Willow's Whistling

I walk up the creeky old stairs. It seems like forever since I have been here, and I'm not sure I want to go back. Murder. The word haunts me in my sleep. Of course, they are here to interview me again. Just when I was getting away from the past. The wind hollers out my name like a lost boy searching for his mother. The thing that I always feel when I come here is back. It's dark. And cold. The statues of angles don't even look close to friendly. Nothing here does.

"Back already?" I hear her call. She's in my dreams every night, and I shiver then. I'm shuddering now.

"L-Louis! Thank goodness you came. It's been so hard these past couple of days." My aunt yells, running from the backyard.

I nod, not wanting to talk to her. To anyone, ever again.

"The detective is waiting for you in the back. It will be fine, don't worry. They talked to me, and it was like a piece of cake! Such a sweet boy, you are." She said, patting my head, not considering my age.

Boy.

"What did you say? I am not a boy." I glare at her, shuddering more intensely. Those words shouldn't be told to me.

"Honey, it's just.." She struggled for words. "Y-You are a b-boy. In her e-eyes." She stutters more and more often. Ever since the stroke, and now it annoys me.

"I am a girl. Whether you like it or not. Nothing can change that." I scream at her, walking away from her shocked face. I have no choice in this. Even when she's gone, she never truly is. And I hate myself for that.

I open the rusty gate leading to the garden. I tuck a strand of my thick, black hair behind my ear in the process. They should see the anger in my face.

"Russel! You said this was over! That I didn't have to deal! Why am I here!?" I demand of the man standing before me. His greasy brown hair in a bun, as usual.

"I'm sorry, Louis. There's nothing we can do. We know it was murder, and sadly, you are a suspect." He mutters, startled by my shouting.

"I'm her daughter!" I say, cracking my throat.

"Exactly." He responds, walking closer. His brown jacket swaying in the wind.

I walk over to him, and sit down in the picnic table. The exact one where they think it happened.

"She killed herself. We all know why and how." I mutter.

"We don't know that." He said, patting my shoulder.

"Yes, we do." I say, not caring about the tear rolling down my cheek.

"We expect foul play. There were bruises." He says, sitting along with me.

I chuckle lightly.

"Why didn't you tell us earlier then?" I wipe my face.

"Were not monsters. Most family don't react like you, Louis. They want to recover. It's already hard enough." He says, grabbing a tissue out of his coat pocket. He hands it to me.

"You're not normal. I'm sorry to admit it, but you are."

"And you think I don't know that? I hated that woman." I said.

"Hated?" He questions.

"She dead, idiot." I throw out.

"Ha. Yes, I know that." He scrubs his hands together. Warming them.

"I'm here to ask you one, and only one, question." He says, looking into the sunset.

"And what would that be?" I ask, curious.

"Do you know who did it? Who killed Michelle Willow?"

Maybe, what do you have for me? I wanted to say that. Expect, I would go to jail in a snap of his fingers. We were far from friends. And he knew that.

I did, indeed, know who killed her. I wasn't going to tell him, though. Possibly on my death day, but surely not today.

She deserved it. Dying. She was a crazy maniac, and even my aunt knew that. No wonder I'm her daughter. A daughter she never wanted.

Of course, it had to me. The one who got sent by god, to be her daughter. To be her sweet pumpkin. But, she wanted a boy. And then dad died, and she was left. That's why I left god, and went to his brother. Early in my life, hiding it from her. She hated me already. Louis Willow, was her perfect baby boy. She told everyone I was a boy. She even told me I was a boy. She buzzed my hair, she put me in shorts and told me to play football. I knew she lied to me.

At the age of six. I looked..strange. Compared to the other boys. The screaming in the night. Begging god to have me magically turn into a boy. I heard her, and she thought I didn't listen.

I ran at the age of seventeen. I changed my name when I was eighteen. Louise Rigger. I was free, and I didn't have to deal with her crap anymore.

Then she found me. My boyfriend was worried about me. Saying it wasn't normal. A normal relationship. He found her and made a trail of bread crumbs. He's gone now, too.

She forced me into this wrecked house. A place where I was forced to play with trucks, than dolls.

And just like that, I was forced. Forced to jump into the freezing cold water, even if I didn't want to.

I would wear black clothes. Sneakers. Now, that's all I own. All I will ever wear. Thanks to her.

The next day, she was dead. And I laughed when I heard the news. I laughed, and I'm glad I did.

When I hired the man, I said "Don't judge the relationship."

"Mom, how are you going to die?" I asked, as cut the locks that I grew over the summer.

"That will come soon." She replied.

"Why?" I asked.

"I've done bad. And so will you. You grandma did bad, and you grandma's mom." She said. Shaking.

"I know what I will do." I said.

"I think I do too. Use poison, it's faster that way." She chuckled. I grinned.

Mom never was a one for talking, unless it was about Louis. She told me how much she hated me. How she hated her life. How she loved it.

"Do you know why we obey god?" She asked, as I ate my peas.

"No." I roll my eyes, annoyed.

"Good answer. We don't. We summon his brother, and then we will be free."

"From what?" I asked.

"God doesn't like witches." She simply replied, continuing to wash the dishes.

"No. I don't know who killed her. If I did, I would have told you." I say to Russel. Letting him ease into my words.

"Good. Now, I'll let you know when we find who it is. Until then, stay safe. Don't hesitate to call." He said, getting up. And leaving.

But, what he didn't know is it that I was the one who killed my mother. My boyfriend. And I was the one who put the spell on Russel to forget about me. About my family.