I don’t know if I’m being irrational or just plain going insane. Either way, I would like to voice my concerns somewhere. I ask you to be patient with me as I find a way to word everything.
I was never good at expressing myself or fitting in. I was the black sheep of the family, only ever truly loved by two. What made it worse growing up was how death and sickness seemed to follow me. I have a very healthy family, for the most part. The woman who took care of me when I was young had lived to raise the children of her children. After I was born, their health streak seemed to end. I wasn’t so sickly that I needed to be held in the NICU for months but I was the first baby in generations to be born sick. I was awfully tiny and a weird combination of purples and blues. After me fell my mother. She caught an infection the day after I was born. She and I, trapped in the hospital longer than anyone would like.
My mother had to return to school when we were finally released. She was finishing up her last year of high school—a perfect excuse to leave me with anyone else. I stayed with my grandmother for a while before she broke her leg. I was then handed off to my great-grandmother. This is where I stayed for 2 years. I heard many stories of how my great-grandparents adored me. Anyways, around this time my mother had joined and dropped out of college. My father came back into our lives and quickly, they both struggled through minor illnesses and low-paying jobs. I grew up being bounced around between people. I felt loved but never did I stay in one place.
As soon as my sister was born, I could feel my mother’s resentment towards me grow. I stayed with my great-grandparents while my parents were at the hospital. It was my grandmother’s idea to leave me with someone else. The fear of my mother gaining another infection and not making it this time was great. After 24 hours of my mother and sister being completely healthy, I was shoved into a car to meet the newest edition. I think this is when it clicked for everyone that I was the problem. Not even after an hour of my visit, everything went downhill. My mother fainted and I was ushered out of the room. I want to say my not remembering this day was due to my age but even if I was older I’d want to push this day forever out of my mind.
I was deemed the walking plague. No aunts or uncles would visit me. My parents started spending all their time at work or with my sister. At least I had my own room. The only ones who would care for me were my great-grandparents. They still saw me as a ray of sunshine. I am forever grateful for their kindness. Still, my reputation followed. I was now 9 and my sister was four. My great-grandfather was diagnosed with cancer. My world crumbled. Not only did I know one of my favorite people was dying but I was being verbally insulted by all of the family.
We had an amazing 2 years. It was hard on everyone but he was always smiling. He was always so kind. He made sure to protect me as much as he could. Nothing could prepare me for the ill-treatment I would receive after he passed. My great-grandmother was bedridden for two weeks after he passed. In those two weeks, I was pushed around. I was belittled until I was brought to tears. I was kicked out of the funeral. I was locked away. People like me don’t deserve to see the light of day. A child should never be told those words.
I moved in with my great-grandmother after that. After the funeral, my parents decided they only wanted one child. This was the one thing that didn’t hurt me much. I never saw them as family. So I stayed in the now very quiet home my great-grandmother owned. She didn’t talk as much but she was still very kind. I took care of her and she made sure I was happy. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think of how burdensome I was. All the coincidences lingered in my thoughts. I stayed in my room when we had visitors but the walls were thin. So when I turned 18, I left.
It really helped me mentally to leave. I finally met friends and although it was scary at first, it helped. Every time someone got sick or injured after meeting me, I felt ashamed. Little by little I learned it was a normal thing to happen occasionally. After three years, I really started missing home. I felt ashamed for not even sending a letter or calling. After three years of not seeing my great-grandmother, I packed a bag and headed home.
Remember what I said at the beginning? Remember how I said my granny became quiet after my great-grandfather passed? I finally reached the point of this post.
When I reached home, it looked like nothing was touched. Literally. The weeds ran wild and the outside looked run down. I was shocked and horrified. I prepared myself for the worst as I walked along the cracked concrete. My hand shook as I reached out to ring the doorbell. The echo of the chime was eerie as I waited. A massive lump formed in my throat as the door slowly opened.
Tears formed in my eyes as soon as I saw her. My little granny looked the same. So many emotions swirled in my head as I bent over to hug her tightly. Still, I couldn’t get rid of the sense of unease I had. No words had been exchanged the whole time, Maybe that was it. I let go and looked at her face. I finally really looked at her face. She had the widest grin. It seemed so unnatural paired with these cold, dark eyes. I looked down and noticed she was wearing nearly the exact same outfit I had last seen her in. I finally peered into the house and noticed the inside was just as bad as the outside. The floors were cracked. Everything was filthy.
“You could have called me to help you take care of this place, granny. If not me then at least someone.” She just stood there, staring. A part of me wanted to believe it was due to shock. “Do you want some coffee? I can make you some. We can say it’s my way of saying sorry for not coming sooner.”
Nothing. The eariness and unease grew. The knot in my stomach seemed to grow as I followed her into the kitchen. She grabbed the coffee pot from a cupboard as I looked around. I had no idea how this place got this bad in three years. I turned to her. The pot in her hand was caked in dust but instead of rinsing it, she filled it with water. I gently took it out of her hand and guided her to the dining table.
“Just sit here and rest. I said I was going to make the coffee.” She obediently sat at the table and stared at the wall. My mind struggled to explain it all.
It didn’t take me long to find everything. I quickly scrubbed everything down and set it all up. I remembered how quiet this house was but this silence had something else behind it. I couldn’t quite pin it down. I spent an hour trying to speak to my granny. She didn’t even attempt to drink from her mug. She just kept staring at me with a blank stare and a wide grin. I settled on telling her stories of my time in college. I hoped everything would be better in the morning.
Dear reader, I know this was long but I’m not good at arranging my thoughts. I put my granny to bed right before starting to type this out. She just stared at the ceiling while I said goodnight. I’ve been hearing soft pacing outside of my door this entire time. I am afraid, reader. I’ve been afraid since the moment I saw this house again. What happened to my granny? Is that even my granny?
The pacing stopped. I held my breath for a little just to see what I could hear. She’s whispering, dear reader. I can hear her whispering. I don’t want to leave this room. I’m afraid of what will happen if I open that door. I have a feeling she’s not alone out there. If you listen close enough, you can hear soft chanting along with her words.
“There’s only one true plague in this family.” It’s being said on repeat. What does this all mean? What do I do? I am so afraid. I am so very afraid.