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I don’t want to be here.

I don’t want to do this.

The arching angles of the red stained glass cast a sinister color across the tile floor. The room is painted red. My white dress is painted red.

And so are my bloody hands.

My eyes open fast while the air in my lungs burns for a full breath. I stumble out of my bed, and the moment my feet touch the cold, familiar floorboards, I know I’m okay. I’m not in that place anymore. He can’t get me here.

I’m home.

The slamming of my heart doesn’t slow though. Because Ivy’s very much not okay.

How—how did I even get here? How did I end up in my bed?

A migraine pounds through my skull. I think through the night and the way I sat at the kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee and both of my parents staring at me like I’d fall apart right in front of them.

But that’s the last thing I remember...

“The pills,” I whisper.

White moonlight shines muted color into my childhood bedroom, but my gaze lands on the little medicine bottle on my night stand. My jaw grinds with pain at the memories of how often my mother watched to make sure I swallowed them down. When I turned eighteen, I refused to keep dosing myself like I had a sickness.

The pills stopped the dreams. It didn’t stop me from remembering though.

My hand trembles as I pick the container up. The clatter of little tablets inside turns my stomach. I can’t fucking believe my mother would drug me. She is always so distressed about any mention of nightmares or monsters or anything out of the ordinary at all.

I remember her! Ivy was real! She was a curly-haired, blonde baby who weighed less than my school backpack when she was born! The brightest blue eyes shined out to the world with so much innocence! She had the loudest laugh, and I wanted nothing more than to make sure she never had anything happen to her to take that happiness in her voice away!

She was real! Sheisreal!

My arm flings out wildly, and the cracking of plastic shatters across the wall as the pills rain down to the floor with a rattle of bittersweet destruction. They’re still rolling across the hardwood floor when I storm out of my bedroom and across the hall. The cold handle is turned with force, and the white door is flung open without a sound.

But the pink walls and the white plush comforter isn’t what greets me. The flashy room that I helped her decorate isn’t there anymore. Flat white walls press in on me, and the bed that was once hers has an old quilt that Grandma made thrown across it like it’s ready for a guest.

“What the fuck is happening?” I hiss. I know exactly what’s happening. I just have never seen it firsthand.

He made her disappear.

How? How could he erase her entire existence?

I guess I understood when it happened to me but Ivy? She was different. She’s too much of a memory for anyone to forget. Especially her own mother.

Dampness stings my eyes and still I refuse to believe it. I stride through the small room and throw open the closet doors. They bang against the hinges, but...

Three plastic hangers sway in the vacant closet.

It’s empty.

The dresses, the belts, the glitter boots, they’re all gone.

My fingers fist hard into my palms, and I feel myself trembling with fury and helplessness. My head shakes back and forth.

I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.

Once more, I search for any sign of the little girl who climbed all over me when she was a toddler and I was just a teen who’d always wanted a sibling. I was an only child for so long, I loved her the moment I saw her. Eleven years separated us, but it never mattered. She was my baby sister. And I’d always be there for her.

My feet stomp through the upstairs without care for my parents who are sleeping just one room below. Out in the darkness of the hall, I search the long walls that lead to the bathroom and the office at the end. Picture frames cascade down the space.


Tags: A.K. Koonce Paranormal