The Undocumented

Staring down at the picture in my hands, perfectly lamented, I started to shake as my breath quickened. It was a picture of the moment that’s been haunting me since it happened. No one knows that this happened to me, but…how could I possibly be holding a picture of that night? The last night I had with my baby sister, we were so little when it happened, it was just the two of us. Neither one of us knew how to operate a camera, so, how could I possibly be holding a picture of the two of us in Crater Lake? I stood stock still until I heard my husband, Mickey, calling for me from downstairs. Being sent back into reality, my head snapped towards the entrance of the attic, dropping the photo back into the random, unmarked box. Still wondering how we even possessed the picture in the first place, I descended the stairs into the main hallway that leads into our upstairs bedrooms. I heard him calling for me again, so I made my way down the stairs and into our beautiful early 20th century kitchen, trying my hardest to shake the picture out of my head and focus on whatever my husband may need.

“Hey, there you are, I was wondering if you had gotten lost. You never responded when I called and you were up there for like an hour, making no noises.” Mickey stated as he went towards me, placing a kiss upon my cheek. I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts that were soaring around in my mind and mustered up a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah!” I belted out a bit too dramatically. Clearing my throat slightly, I continued, eyes downcast. “I was just going through a box that had some random items in it and found something that was slightly off-putting. Nothing too serious, really.” My husband looked confused at this information, furrowing his brow slightly and cocking his head to the side. “Well, that’s a bit worrying, what did you find?” He questioned, brows still furrowed, eyes flicking between my own, trying to search for answers in their brown depths. I gazed at him for a moment, hesitating slightly, not wanting to share that night with him. Or anyone, for that matter. I slowly released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding onto so harshly. “It was a picture of my sister, Charlotte and I.” I informed him in a soft, low voice. Mickey’s attention peaked slightly. His eyebrows shot up quickly, questioningly. “I never knew you had a sister.” I sighed heavily, closing my eyes, preparing myself to speak of something that I swore to never speak a word of to another person because it was so absurd to think of. Plus, no one believed me since it happened. “My family had rented an area for us to stay at in Crater Lake for the week for summer vacation. This was when I was 12, Charlotte was 10, and Ian was 5.” I paused, hesitating slightly, it physically pained me to speak of that day. Nonetheless, I continued, “It was starting to get late into the evening, mom and dad needed to go feed Ian and put him down for bed, Charlotte and I wanted to stay outside and play for a little longer. They had begrudgingly let us stay outside by ourselves, since our campground wasn’t too far from where we were. We were instructed to not go far from the campsite. We had agreed, they went on to the campgrounds while Charlotte and I continued to play. At one point, Charlotte suggested that we should go have some fun in the water. I explained to her why that would be a bad idea. The water being cold, it was starting to get dark out and we wouldn’t be able to see properly. Charlotte managed to convince me to go out, calling me chicken.” I chuckled slightly at the memory, sad fondness resonating in my eyes. Mickey stared at me with concern but saying nothing, just listening to what I had to say. “The water was well below 50 degrees, it was so cold, both of our teeths were chattering together by the time we even got waist high. Nevertheless, we were children, so we splashed water at each other, soaking the other entirely. We were out there playing, splashing water at each other for about 20 minutes when we both heard the sound of something big moving out ahead of us. We stopped for a few minutes, slightly scared but just listening for what it was that made that noise. Charlotte turned her eyes back towards me, a bit worried, I informed her that it was probably just a log or something moving through the currant.” Pausing again, I gazed at Mickey to see his reaction, hoping that what I said next wouldn’t scare him or cause him to deem me crazy or delusional. He gestured for me to continue, leaning against the kitchen counter with his elbow and hip. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his reaction to what was about to come out of my mouth. “We kept playing for a few minutes longer, trying our best to ignore the sound. Next thing I know, I see bubbles coming up from the water and something that I have always sworn was a giant creature, slightly human but mostly other-worldly looking. It’s very hard to describe what I saw other than it was terrifying. It came up from behind Charlotte and pulled her down. I tried to grab her, I did everything, I felt her hand slip from mine and I dove deeper into the water, trying everything that I could to reach her hand, maybe even see it, despite it being nearly dark out. I saw nothing but darkness and bubbles hitting my face.” By this point, I was sobbing and gasping for air. Mickey rushed in to hold me tightly, burying my face in the nape of his neck. We swayed back and forth for a while, him doing his best to console me. Once I had finally calmed down enough to speak, he pulled away from me, hands holding on reassuringly to both of my arms. He looked deep into my eyes, shushing softly and rubbing my arms, as I was coming down from my panic attack. “What did you tell your parents after you went home without her?” He questioned softly, not wanting to upset me further. “They kept saying that I never had a sister. That it was just Ian and myself. No matter what I explained to them about her, they kept refusing to acknowledge Charlotte’s existence.” I explained to him with slight frustration, burying my head in his chest. I lost her and everyone believed that she never existed in the first place. Even Charlotte’s best friend didn’t know who I was talking about.

