CREEPYPASTA

Behind Closed Doors

I was adopted at the age of seven. Not many people know that about me, and when someone finds out, I just tell them I don't like talking about it. They'll give me a sad smile, and say, "I understand, it must've been hard for you." They must think my parents died, or abandoned me. Maybe I was abused or neglected, and I don't want to relive awful memories. The truth is much worse, much darker. It's easy to forget about it, to push those memories to the very back of my mind and lock them tightly away. But sometimes something triggers them, and this time I just can't ignore it. Let me start from the beginning:

I was the middle child in a family of five. I'd enjoyed a few years of being the youngest daughter, doted upon by my mother, father, and my older sister Sarah. Then Sam showed up, and the new baby brother brought an unexpected burden to the family. Don't get me wrong, I was ecstatic to be a big sister, and my parents adored the three of us. But Sam was a sickly baby and our finances dwindled. I was too young to even think about money, all I knew is that we were getting fewer presents on holidays, and we didn't get to travel anymore. So about two years after Sam was born, when my dad had a business trip just out of state, the whole family jumped at the opportunity to take a small vacation.

I remember stopping at my Aunt Lydia's house after a long car ride. She was my mom's only sister, and actually the only extended family member I can remember. Mom and Dad were exhausted; Sarah and I had been bickering the whole way. She was 15 and had no time for pesky little sisters. Sam had slept soundly until the last hour, when he broke out into an inconsolable wail. We weren't staying with my aunt, but she lived close to the hotel we'd booked, so it was the perfect place for a pit stop.

I'd always felt a little uncomfortable around my aunt; she was nice enough, but she kept stroking my hair, petting my cheek, and kept me in her sight for our entire stay. Mom said later that Lydia had been unable to have kids and thought of me as a daughter, even though we rarely came to visit. We had the same red hair and grey eyes, I noticed, and wondered if that was why she preferred me to Sarah.

"Casey," my aunt said as we were leaving, "I have a gift for you." She produced a woven necklace from her pocket and tied it around my neck. There was a small charm on the end: a small disc carved out of wood, and it had some kind of drawing on it. I wondered if she'd made it herself? She put her finger to her lips and smiled; I realized she'd only gotten a present for me, not Sarah or Sam, and didn't want them to know.

"Thanks, Aunt Lydia," I said shyly, and hopped in the car.

After arriving at the hotel and unpacking, we had a pretty uneventful first night. There was a pool at the hotel, and Sarah and I were excited to go swimming first thing in the morning. Sarah had spotted some cute boy one floor below us, so she spent about an hour picking out a swimsuit to wear. I flipped through the TV channels while Sam toddled around unsteadily, laughing as Mom played peek-a-boo with him. Dad had left for his conference already.

I first noticed something strange a few hours after we'd gone down to the pool. Sarah had gone back up to the room about fifteen minutes after leaving; the cute boy was nowhere to be found, so she wanted to trade her cute swimsuit for a comfortable one. I'd waited and waited for her to return, as she'd promised to show me how to do a handstand underwater. Finally, I swam over to where my mom was, sitting by the kiddie pool as Sam splashed in the shallow water. I asked where Sarah was.

"Who?" Mom asked. She looked up from her book. I thought she hadn't heard me, so I repeated: "Where's Sarah?"

"Who's Sarah, honey?"

Chills ran down my spine. I didn't even know how to respond. Just then, Sam tripped and dunked his head underwater, and Mom whisked him out of the pool and onto her lap, momentarily forgetting about me.