By LaPorscha Rogers

It was an early morning in December. The wind was raw sending shivers through my body. It didn’t help that I was wearing a skirt. The sight of hundreds of tombstones surrounded us. The cloudy sky and the cawing of crows fit the mood. I observed many distraught faces. My eyes landed on one of the most depressing faces of them all. Larry.

His head hung low. I couldn’t see his eyes—dark strands of hair were hanging over them. Even so, I knew he was suffering inside. We were burying his grandfather. Larry’s grandfather was the only father figure in Larry’s life. I felt an enormous amount of sympathy for him. I could never stand seeing my friends in pain.

I wasn’t close to anyone who died in my family, so I had no clue how to comfort him. I placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at me. His hazel eyes were red and puffy. His bottom lip quivered as tears slid down his cheek. Looking at him broke my heart—I could feel tears forming in my own eyes. He leaned closer to me. I felt his warm breath against my ear as he whispered, “Can we just leave this place? Like, right now? Please?”

I guess he just couldn’t take it. I was willing to do anything to help him through it, so I nodded in agreement. He turned to our friend Christine and whispered to her. I could see she disapproved of leaving by the way her eyebrows furrowed and wrinkles formed on her forehead.

I locked eyes with her and mouthed, “Come on.”

She shook her head and mouthed, “No.”

Larry leaned over and whispered to her again. The frown remained on her face as she shook her head. Larry shrugged and then eased his way out of the crowd. I averted my gaze from Larry to Christine, whose mouth was agape. Larry received few glances from his family and guests. No one bothered to follow him, nor question him. I couldn’t let him go off alone. I locked eyes with Christine again and nodded in Larry’s direction. Easing our way out of the crowd, we trailed behind.

“Where are you headed?” Christine demanded.

“Shut up and just come on.” Larry said.

We followed him in silence. We walked for a few minutes. I looked behind my shoulder and realized we were far from the crowd. I turned my gaze back to Larry. He was making his way in front of an old, round tombstone. Dead flowers were strewn across the bottom of the tombstone. Larry sat on the dry grass and leaned his back on the tombstone.He went into the pocket of his black blazer and pulled out a small bag of weed.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Christine yelled.

Larry ignored her and dug into his pocket again. This time he pulled out a cigar wrapper. He placed the weed in the wrapper and rolled it up. Christine growled and stomped over to him.

“You’re planning on smoking? Now?”

He looked up at her and rolled his eyes.

“Look, Christine. I don’t feel like listening to your shit…Shut up, will ya. If I want to get high then let me get high.”

Her arm reached out.

I let out a sigh and grabbed her arm. She sent me a deathly glare. Still gripping Christine’s arm, I turned to Larry.

“If you want to smoke then let’s smoke.” I said.

I wanted to, anyway.

I released my hold on Christine and made my way to the tombstone next to Larry. It was a cleaner, newer, much bigger tombstone. Must have been one of the elite. I relaxed against it. I went into my black clutch and pulled out my lighter. I lit the blunt for him and we began to smoke.

About fifteen minutes went by. Christine didn’t smoke. She stood grunting the entire time with her arms folded. Christine always smoked with us and I knew deep down she wanted to, but she never did what she deemed as a bad idea.

“Are you two finished,” she hissed while tapping her foot.

We looked up at her simultaneously. Larry chuckled.

“Yeah, let’s go ladies.” Larry said, standing up.

“Look at you! Eyes low and red. Not to mention you reek. Explain this to your family. Idiot.”

She stormed off.

Larry turned to me with a smirk on his face.

“How did we get such a bitch as a friend?”

I half smiled and shrugged. Before standing up I took one last puff of the blunt. Once up, I threw it on the ground.

I was about to walk off until I heard Larry say, “Dude, look!”

I turned around and saw one of the flowers by the grave on fire. I forgot to put the blunt out. I ran over and stomped on the small plant until the flame vanished. Larry walked over and laughed.

