The Fourteenth Night

I wasn’t born alone. My twin sister, Nora, came into the world with me, but she arrived with a heart that was never meant to last. The left side, they said, was a shadow of what it should have been. The doctors did everything they could, but on the fourteenth night of our lives, she slipped away, leaving me with a silence that would echo through my childhood.

For years, I grew up in our old farmhouse, surrounded by my five older brothers and sisters, my parents doing their best to fill the space she left. But there was always a certain stillness in the house, a feeling that something was missing, or perhaps waiting. I would sometimes catch my reflection in a window and think I saw her for a split second, a girl with the same brown eyes as mine, but a little older, a little more fragile.

It was on a summer evening, just after my fifth birthday, that I found myself alone in the kitchen. My parents had stepped out to the porch to talk to a neighbor, and my siblings were scattered around the property, chasing fireflies. I was sitting at the old oak table, tracing the patterns in the wood grain, when I heard my name spoken softly, right next to my ear. ‘Mara.’ I spun around, but there was no one there. I called out, thinking it was one of my brothers, but the house was silent, save for the ticking of the mantel clock.

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. The voice came again, a little louder, a little more insistent. ‘Mara, look.’ I turned my head toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. At the end of it, just where the light from the kitchen faded into darkness, I saw a small figure standing. It was a girl, about my size, with hair as dark as mine, but her face was pale, and her eyes seemed too large, too hollow. I knew instantly that it was Nora, even though I had never seen her face beyond the baby photos.

‘Come with me,’ she said, and her voice sounded like dry leaves skittering across the floor. I was frozen, a mix of curiosity and dread curling in my stomach. I had always felt her presence, but to see her, to hear her so clearly, was something else. She took a step back, into the deeper shadows, and gestured for me to follow. ‘We can be together now, just like we were supposed to be.’

My heart pounded against my ribs, a wild drumbeat that seemed to fill the room. I wanted to run to my parents, to scream, but something held me in place. She began to sing, a lullaby that I recognized from my earliest memories, a tune my mother used to hum over my crib. But the melody was off, twisted, like it was being played on a warped instrument. And then I saw it – the left side of her chest was sunken, as if the skin had caved in over a gaping hole, and wisps of dark, oily smoke curled from it.

‘Don’t be afraid, Mara,’ she whispered, stepping closer. ‘I’ve been waiting so long. You’re the only one who can see me, the only one who remembers our bond. Come, let’s play.’

She reached out a hand, and I could see the bones beneath the translucent skin. I wanted to back away, but my feet seemed rooted to the floor. Her fingers were nearly touching mine when a voice called from outside – my father, asking if I was ready to go in for dinner. The spell broke, and I stumbled backward, knocking over a chair. When I looked up, she was gone.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening for any whisper, any footstep. And then I heard it – a faint scratching at my window, like fingernails on glass. I pulled the curtain aside, and there she was, pressed against the pane, her face distorted, her eyes black and empty. ‘You can’t ignore me, Mara,’ she said, her voice barely audible through the barrier. ‘You promised to stay by my side.’

I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe. When I opened them, she was gone. But I knew she would return. I could feel her presence, growing stronger each day, like a shadow that lengthened with the setting sun. And I understood, with a certainty that chilled my bones, that the girl I had lost to time was not gone, but waiting – waiting for me to join her in the silence of the fourteenth night, forever.