Sister
horror short story: They didn't want a little sister.
This flash horror story owes its inception to Jack of Blessed are the Fires for telling me to write just a few paragraphs of some horror story I didn’t have any intention of publishing. An exercise in writing fast and free without overthinking. This is what was lurking in some recess of my mind.
Sister
She’d told them. Again and again. She’d told them. She didn’t want a little sister. Becky didn’t want one either.
Eliza sat on the floor, clutching the doll tightly around its waist. She frowned as she tried to block out her mother’s high-pitched wailing. It was usually easy to shut off her senses, to close herself against the outside world, but that keening, shrieking still got through. She felt, rather than heard, the staccato beat of her father’s footsteps racing into the room, a fast stomp stomp stomp through the wooden floorboards and into her body.
“Becky,” she said, eyeing the doll’s spattered white dress, “look at you! You’re such a mess.” The blood was still wet and warm, on the doll’s dress, on Eliza’s small hands. But it was turning sticky and Eliza didn’t like that sensation.
She turned her gaze upwards for a moment, still blocking out the noise and frantic motion the best she could, imagining she wasn’t quite real, imagining she was seeing it all through Becky’s shiny dark eyes.
Her father, his eyes wild and darting, registering Eliza for barely a moment before he rushed from the room, yelling, “I’ll ring the doctor,” his voice muffled as if coming to her from far away, through layers of curtains.
Her mother, collapsed against the crib, still making that intolerable wailing, holding the bloody bundle against her chest.
Eliza watched. Becky watched.
Mother turned to look at Eliza, her face streaked with tears and blood, even her blond hair wet with red. The baby’s blood. “What have you done?!” Her words were garbled and drifted to Eliza as if across a great sea.
She wanted to smile, but that would be inappropriate, rude. Becky smiled though, just a hint of a smile, like always.
She’d told Mother and Father they didn’t want a little sister. They’d made it clear, she thought, hadn’t they?
Want more creepy flash fiction? Try:
This is the Shrouded Grouse, and here you’ll find supernatural short stories and novellas, occasional zines, and illustrations that explore the liminal spaces and moody places.
Thanks for taking the time to view my work. Every view and like and comment inspires me to keep going. If you decide to subscribe below for free, make sure you check your promotions tab or spam for my Welcome Email.
Eek! That's horrifying! 😮
Damn