Little Sister is a scary story about a boy whose sibling is murdered. She comes back seeking revenge and he tries his best to help her.
My little sister was only seven years old when she was killed. We found her lying dead in a ditch. It was late at night and the rain was pouring down, washing the blood from her pale white skin. Her throat had been cut. Her eyes were still open and she stared blankly at the sky as the rain beat down on her.
The police never found out who killed her. They buried her in the graveyard, not far from our house. At the funeral, my father held me tightly against his chest. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. My mother couldn’t come. She was too sick.
Back then, we all lived together. There were a lot of us – My mother and father, my aunt and uncle, my three cousins, my sister and I.
Not long after the funeral, my sister came back. I saw her outside my window at night, scratching at the glass. Her eyes were just hollow sockets, her cheeks were sunken and her hair was matted with dirt. Her thin lips were drawn back from her teeth in a sickly grin. Every night, she just stood there in the rain, clawing at the window, silently begging to be let in.
Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I opened the window and she crawled inside. She stank of the grave. She was cold to the touch. Deathly cold. She didn’t speak. She never said a word. She just curled up in the corner and watched me as I slept. When I woke up in the morning, she would be gone. All that was left were muddy tracks on the bedroom floor.
One night, she seemed to be trying to tell me something. She kept pointing to a picture of my uncle. She grabbed my arm and her fingers felt like ice. I couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. Then, all at once, a chill ran down my spine. I realized my uncle was somehow involved in her death. I began to grow very frightened of him.
Afte rthat, things seemed to fall into place. I understood why my sister kept coming back. She wanted revenge. She wanted my uncle to pay for what he had done.
One rainy day, my uncle took me for a walk along the cliffs. He stopped at the edge and gazed out over the sea. The grass was wet and slippery. The moment he turned his back, I knew this was my chance. I gathered all my strength and kicked him in the back. I still remember the expression on his face as he twisted and turned, desperately trying to regain his balance. It was no use. He toppled over the side.
I crawled up to the edge and peered over. His body lay on the jagged rocks below, his arms and legs twisted at odd angles. His skull was smashed and his neck was broken. Bright red blood trickled down on the stones. When the police came, I pretended to cry. I told them he slipped and they had no reason to doubt me. After all, I was just a child.
That night, my parents wanted me to sleep in their room. I told them I wanted to be alone. My father was torn apart by his brother’s death. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. I waited for my sister, but she didn’t come. Before I went to sleep, I left the window open.
In the middle of the night, I was woken by the sound of screaming. My sister was kneeling on the floor of the bedroom. She was writhing in pain and her fingernails were scratching at her face. She was a mess. Her face was bloody and her skin was hanging off.
“What have you done?” she screamed at me, over and over.
I was so scared, I couldn’t move. As I watched, she screamed and sobbed and tore her own flesh off with bloody fingers. Then I must have blacked out. When I woke up, she was gone.
I never understood the horrible thing I had done to my little sister, until we went to the graveyard for my uncle’s funeral.
They buried my uncle in the same grave as her.
My sister never came back again.