Short scary stories

The Wall

There was no sense in trying to call it anything but what it was. Hate. Her step-Mother sat there at the table, smiling and chatting with her father about all the wonderful things that had happened to her while at work. Annabeth sat there, brooding, pushing food around on her dinner plate, tolerating the need to sit in the same room with this terrible woman. The alternative was starving.

"Beth," Cheryl said to her out of the blue, making her jump in her seat, "how was school today?"

That's not my name, Annabeth wanted to shout at the woman. How dare she sit there next to her father in her dead Mother's old blue dress with her blonde hair all done up in a perfect ponytail and smile like nothing was wrong. She couldn't even get Annabeth's name right.

But that wasn't why Annabeth hated her.

"It was fine," she mumbled, because she knew that if she didn't then her father would jump in and have to take sides between her and Cheryl and she didn't want to have to put him in that spot.

"That's all, just fine?" Cheryl said, with a cruel smirk.

With a sigh, Annabeth put her fork down. "Can I be excused?"

Across from her, Annabeth's older sister gave her a look. It was the don't-rock-the-boat face that Zoe used so often these days. Her sister had accepted the new marriage and their new step-Mother easily. Of course, Zoe was in college now and she was hardly in the house – ever. It was Annabeth who had to put up with Cheryl being here, living here, kissing her father, moving into this house just three weeks after mom died...

She glared back at Zoe. "I'm not hungry."

Her sister rolled her eyes, and then tilted her head in the direction of their father. She could almost hear the words. Don't rock the boat. Don't make waves. Don't ruin this for our dad.

Their father, the humble and clueless John Abrams, finally leaned forward as if to interrupt the mental conversation between the sisters. "It's all right, Annabeth. If you want to go up to your room and start your homework, go ahead."

That was so not what she wanted to do. But, the choice was easy. She'd take calculus over sitting here with the woman who stole her Mother's place.

Getting up from the table she saw the way Zoe's eyes rolled at her. Too bad. Their Mother had died just a few weeks before this woman came waltzing into this house. How could no one else see her as the intruder she was?

She brought her plate to the sink and set it there, looking up at the wall over the counter at the pictures of their family. Her Mother was in a lot of them, smiling at her with a face so like Annabeth's. Pretty, with dark curly hair and eyes that...

...winked at her.

Annabeth jumped and dropped her plate to the floor, where it shattered, sending shards of porcelain and pieces of broccoli everywhere.

"Beth!" her step-Mother snapped.

"It wasn't my fault!" she insisted, pointing at the picture of her Mother...that was the same as it always had been – her Mother's face frozen in place.

Of course. It couldn't have moved. It was just a picture.

"That's okay, Annabeth," her father was saying. He stepped up behind her and put his hands on his shoulders. "I miss her, too."

"Do you?" she said, before she could think better of it.

His hands stiffened for a moment, then withdrew. "Yes," he said. "I do."

Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen, probably going to his study where he spent most of his time now. With a heavy sigh Annabeth went to get the broom to clean up her mess.