The Night Sister

“Jesus, Gram! What happened to him? Tell me now or I’ll call the cops. I swear it.”


Grandma Charlotte sat up straight, looked right at Amy. “Our family is cursed,” she said at last.

“Cursed how?” Amy said.

Amy’s grandmother crushed out her cigarette. “Wait here,” she said, heading out of the kitchen.

“So, if that skeleton is Fenton, what happened to Sylvie?” Piper whispered, once Grandma Charlotte was out of earshot.

“And what does she mean, ‘cursed’?” Margot asked, voice trembling.

Amy said nothing, just watched as her grandmother came back into the kitchen holding a large glass jar. She carried it carefully and placed it gently on the table.

Inside was a large, pale-green moth with dull, tattered wings, long dead.

“What is this supposed to be?” Amy asked.

“It’s a luna moth,” Margot said, leaning closer to peer at the creature, which lay on a bed of dried-up leaves. One of its tissue-paper-thin wings had broken off and lay beside it. The legs were bent, the antennas thick with soft fuzz.

“The night Sylvie disappeared, Rose, Amy’s mother, followed her sister out to the tower and caught this moth. She believed it was Sylvie she caught. The next day, Sylvie was gone.”

“Wait,” Piper said. “She actually thought her sister was a moth?”

“Actually,” Grandma Charlotte said, “she believed Sylvie was a monster: a creature who could change form from human to animal, a creature capable of great harm. She thought she caught her sister that night. But she was wrong.”

Amy stood up fast, knocking her chair backward. “I’ve heard enough,” she said.

“Your mother—” Grandma Charlotte began.

“I know, you’re going to tell me my mother is nuts, but I’m sick of hearing it. Maybe you’re the crazy one—maybe my mom can’t stand being here because of you!”

“Amy!” Piper said.

“What? You think I’m being mean? She’s known all along that there’s some secret torture chamber underneath the tower with a body in it! Now she’s saying my mom thinks her sister turned into a bug?”

“You came to me for answers,” Grandma Charlotte said weakly.

“And your answers are bullshit!” Amy yelled.

“Amy,” Piper said, “I think—”

“Leave,” Amy said, her chin quivering, eyes glassy. “I want you both to leave. Leave and don’t come back. Go back to your clean little condo, your normal little life. Your mom, who’s probably got dinner waiting.”

Grandma Charlotte was crying—holding the jar with the luna moth and staring at it, her tears falling down onto the glass.

“Let’s just—” Piper tried again, standing.

“And if you ever, ever tell anyone about what’s in the tower, about any of this, I swear to God, I’ll kill you dead.” Amy glared at them with such venom that Piper felt her legs nearly give out beneath her.

“Of course we’d never tell,” Margot said, tears now spilling down her cheeks.

“Swear on your life,” Amy said.

“We swear, we swear, Amy, we’re you’re friends,” Margot said desperately.

“Amy,” Piper said again, taking a step toward her, but Amy turned away, wouldn’t meet her eye. Amy’s shoulders were trembling, and Piper wanted more than anything to go to her, to tell her that everything was going to be okay.

But nothing was going to be okay.

She’d known it the moment they found that suitcase, but it was like a chain of dominoes that there was no way to stop, and now the last one had fallen. There was no going back.





2013





Piper


“Lou?” Piper called, stepping into the trailer, carrying the duffel bag stuffed full of pink and purple clothes. She’d knocked, but when no one answered, she’d let herself in. She found the girl sitting at the kitchen table, squeezing thick ribbons of chocolate syrup onto bread.