As far as I know, no one’s seen my sister, Maddie McCall, in three weeks. Oh, she’s not missing. She still responds to the family group chat and posts on social media so frequently it could be a part time job, the kind that clocks in just a few hours short for legally mandated health benefits. She just wouldn’t leave the yellow stucco walls of 148 White Owl Court, or at least, wouldn’t go past the McCalls’ six-foot-tall vinyl fence.
“She’s just really busy,” my brother-in-law Rob told me when I ran into him at the Costco frozen food section, trying in vain to find the only frozen vegetable brand my kids would eat while my youngest begged for the phone I was determined not to give him. “The baby’s still breastfeeding around the clock and the kids are only in half-day preschool. I don’t know how she does it all to be honest. I’d never want to switch places, haha.”
I didn’t laugh. “It’s just, I never see her anymore. She never wants to go out to get coffee or groceries like we used to.”
“Well, we get a lot of stuff delivered now,” Rob shrugged. “It’s more convenient.”
“Okay,” I said. Voice neutral, face natural. I didn’t want to scare him away. “You guys – not now, Toby – you guys are still going to the baptism tomorrow, right?”
“Oh yeah, definitely,” Rob said. My brother-in-law was a toothpaste commercial smile with sunglasses glued to his hair, even though it was already the Halloween decoration part of autumn.
“I’m booored,” Molly whined, tugging at my sleeve even though she was far too old for sleeve-tugging.
“Sorry,” I said, smiling apologetically over the toilet paper tower taking over my cart. “I should get going. Tell Maddie I said hi.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?” Mark asked later that evening, as the kids played Mario Kart in the other room. It was the only way we could carve out adult-level conversations.
“Maybe,” I said. It was a tight maybe, a spat-out maybe, because logically I knew he was right even if my gut kept screaming he was wrong. “It’s not like Maddie.”
“You’ll see her at Cara’s baptism, right?” he asked, rummaging in the fridge for whatever he could throw together into a sandwich: cold cuts, pickles, a half-empty mayo jar. Mark didn’t want to eat the veggies and couscous I made in an attempt to steer the family towards healthier eating habits. Whatever. There were only so many weekday evenings when our work schedules synced up, so it wasn’t worth a fight.
“Yeah,” I said. I’d just texted her, in a chill hey just double checking tone that coworkers use before dropping a ‘gentle reminder’.
Yea, she replied immediately. Why do you keep asking? It’s not like i’m godmother jk.
The thought flashed in my mind, that she might be mad our little sister picked me over her. Maybe she hadn’t developed a sudden bout of agoraphobia, but just didn’t want to go out with me.
And everything seemed fine, at least online. Just today, Maddie posted a photo collage of Baby Mason, surrounded by the number seven, diaper-fluffed butt in the air like a duck tail as he attempted to crawl. Look at Mason go!!!! Maddie wrote for all of the Boomer aunts who live on Facebook. At seven months, he loves his bear blankie and mama milk! I commented, Look at those cheeks! The day before, she created an album titled “Back to School for Miles and Rosalie”. Both children wore matching beige and gigantic backpacks that made me picture them tipping over turtle-style. The only difference between them was that one was of the girl variety with giant bows and the other was the more masculine flavor with light-up Cars sneakers. I commented on that post too, saying, they grow up so fast! Enjoy it while you can! To which Maddie replied, oh I am 😍
She was even more prolific on TikTok: clips of the kids icing cupcakes, baking gluten-free banana bread, stirring homemade hummus and mashing guac (I’m so glad my kids are adventurous eaters! Maddie said). There was Rosalie handing Mason his bear lovey; the kids riding their balance bikes up and down the driveway; Maddie demonstrating step-by-step how to secure a baby wrap, with Mason’s chubby little cheeks poking out between fabric and cleavage.
“Are you trying to be an influencer?” I asked her once, joking but also not.
“Maybe,” she smirked. I read a lot of unspoken things in that smirk.
Maddie was just as active as ever in her private Facebook and reddit mom groups. I knew because she shared all of her accounts with me, almost like she wanted to compare parenting notes. Yesterday, a mom asked Facebook for advice about a conflict with her son’s teacher. Maddie said, I’d go straight to the principal if I were you. That’s the only way to get anything done. She built up women when they vented about their useless husbands (I couldn’t remember the last time we vented like that), swapped stories about “breastfeeding journeys” (my breastfeeding journey ended when I burst into tears over split, bloody nipples, begging Mark to make a Target run for formula) and advised potential sleep-training moms that *personally I could never stand to listen to my baby cry like that (*I remembered shoving air pods so far into my ears they practically embedded in the canals).
