Big sister

The train screeched as it neared the its final destination. "Froxville!" The conductor cried out, although he usually he didn't bother. Typically most, if not all the passengers got off at the preceding town of Tretle, but today, there was one person who remained seated. At first he assumed the girl was simply asleep. That, he thought, would be a plausible reason as to why she hadn't gotten off at the last stop, but he realized his mistake when she rose at the name of the town, patiently waiting for the halt of the train. “Perhaps she doesn’t realize,” the conductor thought to himself. After all, he had met a handful of people who mixed up their stops or simply didn’t realize the conditions in which Froxville resided. “Miss!” he called out, silenced by the whistle of the train. “Miss!” he tried again, relieved when the lady turned towards him. “Are you certain this your stop? Froxville?” He gestured to the giant backpack hanging from her shoulders. “There is no place to stay here, there nothing in this town. The people have all left. All the houses have become overgrown with vegetation. I’m afraid the majority of the previous structures now lay completely in ruins.”

“Yes, I am well aware,” she responded, her voice firm, “that is the reason I am here.” A small smile tugged at the corners of the lips as the train finally reached the station. With her auburn locks billowing in the wind behind her, she stepped onto the cracked ghost of a platform as the train raced away. 

***

Julia had learned of the town from a viral photograph that appeared on her feed. Abandoned and supposedly haunted, the photograph was poorly photoshopped to illustrate a ghost hiding in the darkened shadows of a cottage. Due to the town’s lack of proper exploration and media coverage, Julia was sure that an article written about it would be a hit for the struggling journalist company she worked for. She also happened to have a fascination with stories that could be weaved from items left behind which fueled her decision, deciding it was worth her while. After all, she was less interested in chasing ghosts, but rather, quenching the curiosity that drove her to explore abandoned ruins in the first place. She proposed the trip to her boss, arguing that regardless of what she found, people would find the nature of an unexplored forgotten town intriguing. She told her boss to picture a ghost, a family treasure, a unique heirloom, on the front cover of their newest issue. That would certainly draw people in, more than the mundane drama the other news sources were publishing. When her boss finally agreed, Julia was ecstatic. After quickly packing her bags and a fold up tent, she boarded the first train out to the deserted town of Froxville. 

Froxville was exactly as the conductor had warned her. The second she stepped onto the platform, she was hit with a silence that enveloped her presence, sucking her into this space where time stood still. The remnants of whatever building once stood were collapsing with giant holes gapping in the sides, some so large Julia wondered how they even managed to stay upright. What really stuck out though was the amount of greenery that covered every brick, every crevice and even the ground. Oak trees were scattered providing some areas with a break from the welting sun welcoming some of the shrubs and moss. Other plants were resilient to the heat, growing in whatever the cracks and crevices had to offer, creating a lush spread of vegetation throughout the entirety of the town. Julia felt as if she was walking through a painting. The smell of the flowers mixed with the cleanliness of the air creating an aroma that could only be described as heavenly. Maybe she was in heaven. She passed through the rumble, admiring in awe until she reached a building that was different from the rest. Although covered in vines, it was the only building that seemed almost completely intact. She wasn’t sure what but she felt herself being pulled towards the entrance as if she was a mere puppet tied to a string. Her feet guided her, although she herself was still hesitant. This was someone’s home, she reminded herself. Would she be invading their privacy? She wasn’t completely sure why they had left in the first place since no articles had been written about this town. It had just seemingly disappeared with everyone’s stories along with it. In the end, it was her curiosity that dominated her actions, leading her to slowly open the door. A slow creek filled the musty silence. When she stepped inside, her brows furrowed with confusion. The inside was in wonderful condition in comparison with the collapsed building outside. There was still a prominent smell of mold, but otherwise it seemed as if the family hadn’t left long ago. An impossibility, no one could’ve survived while the rest lay in collapse. She tiptoed to the kitchen, feeling like a thief but one which stole memories instead of items. Upon inspection, all the cupboards were bare along with the table and fridge except for a photograph. In the frame, the was a girl who couldn’t have been more then ten smiling at the camera holding a little boy that looked about four with both their parents on each side. The kids were spitting images of their parents with the same wavy brown hair and a mix of blue and gray eyes. Julia felt a cold shiver run up her spine. A draft had come in from the front door that still hung ajar, she reasoned. Shaking her head, she kept moving. Next was the living room which had seats and couches dotted with mold and a side table with a book next to an old, dirty mirror. The book had no title, inviting her to pick it up. It was thick with a leather binding, and when she opened it, the first page read “The Diary of Isabel Tonquires.” The diary must belong to either the mother or the daughter, Julia concluded. When she opened the diary to a random page, she immediately concluded it belonged to the eldest daughter, for the handwriting was less elaborate and there were drawings of flowers in the margins. Curiosity overtook her and she began to read. 

