Where's My Sister?

March 27, 2011
Sprinting. Panting. My book bag keeping the “off-beat” of my paces. I have to get there before it’s too late....
My name is Jeffrey Wellington Jr., my friends call me Beef. I am a 12th grader at Rainbow Sherbert High School. I am part of the stereotypical, American, nuclear family, with a stay-at-home mother, a father who brings home the bacon by being the town’s local physician, and a younger sister, Barbie Quinta, age 16-who isn’t so “normal.”
Barbie has a history of, let’s say, being REALLY good at playing hide-n-seek. Sometimes we couldn’t find her for hours, maybe even half a day, yet she would always turn up at the last minute. Nobody ever knew where she went, and never saw her upon return. Creepy...I know. As time passed, and Barbie and I began to mature, Barbie’s “hide-n-seek skills” seemed to be depleting. Barbie began to hang out with her friends more, keeping her away from me and my friends-which wasn’t hard when my friends and I never left the game room. Along with rising in social status, Barbie started to advance in her studies, especially in science. Life is good, Barbie and I are doing well in school, we have good friends, we don’t get into trouble- and if we do it isn’t major- and the family is strong and healthy. We even laugh when everyone claims they can’t find Barbie about the house and she doesn’t answer her cell phone, yet, she’s in her room either studying, texting, or on her computer.
....Picking up speed. Faces pass by in a blur. Closed doors everywhere. Man, I’m going to be late. Take a left; a few paces down I take a right, then another right....
The bell rings. I’m so close, just a few more paces and....Damn! I’m late again to English class; Mr. Muse is going to hate me. I take a deep breath, sigh, and knock on the door just loud enough for everyone to hear. The door knob turns, the door opens, and there’s Mr. Muse glaring at me in the doorway the rest of the class peeking past him to glimpse at my expression.
“This is the third time in the last two weeks Mr. Wellington, trying to set a record for the month are we?” he mumbles sarcastically.
“I know, sir, and no I’m not, it’s just...” I pause trying to think of which excuse to use, “you see, the new maps for Modern Warfare 2 came out yesterday and I wanted to get a leg up on everyone else so-”
“That may be the lamest excuse I have ever heard, even from you.” he claimed, cutting me off.
“Yes sir, sorry sir.” I murmured, putting my head down in embarrassment.
“The journal is on the board, you have eleven minutes left to attempt to respond to it, if I were you,” he leaned in and whispered, “I’d get crackin’!”
Without a word I juked around my English teacher, rushing to my desk whilst pulling my notebooks and pens from my book bag. The thick, numbing feeling of embarrassment hung in my body as I began responding to the journal, I heard a couple of girls giggling and became paranoid with the fact that it was more than probable that they were giggling at me.

The rest of the day didn’t get any better, in History we had a quiz on the 1950s I somehow wasn’t aware of, being my worst subject I think it’s safe to assume I bombed that one. Spanish wasn’t as fun as usual because we didn’t play tape-ball today, but that’s not too bad. Lunch, like every Thursday (every Thursday since the economy went down the toilet recently and the schools budget dropped), today was Mystery Meat, which is truly a mystery, it looks like someone killed some unfortunate, helpless person, diced them up, ground half of that and mixed it with hot Coca-Cola. But today’s meat looked quite similar to a substitute who subbed here often; we dubbed her “Turkey Sub” because she had a strong resemblance to a turkey.
“It does doesn’t it?!” my friend Bob Evans exclaimed. “You know, Turkey Sub died a little bit ago.”
“Yea, yea, but that doesn’t mean she’s here in our mystery meat!” said Charlie Montgomery, another good friend.
“I say it’s a government conspiracy, the Man kills our substitute teachers instead of firing them, saving them butt-tons of money!” he gasped, “Guys, I think I just made the biggest discovery known in American history! I gotta write this down!”
The rest of us bow are heads, shaking them in sheer astonishment, chuckling at our friend’s government conspiracy theories.
Bob was the type of kid who would rather stay home and play a newly released Xbox 360 game than go to school, but still gets straight A's. The type that thought he was suave but could rarely catch a break with the ladies, and when he did, he didn’t know what to do so out of pure instinct he starts talking about video games. He’s the type of kid whose chances of getting a girl were slimmer than Steven Hawkins walking and functioning normally.
Charlie is the maturest of the four of us. He doesn’t play video games anymore, has a job and maintains a 4.0 GPA. Surprisingly, Charlie doesn’t have a girlfriend. I assume he wants one, but isn’t outgoing enough to go out and get one. He hangs out with his “best friend who’s a girl,” Cassidy, so I guess that’s good enough.
“You gotta stop watching so many movies about the government and their “conspiracies.” said Redmond Robin, we call him Red. Red is the fat kid of the posse. The quiet kid who sits back in the corner. What gets me is why he doesn’t talk so much. His voice is so unique, so when he does speak, everybody goes quiet and all want to hear.
“Well...you need to...” Bob tries to think of a strong comeback, “You need to shut up!” He smirks, thinking he has won the battle.
“Jokes on you, I do that more than anything.” Red retorts, a quick smile flashes across his face.
“Exactly!” said Bob.
“You’re useless.” said Red.
“And we have a winner!” I yelled, taking Red by the wrist and holding it up in the air like the guys do in boxing. Everyone laughs, even Bob.
“Whatever dude.” Bob chuckles beginning to toy with his mystery meat again, when his faces goes blank.
“Uh oh, I think the government is hypnotizing Bob with the mystery meat guys!” I said jokingly.

