The Ladies of Horror
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The Night We Disappeared
by Christina Persaud 

“Seema? The realtor is here.” Rob and I exchanged the same look. Pure excitement. Today was special. We’d worked so damned hard for this, and it was about to pay off.

As we sat in the office and signed papers and finally received the (our!) keys, I closed my eyes and said a little prayer. The drive to our new home was bathed in sunshine, and as we stepped inside the freshly painted living room, I felt the warm embrace of new beginnings.

“Is it weird being back in your childhood house?” Rob asked for the millionth time. I reassured him that it was not, even as time seemed to fold in on itself, making the present feel like the past before returning back again.

“We didn’t live here very long, just a year,” I reminded him. He looked like he didn’t believe me.

“But… the memories.”

I blinked them away. The room. The window. The attack, or what I imagined happened.

“It was just a dream. None of it was real, remember?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I put that all behind me,” I said and recalled all those years of therapy I’d undergone. I hugged him tightly. “Don’t start that again. Not today. Not when the house was such a steal. I’m so happy, hun. We’re home.”

We unpacked and all the while, I did not admit to Rob that I avoided my childhood room, the place I played in for hours when I was just ten. We would be sleeping in what was once my parents’ bedroom, so everything would be good and safe.

But within the first week, we were standing inside the second bedroom deciding how to turn it into my office. I put away the recollection of my old posters and décor and imagined it with a different color on the walls and a new desk. It’ll be different in here, I told myself.

***

Summer turned to fall and we kept the windows closed to keep the draft out. One evening, I was working late while Rob was away on a work trip. My old bedroom had been transformed into a modern workspace, without a hint of what it was once before.

I had lost track of time when the sound of running water caused me to stop what I was doing and stand.

Someone hummed in the kitchen.

The memory of my mother washing dishes left me frozen.

“Hey, Seema. Can you open the window so I can get in?”

My sister’s high voice came through the glass, but I could not see her.

Why doesn’t she just use the back door?

I put my hands on the window. The springs were stiff. I could see the large jasmine tree just beyond. Beneath it, a shift.

A young girl. My sister.

“Open the window so I can get in. I’m locked out.”

My hands felt the cold gaze of the glass.

“No.”

My sister looked at me in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘no’? Let me in! It’s nighttime and I’m scared.”

Me too.

***

That night, I slept restlessly.

I dreamt that the house was back to the way it was when I was young, everything from the 70s era linoleum floors to the wood-paneled walls. I felt the shag carpeting between my toes as I walked into my old bedroom. The sweet smell of jasmine filled the air. The only light came from the moon outside.

A soft, warm breeze wafted through the open window. Something in my heart told me this was wrong. What was once my sanctuary sat with open seams, vulnerable, and unsecure.

At the window, I reached up and tried to pull it down. To lock it and back away. But the old thing wouldn’t budge.

Mom was in the kitchen washing dishes. The smell of jasmine was overwhelming.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Let me in.”

She showed itself beneath the moonlight. Pale, shining in its wet, translucent skin. Blue veins crisscrossed over its shivering body. It held onto to the windowsill, and slowly, it let itself in.

I knew then like I knew now – that thing is not my sister.

Dried blood caked the vampire’s fingers and the corners of its mouth.

Before I could scream, I was kissed with sharp teeth, so my tongue would never again speak again. And my eyes cried tears of blood for the sister that disappeared the same night eighteen long years ago.

.

 

Fiction © Copyright Christina Persaud
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.