The Sisters

My sister Daisy and I are in our white mahogany bed. She is sleeping; her fragile mouth is open and I’m wondering if she is dreaming. Her body feels so strange next to mine – it is hard and rigid. She’s been asleep for hours, but I cannot begin to close my eyes. The moon will not put me to sleep with its dreamy silver fingers, even though I have been begging of it all night. Our bedroom is in the attic, and the bed takes up much of the small space. Filmy blue dust and shadows float around us, and our tears are blue rain. In the faint moonlight I watch the dust shimmer now. I must tell you why I cannot sleep. It has been quite celestial in this room for the past week. There have been sisters like us that come to visit. Daisy can see them, and it’s not fair because I have never caught a glimpse of them. I can feel them though, their sadness and silence. When they are here the coldness grows so heavy I can hardly stand it. My sister is autistic and does not understand their death or their lingering spirits. In the morning I’m going to the cemetery where our friend Jerry works. I need to ask him how to make the sisters leave. They play with my tea set and I am tired of always having to put it back into its pretty arrangement. The glittering moon dulls as slumber creeps into my limbs and covers my eyes; and I know the sisters will come out to play now that I am encased in sleep.

In the morning, Daisy and I leave before our mother wakes up. We have to climb out of the attic window and down the side of our cream-colored house. Our mother keeps the attic ladder locked so we can’t push it down. The December air wraps its icy arms around us as we walk in silence. Daisy is wearing her blue cotton dress; she says it’s the only thing that feels nice against her skin. I look back to the attic window to see if the sisters are watching us, but there is only dust laced upon the glass. Daisy is starring at the emaciated trees lining the road when I turn to look at her. I want to ask her if she’s seen the sisters this morning, but I am too jealous.

The cemetery is small and quiet, locked up by an iron gate wreathed with wilted ivy. Pale stone steps lead down into blankets of drenched leaves and past a dark marble fountain full of filthy green water. When we enter, Jerry is pulling decaying leaves away from the silver headstones. He looks so haunted. He is thin, but not terribly thin. Even though he’s only in his forties, his hair is painted gray, resting wearily at his shoulders, and his eyes are a rich brown, hollowed and sad from gazing at death everyday. The cemetery has heavily aged his soul. Sometimes I pretend that he is our father. He is our only friend, and he takes us to Bojangle’s a lot. Its fun but I know we can’t go today, I’ve forgotten Daisy’s cereal. She only eats frosted flakes cereal with M & M’s mixed in for lunch. While Jerry and I eat spicy, luscious chicken and warm biscuits, she sits there and munches on her cereal. Jerry hears our feet crunching over the dead leaves and looks up. He smiles and immediately pulls a daisy from his jacket. He buys them at the flower shop to give to my sister, they thrill her. We have clusters of dried daisies in our room, she never throws them out.

“Good morning ladies,” he gently hands the delicate flower to my sister, and her lips bloom into a lopsided grin. She holds it greedily and doesn’t look at him. “What can I do for you today?” he turns to me and ruffles up my hair, but I can’t laugh because I am there for serious business.

“Jerry, we need your urgent attention,” I speak firmly, pushing his hand away and running my fingers through my hair, though I know it won’t help tidy it.

He looks quite astonished but a smile remains on his hardened face. “What is it, Dolores?”

“There are ghosts in our bedroom. I can’t see them but Daisy can. They always play with my tea set and it makes me angry. I want them to leave. How do you make ghosts go away?” I remember I am in a graveyard full of withering bodies. I know they are sleeping deep in the earth but they can still hear me. I hope I haven’t offended them.

Jerry laughs softly and takes my snow-white hands into his grimy ones. “You can’t just demand for a ghost to leave, that’s what will make it mad and get you into trouble,” he gives me a spooky grin. “It has as much of a right to be there as you do, toots,”

I love when he calls me ‘toots’ but his answer hasn’t satisfied me. “I don’t care, I don’t want them in our room anymore. They could break my teacups,”

He looks at Daisy, who is tapping her fingers against her flower and not paying us any attention. “Who are these ghosts, anyway?” he asks playfully.

“They are sisters like us,”

When I say this, Jerry’s eyes grow dim and his smile falls into the wet leaves. He looks away from me and remains silent. It irritates me that he isn’t answering.

“Jerry? What should we do?” I shake his broad shoulders. They are warm and I decide to hold on, stealing his body heat and waiting for him to answer.

