Housing Words of Horror

My Sister Was Sleepwalking

A little story I shared on r/nosleep on Reddit that I thought would be fun to share with all of you. This was a story I wrote at a spur of inspiration. I hope you enjoy. :D

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My Sister Was Sleepwalking

My little sister was sleepwalking when she fell down the stairs and broke her neck. It really devastated my family, especially my parents.

My sister (I'll call her K) didn't start sleepwalking until only a week prior to her death. My room door is always open, and K's room is right next to mine, at the end of the hall. I'm also a light sleeper, so I would have woken up many times before like I did the night I found her sleepwalking if it had been an ongoing occurrence. She always ended up pacing in the hall, going to the bathroom then walking back to her room. Occasionally, she'd stop at the top of the stairs and just stand there as if waiting for something. I learned to sleep through it.

My parents' room was downstairs, and my sister and I were located upstairs, so I was the first to find out. When I told my parents about it, they had immediately gotten a child gate to stop her from falling down the stairs.

Sometimes, I wonder if it was my fault. It's all a fuzzy memory, but I can't remember if I had made sure the gate was closed the night she died. But then again, I wonder if maybe the fate of my sister had already been sealed. You see, K was the child of the devil, and I wonder if maybe her death was a punishment for all the terrible things she'd done—if maybe she'd had it coming.

It might come off as disrespectful that I'm talking about how horrible my sister was, but I've realized now that all my memories of her have been negative. She always threw tantrums, and it was fun for her to get me in trouble by pinning the blame on me for something she did. The worst part of it all was that my parents always believed her over me. She was their angel. K was pretty—prettier than me—and also quite popular in school. Everybody thought she was the perfect child. But I knew better.

There was a time she'd broken a prized vase. She blamed me. When she shattered a window with a bat and cut her foot on broken glass, it was my fault. When she fell off the swing, I'd pushed her off. And when she ran into me while I was holding scissors and cut herself, well, it was I who had intentionally cut her "delicate, baby" skin. I had been grounded for her actions time and time again, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't resent her even a little bit or that I think she might have deserved what had happened.

But, I have to move past that now. She lost her life at the delicate age of five, and it is a tragedy whether she was good or not. Maybe she would have grown to be good, but I'll never know now.

Still there were moments when her childish innocence masked the malice she hid away. I always managed to make her believe in ghosts and scare her into thinking monsters were hiding in the dark. One time, after watching Aladdin, I even managed to convince her that a genie would appear to grant any of her wishes if she went to the bathroom and rubbed the mirror every day at midnight for a whole week. She completely fell for it.

Sitting here, writing this out, I wonder if I could have prevented her from falling to her death. Maybe if I had forgiven her for what she had done, fate would have had some mercy and stopped her from losing her life at such a tender age.

Even though it's been years since she died, I still recall the night she died all too clearly. It was a rainy Friday night, and my parents had gone to sleep earlier than usual. I was up late trying to finish my history project for school the coming Monday; I hadn't realized how late it had gotten until I glanced at my clock.

It was nearing midnight when I heard a soft creak of the floorboards. I didn't bother looking out my door to investigate because I had learned to ignore the sounds of my sleepwalking sister. Deciding to turn in for the night, I switched off my lamp and stretched my arms with a yawn.

The creaking had gotten louder. I saw the shadow of my sister moving toward the bathroom and decided to get a drink of water before going to bed. Stepping out of my room, I followed K until I reached the stairs, and while she continued on, I made my way downstairs.

It really was a stormy night. Lightning flashed, and the follow of rumbling thunder had me rushing to get back to my room without getting the drink I wanted.

It was in my haste that I left the child gate open. Halfway between the stairs and my room, I glanced back to see K's progress. I think the storm somehow disoriented her. She made her way back from the bathroom, but, as if she had been pushed, her path was skewed, and she stumbled towards the staircase. I watched her miss her step, fall off balance and plummet down the stairs, and with an unmistakable crack! she landed at the bottom. Her teddy bear, abandoned during the fall, lay next to the open gate. I, who had watched it all unfold before my eyes, stared at her little broken body. With each flash of lightning, I could see her lifeless blue eyes staring back.

My mouth twitched, and before I knew it, I found myself smiling. I shut the gate, pushing her teddy bear until it slipped off the first step. Such a tragedy.

I'd like to think my little sister was sleepwalking that whole week. It always bugs my mind that she never was.