My Sister is Missing: The most creepy and gripping thriller of 2019

She was already talking to me through the glass, her words warbled and low. ‘Wow. What were you thinking about, Em? That was one hell of a daze you were just in.’

I could make up some sort of stupid lie, but I won’t. This was my sister – sisters don’t lie to each other, even if they’re not as close as they once were.

‘I’m sorry. It’s creepy being back here, to tell ya the truth. I’m excited to see you, but also worried about what this thing is you want to talk to me about. Before you say anything, I – I should have been here for you, for dad … the funeral…’ As the words tumbled out, they were strangled, like I was trying to say them from under water.

But before I could utter one more misshapen word, Madeline yanked the car door open and scooped me into a hug. I was surprised to find myself shaking with relief, my eyes brimming with tears I didn’t know I had. I hadn’t seen my sister in so long, yet her arms were warm and soothing, the way a real home should feel. I’d missed her so much.

Promise me, her voice whispered through the trees. Promise me we’ll be more than sisters. It was another memory, but one I hadn’t remembered until now: Madeline using mom’s kitchen shears to draw blood from both of our fingers. Summer sisters, she had called us.

‘I’m not mad at you about the funeral, Em. I’m really not.’

‘You’re not?’ We were still holding onto each other, and I whispered the words into her hair, relief flushing over me. Her sandy blonde hair still smelled like that stupid coconut cream shampoo she’d been using since we were teens. She nearly broke my finger once, yanking that prized bottle of shampoo from my hands as I teasingly threatened to pour it down the drain after she made fun of me about a boy.

‘I’m not mad, I swear.’ Madeline stood up from where she was crouched beside me. She dusted her hands off on her jeans and then worked tangles out of her hair with her fingers.

Her hair was still wavy and unkempt, just the way I remembered, but her face was creased with age. There were tiny little crinkles around her mouth, and even the lines around her eyes had deepened. For the first time, I realized how much she resembled our mother.

‘I knew you probably wouldn’t go to the funeral, anyway. Things with dad and you, and dad and me … well, we aren’t all the same. I can’t blame you for handling your grief in your own way. I was a little miffed at first, I admit, but that’s not why I asked you here.’

Gathering my purse and keys from the passenger seat, I wiped my eyes and stepped out of the car. I stood there, gripping my purse like a shield, waiting for her to explain. When she didn’t, I said, ‘Okay, can we cut the suspense now? Why did you ask me to come?’

‘All in good time, little sister. The kids are inside waiting to meet their Aunty Emily they’ve heard so much about … so c’mon! I can’t wait for you to see the inside of the place. I know the outside looks the same, but I’ve replaced all of the furniture, obviously. Well, just wait, you’ll see.’

My duffel bag was still wedged inside the trunk, but I chose to ignore it for now.

Now that I was here, standing in front of the old place, and I knew Madeline wasn’t angry, I was eager to go inside and check it out.

There was a manic bounce in my sister’s step as she led me toward the house, and I couldn’t help noticing that she was thicker now, her hips wider since giving birth to my niece and nephew. I sort of liked this filled-out version of her. She looked glowing and healthy, like Mom when she was in her thirties.

‘You look really good. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I saw you. Everything about you is still the same.’ My sister looked back at me from over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. She pointed at her soft belly. She was wearing loose-fitting mom jeans and a Green Day T-shirt that I was pretty sure used to be mine. I couldn’t help but smile.

‘I don’t look great, you don’t have to lie to me.’

Before I could argue, she pushed the front door open.

The first thing that hit me when she opened the door was the smell. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t flowery either. In fact, it reeked of sweet, dusty old fruit—until now, I hadn’t realized that my childhood had a smell, but it did. The past came rushing back to me … Madi and I, racing through the front door as kids, shoving each other down the driveway to get there first. Madi in her overalls, one long strap swinging wildly behind her. And then, when she was older, she wore low-slung jeans and cropped T-shirts. I always admired her style, and the way she could outrun me every time…

As I stepped in behind her, it took me a minute to clear the fog of confusion.

What used to be the front living room was now some sort of office-playroom. The only thing that seemed the same was the heart pine flooring. I stared at the entryway beneath my feet; it was covered by a fuzzy, polka dotted rug, but I knew without thinking that if I peeled it back, I would find a horseshoe-shaped groove below it, from the time dad tried to lug that steel safe over the threshold. Mom damn near killed him for buying it.

The right half of the living room was a chaotic scene of toys: a rocking horse, a chalkboard on wheels, and buckets of Legos and dolls. But on the left side of the room was a neat yellow desk with, what I guessed, was my sister’s computer and stack of work papers.

‘Just ignore this room. It’s a mess. I’ve given up on trying to sort those toys. Follow me. The kids are in the kitchen.’

