I can’t decide who scares me more – the old woman in the attic or the little girl in 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. Then she smiles, 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.
My brother says she likes me so much. And that if she can be with me forever, she will be.
I hate mirrors.
I told my parents all about them, but they do not believe me and my brother. 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 even though my brother is there standing next to me all the time. “He… your brother died in that car accident.”
“Sweetheart… you’ve… you’ve been blind after the accident,” I hear my dad say.
I am not blind! I can see my brother, and the young girl, and the old woman!
I am not blind. I am not crazy.
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.