He was nearly on his knees the way he was laughing. He leaned toward the tombstone and squinted as he read to himself. Then he looked at me with a grin.

“You better apologize to Jacqueline Morris,” he said, while laughing.

I heard footsteps. They were coming pretty quick and I began to feel nervous. We were going to get caught. Larry may not have cared that he smelled like weed and that his eyes were red and puffy, but I did. The sound of feet pressing hard on the ground grew louder and louder. I was about to panic until I realized it was Christine running toward us. I sighed in relief.

She bent down and placed her hands on her knees. I could see white clouds ease their way out of her mouth with each breath she took.

“What’s up? You scared me. I thought you were an adult.” I said.

She stood up. “Well, it’s just as bad. You never said your dad was showing up.”

“What? I totally forgot! I thought he would show up at Larry’s house after the burial.”

Christine rummaged through her black purse and pulled out a small bottle of perfume and two sticks of gum. I snatched the items from her, stuffed gum in my mouth and sprayed myself—then Larry.

“The hell! Stop it, Chera!”

I was going to spray him more, but I heard footsteps again. I looked ahead and saw a man’s figure approaching. The figure became more visible and I recognized it to be my dad.

“There you are. I was worried. Why are you three not with the rest? Everyone’s about to leave.”

“Daddy!” I said, running to him.

I wrapped my arms around him.

“Larry wanted to get away from the crowd.”

He looked at Larry.

“You okay?”

Larry was trying to keep his cool. He gave my dad a nod. My dad gave him a suspicious look and then looked at me the same.

“Can we go now,” I said.

“Yes,” my dad said. “Come on, kids.”

Larry and Christine walked ahead of us. Before my dad and I started to walk I felt a chill. It wasn’t just a chill; it felt like someone was behind me. I turned around. There wasn’t anyone there.

“Is everything alright,” my dad asked.

I turned to look at him. Maybe it was all in my head. I was high. I nodded and we walked off.


It was January and school was back in session. I was in my third period class: Geometry. There were only ten other students in the class, none of whom I was acquainted. I was extremely bored, and I didn’t have a clue as to what the teacher was talking about. I doodled in my notebook. God, I hate Mondays. I thought. I squinted my eyes to read the time of the clock above the chalk board. Twenty minutes until lunch. Lunch, the only period I enjoyed.

I stretched, and as I did so I felt a chill. It wasn’t a gust of wind, nor was it air conditioning. It was an eerie chill. The same chill I felt at the graveyard. The same chill I’d been feeling for weeks. For these past few weeks I felt another presence. It seemed far-fetched at first, but after a while I was convinced I wasn’t alone. I felt like that everywhere. Whether it was at the dinner table, in the shower, walking home, or in my bedroom. There was always that chill.

The classroom, moments before, was warm. It was a little too warm. I began to shiver uncontrollably. My teeth chattered. I wrapped my arms around my chest and put my head down. I rocked back and forth. Still, I was cold.

Then I felt it. There was a cold grip on my shoulder. The grip tightened and I felt a surge of pain shoot through my body. I jumped from my seat letting out a squeal. Everyone’s attention averted to the back of the class where I sat.

Ms. Williams gave me a questioning look. I froze. I felt my cheeks warm up. I sat back down and put my head down. Ms. Williams continued with her lecture, whatever that was about.

The bell rang and I grabbed my bag and bolted out of the class. In the hall, I bumped into someone.

“Hey, why don’t you—oh. What’s up, Chera?”

I looked up to see Larry. I didn’t reply. He waved his hand and snapped his fingers in front of my face.

“Dude, are you okay,” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Yeah, I’m cool… So, are you coming to lunch?”

He went into his pocket and took out a cigarette and his blue Motorola RAZR. He texted for a moment before answering me.

“No, I’m going to the back of the school. You want to come and have a smoke?”

