I’ve always been afraid of my little sister. I know that sounds like I must be a pussy. Jackie is two years younger and she’s always been an introvert, but she sees things. Even now at seventeen she is still tied to mom’s apron strings, never leaves the house and still sees things. Everyone thinks she’s special.
She’s always told crazy stories and when we were younger she sometimes got me in trouble by telling our parents the most bizarre things about what she saw. She lied a lot. I was always innocent and she had to try and drag me into it. Dad told me one day that she’d told him about an evil spirit in her room.
Jackie would come down for breakfast in the morning with scratches on her back and face. She’d murmur to herself and we could hear things like, “Nasty demon.” Mom was upset and took her to doctors who said that she was doing it to herself and was showing signs of schizophrenia.
One time, Dad found bird beaks that were still dripping blood – scattered and left in strange places around the house. They were stuffed under cushions, inside coffee cups and poking out of the air vents. He followed the trail of tiny feathers and drops of blood all the way back to Jackie’s room. He went nuts that day.
I remember hearing Mom and Dad fight over what to do about Jackie. They sat her down and asked her about the beaks. She shook her head violently, chirping like a bird and screeching until they got the medicine down her throat. We were all so terrified of her. I kept my door locked at all times.
When I started having nightmares and passing out every time something happened, Jackie was always standing there, staring at me with her pale, green eyes. Her messy, orange hair always creeped me out but when she took the scissors to it and did a freaky hack job, I wondered if I would be next.
Mom was worried that I was going insane too but when I turned eighteen I decided to move out with my boyfriend. I’ll never forget the last day, when I was packing my bags and boxes. Jackie sidled up to me and handed me an envelope. She giggled and backed away as I opened it up. I froze.
There were pictures she’d drawn of me scratching her face and torturing animals. I looked up in confusion and saw her pointing at me with an evil grin.
“You’re the one, Denise. You’re the demon. You come to me at night – in your sleep.”
I didn’t want to believe it, even though I did have problems with sleepwalking when I was little. She whispered in my ear as I fought back the tears and disgust.
“Keep bringing me the baby birds, Denise. I like the crunch. If you don’t, I’ll tell – and you’ll be taken away.”
I try to keep her happy, but now – my boyfriend wakes up with scratches all over him.