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HE DID IT, DADDY!

Lizzie

MAY 1, 2000

IN MEMORY OF

CAOIMHE CATHERINE YOUNG

LOVING DAUGHTER, SISTER & FRIEND

April 30, 1981–April 24, 2000

FOREVER EIGHTEEN

I GNORING THE LADY STANDING AT MY SISTER’S GRAVESIDE, PLAYING F LEETWOOD Mac’s “Landslide” on her guitar, I strained to hear the sound of scratching, so I could tell the men to stop lowering her coffin into the hole and bring her back up instead.

So I could tell the priest that my sister was in a deep sleep, one that had lasted seven days, but she was awake now, and they needed to let her out of the box.

Come on, Caoimhe, we’re running out of time .

Hurry up and scream, cry, shout…

Anything!

Numb to the bone, I watched as someone produced a chair for my mother to sit on, while my father dropped to his knees at her graveside, crying and begging a God that couldn’t hear us to bring his daughter back to him.

Meanwhile, I stood alone and watched the men in black suits lower my sister’s coffin into the ground.

Caoimhe was in there.

Inside that wooden box.

Clasping my hands together tightly, I willed my sister to make a noise to prove to all these people in black clothes that they were mistaken.

Her voice.

Her eyes.

Her smile.

Her last moments.

No, this couldn’t be it.

She didn’t belong in here.

My big sister.

My only sibling.

She was never coming back.

No .

No .

No!

Someone reached for my hands and gently peeled them apart before entwining their fingers with mine.

I didn’t need to look to know whose hand was holding mine.

I could feel his presence: strong, dependable, and safe.

He was the only thing I could feel nowadays.

Tightening my hold on Hugh’s hand, I looked on wordlessly as my sister’s burial slowly came to a close.

She was in the ground now.

The were throwing fistfuls of dirt on top of her, cementing that she wasn’t coming back.

This was no mistake.

Caoimhe was gone.

Forever .

The priest told my parents that God had taken my sister’s soul to heaven, but he forgot to mention that Caoimhe had taken my soul with her.

I knew she had.

There was a piece of me in the ground with her.

I could feel it.

A hollow, gaping ridge in my chest where she used to be.

Where I used to feel .

Towering over me by several inches, Hugh stood by my side, holding my hand throughout the rest of the service. Even long after it ended, when the mourners lined up to offer my family their condolences, he remained right beside me.

I didn’t accept a single one of the countless handshakes I was offered, choosing instead to hold Hugh’s hand with both of mine.

I didn’t want their touch.

I didn’t want to feel another hand on my skin ever again.

Only this boy.

Hugh .

After a while, Claire and Patrick came to stand with us.

“Liz.” With tears streaming down her face, she hooked her arm through mine and gave me an awkward hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, Claire,” I replied, feeling as lifeless as my sister.

“I don’t know what to say, Liz,” Patrick added, stepping forward to rub my shoulder. “I’m just so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Patrick,” I repeated back, feeling dead inside.

Sniffling, Claire adjusted my cardigan, placing it back on my shoulder, though I hadn’t noticed it falling off in the first place.

“She’s grand, Claire,” Hugh interjected, shooing his sister away from the buttons on my cardigan. “Leave her be.”

“I’m just trying to help,” my friend sobbed, looking up at me with lonesome, brown eyes. “I want to help you, Liz.” Sniffling, she added, “But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Hugh,” I breathed, feeling my body grow weak when my eyes tracked a shadow looming on the other side of the graveyard. “Look.”

“Look at what, Liz?” Claire asked, looking around us. “What do you see?”

“The scary lady,” I whispered. “She’s here.”

“What scary lady?” she strangled out, looking panicked. “Who is she?”

“A ghost,” I mumbled, feeling slightly delirious as I continued to watch her bob and weave around the headstones. “She has sharp claws and watches us when nobody’s looking.”

“Wh-what?” Claire choked out, gripping Patrick’s arm. “Is it the banshee?”

“No, it’s not, and there’s no banshee,” Patrick reassured Claire, wrapping an arm around her. “Liz is going through a lot right now. She probably hasn’t slept in days. It’s normal for a person’s eyes to play tricks on them when they’re going through something like this.”

“There’s nothing wrong with her eyes,” Hugh cut in, attention riveted to the headstone I last noticed her hiding behind. “I see her, too.”

“She’s here, isn’t she?” I choked out, turning to look at him. “It’s her, right? The one we saw in the woods by your house that day?”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly, eyes narrowed as he stared off in the distance. “I think it is.”

“Hugh, stop it!” Claire cried out. “You’re scaring me.”

“They’re both sleep deprived, Baby-Biggs,” Patrick said, consoling her. “He’s been with her every day since the accident. Don’t worry about it.”

“Can you still see her?” Hugh asked, ignoring our friends, as he craned his neck to scope out the area.

“No.” I shook my head. “Can you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Well, that’s one bit of good news,” Patrick chimed in, still soothing Claire who looked like she was about to jump out of her skin.

It was at that exact moment I noticed the family that had come to stand beside my parents.

My blood ran cold immediately.

His father was holding my father up, while his stepmother consoled my mother.

Betrayal more potent than anything I’d ever felt overcame me when I locked eyes on the boy standing beside him .

He stared back at me with gray eyes.

Guilty eyes .

How could he do that?

How could he stand with him?

Didn’t he know?

He had to know.

I did what she’d asked.

She promised he would help.

He hadn’t.

Tears filled his eyes, matching the ones burning mine.

Narrowing my eyes, I flicked my attention back to him . He was standing at my sister’s grave, taking their condolences and wearing his false grief like a badge of honor.

And that’s when it happened.

That’s when the first scream escaped me.

It was a shrill, piercing sound that caused everyone to turn and look at me.

My friends included.

“Elizabeth, stop it!” my father cried, leaning heavily against Keith Allen for support. “Show some respect for your sister.”

I couldn’t stop.

I couldn’t hold it in another second.

Seeing him standing at my sister’s grave, consoling my parents had flicked a switch inside of me.

“He did it, Daddy.” With tears streaming down my face, I screamed at the top of my lungs and pointed to him . “He killed Caoimhe!”