to be with Lucy-Lou, but that only made her anxiety grow.

I remember always seeing them laughing together at the dumb shows they'd find on the TV. I remember them playing dress up when Lucy-Lou was too small for the outfits they'd throw together.

They always seemed to share this unspoken understanding. There wasn't anything in particular they did to show that bond, but I could just tell by how in sync they always were.

There was a time I envied that bond.

Now I miss it.

Their joyful banter was replaced by an empty coldness. They'd sit in the same room, barely exchanging a word.

Lucy-Lou didn't seem to notice the change. Caroline was broken. You could tell with how she'd stare blankly out the kitchen window.

It was as if Caroline couldn't recognise her own daughter anymore.

Dad could feel the family fracturing, powerless to stop it. I tried my best to take the weight of his shoulders, but I wasn't sure what to do.

Dad's bond with Lucy-Lou had also weakened. Before it was like Lucy and me were his life source. Yet here we were, draining it away instead.

He'd continue his dumb dad jokes and try to make us laugh. But even when Lucy-Lou reacted how he wanted, I could tell he didn't believe it for some reason.

Perhaps he could see something I couldn't.

Part 2