We all chuckle, and then stop when we see that Bob still hasn’t taken his eyes off his tray. He starts to lean closer and closer, then he lifts his hand and picks something circular from the meat, bringing it into everyone’s view.
“What is that?!” I ask.
“Yea dude, gross!” said Red.

“Calm down guys, it’s probably nothing.” Charlie claimed.

“We gotta go wash it off guys!” said Bob, picking up his tray, heading towards the garbage at the front of the lunch room. We all follow suit, anxious to see what Bob pulled out of the mystery meat.
Bob asked the teacher on lunch duty if he could use the restroom and was off like Speedy Gonzales. The rest of us just sat at our table silently, waiting, pondering. What could Bob, of all people, pull out of the school’s mystery meat? Seconds turned into minutes and minutes felt like hours.
“What the Hell is taking Bob so damn long?” asked Charlie, breaking the silence. No one answered we all just sat there watching the entrance of the lunchroom, waiting for Bob to walk in with the news. Time seemed still, I could feel the suspense on the back of my neck as if Suspense took form and was breathing down my-
“Red!” I barked, jerking Red back, away from my back, “there are limits on how close you can get to another guy man!”
“Sorry, the suspense is killing me!” said Red.
“It’s killing us all! Just beca-" Charlie cuts himself short when he catches sight of Bob.
We all glance at the entrance to see Bob casually walking in with his hands in his pockets, whistling. When he gets within ten feet of our table he lengthens his strides and quickly sits down.

“Well, what is it?” we all ask simultaneously.
Bob slowly pulls the unknown object from his pocket, revealing to us all, a little, shiny, silver ring. The table goes silent; fear kidnaps us with a shroud of silence, the very air in our lungs ripped through our mouths.
“Is that...?” Charlie drifts off into silence.
“I believe so.” Bob whispered, answering Charlie’s unfinished question.
The ring looked exactly the same as the ring Turkey Sub wore, none of us ever saw her without it, and it had to be her ring. It had the emerald gem in the center, it was silver, it had her last name on one side and a rose pattern on the other side. It was kind of small, then again she was quite skinny and boney, it had to be her ring. It was her ring.
“By the power of Grey Skull, that means Bob was right!” I admitted.
“Damn straight! Now who feels stupid? I know Red does!” Bob gloated, fiddling the ring in between his thumb and index finger. Red didn’t respond, just sat still, frozen in place, staring at the ring.
“So who’s killing off the substitutes?” Red bursts from his silence, yelling, “What do we do? The cops here suck and won’t do anything! Who do we tell? What the Hell do we do?”
“Shhhh! Shut up Red, calm down,” Charlie cooed, “We’ll figure it out later.”
“When and where?” I asked, Bob giggled, “shut it Bob, this is serious!”
“The Man Cave, after six o’clock.” Charlie responded.
“Way to use military time!” Bob snapped.
“Wow, really?” Charlie retorted, sarcastically “beg pardon, Sir Bad-a**.”
The bell signaling the end of lunch rings and everyone starts to head to their next period class. We all get up uniformly and start heading to our designated class as well.
“Don’t forget, Man Cave, after six!” Charlie repeated.
“Wait!” asked Red, we all stop, “why so late?”
“I’ll probably have homework, taking up my time until dinner, after that I’m free, I don’t work tonight.” Charlie exclaimed.

