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STRAWBERRY SUNSHINE

RILEY

I flip to the next page of my Demonology Codex book, my jaw dropping at the horrific artwork of the creature on the page.

“The Wendigo,” I say slowly, sounding it out. My fingers trace over the grotesque features of the demon. “Said to have once been a human that turned into what is now known as The Wendigo due to its cannibalistic nature.”

I cringe as I continue reading about the creature. It has an emaciated frame, claws, sharp teeth, and a skeletal stag-like head with massive antlers protruding from the skull.

While this being looks like something out of my worst nightmare, I can’t help but become fascinated with it. I’ve had a sick obsession with demons and the occult for as long as I can remember. Ever since I learned that The Saint, an Archdemon from Hell, plunges the world into chaos every Christmas to reap the souls of the wicked, I’ve spent as much time as humanly possible studying all of the otherworldly creatures lurking beneath us in another dimension.

A finger tapping on the page in front of me snaps me out of my whirlwind of thoughts about demons.

I flick my eyes up to focus on the center of my entire world. Willow.

She sits next to me on her twin bed in our shared bedroom, with her back leaning against the wall. Her legs are crossed with her sketchpad in her hands, like always.

“Hey, Will. What’s up?”

She taps on the picture of The Wendigo again, crinkling her cute button nose, dusted with freckles, and shaking her head.

I flash her a devious smile. “What? Too scary?”

She nods as she brings her sketchpad to her face to cover her eyes.

I skip past the next couple of pages in my book to something arguably less scary-looking but nonetheless very, very deadly. Reapers.

“It’s gone now.”

She slowly drags the pad lower, a hint of amusement in her emerald green orbs.

“Were you actually scared or just trying to get my attention?”

She gives me a half-shrug, her lips tilting into a smirk as she feigns drawing again.

I push off my stomach and sit on my knees, snatching her sketchpad from her hands. My breath catches in my throat. “Will, this is beautiful,” I breathe, unable to tear my eyes off the drawing.

She was sketching me, sifting through the pages of my book. My chin rests in my palm, a loose strand of hair dangling in front of my face. Her talent is unreal; the attention to each detail, every blemish, scar, and beauty mark from my neck to my face, did not go unnoticed. She even roughly sketched the horrendous Wendigo for another touch of realism.

“This is seriously fantastic! Your art will take you far in life, that’s for sure.”

Her pale cheeks turn rosy pink, her face lighting up with a nervous smile.

“I mean it, Will.” I look down at the drawing again, tracing my fingers over the shading. “Thank you, I love it.”

Her smile grows even bigger, brighter. I can’t help but love the way she smiles—it’s so radiant, like it could bring a field of wilted flowers back to life. If I accomplish nothing else in my life, I could still die happy knowing I did my part to keep Willow’s light from ever dimming. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

She grabs the sketchpad and flips to a blank page, nodding at the Demonology Codex , urging me to continue reading.

A loose strand of her long, strawberry-blonde hair falls in front of her face. It hangs there teasingly, and I can’t help but reach out and tuck it behind her ear. She offers me a soft smile as she leans into my touch.

Damn. I’m absolutely obsessed with my foster sister.

The day Willow entered my life, I finally found someone who soothed the hurt I carried in my heart.

She came into my life when I was seven years old. I was with one of the many revolving door fosters that were utterly repulsive human beings. My childhood was rough, every home I moved to was shit, the adults even shittier. No one wanted to take care of the girl with “problems.”

They always sent me back into the system. They said I was “too much to handle” or “not what they signed up for.” Even at a young age, I was blunt and aggressive. Getting in fights was all I knew how to do.

I was taken away from my biological mother. I later found out she was a crack addict who prostituted herself for drug money. From what I remember, strange men always came into and out of our home. I’ve never forgotten their disgusting attitudes and demeanor. Or how they would physically abuse my mother when they didn’t get their way.

All I’ve ever known is rage and brutality. Until her .

My strawberry sunshine. The light to my darkness.

I knew she was special since the day those foster parents brought her in. Her skin was marred with burn scars, and she held onto a tattered teddy bear tightly to her chest. I’ll never forget the fear in those big, green eyes.

To this day, I’ve never once heard her speak. I heard the foster family speak about Willow in hushed whispers one night when they thought no one was listening, calling her a freak child. “Watch out for those quiet ones,” they’d say.

