I’ve always looked forward to the snow. My sister, on the other hand, despised it. She never did get the chance to tell me why, but I suppose I could have never known.
December 3 2004
I spent the last few weeks grappling at the remote trying to watch the news before my sister sauntered into the hall. She’d been restless lately ever since inappropriate details of her relationship with a local boy had been outed. I handed over the remote without any delay, not wishing to vex her any further. As the news was taken over by flashes of colour, I was coerced into the routine of near-naked females dancing on the screen until my father returned home.
He was back early on that first Friday of the month, and I looked on silently as my sister forfeited the remote to my father as he sunk into his armchair. Their relationship had been quite strained ever since my father found out about the affair, and she quietly withdrew to her room. The television switched back to the news, and I settled onto the floor in front of my father. It took exactly eleven minutes for the words I coveted to be spoken.
“Oregon is expected to witness its first snowfall of the season over the next week.”, the forecaster announced, as she beamed and pointed at our city against her green screen. My eyes widened and I was no longer nibbling at the hangnail on my finger. The time had finally arrived.
December 4 2004
The next day wasn’t as simple. The day required bringing the lights out of the overhead boxes in the kitchen and the other decorations sealed off in the basement.
I decided it was best I bother my mother right now instead of later and begged her to bring down the lights from the pantry. She was busy whipping the ganache and noticed a head buried deep into another bowl. She pulled at my sister’s ponytail and slapped her across the face. After a few seconds of intense glaring, she whisked around and headed straight for the pantry. In my mother’s absence, I reached out for my sister’s hand. She was about to say something to me but stilled when the pantry lights went out. My mother handed me the box overflowing with lights and returned to her practised motions with the whisk. As I walked away, I turned to look at my sister who was already receding from sight.
I rested the box on the floor of my room and decided it was time to move to the basement to secure the other decorations. The lights flickered at the top of the stairs and dimmed as I descended. I decided my search for the ornaments needed to be quick since I needed to visit the store afterwards to pick up some tape and glue. The basement was expansive, cluttered by several antiquities, all remaining out of sight in the basement because they were too heavy to be carried out and displayed in the hall.
The basement hadn’t been frequented much, and it had acquired the smell of burnt almonds over the years. The floorboards squeaked under my feet as I cautiously moved about. As my vision adjusted, I could make out the outlines more clearly. The boxes were lined against the wall farthest from the stairs, and it took a few strides to reach them. As I neared the end of the line, I heard a creak closely followed by a loud crashing noise. I turned around but was soon startled by harsh banging sounds, heavy enough to break through the wood. It wasn’t long before I shuttled back up the stairs and into my room.
December 5 2004
I woke up the next day a little after noon and lay disoriented in my bed. The box of lights remained where I placed them, untouched and overflowing. I was surprised my mother let me stay in bed for so long, but it was possible she wouldn’t have noticed with all the work going on at church. I remembered the noise from yesterday, and I immediately suspected my sister was being punished again. Feeling rundown, I pushed the sheets off me and looked out the window. The sky was overrun by clouds, and it seemed as though it would rain. If it’s going to rain, the snow wouldn’t be too far behind, I surmised.
I was suddenly startled by my sister’s voice outside my door. She didn’t knock like she usually did. She began whispering something under her breath. Where, where, where came her voice. It suddenly became silent, and I wondered if she left. I remained motionless until I heard her stifled sniffling, and I suspected that father had beaten her again. I expected her to open the door and bear to me what had happened, but she never came. I heard footsteps grow softer and let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding.
I remained curled up in bed, awaiting the first snow of the season to grace our town. I hadn’t realised I’d spent most of the day in bed until a familiar noise came from the front door.
The doorbell rang once. It rang again. There were footsteps approaching the door, a slight shuffling, and then a pause. It was cut short by the soft clinking of bangles and the impending click of the knob. Whoever was at the door didn’t make a fuss, walking in silently, dropping their coat off in the foyer and slipping the shoes off their feet. My mother, ever so the gracious host, offered the stranger a towel to dry themselves off, and excused herself as she retreated to the kitchen. It must have started raining, I thought to myself.
The stranger sunk into the far end of the couch, the squeaks giving away their pick of the settee. My father’s rubber slippers slapped against the flooring, piercing through the silence. He settled into his armchair and stared at the polished wood beneath him.
“We’ve announced a search that we hope to begin once the sky clears.” the stranger began, clasping his hands together. His stare flitted between the ground under him and my father’s head, still lowered as he spoke on.
My father made no sound.
“If there are any recent pictures of the girl, they would be of much use.” he ushered, looking to my father for any acknowledgment. There came none.
My mother walked into the room and offered the man some tea. She stared blankly at her fingers and scratched at the exposed areas of her wrist until they bled.
“Do you have any idea where she could have gone?”, the stranger asked as he redirected his focus onto my mother.
My mother’s voice hitched as she tried to speak.
I was sweating now. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be true.
“She wouldn’t go anywhere without letting us know.”, my mother whispered even though she knew it wasn’t true, her shawl dabbing at the tears that studded her cheeks.
She couldn’t be missing, I heard her just outside my room mere hours ago. I wasn’t able to think straight, my chest heaving as my brain bled into my skull. I pressed my ears against the doorframe to hear them better.
“What about her sister, she might know where she went, wouldn’t she?”, the stranger enquired, turning completely towards my mother.
Yes, I can tell them where she was, right here, outside my door a few hours ago. As I felt as though I could finally be of some help, and opened the door to reveal myself, I was stunned by what I saw.
My sister slowly walked into the living room, and wrapped her arms around my mother and wept silently. She wouldn’t respond to anything the stranger asked and kept sobbing into my mother’s chest.
If she was here, then who were they talking about?
I felt like the ground beneath me was spinning and my eyes were fighting to stay open. It wasn’t long before the ground swallowed me whole and my eyes shut completely.
When I woke up, I was lying in pitch darkness. My nostrils filled with the distinct scent of almonds once again, and I knew exactly where I was. I never did make it out of the basement. I scrambled to my feet and reached for anything to hold onto. I raised on to my toes, but still nothing. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew I was long dead.
They never did find my body. As the sky cleared and the first flecks of snow fell, I remained buried deep in the ground away from what I longed for the most.
That’s probably why she despises snow so much, came my last thought.
2 Responses
Loved this story. What a surprise ending! Very well-written
Good