“There were sisters who lived in your house, a long while ago,” he begins slowly. “Dana and Frances,” He seems disturbed, like he doesn’t want to tell me. I am frightened by the painful look on his face but I have to hear more, and I perch myself on his knee.

“What happened to them?” my voice shakes, and I clear my throat so Jerry won’t think I’m scared.

“They lived in that house with their grandfather, he was sick. He, he was starting to lose his mind,”

I gripped his shoulder. Mad people were more dangerous than ghosts. Horrible whispers were woven into their minds and they could not control their rages. They listened to those whispers and hurt people. “What did he do?”

Jerry sighs and hangs his head low. “I don’t want you to hear something like that, Dolores. It’s nothing a little girl should know,”

I was furious. “Tell me! I’m not afraid!” I kicked at his leg and he stood up, causing me to collapse in a bed of dead leaves.

“You girls need to get home, I don’t want you getting into any trouble with your mother,” he glanced at Daisy, who was still entertaining herself with her flower. He reached out a hand to help me but I crawled away from him and stood up hotly. It wasn’t fair that he wouldn’t tell me what happened to the sisters. I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. I gave him a cruel glare and shouted for Daisy, and she stumbled after me as I stomped out of the gloomy cemetery, leaving Jerry in the company of rotting corpses.

“Dana and Frances, show yourselves,” I speak boldly as we climb into our bedroom through the ghostly window. “We know your names now,” I want Daisy to talk to them but she goes to her collection of shriveled flowers and places Jerry’s fresh one among them and begins to rearrange the perished daisies. The soft ivory petals look ghastly against the hard, crisp brown petals. I watch as she climbs into bed, waiting for me. She wants us to cry together. Our crying is the only way we can touch. I sit upon the feathery bed with her and chills kiss my limbs from the icy sheets. Our white and lavendar blankets spill onto the floor, creating pools of silk around us. We press our frail, bruised knees together and bow our heads to weep. It is our cruel mother who always brings these tears, but she hasn’t come to taunt us yet. While I cry softly, I wonder if Daisy had understood Jerry’s story in the cemetery. She seemed to be engrossed in her precious flower, but perhaps she had been listening. Or had the sisters told her of their death? I needed to know what had happened. Were they killed by their maddened grandfather? If he did murder them, how had he done it? I shivered and peered at my sister, who has her tangled head buried deep into her bony knees. I look out of the window, wishing for snow to come, to calm me with its delicate pallors. Leaves and rain fall instead.

It’s lunchtime. Daisy has dried her eyes and smiles excitedly as I drip a bag of M & M’s into her sugary, flaky cereal. I lean back against the green wood wall and dig through my pillowcase of Halloween candy. Daisy had cried at every house we went to, she could not untangle ‘trick or treat’ in her mind, but it had gotten us extra sweets. I decide on two Snickers bars and a bag of cookie dough bites. The shiny wrappings fall to the floor and we feast. I look at my tea set fixed upon our chipped white table. It’s the only beautiful thing I own. The cups and teapot are made of white porcelain and printed with glossy pink roses. I also have a glittering plastic strawberry cake cut into four pieces to match. I notice the cake is not put together; someone has taken two pieces apart and had a make-believe dessert. While we are eating I hear a strong rustle of leaves outside, and the harsh laughter of boys. Daisy panics and crouches in a corner of the attic, I go to the window and look down at them. It’s Ralphie and the two brothers from down the street, Kevin and Thomas. They follow Ralphie everywhere. The three of them are riding their dirty bikes in our lawn, spitting into the pale green grass and finding it hilarious. I hate them because they always ask to kiss my sister. I know they are rotten animals but I suddenly want to go down there, to ask them if they know anything about Dana and Frances. They’ve lived here longer than us. Daisy begins to whimper as I stick my legs out of the window and I quickly tell her its okay, I’m going to ask them about the sisters.

“Oh shit look, one of them is actually coming down!” I hear Ralphie shout with a demented pleasure.

“Is it the retarded one?” Kevin and Thomas ask with excitement, and I begin to burn with anger.

“No, its just the ugly one,” Ralphie sighs, and the three of them erupt with horrendous laughter.

My feet become firm against the sleeping earth, and I am surprised that as I begin to walk towards them they have fear woven into their smug faces. I know that I look skeletal and wraithlike, and this gives me power. They think I’m going to give them some kind of disease or curse; that I will suddenly clutch them with my spidery fingers and whisper that death will come for them in their sleep. I pretend I am one of the dead sisters. I keep my sooty eyes transfixed on them and suffocate the urge to laugh at their childish fright.

