The Dead Daughter They Couldn’t Escape

Within hours of my birth, three dogs in our neighborhood died. My parents became convinced it was some kind of omen. They went to a self-proclaimed psychic, who told them I had been born to suffer in my younger brother's place. From that day on, every time something went wrong in my life, they treated it as proof that I was protecting him. Years later, on my birthday, I came down with a fever of 106 degrees. I could barely keep my eyes open. Mom still hauled me out of bed and dragged me into the bathroom. "Get up! Your brother has an important exam tomorrow, and you need to pray that nothing goes wrong." She turned on the shower and shoved me under the freezing water. My whole body started shaking. "Mom, please… I'm so cold." "Then stop being so weak." She looked at me with open disgust. "Your brother is going to make something of himself. You're the one who's supposed to suffer in his place. If you can't even handle a fever, what good are you? I should've let you die the day you were born!" Chapter 1 Mom dragged me out of the bathroom and dumped me back onto the bed. My soaked clothes clung to my skin, making me shiver even harder. The fever left my head so heavy that I could barely lift it. The curtains were pulled tight, leaving the room dark and airless. From the living room, I could hear the television and my brother, Derek Cox, laughing at his favorite show. "Derek, come eat some fruit. I cut it up for you," Mom called, her voice suddenly soft and sweet. "Leave me alone. I want to finish this." "That's enough TV," Dad said, though there was no real anger in his voice. "You've got a big exam tomorrow. Go get some sleep." "How's Gemma doing?" Derek asked. The living room fell silent. A few seconds later, Mom snapped, "Why are you talking about her the night before your exam? Don't put that in your head! She's sick because she's taking the hit for you, and that means you'll be fine. Now go to bed and get some sleep. You need to be sharp tomorrow." So that was all I was to them. Someone to take the hit for Derek. My body was freezing, but the cold spreading through my chest was worse. I stopped fighting. Any desire I had to survive died when I realized they only cared about what my suffering could do for Derek. I closed my eyes and felt my body grow lighter. The pain and the fever that had been tearing through me slowly drifted away, replaced by a strange, weightless calm. Then, I began to float. Hovering near the ceiling, I looked down and saw my body lying on the bed. My face was ghostly pale, my lips dry and cracked, and my eyes closed. The girl below me wasn't moving. Her chest had stopped rising. Was I dead? Why could I still see everything, then? I stared down at my own body, too confused to feel afraid. When I reached for the girl on the bed, my hand passed straight through the blanket. I went still. A moment later, the bedroom door opened, and Mom walked in. For one hopeful second, I thought she had finally come to check on me. Instead, she went straight to the closet without so much as glancing at the bed. She opened the doors and started digging through my clothes. "What is that smell?" Frowning, she covered her nose, then crossed the room and threw open the curtains. She shoved the window up, letting a blast of cold air rush inside and pass straight through my transparent body. Mom pulled one of Derek's old jackets from the closet, turned around, and left, slamming the door behind her. She never looked at me. She never noticed the cold, lifeless body lying just a few feet away. I drifted after her into the hallway. "Mom, why do you need my old jacket?" Derek asked as he came out of the bathroom. "You have your exam tomorrow, remember? I'm taking your jacket to the psychic so he can do something to bring you luck." Derek rolled his eyes. "Mom, that's not going to change my score." Chapter 2 Derek sounded skeptical, but he couldn't quite hide his smile. Dad came out of the kitchen carrying a glass of warm milk. "Drink this, then get to bed early." The three of them looked like a perfectly happy family. There were three plates on the table and three cups. There had never been a fourth. I stood beside them, watching as they laughed and joked together. "I'm right here!" I screamed with everything I had. "I'm dead! Look at me!" And yet, no sound came out. They couldn't hear or see me. - An entire day passed, and my body was still lying in that dark bedroom. No one noticed. The rest of the house stayed warm and lively. After Derek finished his exam, Mom cooked a huge dinner to celebrate. Dad had a few drinks, and his face was flushed as he