She hovered a few feet from me, her dark hair anchored in pigtails, a pink tutu fluffing around her waist. Her cheek, the one that had been injured in the accident, was unmarred. No scab, no scar. Just healthy, sun-kissed skin.
A frown pulled at her rosebud mouth. “You need to go inside,” she said, fear coating her voice. She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Now, Alice.”
The realness of her amazed me. I even caught the little-girl scent of her, so sweet it somehow overshadowed the odor of rot. Tripping over my own feet, I closed the distance between us, reached out.
“Alice,” she said, impatient with me.
My hand ghosted through her.
I wanted to scream in frustration. She was only a hallucination. Does that really matter? She was here and she was with me, and I’d missed her so much. So, yeah, if my mind wanted to toss out images of her, I wouldn’t fight it. She. Was. Here. “How are you, sis?”
“You have to go inside, Alice. It’s almost too late.”
“Too late for what?” I would have given anything to pull her into my arms, to hug her tight and never let go.
Amber eyes met mine, and they glimmered with tears. “Please!”
Whatever she wanted, I would give her—except parting from her. “Will you come with me?”
“Alice! Please, you have to…” Her image shimmered, fading in time with her voice…fading… “Please.”
“No!” I shouted. Catching a glimpse of my beloved sister only to lose her a split second later…was there anything crueler? “Don’t go.” I need you. Real or not. But she’d already disappeared, the sweetness in the air vanishing, too. Frantic, I spun in a circle, looking for any sign of her.
Crushing disappointment was followed by life-saving hope. Maybe she wasn’t gone for good. Maybe she had wanted me to go to my room for a reason. Like, maybe we could talk there.
I shot into motion, shutting the gate and rushing back inside the house. Up the stairs I pounded, uncaring whether or not my grandparents heard me. An eternity seemed to pass before I reached my bedroom and burst inside.
“Emma?”
Silence. I searched every corner, every nook and cranny, but…she wasn’t there.
I waited, five minutes, ten, but she never appeared.
She wasn’t going to, was she?
Hope died, the disappointment returning. “Emma,” I said, my chin trembling. My ceiling fan whirled overhead, creating a slight rustle, but there was no other discernible sound.
I’d left my curtains open, I realized distantly, and stalked over to close them.
The moment my fingers touched the fabric, I froze.
Bridezilla—and what could only be her groom—stood just behind the fence, a ray of moonlight spotlighting both of them. They were staring at me, their lips peeled back from their teeth—their very sharp teeth.
Her dress was ripped, dirty, her eyes sunken. Her skin was pitted, with patches of something black oozing from her pores. There wasn’t a veil on her head, but there was hardly any hair, either, just long stringy strands with leaves tangled throughout.
The man beside her wore an equally ripped and dirty tux. He possessed the same sunken eyes, pitted skin and thinning hair. That odd black ooze covered both his chin and dripped…dripped…
Bridezilla swiped out an arm, as if she was reaching for me.
I scrambled backward, tripped, landed on my butt. The impact rattled my brain and maybe even knocked some sense loose. Monsters would have attacked me while they’d had the chance, so this had to be a joke. The two were probably human and wearing costumes. Had probably applied grotesque makeup. But…who would play a joke like this? Who would go to such extremes, for such a long period of time? Who would know this was the perfect way to torment me?
No one, that’s who.
Guess my theory needed work. Drawing on every bit of my courage, I forced myself to stand and approach the window. Another peek outside revealed…the pair was gone. Gone.
I nearly shrieked with frustration.
What the heck was happening? What had I seen? And how had I spoken to my baby sister?
I sank to my knees and buried my head in my hands. I was worse than my dad. There was no denying it now. No hoping otherwise.
Oh, Daddy. I should have been nicer to him. I should have spent more time with him. Should have been more understanding of his psychosis, more sympathetic. I should have comforted him rather than complained about him.
Should—a word of anguish rather than consolation.
5
The Deadly Rabbit Returns
The next morning, my eyes burned with fatigue as I wandered the halls of Asher High. (Go Tigers.) There were more posters on the walls, and they were now joined by streamers. I’d spent the entire night propped up by the window, desperate for another glimpse of Emma, frightened by the thought of those imaginary monsters.
Seriously, how pathetic was I?