I gave chase, tracking my sister’s silhouette through the haunting halls of this fucked up place. Why she was always so obsessed with carnivals and magic funhouses I’d never understand. Nothing but mirrors lined the walls of the place, and they all reflected the same thing back at me: the cruel memory of my parents lying dead on the kitchen floor.
I’d always told myself it wasn’t her fault. It wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t been so hard on her. But they just wouldn’t stop yelling, even after she got ahold of the knife.
I forced myself to blink several times, pulling my focus away from the mirrors as best I could. It didn’t matter that the place was fucking with me. I needed to find her. She was in there somewhere, alone, probably still pissed off at me, but that’s just the nature of being sisters. You get pissed off at each other every once in a while. What matters is how you make things better afterward.
“I’ll fix this, Anya,” I told myself. “I promise. Just… Where the fuck are you?”
“Amy, please find me. Save me from all that I’ve done. Please save me, Amy.”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
I stopped dead where I stood. “Anya!” I called out.
The same line repeated again and again and again. It sounded almost like a lullaby, the way the words glided through the thick, suffocating air of the place.
“Anya!” I kept running, smashing into mirrors and leaving shards of glass on the floor in my wake. I couldn’t stop. I had to find her. I would find her.
And after slamming into enough mirrors, I finally did.