“You know I was looking forward to hearing you and Christine bicker. I need a good laugh.”

Larry rolled his eyes.

“She’s always on my case. You would think she’s my mother.”

He started off, but before leaving he turned to me once more.

“By the way, I’m going to be late Saturday to work on the project. Tell Christine for me.”

I headed to the lunch room. Once there, I paused. There was that chill again. And then I heard a woman whisper, “Sarah,” in my ear. I turned around and saw students roaming the halls, chattering, minding their own business. There wasn’t a student near me. I took a deep breath. Just forget it. You’re just tripping, I thought before making my way into the cafeteria.


I was in my sixth period class. It was wood shop. I enjoyed the class, but Christine didn’t feel the same way. She was seated next to me. Her eyes were closed and her head kept falling back. I raised my hand.

“Yes, Miss Evans,” the teacher said.

“I have to use the restroom,” I said.

“It’s ‘may I use the restroom,’ Miss Evans,” he said.

I sucked my teeth, rolled my eyes and stood up. I left the class and made my way down the empty hall. At first my pace was rushed, but then I slowed down. I turned to see if someone was behind me. The hall was empty. I continued to walk slowly, but kept an ear out. I wasn’t crazy. Someone had to be messing with me.

“The feeling as if you’re being followed,” I said to myself as I let out a nervous giggle.

When I made it to the restroom, I peeked inside. It was empty. I made my way to one of the stalls, closed the door and undid my pants. While fiddling with the button, I heard faint footsteps. The sound was growing close. I looked under my stall. There wasn’t a pair of feet in sight. I was about to pull my pants down, but paused once more. A light went out. I looked up at the ceiling and another one went out. I continued to stare at the ceiling as two more blew out. Without looking down I quickly fixed my pants. There was just one more light left; it began to flicker. I reached for the stall handle when the door flung open. It nearly smacked me in the face.

I could see the silhouette of a female. She stood silent. Before I got a word out, she screeched. It sounded as if hundreds of cats were scratching a blackboard. It had to be the loudest sound I had ever heard.

I covered my ears to no avail.

“Stop it!”

I failed to overpower the scream. I pressed my hand on my ears harder and closed my eyes. She wouldn’t stop.

I felt someone shaking my shoulder.

“Chera? Chera!”

The voice was familiar.


I removed my hands from my ears. All the lights were on. Christine looked worried.

“Are you okay? You’re trembling,” she said.

I looked at my hands and noticed I was shaking.

“What happened? You do know its seventh period, right?”

I shook my head. I had no clue what just happened or how long I had been in the bathroom, but it left me petrified.


On Wednesday evening I was eating dinner with my family. I wasn’t enjoying it; I rarely did. My little brother chewed too loud, my mother never made anything I liked, and the presence of my elder sister annoyed me. I rushed through dinner. I went in my room, unclothed myself, wrapped a towel around my body and headed to the bathroom. I ran the water, let my towel drop, and stepped into the shower. I stood for a while, enjoying the warmth of the water and the steam it created. I wanted to hurry so I could watch television before bed. I opened my eyes to grab the soap. I was greeted with a pale hand reaching out to me. I gasped and took a step back. I ended up slipping. My mouth was wide and my heart rate increased. I felt a sharp pain on my arm. I cursed under my breath.

My mother barged into the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain open.

“Oh, Sarah! What happened?”

I was staring at her, speechless.


“What did you just call me,” I asked.

“I called you by your name,” she replied raising an eyebrow.

I stood up covering myself with the shower curtain.

“No, you said Sarah. Did you forget my name, or something? C-h-e-r-a. It’s Chera.”

“What are you talking about? You must have hit your head.”

She turned to leave. I stuck my tongue out at her. She shut the door and I rolled my eyes. I looked at my left arm and saw three red scratches. I reached for the soap again but paused. If I grab it will I see that again? I grasped the soap, washed quickly, rushed to my room and went to sleep.

