I can’t decide who scares me more – the old woman in the attic or the little girl at the basement.
The little girl plays with my younger brother during the day, but visits me at night. I hear her open my door, get on the bed behind me, and embrace me. She mumbles words I cannot understand, whispering them on my ear, before she starts singing a strange song that grates through my skin.
I never turn around. My brother says she has an ugly face that gives him nightmares.
I am bad with nightmares.
The old woman appears on an antique mirror near the staircase going to the attic. Every time I accidentally stare at it on my way to my room, she’s there behind me, looking straight at me.
She has ash, waist-length hair and the blackest eyes I have ever seen. She doesn’t blink. She just stares. And then she will smile, showing a set of yellow, crooked teeth.
She does me no harm. She doesn’t even touch me.
Except that she seems to appear closer every time I catch her staring at me from that antique piece.
I told my parents all about them, but they do not believe me. Instead they keep sending me to a doctor who does nothing but ask me pointless questions.
I am not crazy!
“Jared’s been dead for years, remember, love?” my mom keeps saying. “He… your brother died in that car accident.”
“Sweetheart… you’ve… you’ve been blind after the accident,” I hear my dad say.
I don’t know which scares me more now – my very own parents thinking I am crazy.
Or my brother who keeps telling me that my parents had been dead for years.
I close my eyes.
I need to rest.