“You’re probably right,” I sighed in defeat.
My family wasn’t religious. My sisters and I went to Catholic school, but that was because, as my dad told me after drinking too much at my graduation party, “The public school’s a shithole.” We had enough Catholic pride installed in us by our famine-flung ancestors to never miss Christmas or Easter mass, and to always mark a baby’s baptism with formal attire and cross-shaped cakes.
St. Mary’s was filled with anxious mothers and squalling infants, clacking high heels, and awkward guests unsure of where to sit.
“Is it starting yet?” Toby asked, fiddling with his clip-on tie.
“Soon,” I snapped. I scanned the crowd for any sign of Maddie. I expected to see her any moment, dressed in something cute yet tasteful, the little ones trailing behind her like a line of ducklings, with Rob as the caboose, looking bored and spending entirely too much time on his phone. But I couldn’t find them anywhere.
“Did Maddie say anything to you?” Mom hissed in my ear, pulling me aside.
“She said she’d be here,” I whispered back. “She’s not answering her phone.”
“Don’t say anything to Lauren! She’s stressed enough as it is!”
“I won’t,” I said, and fired off one last text: Maddie, you better explain what’s going on asap.
Of course, Lauren wasn’t stupid; she noticed when her sister’s entire family failed to show up at her baby’s baptism. The lack of Maddie lingered for the rest of the day, and nothing – not my niece’s pitiful little cries when they poured water on her head, not the pictures of Molly and Toby each holding the baby, not even cake – could change that.
Rob McCall could go to hell for all I cared. I knew something was terribly wrong with my sister.
I drove straight to White Owl Court the next morning, after the kids left for schools and both sets of husbands were at work. The joy of my intensive nursing shifts was that I could be off on random days like this, when everyone else was busy.
I didn’t call before showing up at Maddie’s. The McCalls’ front lawn was vibrant green, somehow missing the end of summer die-off. There were a few red and orange leaves scattered around, such a small amount that it looked delightfully seasonal instead of lazy or sloppy. I walked past newly sprouted styrofoam gravestones that screamed at me Get OUT! and Run While You Still Can!
“Maddie,” I said, pounding on the door. “Maddie, open up!”
The house was still. If Maddie’s silver sedan wasn’t currently parked in the driveway, I’d think no one was home.
“Madeline Marie!” I shouted, channeling Mom. My hand started throbbing, not that I cared. An Amazon driver stared at me, but I didn’t care about that either. “I’m not leaving until you open this door!”
The door flung open.
Maddie stood in the doorway, wearing yoga pants and a V-neck crew top with a hint of spit up, either banana or breastmilk, judging by the color. Her hair pulled back in the messiest of messy buns, one that straddled the line between intentional or not. Her skin shone sickly pale, but that might have been because she wasn’t wearing her usual foundation and toner. She wore sunglasses for some reason, a giant rose-gold pair that covered half of her face. What is with the McCalls and sunglasses? I thought.
“What the hell, Allison?” she hissed. “I just got the baby to sleep.”
“Can I come in?” I said, pointedly ignoring her question. “It’s important.”
She sighed and stepped aside.
Maddie’s living room was immaculate: I couldn’t find a single crumb on the couch cushions, not one single toy out of its carefully labeled bin. When my kids were that age, I don’t think the toys were ever all put away. Even now that my kids were beyond that intensive parenting stage, my house still looked “lived in” at best. I always worked while Maddie stayed at home, but still, it took a superwoman effort to keep a house that clean with three kids under five.
“What’s the matter?” Maddie asked. Her voice sounded unusually croaky, like she was getting a cold.
I stared at her; I couldn’t help it. How could she be so oblivious? “Um, Cara’s baptism? The one you ghosted without any explanation?”
She frowned. “That was yesterday?”
“Yes. We called and texted a hundred times, but you never answered.”
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, her voice coming out as a high-pitched squeak. “I’ve been feeling kind of sick, and I guess I just passed out yesterday. I’m really sorry, okay? Is everyone mad at me?”
Maddie’s drawn face and desperate tone brought back the memory of a zoo trip when she was five and I was nine: a look of horror dawning on little Maddie’s face when she realized she’d left her beloved Fluffy bear behind.
“We’re not mad, just worried,” I said gently. “Why don’t you take a nap or something? I can stay with the baby.”
“No, no, I couldn’t,” she shook her head vigorously.
