Those Who Stay

He Never Left

Even when he died, he never left. 

I was sad before I realized; I was devastated. He was the only one who understood me, who cared about me. My parents certainly didn't. They never learned how to take care of a child, but now they've got another one on the way to be their second chance. All I see is another reason for them to ignore me. 

He was my best friend. In the months after he died, I would take walks in the woods where we used to play as kids, and hang out and talk as we got older. The same woods where he got hit by the train that killed him. 

I reach the tracks. The first time I visited that spot, I could feel his presence. I didn't think much of it at first, but suddenly it felt like things were back to normal, that he was here with me even if I didn't see him.

 I started to hear his voice. 

It's hard to explain, it was like a voice was coming out of thin air, yet in my head at the same time. It was like it wasn't coming from anywhere. 

We started talking again, and I had my best friend back. Eventually, I could almost see him. A blurry, transparent version of him that faded in and out, but he'd been practicing.

"How are you doing that?" I ask him one day. 

The longer I stay here, the stronger I get. I hear him say.

"Stay where? The woods?" 

No, on Earth. I'm supposed to move on.

"Oh," I say. I don't want him to go.

I don't want to leave you, either. 

I smile again, then roll my eyes. "Mom's been so bitchy lately. Well, she's stressed because the baby's not doing well, that's what you get for getting pregnant at 40. And Dad just stays silent to not upset her. They both ignore me."

I'm sorry. 

"It's okay, at least I still have you." 

He looks away distractedly. What if...I could stay forever? 

My heart fills with hope. "Really?!"

His faded face nods. I promise... He reaches a hand out to me, and I jump when I can feel his cold touch on my shoulder. I won't ever leave you. 

When I return home, I'm startled by the sound of sobbing. 

I walk tentatively into the living room, where Dad has his arm around Mom as she cries into her hands. Hands that are...red. They're covered in what almost looks like blood, and Dad's got some on his hands and clothes too...

"What...What happened?" I'm afraid to ask, but I already know the answer.

She wails louder, anguish and despair in her voice. Dad looks up at me, wincing. 

"Your mother lost the baby," he says. 

I think back, his words "I'm supposed to move on", his hand on my shoulder, "The longer I stay, the stronger I get." 

Mom whispers as she cries, "I just felt him...slip away." 

#WelcometotheBlumhouse