O Hollow Night

Reads: 195  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
When Devon's sister, Alica, disappears, the whole of Dobbs Ferry seems to forget the young girl ever existed.

[ more to come ..... ]

Submitted: July 23, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 23, 2011

A A A

A A A


A day that started just like any other.

Most beginnings begin at birth, but what can you remember, now that you’re seventeen, from when you were four or six years old? Our memories of the past only come in small segments, and as we grow older many memories completely fade and we forget everything and everyone we once knew.

So where better to begin my story, sitting on the desolate stairway leading up to my school entrance? The thick brick building is nestled in the confines of the woods surrounding Dobbs Ferry, New York, within miles of the Hudson River.

Stories have been spreading lately; stories of disappearances.

You hear about them all the time on the news. Tales of men and women, often children, taken far away from home, many never seen again. It’s fascinating. How one can just vanish into thin air, their name never to be whispered on a lover’s tongue again, to never be hummed from the soothing lips of a parent. Forgotten by most and only remembered by the few that truly loved them, if there’d been anyone at all.

To eventually be forgotten by the world is inevitable.

So, naturally, one would never grow curious over a few disappearances here and there, not even locally. Residents surrounding the area where disappearances occur will lock their windows tight, and bolt their doors shut, but none of them will take a real interest in how these people vanish, and if they’re ever really found.

I was ignorant like them once, unconcerned and oblivious to anything that never really hit home.

Until my sister disappeared.

We’re twins. We have the same thick brown hair, the same pale complexion. Each of our two eyes are identical, the same bright blue hue, except for my right one; a golden honey color. My parents call it a warm brown.

It’s a stark yellow. A blunt expression, a burst of wind in the face.

I’ve seen the other children stare at it for the past seventeen years of my life. It’s definitely strange and rare; of course there will be several people curious enough to stare right into its honey depths.

You’d think one would grow used to the stares after several years, but they make chills run down my spine and anger swell inside my chest, for reasons I can’t explain.

Last Sunday, we’d been smiling, tired from our bout in the woods the previous night. I held my sister’s hand in mine as hymns rolled from our tongues.

I believe in God. I was raised to do so, and I really think I do. Catholicism, though, was not the right for me. My parents had been raised under its strict hand, as had I, but there had to be something more than these hymns we repeated every week, more to the wine in that golden challis.

Still, my sister and I sang, hand in hand.

That day, Mama and Pa seemed troubled. Their feet seemed to shuffle in a nervous fashion, their eyes flicking from one another then to my sister, from one another then to my sister, and so on throughout the whole mass.

Then, I’d dismissed it.

Now, sitting on these cold, wet steps, I retraced each step. Each movement my parents and sister made.

How her memory, even after only seven days, was beginning to fade, the flame she’d left in many hearts being carried off on the wind.

I still can’t understand how someone can just forget, like they all have here.

How you can so easily dismiss someone’s death.

It’s what they’ve done exactly.

Any time I go around town and ask someone about my sister, asking if they’d seen her, they all simply shake their heads and give me anxious glances, perhaps a bite on the lip or two, before scurrying off like rats.

My sister was never quiet and didn’t live a life of solidarity. She went out to town and played with other children, she smiled and laughed and chatted with almost everyone around Dobbs Ferry, meeting and greeting even those she’d only met the day before.

And suddenly, she vanished.

Now they’re all pretending they have no idea who I’m talking about when I say her name.

“Alicia Rae?” They whisper, voices hoarse with some emotion I can never seem to place.

“Yes, Alicia Rae Holle. She went missing several days ago and I was just wondering if you had any informat—“

“Nope. Never heard of an ‘Alicia Rae’ around these parts, child. Now I’ve business to attend to, so let me on my way then.”

“Sorry to have bothered you.”

The days have seemed to drag along since Alicia vanished.

And now, I cannot fathom the forgotten.

Even if your role here was small, there has to have been at least one person who remembered you. Just one.

And for my sister, that’s me.

But it seems like there’s no one else.


© Copyright 2019 KN Shi. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: