Sister

Published by Aniko Press, 2023.

Born from the old tree in the bottom of the garden, Naoise Quinn finally met her sister who had died.

It was only recently that Mammy had left the house with a baby in her stomach and had come home alone. For days her mother did little but weep. She knew the baby died. She was eleven and had seen people dying on the telly. Naoise wasn’t sad. She didn’t think it was possible to be sad for someone you’ve never met. She wasn’t sad when she saw the dead bodies on the news, either. Or when that little boy went missing and was found dead.

All that sadness would come later. 

When she heard the creaking noise outside and had looked out of her window in fright only to find a girl that looked exactly like her crawling from the earth at the bottom of the tree trunk, Naoise realised that her sister had not died. She had just gotten lost.

And now she had come home. 

She helped her sister wash the dry earth from her tangled hair and picked out clothes from the wardrobe for her to wear. They fit her perfectly. When Naoise looked at her, it was like looking at herself in the mirror. She felt something strange settle in her stomach. It was like she wanted to be sick but couldn’t. That feeling did not stay for long, however. Excitement grew inside her. She had to show Mammy that her sister had not died, and now she was home!

When she explained this, a sullen expression crossed her sister’s newly born face and Naoise felt how she did when she was told off. Her sister didn’t speak. Naoise did not think that she could, but she knew without words that her sister wanted to be kept a secret, until the time was right.

You’re right, Naoise told her sister. Mammy isn’t well and needs time before she can love you how you need to be loved.

Her sister smiled, and Naoise felt complete.

They shared Naoise’s bed. Naoise fell asleep almost instantly, waking the next morning and many mornings that followed completely unaware that her double had stayed awake the entire night, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. 

Her sister did not eat, even when Naoise had snuck food from the dinner table under the bed where her sister had decided to hide. Naoise worried that her sister may become ill. When Naoise went to school, her sister remained under the bed for several hours, unmoving. This continued for several weeks, until eventually one day her sister refused to come out from below her bed at all. She remained unmoving below the bed.

Naoise missed her painfully. She never spoke a word, but she could tell her sister loved her dearly by how she watched her constantly. She peeked below the bed, faced the darkness growing there, and begged her sister to come out and play. 

Her sister’s eyes were unblinking in the dark. She begged for several long minutes, then huffed and threw herself atop the bed, batting away sorrowful tears. She crossed her arms, lying on her side and spoke loud enough for her sister to hear.

If you do not come out, Naoise said. I’ll tell Mam. 

At that, the bed shifted forcefully, and Naoise let out an involuntary yelp, like a dog. Fear gripped her chest. It was a primal kind of fear, of feeling trapped. Cornered. The tears she had abated broke on her face as the bed pulled away from the wall and into the middle of the room, moved by her sister’s terrible, impossible strength. She yelled I’m sorry! I’m sorry! until eventually the bed was pushed back against the wall and the room settled in expectant silence.

After a moment, her mother opened the door and looked into the darkness of Naoise’s prison. Is everything alright darling? she asked.

Yes, Naoise lied through her tears. Her mother stepped inside and sat on the bed. She placed a hand on Naoise’s head. 

What’s wrong, pet?

Nothing, Naoise said. She could feel her sister pressing against the mattress from below the bed. 

Her mother was about to speak again, but she turned her head and looked around the room, sniffing. What the hell is that smell? she said.

I don’t smell anything, Naoise replied, having become accustomed to the putrid stench of her sister. 

Her mother stood up and stepped into the middle of the room. Did you bring any painted eggs from school, like last time?

No, Naoise said defensively. Why?

It just smells like, her mother said, biting her lip. Sulphur. 

Naoise sat up. What’s sulphur?

Her mother marched over to the window and opened it against the night. It doesn’t matter. Get some sleep now, pet. It’s a school night. 

Naoise watched her mother sink behind the door, and her heart leapt as she felt her sister shuffle below her. Night Mam, Naoise whispered.

Night night, her mother replied. God Bless.

The door closed and Naoise heard her sister’s voice for the first time. It was barely words. All Naoise could make out was the growl. She pulled the covers over her head and realised that she was terrified of her sister.

It did not quite dawn on her then that the creature lying in wait below her was not her sister at all. 

Days passed, when one day she decided to investigate the tree where her sister had been born. She remembered how the ground had parted for her body that night, the roots detaching from her sister’s skin and the grassy earth peeling away and reshaping itself as soon as her sister was free from the ground. She remembered, too, looking back at the birth site, and being amazed that it looked completely untouched.

As she approached it that afternoon, however, she saw the earth had been uprooted, and mounds of dirt and grass were scattered around the garden in intemperance. When she drew nearer to the base of the tree, she saw the earth there had been dug up, as though someone had taken their very fingers to it, burrowing a hole into the ground. She looked down into the hole, and it stole her breath.

The darkness there felt infinite.

Naoise drew suddenly away from it, realising what the tunnel meant.

Her sister was gone. She looked under the bed, in the wardrobe, even in the hot press, burning herself to peek behind the boiler, but to no avail. She had grown so terrified of her sister she had taken to not acknowledging her at all. Naoise blamed herself for her sister’s leaving.  If she hadn’t have been so cold and cruel, then perhaps her sister might not have crawled back into the ground. But distantly, too, somewhere deep inside herself, she was relieved. In those final days, she had a creeping thought that her sister was not her sister, but had changed into something else. She had seen a hand sticking out from below her bed one night, huge, with sharp, pointed fingers nothing like the fingers of her own, or like her sister’s which had been so identical to hers. 

She began to weep, and made her way to her mother’s room, where she wanted to tell her about her sister coming home, and how she was sorry that she had driven her away when they had lost her once already.

As she drew nearer to her mother’s room, she stopped. The door was ajar. Naoise could hear her mother’s voice, in conversation with someone on the phone. She stood very still and listened. 

Yes, her mother said. Yes. I know. No, I know. I just had the most awful dream. A man was standing over my bed and I couldn’t move. Not even really a man. A thing. It was tall and long and had these elongated fingers. It was like something out of a King novel. Have you read ‘Salem’s Lot? Yes. Like that. And when he moved towards me, I couldn’t scream because I was paralysed with fear. He put those huge hands over my mouth and reached inside my stomach. His claws pierced my stomach, and he placed something there. I woke up screaming.

Naoise withdrew down the hallway and back into her room, horrified at what she had just heard. She crawled back into bed, and pinched her nostrils, trying to escape the smell of rotten eggs and death her sister had left behind in her room. It was the only reminder that her sister had even been there at all, and she hated it. 

And do you want to know the scariest thing? Naoise did not hear her mother say. When I woke up this morning, I had a fresh marks on my stomach. Five holes. Like fingers. On the very same place where that thing had touched me in my dream. How odd is that?

Jamie Ryan Anderson