***

Dear diary,

Papa was mad at me today because I didn’t clean up mine and Georgie’s toys. I thought it was kind of unfair since I knew I had to clean up my toys but why Georgie’s too? Papa said it was because Georgie couldn’t and I had to be the big sister. Why can’t I be a big sister that doesn’t clean up after her brother?

Dear diary,

Today mama asked me if I could stay with Georgie while she went to run errands. I did not want to but I said yes anyways because I wanted to be a good big sister. Mama was gone for a while and back even later than papa. When mama got back home she kept falling and a lot of her words didn’t make sense. Papa told me to take Georgie in the other room to play with him there. I’m not sure what to do with Georgie most of the time since he doesn’t play a lot of the games I like to play. I don’t think mama realizes how much work it is to take care of Georgie.

Dear diary,

Mama and papa told me they needed to leave to find medicine for the virus and to stay hidden so the virus wouldn’t find us. They told me to take care of Georgie and that they would be back in a week. I don’t really like playing with Georgie but someone needs to I guess. We usually play pretend (with me doing most of the pretending) and then I read him stories of places far far away. Sometimes I wish I was in one of those places. 

Dear diary,

It’s been a week and mama and papa are not back yet. I’m not surprised. They are liars. There were a few times where mama told me she would watch Georgie, “to give me a break from being such a good big sister.”  One of those days, Georgie almost cut himself with a knife because mama got distracted with a newspaper article. I took the knife away from him and marched up to mama, knife in hand, waiting for an explanation. All she told me was “what would I do without you Isabel.” 

Dear diary,

We are running out of food. It’s been two weeks I think since mama and papa left. I don’t know what to do. I am trying to not eat too much to try to save food but I don’t know how much longer our load of bread and margarine will last. My stomach hurts. I feel bad because Georgie’s stomach probably hurts too. I would go outside to find something but I’m scared. I don’t know what Georgie will do if I get the virus.

Dear diary,

I think it’s been three weeks since mama and papa left but it’s hard to tell. The days kind of blur together because they feel so long. I’m tired of playing with Georgie. I’m tired of staying inside. I’m tired of being hungry. I’m tired of waiting. 

Dear diary,

I don’t think mama and papa are coming back. Maybe they got sick? Maybe they got lost? Maybe they are tired too. I want to go outside to find them. 

Dear diary,

I’m starting to think there was never a virus. 

Dear diary,

We have officially run out of food. Georgie is getting weaker and crankier. He wants food I don’t have. I try to distract him but it isn’t working.

Dear diary,

I feel empty. Georgie died a little bit ago. It looked like he was sleeping but he didn’t move when I tried to wake him up. I lifted him into the bed and covered him with a sheet so he could sleep in peace. I might join him underneath the sheet. I’m really really tired. 

***

Julia shuttered as she closed the final page of the diary, carefully placing it back on the side table. Something wasn’t right. She felt a shift in the air as if it had dropped multiple degrees. She stood up, her eyes haphazardly wandering to the mirror. She felt her gut drop. Standing right behind her was an exact replica of the girl from the family photograph. Her eyes were sunken in, her right hand held a kitchen knife. She appeared stoic, unmoving until a voice echoed around the room. “I must protect Georgie,” the voice echoed, “I’m his big sister.”