clapped Derek on the shoulder. "I bet you crushed it, son." Derek grinned. "Of course I did. I take after you." Mom piled extra pot roast onto Derek's plate. "Eat up. You're getting too skinny." By then, the smell from my room had grown stronger and was beginning to seep through the gap beneath the door. "What's that awful smell?" Mom was the first to notice. She waved a hand in front of her face, her expression twisting in disgust. "I think it's coming from Gemma's room." Dad's expression changed. Mom's face hardened at once. "What is that brat doing now? Is she trying to ruin dinner on purpose?" She jumped to her feet and stormed down the hall. "Gemma, get out here! Stop pretending to be sick!" She pounded on the door, but there was no answer. Dad finally seemed to realize something was wrong. He walked over and tried the handle. The door was locked. "Gemma? Open the door." Still nothing. His face tightened. He stepped back and kicked the door as hard as he could. It flew open. A wave of foul, rotting air poured into the hallway. Dad covered his nose and cautiously stepped inside. A few seconds later, he let out a horrified shout. Mom pushed past him impatiently. "What are you yelling about…" Her voice died in her throat. I hovered behind them, watching horror spread across their faces, followed almost immediately by disgust. "Damn it," Dad cursed under his breath and stumbled back into the hallway. "This is going to be a nightmare to deal with." Mom swayed and caught herself against the doorframe, her face drained of color. She rushed into the dining room, grabbed Derek, and pushed him toward his bedroom. "Go to your room! Don't come out. This doesn't concern you." Once his door was shut, she lowered her voice and turned to Dad. "What are we going to do? Derek's test results come out tomorrow. What if this ruins everything for him?" Dad paced across the living room, growing more agitated by the second. "What choice do we have? We get rid of the body and make sure no one outside this family ever finds out." They didn't call the police. Instead, Dad contacted someone through one of his less respectable connections and arranged for a black van to come after dark. Late that night, the van pulled into a secluded corner of the parking garage beneath our building. Two men dressed in black wrapped my body in an old blanket and carried me downstairs. I watched them shove me into the trunk as if I were nothing more than trash. Mom stayed hidden in Derek's room the entire time. Dad handed the men a thick envelope of cash and warned them again and again, "Make sure this disappears. I don't want anything coming back to us." The van drove away. I followed it beyond the city limits to an abandoned stretch of land and watched as the men tossed my body into a hole they had already dug. Just like that, I was buried in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. When it was over, I returned to my so-called home. The lights were still on. Mom and Dad sat on the couch in silence. After a long while, Mom finally spoke, her voice rough. "Derek doesn't know, does he?" Dad shook his head. "I told him to lock his door. He didn't see anything." "Good," Mom murmured. "He can't find out. We can't let this affect him." Hovering in front of them, I finally accepted the truth. I was dead. And yet, to them, my death was nothing more than a mess they needed to clean up before anyone noticed. I tried to leave signs that I was still there. Using every bit of strength I had, I blew rose petals out of a vase and arranged them on the floor to spell a crooked version of the alphabet "G." Then, copying something I had seen on TV, I focused as hard as I could and forced the dust on the floor into a pile, pushing it toward the corner. I cleaned the entire house and waited for them to notice. The next day, Mom and Dad came home with Derek. His test scores had been released, and he had placed among the top ten students in the area. To celebrate, they picked up a huge fried chicken dinner with all the sides. "See, Mom? I told you I could do it!" Derek held up his new gaming console, practically glowing with excitement. "That's my boy!" Mom beamed at him. They walked into the living room, and Dad stepped directly on the word I had spelled out in rose petals. "What's all this junk doing on the floor?" He didn't even bother looking down as he walked straight over it. Mom grabbed a broom and swept up the petals, along with the pile of dust I had pushed into the corner, then dumped everything into the trash. "How does this house get so dirty so fast?" she muttered. No one noticed anything was different. No one saw what I had