Where the Dead Ones Play
You wouldn't beleive me. No one does. My parents think that I'm just trying to get attention. The guidance counselor says that I'm "acting out".
But you know what I don't care whether you beleive me or not, because I have bigger things to worry about. Much bigger things.
You see, last summer my little sister disapeared. She wandered off one night and didn't wander back. We searched for her for weeks without rest. Hoping and praying that we'd find her.
Summer turned to fall, and fall turned to winter. Still there was no sign of her. We began to lose hope.
We found her in the late spring. What was left of her was crammed into a sewage pipe. Her funeral was the worst day of my life. Despite the difference in our age, my sister had been my best friend. We did everything together. Playing, laughing, getting in and out of trouble. And now I knew I would never see her again.
But I was wrong. I feel her prescence everywhere I go. When I brush my hair at night, I see her maggot wridden reflection in the mirror. When I open the closet to get dressed each day, I see her moldy shoes lined up perfectly alongside mine. At school, I need only look out the window to see her waiting patiently for me, never casting a reflection in the puddles on the ground. Every day when I come home from scool I see her in the window of the upstairs bedroom grinning her rotten grin.
She's everywhere. There's nowhere I can go that she can't follow. No place I can find that she hasn't already thought of. She's even invaded my dreams, beckoning to me, calling me to her. I don't think I'll last much longer.
My sister is back. And she wants a playmate.