That same night, I grabbed a butter knife off the kitchen counter and attempted to stab our foster parents for speaking about her that way. I regret nothing about getting us moved; I only wished I had grabbed a sharper knife.

Willow is my delicate flower. She isn’t weird or a freak. She is pure, intelligent, so fucking talented. Her beauty is unmatched. Willow is everything bright in this world, and no one will ever hurt her. No one.

Ever since then, we’ve been inseparable. Every time I got us kicked out of a foster home, or they wanted to get rid of us because “we were too weird for them,” I would fight anyone who tried to separate us. We may not be related by blood, but that girl is my family and the only one I have left.

If it weren’t for Willow, I’d probably have ended up locked up or dead. I need her like the air I breathe, and I think, in some ways, she needs me, too. At least, I hope she does. If something ever happened to her, I’d burn the fucking world to the ground and dance in its ashes.

I finally glance down at my book and resume my reading.

“Reapers, the bringers of death, are said to be Lucifer’s most favored children. Once human, they were granted the ‘kiss of death’ in the afterlife, transforming them into his loyal servants tasked with delivering souls to Hell.”

The more I read, the more intrigued I become. My eyebrows lift as the description unfolds– voice steadily increasing in pitch as my excitement builds.

“Little is known about these mysterious beings. Some claim they appear as ordinary humans, blending seamlessly into the world of the living, while others insist they take the form of a shadowy figure cloaked in black, wielding a scythe. One thing, however, is certain: meeting a Reaper face to face is a fate you’d never wish for. To be struck by their scythe not only ends your life but also seals your soul in eternal torment within the depths of Hell.”

Willow stops drawing and gives me a pointed look. Then, tapping her pencil on the paper, she holds my stare.

I chuckle. “What? You wanna kiss death, too?”

She begins writing something on her sketchpad and turns to show it to me.

No, but it sounds like you do .

I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “Are you jealous, sister?”

Her response is a middle finger and sticking out her tongue. I want to bite it.

Before I can make the life-altering decision to cross that barrier of a foster sister to… something more, I must suppress those feelings of desire for her once again when I hear footsteps pounding up the stairs.

I snap the book shut and quickly hide it. Maria hates my obsession with the occult. She thinks I’m bringing evil spirits into her house. But the only bad entity in this house is you, bitch.

Our bedroom door flies open, slamming into the wall from how hard she pushed it.

Our foster monster, Maria, stands in the doorway with a lit cigarette in her hand and the stench of beer oozing from her pores. The system picks out real winners for fosters.

“Just as I thought, doing nothing like always—all you are is a waste of space, girls.”

I ball my fists at my sides, trying to contain the rage that threatens to boil over.

She takes another drag of her cigarette, ashing it onto our floor before continuing. “You’re both big girls now—eighteen years old and fresh high school graduates. The state ain’t paying me anymore for you brats, so I want you both gone. As soon as possible. I need to clean up this room for new snot-rags.”

I fly off the bed in a flash. I’m going to knock this bitch’s teeth in. But before I can get any closer to her, I feel Willow drag me back by my arm. She gently taps her finger against my arm, trying to reign me in.

I face her, seeing the fear and worry etched into her features. I let out a deep sigh, and she reaches down to interlock her fingers with mine.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t fly off the handle, Riley. You’re eighteen now, you can get thrown in jail.

I can never let that happen because if I get locked up, Willow will be alone. I won’t allow it.

“You have one week to get your shit straight. No more, no less,” Maria slurs.

I snap my head at her. “We have no money. No car. Literally nothing. Give us some more time to figure something out, and I promise we will be out of here faster than you can grow that beer belly larger.”

Maria shrieks in fury, stepping closer with her finger pointed at me. “That mouth on you is nothing but trouble, girl. I cannot wait for the day I find out you’ve been left for dead on the side of the road like the trash you are.”

My muscles tense, and I try to lunge for her again, but Willow wraps her arms around me in a bear hug. She trails her finger up and down my jaw, and I lean into her touch for comfort.

“One week, then you freaks can get the fuck out.”

Willow holds me tighter, the door slamming in my face as Maria stumbles away.

My heart feels like it’s sinking, weighed down like an anchor full of dread. Where the hell are we gonna go?