I woke up around 3:00 a.m. to use the bathroom. I no longer felt tired, so I grabbed my MP3 player and listened to music. I was hoping it would put me back to sleep. The cut on my arm stung a little, but I ignored it. I shifted to my side and nearly fell out of my bed. I quickly sat up. I just saw a girl! Where did she go?

“Sarah,” a female voice whispered.

I turned my head around and she was behind me. She wore a long, sleeveless yellow dress; it was covered in mud spots and had rips. Her skin was pale and her dark bob cut clung to her face; she was drenched. She was staring at me with piercing dark eyes.

“Sarah,” she hissed, causing a shiver to go down my spine. “Sarah!”

Her voice echoed through my room, and suddenly she was in front of me. She was so close I could feel that chill again. It was more intense, more frightening. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even speak.

Speak! I thought. Speak! What was I to say? My mouth opened and all I could conjure was, “I…”

She vanished and I felt a chill throughout my body.

It felt like oxygen was being extracted from my lungs. My body quivered. My bones were cold against my flesh. My body was sore. My eyes rolled back and everything went black.

I don’t know if I was dreaming, or transported to God knows where. I was no longer in my room and it sure didn’t feel like a dream. I was at a dock. I had no clue as to where the place was located. The sun was setting and the air was warm. Up ahead, at the edge of the dock, sat a young woman. Her back was turned to me. Her hair was short and dark, and she wore a yellow dress. I heard voices behind me. I whipped my head around to see three young women. They wore cloche hats and loose sleeveless dresses. Their hair was in short, shingled and bobbed styles. There was a redhead with curls and she looked strangely familiar. In fact, she looked exactly like me.

They approached the girl on the dock. Behind them was a saloon. There was a a Ford Model T parked in front. I tried to say hello, but nothing came out. They were all looking past me. I don’t think they noticed me or even knew if I was really there. They were looking at the girl sitting on the dock.

“Hey Jacqueline,” yelled the red head.

They walked in her direction. Jacqueline turned around. She smiled and stood up as the three approached her. Jacqueline frowned once the ladies stopped in front of her.

“Why are you gals giving me such dirty looks?”

“Don’t play games with me, Jackie! Archie told me what happened,” the redhead shouted.

“Sarah, what are you t-t-talking about,” Jacqueline stuttered.

That’s Sarah? It was beginning to make sense.

“You… Oh, you! Just because you’re a doll doesn’t mean you can prance around with my Archie. I should have known you were the promiscuous type. To think I called you my friend. To think! Well, doll, I’m the one he’s married to,” Sarah said, closing the distance between her and Jacqueline.

Jacqueline took a few steps back. A few steps more and she would’ve been fish food.

“I can explain,” she shrieked.

“Explain what?” Sarah’s voice was venomous. She gripped Jacqueline up by the collar of her dress. “Well?”

“I was bent. I had too much wine. Too much wine that, that fella gave me.” Jacqueline’s voice was beginning to crack. Her eyes were tearing up.

“Give it a rest and go to hell,” Sarah said, before shoving Jacqueline into the river.

The three women gasped.

“What do we do? Jackie can’t swim,” one of the other women said.

Jacqueline struggled to keep her head above the water. Her arms splashed about. She cried for help, but the three women did not move. Sarah stood clasping her mouth with her hands. The blonde of the trio went to the side of the dock and grabbed the life saver. She threw it into the water, but it was too late. Jacqueline’s body was no longer visible.

Not long after her body came floating to the top of the water. The three women screamed. They ran off not daring to look back.

“See what you’ve done, Sarah Evans!”

I let out a gasp for air and all of a sudden I was back in my room lying on my back in my bed.

“Remember,” I heard the familiar voice whisper. I sat up and searched my room. I thought she was gone.

Suddenly I felt cold again and my eyes rolled back.