“It’s no trouble. I don’t have anything else planned this morning. Seriously, Mads, I insist.”
“Well… okay. Just for a little while, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t. Go on.”
“Thank you,” she muttered. Despite her initial reluctance, the girl could not leave the room fast enough.
I’m going to kick Rob’s ass, I decided. I savored the thought, but it didn’t last, because obviously I couldn’t kick my brother-in-law’s ass, literally or metaphorically. I didn’t believe for a second that Rob hadn’t noticed a change in her – it was obvious from our five minute conversation, hell, from the moment I saw her in the doorway. Then again, I always thought Rob was a bit of a prick. I remember how he made jokes about Maddie’s cupcake craving during her babyshower.
I settled on the sofa and started mindlessly scrolling on my phone. I kept my ears peeled for any baby cries, but he seemed perfectly content upstairs.
Clack clack clack—
I looked up. What a weird sound. I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.
—clack clack clack—
I shouldn’t be nosy. Weird sounds always happen when humans are in close proximity to one another. Besides, it wasn’t my business to police what Maddie did in her rare moment of free time.
—clack clack clack—
Though what if it was coming from Mason’s room? As his technical babysitter, I should check, just in case.
I crept up the stairs, ninja-quiet as Mark would say, thanks to years of perfecting the don’t-wake-the-baby walk. I pushed Mason’s door open just enough to make sure he was still sleeping safely. The clacking noise kept up its steady pace – clack clack CLACK – louder now, coming from down the hallway. The door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar.
Maddie’s room was as pristine as the rest of the house: perfectly made bed, with gray bedding to match the walls. Maddie sat in the corner at a faux antique desk, back facing the doorway, as she furiously typed on her Macbook.
“Mads?”
She turned sharply. “Allison?”
The first thing I noticed was that Maddie wasn’t wearing her sunglasses anymore. The second was why she insisted on wearing them in the living room. Her eyes…
At first glance, it didn’t look like she had eyes. The insides were like popped balloons, leaving behind their sad, shivered, rubbery remains. What looked like clumpy, running yoke poured out of her sockets, down her cheeks and nose; a little white clump dangled off of the tip of her chin. It looked like an artist’s palette deep inside her sockets, a mix of blue irises, black pupils, and watery whites swirled together.
“Well?” she demanded. The mess on her face twitched when she talked, but Maddie stared on, oblivious. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t actually lose her eyes. The official, doctor-approved explanation was that Maddie burnt her retinas, somehow, though the “how” remained a mystery.
“But…” I said, staring up at the doctor from my seat in the waiting room, surrounded by my parents and Rob. “I saw her. Her eyes looked like they’d been popped…”
“Oh God,” Mom moaned.
The doctor looked close to retirement; he had more wrinkles than hair, a potato nose, and his shoulders stooped like he was slowly shrinking into himself. His expression reminded me of an old-fashioned portrait of a Founding Father, severe and disapproving.
“Yes, well,” he said briskly. “I’m sure they are perfectly treatable. She should recover full use of both eyes in time.”
“I understand,” I said quickly, because I wanted all of them, my family and the doctor, to know I was cool and chill, not a hysterical woman. Just because I thought I’d seen my sister’s eyes burst down her face didn’t mean I was irrational. I must have seen her injuries and let my imagination run wild. Of course an otherwise healthy thirty-something-year-old woman’s eyes didn’t spontaneously go splat.
“For her first few days home she’ll need intense support,” the doctor went on. “She’ll need help getting around until her eyesight returns, which could take a couple of days or weeks. She’ll need to limit her exposure to anything that might irritate her eyes, like direct sunlight or cellphone screens.”
“What am I going to do?” Rob cried, burying his head in his hands. Dad patted his back reassuringly. I felt a surge of sympathy for him, but it was quickly dashed when I realized he wasn’t really concerned about Maddie. He was just worried about handling three little kids with his wife out of commission.
Prick.
“I’m bored,” Maddie said.
“We can watch something else,” I said, reaching for the remote. We sat side-by-side on her sofa, streaming a Love is Blind knockoff. It was just the two of us in the house. The whole family decided I should stay with her for a couple of days, while Rob and the kids spent a long weekend at his parents’ house. Maddie wore hospital-provided protective wear that reminded me of cheap plastic eclipse glasses. Despite being a veteran nurse, I couldn’t bring myself to look at her wounds (something about sisters or eyes or both made me squeamish).
“You can put on whatever, I don’t really want to watch anything,” she said, aggressively picking at her fingernails.