“Fine with me!” I confirmed.
“Same here!” said Bob.
“Aight.” said Red.
“Cool, see you guys after six!” Charlie said sternly, then lifting his hand in the Nanu Nanu sign, a huge grin smack-dab in the middle of his face.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Bob shouted, “That’s my man!”
“Hey get to class!” reprimanded the teacher.
We all laughed it off and went our separate ways. The next three periods seemed to take a lifetime. I spaced out so many times, I just couldn’t get the thought of Turkey Sub getting chopped up and thrown into boiling Coca-Cola out of my head. I would get called upon so many times and look like a fool in front of everyone, today just keeps getting better, because I was just so oblivious to my surroundings. Questions continuously ran through my mind like derby horses on a track. Questions like: who could’ve done it? Why? Where? How? Finally the last bell of the day rang and I was out the double doors and jetting home. Luckily, I didn’t have any homework, so as soon as I got home I jumped on my Xbox and started owning noobs on Modern Warfare 2. Barbie didn’t get home until an hour after I had already started playing Xbox, which was weird. What was stranger is that she was covered in blood.
“Uh, what’s with the blood Sis?” I asked baffled.
She hesitated, and then explained, “I had anatomy with Mr. Blackham after school today. You know ‘cause I’m so awesome with science. We got to examine a real human body! Ahhh!” she shrieked with excitement.
“Oookay...” I said as I looked back at the T.V. screen, “confused” and “freaked” written all over my face.
It’s really too bad time doesn’t pass as slowly while I’m on Xbox as it does when I’m at school. After about six games along with some time for snack, exercise and dinner, my friends started to show up for our little meeting. Bob was first to arrive, like usual, then Charlie and finally Red.
“What took you so long, Red?” asked Bob.
“I had to run okay?!” Red said, his breath intake a little deeper than usual.
“Oh! Pardon me! I didn’t know two doors down was such a trek!” Bob joked
“I only stopped twice okay!” Red joked back.
“Ha-ha so yea let’s get started.” demanded Charlie.
On that note we all retired to what we call, the Man Cave, which is our name for the game room. It takes us 20 minutes and 3 boxes of Twinkies (Red had two to himself) to arrive at the conclusion that Mr. Blackham is the culprit. Our explanation for this was that, he has only lived here a couple of years and with less teachers his salary increase and he could finally leave this poor town and live in Florida, because he clearly is the classiest, richest man here. Bob disagrees and claims the government brainwashed him to kill all the teachers, adding to his money saving theory, and that he could’ve left at anytime and stated there was no other reason for him being here.
“So apart from Bob’s ludicrous thoughts of paranoia, we set on our story?” asked Charlie.
“Yea ‘cause Barbie came home from anatomy all bloody and what not, saying they “examined” a real human body!” I said, informing my friends.
“That’s messed up dude!” muttered Red, dropping the last Twinkie from his mouth.
“I’m sticking with my theory.” grunted Bob, set on his beliefs of government corruption.

“So tomorrow is Saturday and I’m getting a weird feeling Barbie is gonna get together with Blackham to do some “extra credit,” I’m interrupted by Bob’s giggling, “really Bob? Really?” I asked amazed at his lack of awareness or emergency towards the situation.
“Sorry man.” Bob lowers his head in shame.
“Anyway,” I continue, “I suspect Barbie is gonna get together with Blackham and kill someone else, so tonight I say we meet at the Big Tree and set up separate stations around the house, covering all possible points of exit and follow Barbie, leading us to his slaughterhouse and catching him in the act! We’ll be heroes! Oh! Charlie bring your video camera with you!”
“Alright, sounds like a plan!” Charlie confirmed.
“Yea taking down the man!” Bob shouted.
“Like heroes! A real steak-out!” Red joined in.
“Alright guys, see you at 0100 hours! Be there!” I commanded.
“See that? Military time!” Bob smirked.
“Yea yea! Let’s go guys” said Charlie.
As my friends left I started to fill with a mix of excitement and adrenaline as I went through my plan over and over again in my head, covering all possible outcomes or twists in the upcoming bust. I rushed to get ready for bed for I had a long day ahead of me in the morning, the early morning.

I awoke to the sound of the song “B.Y.O.B.,” a song made famous by a band called, System of a Down, as the alarm I set on my phone. I slowly dressed myself with the outfit I picked out premature to my slumber and quickly headed for the Big Tree located, conveniently, right across the street in the empty lot of the neighborhood. Of course, I was the first one there; I always arrive before my friends, sometimes to their own houses. The rest of my friends arrived shortly after, one-by-one. When everyone was present, we established posts in which each of us is to be stationed and maintain position until the “bogie,” my sister, is sighted. We all took turns sleeping for the remainder of the night, starting with Bob, then Charlie, followed by myself and saving Red for last. The night passes quickly with sleep, and soon dawn is upon us, luckily Red brought food for breakfast, surprisingly for all of us.