tried so hard to leave behind. "Mom, why is it so cold in here?" Derek rubbed his arms and glanced around. "It almost feels like...Gemma's still here." "What are you talking about?" Mom's expression hardened instantly. "Don't mention her. She's gone. Things are finally going to start going our way." Derek flinched and fell silent. As I stared at the disgust on Mom's face, the last bit of hope inside me died. Did it hurt? More than anything. But beneath the pain, I also felt strangely free. Maybe this was better. I would never have to hear their cruel words again. I would never have to suffer so that Derek could be protected. Late that night, Derek went back to his room. Instead of turning on his computer and playing games like he usually did, he sat at his desk, lost in thought. Moonlight spilled through the window and washed over his face. I drifted closer and watched as he carefully pulled a photograph from a hidden pocket in his backpack. The picture had yellowed with age, and the corners were worn soft. It showed two children, one half a head taller than the other. Chapter 3 The taller girl in the photo wore her hair in two braids and grinned wide enough to show her slightly pointed canines. She had one arm wrapped tightly around the little boy beside her. It was a picture of Derek and me, the only one we had together. It must have been taken on a school field trip when I was seven or eight. I still remembered that day. Mom had only given me enough money for my own bus fare and lunch, but Derek had cried and begged to come along. I split the ham sandwich Mom had packed for me and gave him half. He wolfed it down, leaving crumbs all around his mouth. I had asked one of my classmates' dads to take a picture for us. Afterward, I saved my allowance for weeks so I could afford to have it printed. I never imagined Derek would still have it. He gently brushed his thumb over my face in the photograph. "Gemma." He said my name so quietly, his voice almost breaking. "I'm sorry." His shoulders started shaking. He buried his face in his hands and cried as softly as he could. I reached out to pat his back, just as I had whenever other kids picked on him when we were little. But once again, my hand passed straight through him. From the living room, I heard our parents talking. "What's wrong with Derek today?" Mom asked. "He barely said a word at dinner." "Leave him alone. He's probably just in a mood. He'll get over it in a day or two." Dad didn't sound concerned. "Maybe I should call the psychic tomorrow and ask him to come check the house," Mom said uneasily. "I can't shake this feeling. What if her spirit is still here? What if she tries to hurt Derek?" "Enough. Stop working yourself up. If she were capable of doing anything, she wouldn't have let us treat her like that when she was alive." Dad's words cut through what little feeling I had left. He was right. I had been powerless when I was alive. What could I possibly do now that I was dead? The days passed, and little by little, my room was stripped bare. Mom threw away everything I owned: my clothes, my books, even the bed I had slept in for more than ten years. She tossed them all out as if they were worthless. She complained the entire time. "I should've gotten rid of this junk years ago. All it ever did was take up space." She repainted the room and filled it with a brand-new computer desk and gaming setup, turning it into Derek's private game room. Little by little, every sign that I had ever existed disappeared. Soon, it was as if I had never lived in that house at all. Derek protested in the only way he could. He shut himself in his room, barely came out, and hardly touched the food Mom made for him. He grew thinner by the day. "What's gotten into you?" Mom asked, setting a bowl of chicken soup in front of him. "You did great on your exam. Why are you acting like this?" Derek didn't even look at the bowl. "I'm not hungry." "What do you mean, you're not hungry?" Mom snapped. "I spent hours making this for you, and you won't even taste it! What's with the attitude? You think you don't have to listen to me anymore?" "I'm not trying to upset you," Derek said quietly, keeping his head down. "You're not? Then why are you sitting there looking miserable? Anyone who saw you would think someone died!" "Mom!" Derek's head snapped up, his voice trembling. "Gemma did die!" The crack of Mom's hand against his face echoed through the room. "Don't you dare say her name!" she shouted. "Now that she's gone, maybe this family can finally have some peace. Mention her again, and I'll act like I never had a son!" A red handprint bloomed across Derek's cheek.