Silent Sister

Clara never spoke after her twin drowned.

She only stared with her eyes black, and lips sealed tight. At night, whispers filled the house, but her lips never moved.

Her father followed the whispers to the attic. Clara sat in the moonlight.

Beside her was a shadow—dripping, smiling with too many teeth.

“Cl, Cl, Clara… who is that?” her father asked in a shaky voice.

Her lips cracked open. Ten years of silence shattered all in one moment.

“My sister.”

The shadow grinned. And so did Clara. Her teeth were jagged and wet, and her pupils stretched and stretched until her eyes were completely dark.

The door slammed. The whispers became screams.

Her father fell, and Clara crawled toward him.

Mouth splitting wide, two voices hissed as one:

“You let me drown… now breathe with us forever.”

The house is empty now.

But if you press your ear to the walls, you can hear it;

the children's voices, whispering in the dark.