My sister is dying.
And I will be next.
I tear awake with a loud gasp, caught in a tangle of sheet and comforter as something thuds to the floor.
Lily’s sketchpad, caught in a pool of soft morning light.
I set my hand against my chest, trying to still my beating heart.
Last night, I fell asleep looking through the pages.
Perhaps this explains such an awful dream.
But then slowly, as if knowing what I will see before I see it, I turn my gaze to the plant in my window.
A second skeletal leaf has grown, and it glows like the first.
I untangle myself from the covers and tiptoe across the room.
With my heart in my throat, I touch the leaf.
Lily’s voice rises inside me.
I’m so cold.
I see it happen all over again.
The beast that killed her.
De Zwarte Muil.
A hellhound.
A knock sounds on my door.
I twist in the window seat as Dad pokes his head inside. “Hey kiddo, just making sure you’re—” At the sight of me, his expression clouds with concern. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course,” I reply, out of breath. Like I really did just sprint through the woods.
He steps into my bedroom. “What is that?” he asks, nodding toward the window sill. “Are you growing something?”
I make myself bigger in an attempt to hide the plant, but he just takes another curious step.
Then he stops short and says in surprise, “Oh.”
I’m afraid to look.
But when I do, the leaf is no longer glowing.
The plant is just a plant—a very strange, ugly plant. Growing in a sour cream container. When Iturn around, I can see him making the connection to my mother, who also used to grow plants inside sour cream containers.
I laugh nervously. “I found a seed in the woods and I thought I’d give it a shot at life.”
Dad rubs his chin. “Well, be careful with it.”
“Why be careful?”
“It’s a pretty invasive weed. It was a bear to remove from the hedge maze.”
