Part 1
It was mid-Autumn when my sister was admitted to a mental health facility. Sunken pumpkins sat decaying in our front garden, and ghost-themed string lights still dangled from the eaves of the house. Old tales taught us that the bad things happen during Halloween, not after it.
I’ve not once retold the story of what happened the night that my sister was sent away. But after recent events, I feel as if I have to.
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Jessica had been playing in the garden all afternoon. I was up in my bedroom working on some music (a passion of mine that never really panned out). My room had been filled with the scent of roast beef, and I could hear clattering of dishes downstairs. My mum shouted upstairs and asked me to bring my sister indoors.
I realise now that it probably wasn’t the best idea for a 10-year-old to be playing in the garden in the dark. We lived in the suburbs of southern England, so kids spending time outdoors were pretty much the norm. It was safe… usually.
Our garden was attached to an open green space; there was a field and small woodland, situated a little further out. My dad told me it was private land, and neither Jessica nor me could go over there.
I swung open the conservatory door and called for Jessica to come in. When I didn’t receive a reply, my mum nagged that I should go outside to get her. So that’s exactly what I did.
Once I walked the length of our 400-foot garden, and poked my head inside the Wendy house, I realised that my sister wasn’t there.
I looked into the thick shadow in front of me that seemed to swallow everything. And after squinting a considerable amount, I spotted a figure nestled underneath an oak tree.
The tree stood in the field, alone, dead opposite our house. If it weren’t for my mum’s Poundland solar lights illuminating our garden, I probably wouldn’t have spotted her at all. Without telling my parents, I hopped the fence and ran straight over to the small figure. My stomach churned as I sprinted, and a myriad of horrible thoughts flashed through my mind.
The girl looked frail, and stiff. Her face was hidden in her hands. I presumed that she had been crying, though it was hard to tell. Jessica cried a lot at home, over a lot of stupid stuff – but it was out of character for her to ‘run away’.
“It’s time for dinner, what are you doing?” I said, towering over her. “What have you done? How did you even get over the fence? What were you thinking?” Questions fired from my mouth faster than I could fully process what was going on.
Just to give you some context, my relationship with my younger sister was virtually non-existent. She was a lively kid, and I was an introverted teen filled with angst. We didn’t have anything in common. The closest to a connection that we had was the fact we shared a bedroom wall… And DNA too, I suppose.
Jessica didn’t respond to any of my frenzied questions. She just sat there with her face guarded by her shaky hands, which I could now see were covered in soil. We were engulfed in deafening silence for what felt like hours. The evening was still, and even the tree stood quietly, listening to me, and watching over my sister as it had been long before I arrived.
“Jessica?” I slowly bent down to her level. Her silence made me question whether this child was even my sister, or instead just another young girl with identical mousy brown curls. Either way, I had to find out what was wrong.
She finally raised her head, with such caution that her face was ever so slowly revealed from behind her filthy hands.
“The tree made me do it.” Jessica said. Her voice cracked as she whispered.
“Made you do what?” I asked.
She spun her head to the side, gesturing to the other side of the thick tree trunk. Her sudden movement making me flinch.
“What are you playing at? You’re freaking me out.” I said angrily, jolting up and stepping backwards.
My anger made her retreat behind her hands again. Or maybe it was the fact that our parents’ voices could be heard in the distance, calling out our names.
I peered behind the tree trunk and my stomach churned instantaneously. Everything became slow, as if I was stuck underwater. Words would not exit my mouth, and my eyes never left the body that lie in front of me.
It was a boy. Around the same age as Jessica, could have even been a little older – it was hard to tell… Even the police had trouble at first.
His small body and skull had been penetrated, a hundred times, with sticks… from an Oak tree. Some were thick and still protruding from his corpse; some were thin and simply lay bloodied beside his lifeless body.
Quickly after discovering the boy, my parents found us.