After what seems to be several hours of nothing but failed attempts to climb the Big Tree by Red, Charlie and I run to our houses to fetch something to entertain ourselves with. I brought back a deck of cards, and a few packs of zebra cakes for everyone and myself. Time passes slowly; a group of friends can only play so many games of war, blackjack, poker, and Texas hold ‘em. It is close to 1200 hours when Bob sights my sister leaving the house, from the front door, probably to seem less suspicious. She heads towards the end of the neighborhood and waits by a stop sign, where she waits not five minutes before getting picked up by someone in a black Cadillac Escalade, it must be Blackham. It’s difficult, especially for Red, but we utilized our adrenaline to follow the black Caddy to a rundown automotive shop just outside town, seven minutes from home, by car, and luckily on foot with some help from the human body.
As soon as we get to the shop we all, except Red who’s a bit behind, see Mr. Blackham and Barbie get out with a duffle bag full of who knows what. They enter the shop laughing and enjoying themselves, poor Barbie, she has no idea what is going on.
“As soon as they enter the shop, we move into action.” I command, “Charlie, get the camera ready!” Charlie clicks the camera open, turns it on, and tests its batteries and all that other good stuff.
Only a few seconds pass and the two are inside.

“Move! Move! Move!” I yell, and next thing you know we’re halfway to the shop.
We’re closing in on the shop, about ten paces away when we hear loud machine noises coming from within the shop. We stopped, then heard screaming, and begin to advance slowly. My heart starts pounding so hard I have to stop briefly and calm down. Next, we hear laughing from within the shop, I can tell everyone was getting freaked out, even the exhausted Red who just made it to the party. We reach the door and stop, hesitant to open the door and gaze upon the horrors within.
“Well, open it!” said Bob.
“Okay, okay!” I said nervously. I begin to reach for, but pulled away, only to be nudged and reach for the door again, hand shaking.

I nudge the door just hard enough for it to swing open fully only to reveal Mr. Blackham and my sister hacking something up with a chainsaw. Charlie drops his camera; fortunately it doesn’t break, as Red screams at the top of his lungs. Red screams so loud that Mr. Blackham drops the chainsaw, which shuts off as soon as it is released from his grip. Both turn around, very slowly, Mr. Blackham looks more concerned than Barbie. Barbie even looks angry, it’s very unsettling.

“What the Hell’s going on here?” I shouted, my friends remaining silent.
“Nothing Jeffrey!” hissed my sister, evil in her eyes.
“What kind of sick being are you Mr. Blackham?” again shouting questions.
“It wasn’t —" begins Mr. Blackham.
“Shut up! But no, it wasn’t him...it was me!” she laughed.
“What?” I ask, my friends chiming in simultaneously.
“That’s right, me! It was all me!” she hissed.
“Wh-wh-why?” tears forming in my lids, a knot in my throat.
“Because,” she begins to cry, "You don’t know what it’s like to be made fun of for 'disappearing'.” Everyone in the room, my friends, Mr. Blackham and I all are still, perplexed by what we’re hearing.
“That’s right,” she continues, “I was made fun of because every time I got bored, I went to my own happy place.”
“What?” it seems to be the only word I know in this scenario.
“Yes, I would walk two miles from our house down to a little lake I found in an opening in the woods. Didn’t you ever notice that we always played close to dawn? It was the perfect time to watch the sun go down. I sometimes would stay for hours just to enjoy the wildlife and scenery, but no, Barbie can’t ever have anything to herself. ‘Barbie’s weird, Barbie’s strange, let’s all make fun of Barbie!’ I got sick of it so I studied hard, gained the trust of others and planned for years on a way to get back at you all. By feeding you other human beings! I would cut each person I murdered into tiny pieces, throw half into a stew, and the other half I’d grind ‘em up and mix it with Coca-Cola, then add it to the rest for the finishing touch.” she sighs with satisfaction, “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“That’s what smelled so weird.” whispered Red.
“No, Barbie, you’ve gone crazy!” I cry.
“SHUT UP!” she yelled, “I’m tired of hearing that!”
Barbie charges at us crazed, confused, lost, hands outstretched, determined. She is almost within reach when we hear...sirens? Barbie freezes in mid-step, halted by the noise; everyone looks back, everyone but Bob. In Bob’s hand was his cell phone.