“Hey, call your sister down here, and we can all go make out in the woods,” Ralphie hardens his throat to speak in that ridiculous muscled voice and I roll my eyes as Kevin and Thomas grip their waists with laughter.

“We will never put our pure lips to your little rodent mouths,” I say in a frigid voice, satisfied to see how stunned they are that I have spoken. They have no more taunts to pitch at me. “I came down here to ask you something,”

Ralphie stuffs his hands into his pockets, rolling his courage around in his mouth. “What is it?” the layer of strength is gone from his voice, and I swell with pride.

“Do you know anything about the people who lived in this house before us?” I narrow my eyes at Ralphie, who shrugs his idiotic shoulders. Kevin and Thomas spark with interest, but I see they don’t dare admit they hold more knowledge than their pathetic leader. “It was two sisters, and their grandfather,” I have created desire in Kevin’s and Thomas’ smoky eyes; they want to share the story. “Please, I have to know what happened. Jerry at the cemetery says the grandfather went mad,”

“Our, our dad told us about that,” a shaky voice floats to me, Thomas speaks with his head down, looking at his mud-soaked sneakers. Ralphie gives him a malicious stare. “I think he knew the sisters, when he was our age,”

I am filled with boiling hunger. “Tell me,”

“He did go mad, he killed the sisters and shot himself,” Kevin feeds me bravely.

My heart is gripped with coldness, and I stare at the attic window, worrying for Daisy. I don’t look at the boys again as I begin to creep up the side of the house. I don’t thank them for telling me about the sisters. While Kevin and Thomas slowly ride away on their bikes, Ralphie starts to throw rocks at my back. I do not mind being cut.

“He’s going to kill you next! He’s gonna get himself two ugly, retarded little girls! And if he doesn’t I’m going to drag you in the woods and kill you myself!”

“Shut up Ralphie, we’re going home,” I hear Thomas shout to him as I drop my limp body back into the room. I reach with trembling hands to close the window, and look for Daisy. She’s still in the corner of the attic; her arms wrapped around her legs, a terrified cocoon. I feel blood trickle down my back. The sisters bled here as well. They were shot to death by their lunatic grandfather. I won’t tell Daisy this.

Our mother has left us alone for the night. She’s too busy smoking and watching television. Daisy has already fallen asleep; I lay beside her listening to the colorful and blurred sounds from downstairs. I don’t know why our mother hates us. She took us out of school when Daisy was five, she was embarrassed that my sister would not talk to or play with anyone in class. She tells everyone that I’m sick too, and I can’t understand that. She never nurtured us; she only embalmed us up in the attic and told everyone to pray for our satanic minds. I think she exaggerates Daisy’s autism and my imaginary autism to get sympathy from the neighbors. Sometimes I hate her too. She loves to think of us as her darling, sick little daughters and herself as the devoted mother, keeping us safe from the poisonous teeth of the world. She wouldn’t even let Jerry build a swing for us, when he came to our house she chased him away screaming that he was a child molester. She believes the outside poisons us. The poison is in this awful house, we are suffocating in this attic, in cerulean dust and shadows.

I cannot fall asleep; the sisters creep into the room. A chill settles into the bed even though Daisy and I are sleeping with seven blankets. I furiously get up and climb to the window, sitting by the thin glass and gazing at the drowsy world outside, trying hard not to imagine the sisters crumpled in bed, shotgun wounds dripping thick blood from their ivory bodies. The grass is dark green, cradling drops of frost like there were scattered diamonds out in the yard. Nude, shivering trees are disguised in an ethereal purple light, their thin limbs echoing the fruitful weight of lost leaves. I hate how everyone thinks winter kills the earth. It only puts it under a dreamy spell, gathering the earth in a cold, deep sleep. I begin to long for sleep, but I am petrified of having nightmares. My eyes flutter heavily, draped in wishes of slumber. I allow my body to rest against the chipped walls, pretending I am the bare earth and that winter is entombing me gently. I surrender to the darkening shell of sleep, nightmares and all.

In my dream there is a gaunt silhouette of a man standing by the mahogany bed. Madness illuminates his lifeless eyes, his hair and skin the color of cobwebs. The veins in his neck and arms flinch terribly like trapped worms. Daisy and I are sleeping; he looks upon us, the idea to kill us festering in his splintered mind. Something shifts heavily by his feet, glinting in the shadows. A shotgun. He reaches out with blood-drenched fingers to stroke my hair. He glances at Daisy. I wake panting, my face and hair shimmering with sweat. Daisy is still asleep, the room austere. I am too terrified to uncurl myself and crawl into bed with her. The dream has smothered me with fear, and I stay pressed to the wall, shuddering and fingering my hair to see if there are stains of blood. I cannot stay in this room any longer. I cannot last the winter here.