The whole house felt hollow without the kids. It felt like I was trespassing on a historical exhibit of a perfectly preserved home, centuries old, original occupants long dead. I kept hearing a little phantom cry or light, little footsteps. It didn’t help that it was raining, though “raining” didn’t do it justice: it was torrential, black clouds blotting out any trace of color. Apparently there was a hurricane somewhere down south.
“Can I have my phone back?” Maddie asked. “Just for a minute?”
“You know what the doctor said.”
I tried to avoid my phone, too, in solidarity. I only used it to text Mark about the kids, making sure Molly had the right gear for soccer practice and reminding him that Toby stayed late after school for robotics club.
Maddie let out a long, beleaguered sigh. “I can turn on the blue light filter.”
I considered, but… “Better not risk it.”
I couldn’t see Maddie’s eyes behind the dark lenses, but I had a feeling she was rolling them. “You know, you used to be cool, Allie.”
“Ha!” I snorted. “That’s not going to work, I’m not a teenager.”
“Please, Allison,” she said in a sweetly desperate tone. “I’m not some Gen Alpha baby addicted to Miss Rachel, okay? I – and I know you’re going to make fun of me, so just don’t – I have a social media presence that I can’t maintain without regularly updating.”
“You can take a hiatus. It won’t kill you.”
“You don’t understand,” she said. She kept picking at her fingernail, more intensely than before. “I’m a big presence in a lot of parenting groups. I even moderate some. A lot of women rely on me for my support and advice – don’t laugh.”
“I’m not,” I said, though I might have unconsciously smirked. I couldn’t help it, Maddie could be so full of herself about parenting. She acted like such a know-it-all the moment she took her first positive pee test.
“It’s good you help other moms,” I said, almost as a little penance, but it wasn’t enough.
“That’s why I need the Internet – just for a little bit. Just enough to reassure my followers.”
“You can explain it to them later,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I’m supposed to be taking care of you, I’m not going to do anything that might mess up your recovery.”
A thunderclap punctuated my sentence. It helped end the conversation – at least for a minute.
“Is it because you’re still mad about the baptism?” she asked. “Because I’m really sorry.”
“No,” I sighed.
“Is it because I said your kids have dog names?”
“No,” I snapped, because I’d almost forgotten about that until she brought it up. “Can you just chill? It’s only a couple of days. Think of it like a digital detox, those are trendy nowadays.”
“I guess,” she said, turning her attention back to her fingernails. Red bubbles popped up between the cuticles.
“Careful,” I said. There was more blood than I expected. “Want me to get a bandaid?”
“I’m fine.”
There was another burst of thunder. The wind pushed against the house frantically, reminding me of the Big Bad Wolf. I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down. The rain sounded like bullets firing down on the roof.
“That doesn’t look good,” I muttered.
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks,” she said, using the kind of snotty tone that instantly brought me back to when she was sixteen.
My phone blared tornado warnings, flash floods, extreme storm alerts. Images popped in my mind: down trees crushing my car, the power going out in White Owl Court, leaving Maddie all alone in the dark. I called Mark and told him I was spending the night at Maddie’s – it just wasn’t worth the risk. I slept in Rosalie’s room, which looked like a Crayola box vomited shades of pink everywhere. I tossed and turned to the sound of the storm, before finally falling asleep.
I woke from a nightmare about Maddie’s popped, dripping eyes. It was still dark outside. I fished around for my phone on the bedside table, but I couldn’t find it. Huh. It must’ve fallen – I hoped the screen wasn’t cracked (or, let’s be real, crackeder). I reached for the light switch above the bed, but nothing happened.
Great. We lost power after all.
“Maddie?” I called.
Nothing.
It was probably for the best; I didn’t really want to disturb Maddie’s sleep when she was still recovering. I searched the bedside table again. My fingers brushed against something small, thin, and square before finding the next best thing to my phone: Rosie’s battery-powered Owly, a hand-me-down from my kids that played lullabies and glowed like a nightlight. I hit the button to turn on Owly’s multicolor flashlight.
I cast Owly’s rainbow light over the bookcase, the dresser, and a toy store’s worth of stuffies (if, you know, toy stores were still a thing) but… no phone. I checked under the bed and table. I distinctly remembered putting my phone there before falling asleep, because I texted Mark right before closing my eyes. Now, the table was empty. Well, not empty. There was a small, square press-on nail. I picked it up and immediately regretted it; it felt strange, much heavier than a press-on, with something dark sticking to the back.
What the hell?
