“I think someone’s at the door,” she would say as I laid in bed.
“No, there isn’t,” I replied, annoyed.
“Yes, there is,” she insisted. “And they’re gonna murder you, Anna, and Maria.”
I tried to ignore her. I kept my eyes shut and tried to relax every muscle in my body, just like the guide on the internet said to do. But not a single how-to-sleep-guide ever said anything about the aggravating voice that would not shut up about all the horrible things that could go wrong. Outside, a car drove past my bedroom window, the tires clanged against metal pothole covers.
“There. Did you hear that? That’s them.”
I buried my head under a pillow and pulled the duvet over, tried to count sheep. I tossed and turned as she continued to talk to me, describing the horrid details of our apparently impending death. I never knew when her voice finally drowned out, but when I woke to the sound of my alarm in the morning, I was too tired for school.
She continued to tell me horrendous stories about the many ways in which one could be murdered in their own home. She would tell me that night, and the night after that, until my parents finally return from their two-week business trip to Australia. The night following their return, I piled my pillows and duvet at the foot of their bed, much to Mum’s annoyance.
“Why don’t you sleep in your own room?” she questioned.
“I just like sleeping here,” I told her without looking up. I smoothened the duvet over the marble floor, next to my sister’s mattress where she would sleep.
“God, Ellen, you’re too old to be sleeping with your parents. How are you going to live on your own one day?”
I answered her with an annoyed groan. “One day” is a long way away to be worried about. Maybe she would have left me by then. And besides, Dad never said anything, so why is she bothered? Anna slept in their room all the time and she’s obviously not upset about that.
“What’s wrong with your room?” Mum pressed.
“Nothing,” I almost shouted. “You let Anna sleep in your room.” I gestured toward the mattress next to mine.
“She’s seven. And we don’t have enough rooms in this house for her, you know that. Unless you want to bunk with…”
I let out another groan before she could finish. That’s out of the question. Sharing a room with my little sister is probably worse than having her talk to me through the night. And besides, sleeping next to my sister doesn’t send her away. I’ve tried. I wanted to tell Mum about her, I really do. But I didn’t know where to begin. What do I say? That I hear voices in my head when she isn’t around? She’d laugh at me. Or thinks I’m insane and sends me away to the loony bin. Maybe I was insane.
Mum slept in my room that night, probably expecting some monster to crawl out from under the bed. I was half hoping she would make herself known to Mum, but I knew that was impossible. Nobody knows she exist but me. She certainly did not hint at anything being wrong when I met her in the kitchen the next morning, as she was helping Maria with the breakfast.
“I slept just fine in your bed,” she said soon as I sat down by the dining table.
“Are you and Dad still going on another trip?”
“We have to,” she said, her back to me. I slumped in the dining chair.
“Listen. I know it’s not ideal, but that’s how it is at the moment. When you finish school in a few months, you can come with us.”
“But why do you have to go?”
“You know how your father is,” she said. “He’s useless without me.”
What a fucking stupid answer. I dragged myself to school that day and the days after, until another week passed before they had to leave on another trip.
“Be good. Take care of your sister. And remember to lock the doors at night,” I waved at them as they drove away. That night, I slept in my parents’ bed, my little sister fast asleep on her mattress on the floor.
“They’re gonna crash on the plane,” came the familiar voice. “They’re gonna crash, and die, and you and your sister are gonna be orphans. Then you’ll be with me forever.”
***
She was particularly relentless one evening; and out earlier than usual. The sun hasn’t even disappeared yet and she was already by my side. I paced around the living room upstairs, unable to remain still for more than a minute. Everywhere I went, she followed in my steps and whispered in my ear.
“You haven’t heard from them in more than an hour,” she’d say. “They’re definitely dead.”
I wanted to scream.