I was ten when I told my mom about the pale lady in the wardrobe. She had long limbs and paper-white skin. She killed Marlene, my babysitter, right in front of me, and I watched as she dragged Marlene’s body into the wardrobe. She smiled at me as she climbed in after her.
I told mom everything. I told her to get help and call the police. We could save her if we tried. We could help Marlene.
But mom didn’t believe me, nor did she care. Mom was very drunk and relieved she didn’t have to pay Marlene for watching me. She waved me away and pulled the man she had brought back into her room. She closed the door in my face.
She believes now, though. Oh yes, she does. But too little too late.
It should have been her.
I’m upset and scared, but more than anything, I am pissed. My mother’s stubbornness has irrevocably broken so many people.
My baby sister is the biggest victim of it all.
I know we won’t ever find her.
As I’ve said before, Marlene was my babysitter. She was very nice and also very dumb. She once asked me what the Spanish word for tortilla was.
Mom loved to date almost as much as she loved to drink. Almost. Is it sad to say that I saw Marlene more than mom? If so, too bad because it’s the truth.
Mom was on another date that night. She told us not to wait up for her.
Marlene and I were watching tv in the living room. She had put a frozen pizza in the oven and went to check on it. She was in the kitchen for less than a minute when she began to scream.
I jumped to my feet, my heart beating so hard it hurt. Marlene ran into the room; her eyes were wide and terrified.
“Run!” she shrieked at me. “Mariah, run!” My feet didn’t want to move; Fear glued me to the floor.
Marlene grabbed me around the waist, and we ran out the front door. There was no moon and barely any stars.
Everything was black
I had regained my ability to move. I ran fast, and so did Marlene.
We had nearly reached Marlene’s car when I looked back, and I saw her. It was a woman. She unfurled herself from the house, limbs dangling. She had to be at least ten feet tall, and her pale skin gleamed in the dark.
It didn’t take her long to catch up to us, but it should have been me. Marlene pushed me hard, and I fell to the ground.
She saved me, and I could only watch as the woman grabbed her and took her back inside the house.
Marlene screamed so loud for so long, but it didn’t matter. Mom and I lived on a street full of rotting or empty houses. There was nobody but us.
The woman must have lived in the house all along. And when we moved in, we were the trespassers. We were encroaching on her territory.
The last time I saw, Marlene was as the woman took her into the wardrobe. She wasn’t screaming anymore, but blood was running from her nose. Her eyes were full of tears.
I watched her, and she watched me.
They never found Marlene. It’s not as though they really looked for her. Her home was as broken as mine was.
I dreamed of Marlene often. I dreamed that I watched as the woman held her in her fist and squeezed. I listened to her bones crunch and saw her intestines spill out of her mouth. Brain matter leaked out of her ears, and her eyes formed gelatinous tears on her cheeks.
She had cared for and saved me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her. I looked for her every day until the day I left for college.
I never found any trace of her.
I saw traces of the woman, though. Occasionally, I would glimpse her from the corner of my eyes. Her long arms would creep into the room and then slither out of sight. Once, I saw her reflection in the mirror as I brushed my teeth.
She only appeared when mom was out of the house, so I made sure never to be home alone. When I moved out, I moved across the country. I barely talked to mom.
However, I spoke to Lizzy, my baby sister. Mom became pregnant with her when I was 17. I begged mom to move repeatedly, but she never listened to me.
Lizzy was ten. I told her about the house, but never about the pale lady. I told her never to be alone, and she listened; she had been safe.
But mom had gone to the bar during the night, and when she came home, Lizzy was gone.
There were claw marks on the door and a dark stain on the bed. The wardrobe was partially askew.
It had happened. The woman had taken her.
Mom was drunk and half crazy in grief. She asked me what to do.
“Call the cops and look in the wardrobe,” I told her. “Find her! It might not be too late.”
She did and called back a moment later.
“They said they’re on the way,” she sobbed.
“Good. Are you by the wardrobe?”
“Yes, yes. Oh, Mariah, her sock is on the floor. It’s drenched with b b b blood. Oh, Mariah, you were right. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
I hung up on her.
I replayed the last conversation I had with my sister in my head. It would haunt me forever.
“Mariah,” Lizzy whispered to me over the phone. “Mariah! Mom’s gone!”
“What do you mean she’s gone? It’s almost midnight.”
“I know! I woke up to go to the bathroom, and she’s not here!” Lizzy was near tears. I tried to stay calm for her, but it was hard. I felt dread crawling over my skin like a spider.
“I think she went to the bar again. She’s been drinking a lot.”
“Fuck,” I said, not bothering to censor myself. This was very bad. “Where are you?” I asked. I already knew.
“In the house,” Lizzy whimpered. “In the house alone.”
“Lizzy, get out of the house now. Run, run until you’re on the next street over. Fuck, no run until you reach the bar. There should be people there. I’m on my way. I’m going to book a flight right now. I’m taking you to live with me.”
It sounded so easy, a fantastic plan. It would be okay; it would be fine. I would fly to my sister and bring her back with me.
Everything would be okay.
But it was too late. Fear immobilized Lizzy as it had with me all those years ago.
“I hear something,” she whispered to me. “There’s something right outside the door.”
“Mom?” I said, hopefully knowing that it wasn’t.
“No, no…” Lizzy breathed, and her voice sounded muffled. “It’s not mom. I’m under the bed right now. It’s a woman…She’s, she’s whispering to me.” She gasped. “She’s in the room. She’s talking to me.”
I couldn’t say anything. I burst into tears.
Lizzy was crying, too. “She says she remembers you. She remembers hearing you scream and pound on the door. She says that every day you would walk around the house looking for the girl. The one she killed.”
“Lizzy, stop talking!” I yelled. “Lizzy, I’m on my way!”
I grabbed my keys and ran to the door. Yes, I was in my pajamas, and yes, I was thousands of miles away, but I could save her. I could help my sister. I could help her like Marlene had helped me.
It was quiet, and when Lizzy spoke again, her voice was strangely calm.
“She says that she watched you every single day in every single room. She says that you think you got away, but you didn’t. She says she’ll see you soon.”