Suddenly, it seemed so quiet I was overcome with a strange sensation – the air in the room was too thick, like there was some sort of tension swirling around us. I couldn’t help feeling like I’d walked into some sort of tomb.

‘They’re being awfully quiet,’ I remarked, trailing my sister as she led me through the familiar arch from the living room to the dining room, and then onto the kitchen.

I am the worst aunt in the universe. Ben was eight and Shelley was three, and I’d never laid eyes on them. Not really. Sure, I’d liked their pictures on Madeline’s Facebook and Instagram accounts, but that didn’t really count for much, did it? We had planned nearly a dozen meet-ups over the years, but I’d always used my work as an excuse not to come. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to meet my niece and nephew … I just didn’t want to come to Bare Border to see them. Madi had never shown any anger about my absence from their lives, but I suspected that my failure to be a decent aunt, and not showing up for my father’s funeral, were the reasons for her becoming more distant with me over the phone lately.

‘Here they are!’ My sister was standing in the middle of the kitchen with her arms spread wide, and all I could think was: This is where my mother should be standing.

An image of my mother in her stained cooking apron, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for her famous lasagna to finish baking in the oven, sprung up from my memories.

‘Where are the kids?’ I brought myself back into focus.

There was no one in the kitchen, besides my sister and me.

I walked around the empty space, taking my time. The wood cabinets were still painted white, just like mom used to keep them, but these were newer, not the same … yes, there were shiny new handles on the cabinet doors. I opened one of the drawers and closed it back. I could feel my sister watching me.

The sink had also been replaced by one of those modern vessels I’d only seen on TV. Tenderly, I ran my hands over the navy-blue countertops, my nose recognizing the green dish soap mom used to use. What was it called … Palmolive?

‘Are they hiding?’ I glanced back at my sister.

I was surprised to see that her expression had changed. Her lips were curled down, her eyes hard and serious, like two little black beads. Her initial excitement to see me had morphed into a mask I knew too well … she was worried about something.

‘I don’t have any children. I made all that up. The pictures, the stories…everything was a lie.’

‘Huh?’ I tilted my head to the side, waiting for the punchline.

But she still looked strange, her eyes floaty and her voice flat. Is my sister capable of telling such a massive lie? It’s not like I would know the difference—after all, I’ve never actually seen Shelley or Ben in person… My heart was thumping in my chest as I waited for Madi to explain.

‘Ahhh!’ I jumped back in surprise as the cabinet doors beneath the sink sprung open with a sharp bang. One at a time, two small children popped out and ran straight for me. I chuckled at my niece and nephew, surprised.

Behind me, Madeline was cackling now, just like she used to when she drank too much Seagram’s when we were teens. After all these years, I’d almost forgotten how much she loved to play pranks.

‘I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,’ I said, rolling my eyes, and then I mouthed the word, bitch, over my shoulder, so only she could see it.

I knelt, taking both children in my arms.

The smaller of the two, my niece Shelley, lifted her feet in the air as she hung on my left arm. Ben was excited to meet me too and wrapped both arms around me. With the weight of them both, I had to steady myself.

‘So, you must be Shelley and Ben. I’m excited to finally meet you guys. I’m your Aunt Emily.’

‘We know that already, silly woman,’ said Ben. He let go of me, pacing back and forth next to little Shelley, while making a high-pitched squeal that set my teeth on edge.

His strange squealing didn’t surprise me much – Madeline had told me that he struggled with hyperactivity, and recently, a doctor had told her that he might be on the autism spectrum.

Shelley was more subdued, and keen to stay in my arms. I stood back up on my feet, lifting the tiny girl onto my right hip, then shifting her to my left in an awkward pose. I was surprised at how heavy she felt. I’d held a baby once or twice, but I’d never held up a toddler with one arm like this. Again, I felt my eyes welling up, as I stared into the face of my sweet little niece. She had my sister’s pointy chin and big smile, but those eyes … those bright blue eyes matched mine. I swallowed down a lump in my throat, trying to hold the tears at bay. It felt so good meeting these children – these extensions of my sister and I – for the first time. Suddenly, it seemed so ridiculous that I had waited this long to be in their lives.

‘And your imaginary husband … did you make him up, too? Where is John this lovely evening?’ I teased, glancing over at my sister.

Madeline’s bright red cheeks and toothy smile faded almost immediately. The worried look returned. I was half-expecting another stupid joke to follow, but when my sister pursed her lips and changed the subject, I knew something was wrong.

‘Let’s show Aunt Emily the bedrooms, shall we?’

Shelley and Ben wanted to show me their rooms first, of course. Overcome with nostalgia, I let Ben give me the tour of his bedroom, the same room where my sister had slept when we were kids. The Debbie Gibson posters and purple speckled paint were gone, replaced by neat brown and blue wallpaper, pictures of boats and trains on the borders.