“Bob?” I ask.
“That’s right,” he smirked, “speaker phone, the cops, here, now....show me the love!”
Four hours later after everyone’s parents are called, the whole school staff is informed, and the sheriff along with the C.S.I. team make their way to the abandoned auto shop. The Crime Scene Investigation team runs through their calculated, thorough, and precise procedures, leaving everyone to chew on their finger nails. The scene wouldn’t seem so nightmarish, if it wasn’t for my sister. Ever since the police cuffed her and crammed her into one of the cars, she’s been shrieking at the top of her lungs. Cursing our family, all of her friends, wishing she’d never been born. Her cries are like dull knives trying to pierce through my eardrums, causing acidic tears to press their way to my eye lids.
“How is she? What’s going to happen to her? What’s wrong with my baby?” my mother asks the approaching officer, trying to hide the rattle still clenched to the back of her throat from extensive crying.
”She’s going to be taken to a psychiatric hospital for a while, but she’ll be okay.”
“Thank you officer, thank you.” I smile.
“Alright, now y’all go home and try to yer best to rest up this weekend,” the officer demanded, “we’ll contact you later when we’ve got everything cleared up.”
“Okay.” my mother submits, as everyone is asked to return home.
Days go by, slowly but surely, dragging on in a shade of gray. It’s been a week, I have yet to get back on Xbox, or communicate with my friends. My parents have gotten several calls from friends, neighbors, and acquaintances, all expressing their feelings on our current situation. My parents haven’t talked to me about my insane sister, even after the initial call from the investigators. My grades are starting to sluggishly slip from my grasp, but the teachers know why, so they’re quite lenient with the grade deductions. Yessir, life goes on, but misery loves company.
It’s been almost a month now; my parents haven’t received any recent phone calls on Barbie’s progress. It’s my birthday, yet, the house is submerged in a melancholic atmosphere. I spend the vast majority of my days slouching on the sofa, crusted in my own sweat and potato chip crumbs. No motivation from anyone to do anything, I just eat, sleep, eat more, and then sleep more. I announce to my friends and family that I didn’t want to do anything for my birthday, I felt it was too soon. I find it exponentially impossible to exile the memory of my sister’s ear-piercing screams. Deep, dark-purple bags develop under my eyes due to sleep deprivation caused by the nightmares of my sister’s demonic features when she revealed herself that day at the auto shop.
Later that night, as I lay stiff under my sheet and comforter, listening intently to the noises of the house when I’m startled by sound of the T.V. being turned on in my parent’s room. I’m instantly aroused with curiosity, rise from beneath my sheets and tiptoe to my parents bedroom door, gently resting my ear on the strikingly cool wooden frame. They’re watching the twelve o’clock news, they must be immensely bored, just not tired yet. I’m about to return to the uninviting setting of my bed when my parents gasp simultaneously. My ear snaps back into its former position my neck feeling the kink from whiplash.
“A 16 year-old girl by the name of Barbie Quinta escaped from the Alfredo Macincheese Psychiatric Hospital just three hours ago at nine o’clock this evening.” the news lady announces to her loyal audience.

I hear my parents gasp at the same time as I do, and hear my mother ask my father, “Isn’t Alfredo about three hours from here?” then shiver to myself as a chill creeps slowly and painfully down my spine as my dad replies, “Yes.” I sprint to my room and dive into the protection of my sheets. I clamp and seal my eyes shut, and begin to sing a sweet lullaby to myself that my mother sang to me as a child in distress. I’m beginning my slow slip into unconsciousness, when my closet door moans as it’s gently, sadistically pushed open revealing...
My skin is ice-cold, my body paralyzed and gripped by fear, my eyes fixed on the dark, demented, twisted figure standing in the doorway of my closet, blade in hand.
“Good evening Jeffery,” cooed my sister, I can’t reply, my mouth as dry as the farmlands during the Dust Bowl, tongue swollen, suffocating me, “I’ve missed you, and I’m sure I’ll miss you after you’re gone.”
I can’t lay here another minute, I leap from my bed like a bat out of Hell, but my sister came here on a mission and is on me after a couple strides down the hallway. She’s pinned me to the floor, strapping my forearms with her knees. She raises the blade high above her head, sick satisfaction in the inhuman, pitch-black bulbs set in her face. As I feel the unforgettable pain of the sharpened blade puncturing my skin and piercing my heart, I rest my head on the floor and look up at the digital clock set on the random night stand placed to the side in the middle of the hallway. It read, 12:07 a.m.
Sound is the last sense to go when one dies, it’s terrible, listening to most important people in your life howl at your death, mumbling the question of why over and over. After all senses are lost, I feel nothing. There’s no bright light at the end of this tunnel, I’m left to rot on this Earth to ponder the irony of dying on the same day I was born, on the exact hour, to the exact second...exactly nineteen years later...

What a way to go...

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PJD17 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Apr. 3, 2011 at 6:26 pm
good work could you please check out and comment on my story Manso's Shame   just type in Manso's  for some reason if you type in the full title it doesnt come up
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