Daisy was whispering to the sisters this morning when I woke up. She was sitting in bed, her hands firmly pressed into her lap. I couldn’t understand what she was telling them, her voice was so soft and flitting too wildly to comprehend. When I said her name she immediately stopped and laid back down to sleep. She’s coloring now, and I am still perched upon the windowsill, starring at the winter trees, frozen and entranced. I hear her fumble across the pages; she’s wearing mittens even though they make it impossible to stay in the lines. I press my forehead against the glass, letting the icy chill blossom between my eyes. Daisy suddenly begins to cry out in pain, and I turn to see someone has taken off her pink mittens. She’s holding her hands out before her, and they shake terribly, as if someone were clenching her by the wrists.

“Ow, ow,” she says vapidly. I go to her, and feel a horrible lucidity pass out of the room. Upon her wrists are hot red marks, the imprint of thick fingers. There isn’t a look of pain on her face, but she rocks slowly back and forth, and I know this is how she tells me she’s been hurt. I find that I want to embrace her, but she won’t let me touch her. I climb into bed and bring my knees to my chest, waiting for her to rest her bones against mine. Instead she stares placidly at our tea table, and it’s as if I am not in the room at all.

“Daisy, please,” I begin to cry faintly, and still she gazes, darkly enchanted. My loneliness that has grown inside along with the winter has become too heavy. I have lost my sister to the ghosts. Now that she’s been hurt by the grandfather, the sisters have accepted her. Bruises have bloomed around each of her wrists; deep purple bracelets. “Daisy,” my voice is bitter and I collapse against the pillows, screaming into the feathers and crying myself back into a deeply haunted slumber.

In the night, Ralphie comes instead of the sisters and their grandfather. Daisy and I are in bed, half-asleep. I hear a demonic scratching at the window, lifting my drowsy head to see Ralphie with his face painted goblin-like, glowing eerily through the glass. I don’t know if I should laugh or just nestle back into the bed. He stays there, the scratching grows into an annoying pattern of tapping. Daisy gets out of bed, and I watch in amazement as she goes to the window. Is she going to tell him to leave us alone? I couldn’t believe it, she had only spoken to me her entire life. And the sisters. I feel myself encouraging her spiritually, go and demand for him to be gone, Daisy. She unlatches the window and my entire body wilts with sickness as she pushes him, and I hear his childish frame smash into the hard, icy earth below.

“Daisy!” I scream, running to the window and hanging my neck out desperately, looking for Ralphie’s body. He’s laying flat upon the ground, cradling his arm weakly and crying. He wasn’t dead; he had only broken his arm. I sweep back into the room, my blazing eyes falling on Daisy, who is smiling at the tea table again. I don’t care if she begins to howl in her crazy way, I grab her by the arms and make her look at me. “Why did you do that? You could have killed him!” I shout into her insipid face. She starts to cry and I let her go, catching a glimpse of her swollen, bruised wrists. “We have to go,” I tell her, and I hurl myself around the room, picking up things we will need and packing them into flowered pillowcases. The Halloween candy, Daisy’s boxes of frosted flakes, underwear and socks, the crisp dead flowers, books, my tea set, the beautiful cake, and Daisy’s blue dress. “Come on, we are leaving!” Daisy has taken a seat at the table, and I angrily grip her hand, wrapping her in her winter coat and dragging her to the window while she screams madly. “Shut up!” I spit at her, terrified our mother will wake.

We lower our small, icy bodies into the deepening, frozen night. Ralphie has scurried away. I know his parents will be here soon. As we run I can only think of one place that is safe, Jerry’s house. We’d been there once before, it is near the cemetery. Daisy has fallen silent, her breath rattling in her chest as she hurries at my side. The full moon is encircled with thin, silver fog; dripping its coldness all around us. Our bare feet sink into the sodden grass. I can see the cemetery gate glimmering in the darkness and I pull Daisy past it. We swim through heaps of raked leaves until we reach Jerry’s house. I keep my fingers firmly laced with Daisy’s as I pound on the door. His lights are still on, I see his shadow figure move into the hallway. He opens the door in bewilderment, starring at us shivering on his porch.

“Jerry, please, you have to help us,” the words fall feebly out of my mouth, and I lean over, crushing my chest to my knees.