Everything was dark again. I didn’t know how much time went by, or what had just happened. I could see my room again. I felt a sting on my right arm. I hissed at the pain. I looked at my arm and there was blood trailing down it. There were words carved into my arm. The blood was so dark and thick I couldn’t make out what it said. I moved my arm closer to my eyes.

“You will pay,” I read aloud.

The blood continued down my arm in thin streams, wrapping around my wrist and fingers.

“I’m not Sarah Evans,” I whispered to myself. Tears formed in my eyes. My body shook as I sobbed.

“How am I going to convince you of that?”


It was Thursday 9:00 p.m. I entered my home. I had just come from hanging with Larry and Christine at Larry’s house. I walked into our dark living room and saw my dad seated in the lazy boy chair in front of the TV. The TV was giving off the only light in the room. I smiled and walked towards him. I knew my dad was going to wait for me. He always did when I went out. I loved that he cared so much. As I walked towards him I felt her presence and immediately felt frightened. I began to scan the area to see if she was around. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t want to go to my room; I was scared of being alone. I was going to wake my dad up, but stopped in my tracks. She was there. She was standing by his side. She didn’t seem to notice me. She only stared at him.

I didn’t know what to do. She placed her hand on his cheek. Didn’t he feel her? She bent down and placed a kiss on his cheek. He flinched and she evaporated. I had to wake my dad. Yet again, I thought she was gone but she appeared in front of me, her eyes filled with hate. I screamed and fell on the carpet.

“Chera,” I heard my dad say, before everything went black.


It was a Saturday morning, and I sat in the back of our station wagon. My parents were in the front, my dad drove. We rode in silence. They were taking me to my grandmother’s. I rarely ever saw my dad’s mom. She lived in a town just outside of ours, so the ride wasn’t long. We arrived in front of a big two-story house surrounded by rose bushes. As soon as I exited the car I was greeted by wet kisses.

“It’s so good to see you, Chera,” my grandmother said, pinching my cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” I replied.

It was true. Whenever I visited her I enjoyed myself. She was a typical grandmother. She baked treats and shared stories.

“Well, everyone, let’s go inside. I made some tea.”

We followed her inside and she led us to the dining room.

“Chera, help yourself to a snack. I’m going to talk to your parents in the kitchen.”

“All right,” I said, taking a seat at the table.

Once they entered the kitchen I hopped up from my seat and stood by the closed door. I pressed my ear against it, trying to make out what they were saying.

“She did what,” I heard my grandmother say.

“She was sitting on top of me. I was sleeping in the bed and she was sitting on top of me. She was trying to kiss me,” I heard my dad say.

I had no clue what he was talking about. Who are they talking about? I pressed my face harder against the door. “She also tried to undo my shirt. I don’t know what’s been up with her lately. When she was doing all that I noticed scars on her arm.”

“She doesn’t remember doing this,” Grandmother said.

“No. She fainted shortly after. I took her to her room and she was like, ‘Dad, what are you doing in here.’ Then she acted like nothing happened for the rest of the night.”

“I blame her friend—what’s his name? Lionel,” I heard my mother say. “I know that kid is on dope and he probably got Chera to do it, too.”

“We don’t know what to do with her. You were our only hope. Being with you, away from everything else may be good for her,” my father said.

He sounded sad.

“I’m glad you sent her to me. If I see any sign of strange behavior I’ll let you know.”

“Otherwise, we’ll have to send her away…”


I was sitting in the living room watching some black and white movie a few hours after my parents left. I wasn’t really focused on it. My mind kept wondering what my parents said to my grandmother. She came from upstairs and sat next to me. She smiled at me and watched the movie. There was silence for a while. I had to break it.

“Grand-mom, who’s Sarah?”

She turned to look at me and her eyes lit up.

“Did your father tell you about his grandmother?”

