Memories

Memories (Short Story)

Dear Mr. Sullivan, Editor of Seven Billion Stories Magazine,

In your last letter, you asked me if I would be willing to share the story of my sister's disappearance with the world. Well, my answer is yes. It may not be what you were thinking, but I can say it is the truth.

I cannot come to your Headquarters for an interview. Instead, I will send you what happened that night in written form. Please do not alter the story in any way if it seems false. The event in question still burns in my mind to this day.

***

It happened late at night when it was just the two of us home.

"I think I heard a noise." I was curled up on the couch next to my twin sister.

"It's okay," she insisted. "There's nothing to worry about." People called her 'the evil twin.'

"I think someone might be in the house."

"Don't worry about it Lil' sis."

"We're the same age. And this is not a joking matter!" From upstairs there was a thump, like someone dropping something on the floor. "They're upstairs!"

My sister sighed and stood up. "I'll go see."

"No don't!"

"Relax, I'll be fine." She smiled and left the room, heading up the old rickety stairs.

I waited for what seemed like hours before I heard a gunshot and seconds later, a thud. My heart plummeted and my legs turned to jelly. Slowly, I got up, grabbing my phone. As I tiptoed up the stairs I typed 911 in and let my finger hover over the call button.

The door to the room across from the stairs was opened ajar. The room's light was off. From inside I could hear quiet muttering and laughter. As quietly as I could I creaked the door open just enough to see in. My sister stood at the broken window, a body lay in between her and the door. It was a man, in his hand was a gun. On the floor was a blood stain that started just a few feet in front of me and spread out the closer it got to the door. It didn't seem to come from the man.

"What happened?" I whispered, not intending to say anything out loud.

My sister turned to me. I could just barely make out her face. Tentatively I reached over and flicked on the lights. My dear sister had blood dripping on the floor from her shoulder.

"Oh my god!" I screamed. My finger smashed the call button and I brought the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"911, what's your emergency?" A man's voice droned from the other end.

"Someone broke into our house and my sister got-!" My sister yanked the phone out of my hand and ended the call.

"Do not call the police," she hissed.

"You got shot!" Panic flooded my chest.

"I am fine." The look on her face gave me chills.

"Wh- what happened?" My brain refused to believe what was going on.

Her voice slowed and dropped in volume. "Remember when we were little? When the two of us would play in those woods behind the school? Remember that old house that everyone said was haunted? Do you remember when I took you there and you were scared? And I told you to not be?"

I nodded tentatively.

"Remember how tightly you gripped to my arm as we walked inside?"

I nodded again. She reached out and took my hand in her bloody one. Her lips brushed against my ear.

"Remember what you saw?"

I nodded, fear crawling around inside me.

"Remember what you heard?"

"What does this have anything to do with-?"

She cut me off. "Remember..."

The room around us melted, turning into that creepy old house. Dim sunlight streaming through it's broken windows. The rotting wooden floor was soft under our feet. Dust collected on the broken, worn furniture that had been left to be forgotten. Creatures scuttled from holes in the walls to holes in the floor. It was a scary place, yet somehow comforting. Like seeing home, but when it's empty and dark.

She stepped away from me. "Memories can be the darkest places. And memories are the only place some of us can belong. Remember that..."

Someone shook me and the room turned black before turning into my living room. My mother and father stood over me. "Wake up sweety," my mother said shaking my shoulder. "Time for bed."

***

My parents never asked about my twin. And I never saw her again. She just vanished, along with the man with the gun, the bloodstain, and the broken window.

I know she was real. She was in every picture she had been in before. And I knew that the past fifteen years of my life I hadn't been an only child. It just seemed that on that day she disappeared.

***

Before I finish, I would like to leave you with the last words my sister said to me. The words that I hear every night before I drift off to sleep. "Memories can be the darkest places. And memories are the only place some of us can belong."

Thank you,

Sincerely,

G. M. Peterson