The Ankle Grip

My sister Clara passed away in the autumn of 2021, after a long illness. I grieved, but life moved on. Then, about a month after her death, I had a dream. She appeared before me, vibrant and smiling, and said, ‘Ruth, come see where I am. It’s beautiful.’ She reached for my ankles and began to pull, gently at first. I resisted, saying, ‘Clara, I have so much left to do here. I’ll see you later.’ She gave me a knowing smirk—just like her—and let go, fading as I woke.

Two weeks later, the dream returned. This time, she was more insistent, tugging at my feet with a desperate strength, repeating, ‘This way, Ruth, this way.’ I woke with a start, my heart pounding. I brushed it off as grief, but a creeping unease settled in. I tried everything: rearranging my bedroom, hanging a charm above my bed, even sleeping with socks on. But the dreams persisted, growing more intense.

The third time, she wasn’t alone. A dark silhouette loomed behind her, its face hidden, and together they yanked at my ankles with a force that rattled my bones. I kicked out violently, and woke gasping, my sheets tangled. I was terrified to sleep after that.

Then came the fourth dream, the one that shattered my sanity. I was in a foggy field, and Clara’s husband, who had died six months after her, appeared. He looked gaunt, his eyes hollow. Without a word, he lunged at me and struck me squarely in the chest. The impact was so real, so visceral, that I flew backward and landed hard. I woke with a jolt, my chest aching, a bruise forming. That’s when I knew: they weren’t just dreams. Something was trying to drag me into their world, and the salt lines I’d laid across my doorframe did nothing to stop it.

Now, February 16, 2023, I lie awake every night, my feet tucked safely under me, staring at the foot of my bed. I can feel it—a cold, gripping pressure on my ankles, like icy fingers closing around them. It’s patient, waiting. It knows my name. The salt is useless. The charms are pointless. All I can do is hold on, but my grip is slipping, and I know that one day soon, I won’t be able to resist the pull.