I shook my head. She stood up and made her way to the glass bookshelf inside the dining room. She grabbed a photo album and sat back down next to me. She turned on the lamp beside the sofa, placed the book on the couch and flipped through the pages. She stopped at an old, colorless picture—Sarah popped up. Sarah was sitting on a man’s lap. The man looked an awful lot like my father.

“This is my mother.” She stared at me for a while. “You look like her. It’s funny because your father looks a lot like my dad, his grandfather. I guess genes run strong in the Evans family.”

Sarah and I really did look alike, though there were slight differences. Her hair was darker than mine, she had a prettier face, more mature facial features and she was noticeably thinner. But that man—he and my dad were identical. I took the album from my grandmother and started looking through it. I noticed a picture that contained both Jacqueline and Sarah. They looked so happy. I took the picture out of the album and showed my grandmother.

“This woman… do you know her,” I asked.

“That woman? I know of her. Jackie is what mother called her. My mother told me about her. The two were really good friends, but my mother said the woman was having an affair with my father. My mother also said she died when they were in their early twenties.”

While my grandmother talked I looked through more pictures. There were a lot of Sarah, Sarah’s husband, and of both Sarah and her husband. There was also Sarah’s obituary. In the pictures of just my great-grandfather I noticed a white figure in every background.

“What’s this,” I asked my grandmother pointing to it.

“Oh—I used to call that a mystery lady when I was younger. Every time father took a picture that would appear.”

“Maybe it’s Jackie,” I said.

I knew it was her; that figure looked all too familiar.

“My mother believed so. She drove herself insane thinking Jackie was everywhere. My father tried to convince her that Jackie was dead, that Jackie wasn’t around. When I was twelve my father had my mother sent to a psychiatric hospital. She committed suicide while there. They found cuts all over her arms and legs. She bled to death.”

My grandmother was getting sad. A frown was on her face and her eyes became glassy. I couldn’t have my grand-mom cry, so I pulled her close and hugged her. She was stiff at first, but returned it. Then she pulled away and wiped her eyes.

“I began to believe that my mother wasn’t so crazy. Every once in a while I would see a figure of a woman lurking around my father; the same figure from the photos. When I was eighteen, my father died in a car crash. I never saw that figure again. I forgot all about it until now.”


While my grandmother left to go grocery shopping, I decided to do some research on my laptop. I had to get rid of Jacqueline. I found a very interesting link, and at the same time I noticed a picture with both Jacqueline and Sarah next to me on the couch. The link said to say the person’s name three times with a picture and a lit candle in front of you, side by side, and to blow the candle out. There was a warning on the bottom of the page. Don’t make it angry. I didn’t care about whether or not she was angry. I was the angry one. My only concern was to get rid of her.

After I studied the link once more, I decided to eat lunch. I felt her presence as I ate and wondered what she planned on doing. When I finished, I walked into the living room, took the picture off the couch and put it on the coffee table. I turned all the lights off and closed the curtains. The only light came from the candle sitting on the coffee table. I sat on my knees in front of the table and heaved a sigh. I followed the instructions from the link and waited. I felt the chill.

She was in front of me. In the same condition I last saw her, her body creating an eerie glow throughout the living room. I jumped up. I struggled to get my words out and her deathly glare didn’t help.

“Jacqueline, listen. I am not who you think I am.”

I waited for a reply. Silence.

“Sarah Evans is, or was, my great -grandmother.”

I walked over to the album lying on the couch. I opened it and took out Sarah’s obituary. I walked back to Jacqueline. I held it close to her face.

“See, this is her obituary.”

I picked a few pictures up off the ground.

“This is her and her children.”

I held the picture up. I showed her another picture.

“This is her and my grandmother, when my grandmother was young. Don’t you see? She died. She killed herself. She is Sarah.”

Jacqueline kept silent and continued to glare at me.

“I’m Chera Evans. I am fifteen years old and I am the great granddaughter of Sarah. I am not Sarah Evans.”

Jacqueline’s eyes widened and tears began to form. She was crying. Her head hung and I could see soft sobs. My heart ached for her. It ached more because a relative of mine did this to her. A relative of mine caused her decades of misery and unrest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Her head shot up and she gave me a grisly glare. I felt my heart sink into my stomach.


The sound of her scream echoed throughout the living room. I covered my ears and cringed. She wouldn’t stop and the sound became louder. The room shook and the windows shattered. A force caused me to fly back against the wall.

The screaming never stopped. Jacqueline started to slowly approach me, disappearing and reappearing with each step. I felt my heart pound against my chest.

“Sarah…Sarah,” she growled as she got closer to me.

“I am not Sarah! I am not Sarah,” I cried as I backed into the wall.

She bent down and grinned. I closed my eyes and tried not to stare into hers. I felt my skin tearing down my arm. I screamed in pain and horror. I opened my eyes and a scratch was down my arm. She was still torturing me.

“I told you I’m not Sarah, but you don’t care, do you? What she did to you was wrong, but you’re not innocent either. You-you were a whore! Just some married man’s mistress.”

I looked into her eyes and immediately regretted everything I had just said. If looks could kill, I would be dead.

There was a knock on the door. Jacqueline turned to face it. The knocking continued and Jacqueline disappeared.

I slowly stood up trembling with each movement and the door opened to reveal Christine. She took a step inside.


She looked around.

“Why is there glass everywhere?”

I didn’t answer her. I didn’t know how to explain. I didn’t know where Jacqueline went and I didn’t care as long as she was gone. Christine stood in front of the doorway scanning the ground. “So, what happened?”

Before I could think of an answer, the door began to slowly shut. My eyes widened and my breathing became heavy. Jacqueline was behind the door. Christine turned around and Jacqueline was suddenly face to face with her.

Sweat slid down my head. Christine was stuck in place. I had to help her. I didn’t know what Jacqueline was about to do. I reached for Christine, but before I could get to her Jacqueline screamed. Jacqueline stuck her hand out and sent Christine flying. Christine flew over the sofa into the dining room and hit the bookshelf. It shattered and fell on top of her.

I turned to face Jacqueline. I didn’t understand why she was doing all of this. Christine had nothing to do with the situation. Tears fell from my eyes as I ran to Christine’s side. I shook her several times and called her name, but she wouldn’t get up. Her head and face were bleeding. Her breathing was ragged. There were large shards of glass in her limbs and back. I was panicking. I looked up to see Jacqueline beside me. She had a blank expression.

“See what you did? She might be dying, you ass!”

She continued to look at me. I ignored her. I held onto Christine’s body as I cried. I looked up at Jacqueline again; this time she was over by the photo album. She stared at it and then at me. I heard footsteps coming from outside. Our attention moved to the doorway. Jacqueline looked back at the album and then at me. She smirked. In a blink of an eye she was at my side. Her cold breath was against my ear.

“See you later,” she whispered before disappearing.

My grandmother and my parents walked in. They looked around, eyes and mouths wide. They didn’t speak, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t explain any of it. I kept holding on to Christine and crying.

“Help…Please,” I managed to croak.

Leaving the door open, my parents hurried to our side. Tears continued to fall from my eyes as I noticed Christine’s breathing ceased. My father bent down and wrapped his coat around her. He took her from me. My grandmother was walking around her house. She observed the mess. My mother stood staring at me, covering her mouth, silently crying. I stayed on the ground. I dug my fingers into the carpet.

“This is my fault,” I sobbed.


It was February and I was sitting on my bed. It was extremely uncomfortable. I wrapped the thin white sheet around my body trying to keep warm. I hadn’t seen my parents in days. I missed them, but it wasn’t my visiting day. It was Tuesday and my visiting day was Friday.

The room was so cold because of her, because she wouldn’t leave. Wherever I went I was cold. And when I was alone she would have her fun. I scanned the room, and there she was, in the corner staring at me with her cold, dark eyes.