“Dolores? Breathe, come on, calm yourself down,” Jerry says with a strong worry in his voice. I feel his warm hands upon my head, and he moves his fingers through my damp, dark blonde hair, scratching me softly like I was a rabbit. “Just breathe,” he says, and I straighten myself back up, embarrassed that I had lost so much control. “Come inside,” he leads Daisy and I into his heated living room, and I want to cry. I have forgotten the nourishment of heat, the cinnamon smell of it. My fingers are still woven with Daisy’s, I can’t let her go. I pull her onto the couch with me, curling into the warmth. She sits rigidly, hard as stone; starring at the strange room around her. Jerry sits in his dark blue recliner nervously, noticing we are wearing our nightgowns beneath our winter coats. “Now, what happened?”

“Ralphie, he climbed up to our window, he was trying to scare us, and Daisy pushed him,” I look to my sister, who is gazing at the floor now with empty eyes. “He fell and broke his arm,”

“Jesus,” Jerry’s face darkens. I watch him fumble for words, but he catches sight of our blackened, shuddering feet and stands up again. “Your feet!” he rushes into the kitchen and comes back with hot cloths, kneeling before us to clean our ghoulish feet as if we were princesses. Daisy actually giggles. He doesn’t want for us to catch a cold. “Ralphie shouldn’t have been hanging off your window sill anyway,” he tells us, walking back into the kitchen.

“I know, and he shouldn’t blame Daisy, she thought he seriously meant harm,” I peel off my winter coat and Daisy copies me. I am amused with her new behavior. I look around happily at Jerry’s living room, pretending it is our home.

“Well, I’m sure we can straighten this out in the morning, you girls can sleep here for the night,” Jerry stands in the doorway, eyeing our pillowcases strangely. I want to tell him we aren’t staying for the night. We would be here forever. We are his daughters now. “Good god, what happened to Daisy’s wrists?” he towers over us on the couch, lifting Daisy’s thin wrists in his broad hands, the bruises glowing underneath the mild lamplight. She snaps them away.

“It was the grandfather,” and my heart begins to thud wildly, I had forgotten about the ghosts. “Jerry! We know what happened in our house, the grandfather who lived there, he went mad and killed his granddaughters. The sisters in our room!” my limbs begin to burn with hunger. “The grandfather is there too, and he wants to kill us now. He did that to Daisy, I was there, I saw. We can’t go back there, Jerry,” the words are frothing at my mouth, coming out desperately. Jerry looks at me in a sad disbelief.

“Dolores,” he lowers his head, giving that same heavy sigh. “Yes, that did happen, but you can tell me the truth. I know that your mother did this,” he tries to cradle Daisy’s abused wrists once more but she writhes away from him. “You shouldn’t get swept away by a ghost story,”

I open my mouth to claim the ghosts are real, but a lie sits upon my tongue, bubbling and hot, igniting my lips. A lie that would let us stay with Jerry forever. “She does hurt us,” I say somberly, weakening my voice to the softness of a feather. I feel weightless and dizzy. Daisy stares ahead. I let the hatred of my mother flow, feeling beautiful shocks beneath my skin. Jerry sits at my side as I begin to unbutton my nightgown. I show him the cuts that the stones Ralphie threw at me had left.

“Oh, Dolores,” he says brokenly. I feel his warm fingers touch the scars and I begin to weep. He scoops me up in his safe arms just like a father and I smile.

“Please be our daddy,” I whisper, letting my tears drip onto his neck. “Build us a swing and give us flowers everyday,”

Daisy and I are clasped together in Jerry’s bed, our arms and legs draped over each other, entwined like pale ivy. She had never let me do this. I had always wanted to. She had fallen asleep fast, exhausted from our midnight running. Jerry had given us his room; he was slumbering on the couch. I lie in bed listening to the December winds cracking outside, winter shivering around the house. We are safe, we are warm. My tea set is propped in the corner of the room, sitting daintily on top of the dresser-drawers. There are no ghosts to whisper in our hair, no mother screaming, no blue dust to smother our fantasies. The shadows here are the color of night, as they should be. Jerry will keep us. He will be the greatest daddy, and Daisy will get better. She will forget the sisters. Her mouth is half open, and her sleepy breath is cool against my face. I shut my eyes dreamily. In the morning I will wake to fresh flowers spread across the bed, though tonight I will dream of the sisters stained with blood in the attic, and the grandfather standing with his hollowed eyes, lonely and trapped, lifting the gun to his own shaking chest.