8 Days, 8 Letters; Spot Conlon

The Origins of Jack and Jaime Kelly

Song: Dead Mom from Beetlejuice the Musical

A/N: For a little Halloween treat, I've decided to give y'all a double upload. Happy Halloween!

Trigger Warning: Mentions of grief, alcoholism, and abuse

Please do not read if you are triggered by any of these topics.

Please prioritize your mental health

You matter <3

Flashback: April 1892

Jaime's POV

Pappa had been different ever since mamma died from consumption a couple months ago.

He had been cold and angry, which was a drastic change from his warm and joyful presence.

Most nights he came home drunk, if he bothered to come home at all. We often didn't have food and what little we did, we were lucky to be able to eat it.

I touched the fresh bruise he had given me the earlier. It stung a bit, but it wasn't the worst one he's given me.

My brother came in the room, limping from the beating my father had just given him.

"James," he whispered. That was his nickname for me.

Although my full name is Jasmine , no one ever called me that unless I did something wrong. They mostly called me Jaime, which was picked up when my brother had struggled to say my name when I was born. He was only two in his defense. But even now that I'm at the age of 8 and he can pronounce it perfectly fine now, the name stuck, so I guess there wasn't much need for him to learn how to properly say it.

"Are you alright. That sound pretty bad," I said.

"I'm fine. It'll heal in a couple days. He's passed out in the living room."

"Jack. You're limping."

Similar to me, we never used his real name, although it was for a different reason. He was named after our grandfather, Francis Sullivan.
To distinguish them, we called him by his middle name, Jackson or Jack for short.

We have never been called by our full names until recently. Our father refused to use our nicknames, especially considering it was our mother who had coined them.

He wanted us to forget her completely and act like we never had a mom to lose in the first place.

"Look we've gotta get out of here," he said.

" I am with you, but how would we even escape and where would we even go?"

"I don't know. We could go to Medda's or something."

"So we may have a place to go, but no escape plan."

"Yeah."

"Just pack a bag," I sighed. "So that way when we get a chance we can go."

"Good idea," he said as he went to his room to pack his bag.

I was left alone again.

I dug an old travel bag from the back of my closet and began packing.

I could really use mamma right now.

Hey mom, dead mom
I need a little help here
I'm prob'ly talking to myself here
But dead mom, I gotta ask
Are you really in the ground?
'Cause I feel you all around me
Are you here, dead mom?
Dead mom

I threw some clothes in my bag before moving to the books. I knew I could only pick a few, so I had to pick carefully. I picked up the copy of Jane Austen's the Secret Radical my mom had given me. It was her favorite and she hoped I'd like it too.