As I lay in my alcove, I felt eyes on me.
Goose bumps pebbled across my skin, like finger pokes from someone annoying who was trying to get my attention.
Whether that someone was alive or dead, I wasn’t sure.
My body tightened as I grabbed my lotion.
Is it Clarissa? Jett?
Are there spirits in the room with me?
Clarissa had died in this room.
Jumped to her death beside the very bed I slept in.
My father had raised me to believe that the spirits who stayed on Earth instead of passing to whatever other side they were destined for were here to spread evil among humans.
Snorting, I squeezed a dot of lotion into my palm, disbelief settling in that anyone believed him, let alone followed andcommitted to him. He’d ruled with fear, using it to keep his people obedient.
I wished I’d had a stronger voice back then. More of a backbone.
That voice would’ve told him to go fuck himself.
But got my day in court when I looked him in the eye and told the world what a terrible person he was.
And at that moment, that was when I saw evil.
But it wasn’t from myself. It had been fromhim.
My limbs felt heavy as my shoulders sagged. I dropped the lotion and slowly slid down the wall, bowing my head as exhaustion got the better of me.
The sudden need for even a few minutes of sleep hit me hard.
Yawning, I rubbed my face as my eyes slowly drifted shut.
And when they did, I was pulled into my personal hell.
“Hi, Mama!” I say, racing toward her with the flowers I picked from the empty field. “I brought these for you. I even tied a string around them!” I hold up my other hand to show the smaller bouquet. “And these are for the baby!”
Finding fun out here, in the middle of nowhere, is hard, so I always have to be creative. I love picking flowers and making toys for the other children out of the sticks I find.
Mama rubs her belly where my baby sister is supposed to be.
Her eyes look cold. Empty. Almost dead-looking.
She snatches the flowers from my hands. “The baby is dead, Blair.” She rips the flowers apart before shoving me away. “She’s dead because of you.”
“What?” I cry out, stuttering the word, grabbing the grass to help pull myself up. “How, Mama? I didn’t do anything to the baby in your belly.”
I look at my father standing beside her, with his usual stern expression.
“I didn’t do anything,” I say, my voice breaking. “I swear it, Papa. I didn’t do anything to the baby.”
Tears slide down my cheeks.
I wipe them with my dirty hands and pluck a tiny dandelion from the grass. I can’t even see Mama’s baby in her belly. How can I hurt her?
One time, while Mama was sleeping, I secretly sang the baby the lullaby I got in trouble for.
