This has been sitting in my drafts for a week and a half while I debated wether or not to post this. I decided I just needed a place to talk about this and take a 100 pound weight off my chest.
I married my high school sweetheart when I was 21 and he was 23. 3 years later we had our first child, who we named Vivian. Our next child we named Fiona. Vivian was so excited to be a big sister and Fiona looked to Vivian as her biggest role model. I wish we had known beforehand that having a second child was the biggest mistake we could have ever made.
Since she was about 3 years old, Fiona has loved to copy just about everything Vivian did, from the clothes they both wore, to the way they both styled their hair. We thought it was cute and encouraged it. Vivian was a little fussy about it at first but she was fine with it after a while. One day I accidentally called Vivian, Vivi. It stuck. We called her that everyday. Honestly the only time we ever called her Vivian was when she was in trouble. Fiona noticed that we were calling her sister Vivi so she called herself Fifi.
Fiona was only 4 years old so sometimes she mixed up her letters and called herself Vivi. The first time she did this, Vivian was fine. The next few times, however, she freaked. The first time she went ballistic over this went as follows: her face went red and she screamed and ran to her room. I went up to talk to her. “Vivi, do you want to talk about this?” I asked. “I’m Vivi! Me! Next time she does that… well I’m not sure what I’ll do,” she said. “Well, Vivi, just remember, Fiona’s only 4. She’s not as smart as you yet. She’s gonna mix up her sounds sometimes, just ignore it.” But she didn’t. Every time it happened the events following went the exact same. Except for the time before last. When I went up to talk to her she said, “Next time she does that I’ll hurt her,” with no hesitation.
I was stupid. I should have known. When Vivian said she would do something, she always did. I should have kept her away from Fiona but it never crossed my mind. And the next time Fiona called herself Vivi I wasn’t even there to supervise. They were downstairs playing nicely and then I heard Fiona yelling “Vivi, no! I’m sorry, don’t hurt me!” and then crying. And then deadly silence.
I ran downstairs, alarmed at what I had just heard, and walked in on a gruesome scene. First, Vivian had grabbed a pair of scissors and torn Fiona’s clothes to ribbons. Then she completely butchered the Dutch braid I had done that morning to match hers. Then, she stabbed the scissors four times into Fiona’s stomach and finally, lodged the scissors into her neck. With tears rimming my eyes I asked her why she did it. “Because I’m Vivi! Me! And no one else.”
I called my husband at work and told him everything while sobbing. Silence. Then he broke it. “Honey… we only have one daughter.”
[UPDATE]
This happened just yesterday. After posting the original story yesterday I rapidly lost all memories of Fiona. All I remember is her name and her appearance. I’ve realized she was all in my head. Right after I got off my computer, however, something happened.
I replied to a comment saying I had been avoiding Vivian. Yesterday though I decided to play with her. She loves Barbies, but she keeps her favourite ones in her closet so she doesn’t lose them. I went downstairs to the play area where Vivian was. “Mommy! Wanna play Barbies?” I smiled. “Sure, Vivi. Go upstairs and pick out the ones you want me to play with.” She ran upstairs as fast as a 6 year old could run. Suddenly I heard a high pitched squeal and a giggle. She came back down with 2 Barbies and an ear to ear grin. “Thank you, Mommy!” she said. “For what?” I asked with an eyebrow raised. “The new doll in my closet. The big one.”
I walked upstairs and peeked in her closet and sure enough, there was a new doll in her closet. It looked just like Fiona but just a little more doll-like. I know for a fact I didn’t buy that because I’ve always despised life size dolls because of how creepy they are. A car pulling into the driveway alerted me that my husband was home. I picked up the doll and carried it downstairs just in time for him to open the door. “Vivi found this in her closet. Did you buy it?” I asked. He made a disgusted face. “No, that’s really creepy. I’ll sell it online, don’t worry, I know how much you hate those things.” But as I was getting Vivi ready for bed, I heard him talking in the living room. I poked my head out and saw that he had the doll next to him on the couch with a picture book in his hands.
I spoke to him about it once Vivi was asleep. “I was reading Fiona her bedtime story,” he said. That’s not even the worst part. This morning I saw him dressing it in a matching outfit to Vivi’s and putting its hair into pigtail braids.