After a few moments of him holding me close, rubbing my back, “Maybe this was a picture that you mom or dad took without you knowing?” Mickey suggested, trying to calm my worries. I sniffled, looking up at him, “It was a picture of her going under, scared out of her mind and me grabbing onto her arm. No one was near us at the time, no one was at the shore, and it was too late to get that type of picture. It looked like someone took the picture with the flash on, perfectly instilling that moment of terror.” I explained to him, looking somewhere over his shoulder, recounting the picture. Mickey cleared his throat and paused for a moment before asking, “Could I see the picture?” I looked up into his hazel green eyes and nodded silently. Taking his hand, I led him up the stairs towards the entrance to the attic. The closer we got, the more the dread and fear set in. Reaching the entrance to the attic, I sighed as we ascended the stairs, fearing the sight of that picture again. I turned on the light, so we could both see a bit better than what the setting sun had to offer as light. There sat the lone box in the middle of the attic, I gestured to it. “It’s sitting on top of everything in that box.” I informed him, not wanting to see it again, or even get close to it. Mickey swiftly made his way over to the box, opening it with a confidence I never would have been able to muster. He never picked up the picture, he just stared at it for a few moments. It was the only thing truly discernible in the box, everything else was organized to the point where it couldn’t be made out. “You’re 100 percent sure that this is a picture of you and Charlotte?” He inquired, finally pulling the photo from the box. “Entirely sure, that’s me, that’s her. That’s what both of us were wearing that night. I remember everything down to the detail. The braid in her hair, the butterfly clip holding my hair back out of my face, the owl on her pink shirt, the flannel shirt I was wearing. I even remember the shoes we had left at the shore so we wouldn’t lose them. Why are you asking if I’m sure that’s us, of course I’m sure.” I sneered back at him, trying my hardest to hold back my emotions. He turned back towards me, with the picture in hand, “And everyone still believes that Charlotte never existed?” He questioned, eyes still glued to the picture. “Yeah, every time I mention her to anyone, they give me confused looks. Even when I mention things that have happened with those people that I was talking to. They don’t remember those moments and they don’t remember her. I have no idea what happened that night. I’m the only one who remembers Charlotte.” I explained with held back desperation in my voice, making it quiver slightly. For a few moments, Mickey held the photo of Charlotte and I in his hands, staring blankly at it. After a few moments, I broke the silence, “Mickey?” My voice seemed to take him out of some type of trance he was in, he jumped, eyes quickly meeting my own. I took a second to peer into his eyes, they were slightly glazed over, as if he was replaying a memory long past. He hummed in acknowledgement. “How did we manage to get that picture?” I interrogated softly, trying not to offset him in any way. He remained quiet for a while, staring at me, but not at me, he was staring off into space. He finally regained his bearings and shoved off the thousand yard stare, sending a beaming smile towards me. “There must be some reason that no one can remember her. But, we shouldn’t really think about that right now. Come on, Cara, we have a lot of unpacking that we need to do. This house isn’t going to settle us in itself.” Mickey exclaimed with a hearty chuckle and breathtaking smile as he let the picture fall back into the box. He guided me towards the entrance of the attic, hand on the small of my back, leading me out. I glanced back at him out of the corner of my eye and saw him glaring at the box that the photo was sitting in, nothing but malice written all over his face. I quickly turned my attention back to the stairs so as to not inform him that I noticed the look on his face while looking at the box.

It was a few weeks later at this point. We had finally settled into our beautiful new home, ready for children’s laughter to fill the halls. I was standing in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes when my mind went back to the picture and how suspicious Mickey had been after he had laid eyes on it. Why did we have it? Why was Mickey acting that way after he had seen an old photo of my ‘non-existent’ little sister? I hadn’t gone back up into the attic since that day, fearing the picture and what the implications of us having it in our possession may be. I quickly finished drying the dishes and made my way back up the stairs towards the attic. Once I reached the entrance to the attic, I paused for a beat, would it even still be there? Or would it have disappeared just like my sister had in everyone else’s mind that day? Reaching up to pull the stairs down, I heard a groan as I pulled the string and lowered the steps. I tried to write it off as much as I could, but it was making my hair stand on end. Peeking over the edge of the entrance, I spotted the box, in the middle of the floor. The daylight shining on it nearly perfectly through the lone window in our attic, as if the box were a beacon. As I slowly approached the box, I noted that there was writing on the side of the box. ‘Mickey’s Memorabilia.’ My heart dropped into my stomach, I felt sick. Wasn’t this box unlabeled a few weeks ago, or had I just not noticed the words written in deep black marker on the side? So many questions rolled through my head. Why was this in my husband’s memorabilia box? I had never mentioned Charlotte to him because I knew everyone would deny her existence, so what was the point? Why did he act so suspiciously when we were leaving the attic a few weeks ago? Why and HOW did he have this picture? I don’t remember it being taken. Plus, I’m the only one who remembers Charlotte. Just then, I heard the front door slam. My head whipped around to the entrance of the attic. That had to have been Mickey, even though he didn’t call out for me like he usually did. However, no one else had a key. Folding the picture up and shoving it into the cup of my bra, I kicked the box towards the others until it was unrecognizable amongst the other boxes. I heard hard footsteps coming up the stairs as I did so. I managed to make it down the stairs and put them back up before someone reached the landing. “What are you doing?” I heard a deep, guttural voice question from behind me. It vaguely sounded like Mickey, but something was off. I was scared to look to see if it really was Mickey, or not. I turned my head to the side slowly, my body following. Once I laid my eyes on him, it looked like Mickey, but it wasn’t my husband. His eyes were dark, almost black. His features were sunken, almost deathly looking. And, he was soaking wet, from head to toe. Dripping all over our beautiful off-beige carpeting. “I was just going through some boxes in the attic, making sure that we had everything down here that we needed for a while so we wouldn’t have to go back up there.” I explained, trying to keep my voice as even as possible to not give off how fearful I was in that moment. The figure stayed silent for a few beats, breathing heavily, angrily. “You never should have brought her up again. We tried to burn her existence. But you just had to reignite the flame, didn’t you? We thought no one else knew of her existence after we reclaimed her. Why do you think we paired you with Mickey?”