Stories Of Horror

Sculpture

"Sculpture"

My mother told me about it when I was 6 years old. She told me I wasn't an only child, I was one of two little girls. You see, she told me when I was first born, along with my twin sister, she died the evening  she was born. She never told me how or why she died... or when they had the funeral for her. She told me that my father had gone into a deep sense of mourning, so never to let us forget my sister, he'd made a sculpture of her.

She was painted to every last detail. Her cute blue eyes to the dimples in her cheeks. My father would copy me as a reference since we were twins, and as I grew up I thought the sculpture was of me, but now that my mother cleared this all up I felt closer to the sculpture than I did before.

It wasn't long before every year; on my birthday my father would replace the sculpture and now the sculpture looked the same age as me, as if the sculpture would follow me as I aged.

My father continued to do this well into my teenage years, capturing her older and more mature features and the change in her face.

On my 18th birthday, I realised I could not sleep. I was wondering how my father made the sculpture so detailed, late into the night. Perhaps he took a photo of me and painted it in every detail? I was so curious. So I decided to creep my way downstairs to see if I could catch my father making the sculpture, and as I peeked my head around the kitchen door, I felt all the colour in my face drain.

There, on the kitchen table, my father was injecting the sculpture with some kind of liquid or chemical as he whispered "you will always be my little sculpture," as I watched the sculpture's hands twitch.