It had to be Maddie’s… something. I didn’t really want to think about what. Did she sneak in here after I fell asleep to steal my phone?
“I’m going to kill her,” I muttered under my breath. I no longer cared about letting my sick sister rest. I headed straight to her room, stretching Owly out like a lantern. The hallway felt longer in the dark, as if it stretched a few inches while I slept.
I burst into Maddie’s room, not bothering with social niceties like knocking.
“Where is it, Maddie?” I demanded. She didn’t answer. I held the light over her bed.
Empty.
“Maddie!”
Thunder again, a big echoing crack, almost like a response – but Maddie didn’t make a sound.
I slowly made my way down the stairs. The owl light only showed the house in quick flashes: photo tiles of my smiling niece and nephews; random wooden Ms and Rs and Is and Es over the kids’ rooms; the living room lamp that seemed strangely human-like in the dark. I couldn’t find a trace of Maddie on the ground floor. But as I made my way to the kitchen, I heard something strange, something distinct from the rain.
Tap tap tap—
The sound led straight to the basement door.
Of course it did.
I wasn’t a wuss. I couldn’t be, not with two kids and a job in the ER. In my house, I was the designated spider-killer. But the basement… well, the basement’s clearly the creepiest room in any house, especially when it’s storming in the middle of the night. I debated just going back to bed. If Maddie wanted to stay up all night irritating her scar tissue, well, more power to her. It wasn’t my problem. I could deal with it in the morning.
—tap tap tap—
Except I couldn’t in good conscience leave her, not when the whole point of me being here was specifically to take care of her.
Holding the owl lantern out, I slowly descended the basement steps. The basement was the only part of the McCalls’ house that wasn’t clean and modern. It looked spooky even on a bright summer afternoon, with naked concrete walls and cold concrete floors that really made me regret not wearing slippers. I once told Maddie that she had the kind of basement you’d see in a haunted house movie. She didn’t appreciate that.
—tap tap tap—
My barefoot slid on the bottom step. I would’ve fallen on my ass if I hadn’t caught the railing in time. I lifted my foot, examining it as best as I could while still holding Owly.
Something dark smeared on my foot… was that blood?
“Maddie?” I called. My voice sounded small and weak. The dark liquid (blood) led across the basement. I imagined Maddie stepping on a rusty old nail or shard of glass, limping in the dark.
“I’m coming, Mads. Hold tight.”
The (blood) trail led to the far end of the basement. It pooled under a work bench in a large, dark puddle. There was nowhere for Maddie to go but the crawl space behind the bench, though I had no idea why she’d go there, let alone how she’d fit.
“Maddie?”
I heard a growling noise from somewhere in the wall, then something close to a sigh or a shudder. I whirled around, spinning the owl light like a rainbow disco ball lighting up the room. She could only be in the crawlspace. I didn’t care how crazy it seemed, it was literally the only place in the house I hadn’t checked.
“Come on, Maddie, are you really going to make me crawl under a table to get to you?” I asked, masking my fear with light annoyance. Because stealing my phone was one thing, but this – whatever “this” was – was something I couldn’t comprehend.
I wished I was back home with Mark and the kids.
I wished I hadn’t been so nosy about Maddie’s personal life in the first place.
I ducked under the table, trying to avoid the questionable puddle. I craned my neck to peer into the crawlspace’s narrow opening, holding the light in front of me.
Maddie was in the crawlspace alright; she just didn’t look like my sister anymore. I struggled to process what I was seeing. She had forced herself to fit by folding her body into a perfect square. Her legs twisted up her back, her feet rested on her shoulders. Her arms stuck out at odd angles like the wings of a squashed fly. Her head was buried somewhere in the mass of tangled limbs and bloodied flesh, just some blonde hair poking out. Blood slowly oozed from between the folds in her flesh and, somewhere in the tangle, blue light glowed from what one twisted hand held closest to her unseen face.
My phone.
“Maddie, oh God!”
Something shuffled, and Maddie’s face emerged from under an elbow, a swirl of peach and red. Her eyes hadn’t popped – her eyes, in fact, looked mostly normal – though they were red rimmed, as if she hadn’t slept in days.
“What, Allison?” she said with a hint of irritation. “What do you want?”
I scrambled to think of something to say, but all I could do was stare.
“Well?” she demanded.
“The – the power’s out!” I squeaked.
“Okay, and?” She rolled her eyes. “God, can you just give me some fucking space for once?”
I managed one last look at the total mess that was my sister, then I stood up.
“Yeah, okay.” I swallowed. “Take all the space you need.”
