by E K Bennett
In the left hand corner, as if writing a signature, in one sweep of my wrist I write “Lotty” in a kind of handwriting I’ve never seen before. Holding it out for a last look, I realize I’ve been holding my breath. Letting it out, the blood drains from my face and I realize what I just drew. I spring to my feet and fumble for my phone.
After an endless amount of ringing, Sam finally picks up. Before she can even get in a ‘hello’ I whisper, “Her name’s Lotty.”
Click. She’s on her way over.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
“Happy birthday dearest Lotty, happy birthday to you!”
Lotty blew out the candle and smiled. Her grandmother gave her a hug and whispered, “Thank God you’ve made it to nine years old.”
Lotty hugged her back but didn’t say anything. She didn’t talk much anymore anyway.
Lotty’s mother shook her head. “All these deaths in the past two years,” she muttered to the grandmother.
“And all of them being children…” the father chimed in a worried tone.
Lotty ate her cake silently and eavesdropped. In her mind she was laughing at the irony, but she knew if she smiled that she’d be sent to her room, birthday or not. It wasn’t like she minded being sent to her room, if you could call it that. Their house was so small that she had to sleep with her parents in their room. She tried to be innocent though, and believe it or not, she wanted this birthday to be a good one. Her eighth was terrible because her mother was still grieving over the loss of her brother John. Lotty killed two people that night out of anger.
The killings didn’t matter to her; she knew that she was better off than those children because she could survive, unlike them. The lady told her that night that Lotty would grow to be just like her. Lotty knew the lady who prompted the killings was not a normal human. She wasn’t even sure if the lady was alive.
“How many deaths would you say, Charles?” Her mother asked.
“I heard it was around twenty.”
Twenty-three, Lotty thought to herself proudly.
“I’m not afraid of death,” Lotty retorted.
Her parents gaped at her. “I’m sorry?” her mother gasped.
“Death is normal,” Lotty said, skirting around the word ‘good’ so her parents wouldn’t think ill of her. “And when I die, I’ll stick around. I’ll even come back one day, I’m sure.”
Everyone just stared at her, then the silence was broken by a laugh from her grandmother.
“You are so cute, Lotty,” she giggled. “Why don’t you go run along and play? This is grown-up talk.”
Lotty sighed and her grandmother gave her another hug.
Behind the house, the lady appeared for the first time in a while. Instead of her usual comforting voice, she stood tall in a flowing white dress and long black hair. Lotty never looked at the woman’s face, and she never felt the need to. “It’s my birthday,” Lotty told the woman.
The lady shook her head. “Birthday’s are not important, darling.” Lotty looked down, ashamed. She needed to impress this woman, she helped Lotty so often.
“You’re running out of people, love,” the lady said softly. “I can try to attract people to move to this region, but it isn’t easy.”
But Lotty’s mind wasn’t on killing, she was still thinking about what she had said to her family a minute ago. “What happens when I die?” she blurted out.
The lady didn’t miss a beat when she said, “It’s difficult to say, dear. You are strong, that is why I picked you. I can feel that you will be strong after death.”
“What do you mean, strong?”
“Well, Lotty, some people leave and others stay,” the woman went on, still making very little sense. “You, I can feel, will stay. And staying is hard to do. Staying is painful, and lonely, and cold.”
The resentful composure of the lady made Lotty uncomfortable. “But,” Lotty whispered, “I don’t want to stay, then. It doesn’t sound fun.”
“There is no choice, love. You get no choice. But there is a way to fix it. Youth, darling, is like a portal. Someone who stays is stuck here, and that person needs to find a way out. Youth is the answer, and that youth has to be strong.”
Lotty nodded her head, even though she didn’t understand. Lotty was strong, the lady told her so.
“Am I strong?” she picked her words carefully.
“Not strong enough,” the lady hissed uncharacteristically.
Lotty was taken aback. “What do I need to do? I don’t want to be stuck!”
“Keep doing what you do. But not tonight, I fear… I fear some of the children are beginning to suspect you as the killer.”
Lotty’s eyes widened. “Can’t I just get rid of them?”
The woman put a warm hand on Lotty’s shoulder. “You cannot cause problems. You cannot get caught or I will lose you, I can feel that much. You need to be strong to help me, Lotty. I am stuck, love. I am staying right now. And without you, I will stay stuck. Do you understand?”
Lotty nodded, but she didn’t understand. What she understood, though, was that she needed to kill someone tonight.
9. She's Not The Only One
The folded up paper weighs a ton in my pocket, burning a hole in my leg. I tap my foot impatiently, waiting for the bell. I didn't want to fold the picture at first, but if I was going to bring it to school I didn't want it getting ruined like that note. So I'm keeping it at my side at all times so I can show it to Adam at lunch.
To my surprise, I wasn't freaked out in the least about Lotty reaching out to me last night. I mean, when Sam came over, she told me she'd do some research, but she was pretty much mystified. Much like myself. But I can't explain it, I've suddenly begun feeling like I've met Lotty for the first time and, as cliché as this is, that she wanted to be my friend. That she reached out to me for a reason.
I want to take it out, just for a look. But I don't want people to see it. Just Adam and Sam, and myself. Class is dragging on, I just want to skip to lunchtime. I need to ask Sam if-- my thoughts are interrupted by the bell. I shoot out of my seat and down the hall, shocked at my sudden excitement. Is this because of Lotty?
"Sam!" I greet her when she sits down at our table with her lunch. Adam's right behind her. I pull out the sketch excitedly, immediately regretting my haste. They're going to think I'm a freak.
Sam notices the paper and says, "Lemme see it again."
She smiles and I hand it to her. Adam peeks over her shoulder and gives the paper a quick glance. Double take. Eye-bulge.
"What the fuck is that?"
I laugh. "That's the ghost in my room!" I say it a little too enthusiastically. Oops. "Erm, I mean we think it is. Her name's Lotty."
He raises an eyebrow, his eyes still wide. "That thing is messed up. you drew that?"
I nod and explain what happened last night. When I'm done, he makes a face but doesn't say anything.
After a long pause, he says, "You think that a spirit made you draw a picture?"
Sam punches him in the arm. "You're so closed-minded."
"Well it doesn't make any sense!" He rubs his arm. I stick my tongue out at him.
"Well why the hell not? You weren't even there!"
"Woah, defensive much?" Adam narrows his eyes and takes a second look at the picture. "Okay, assuming I believe you, how do you know it's a ghost? Is there proof?"
I gaze at the mirror image in my drawing, racking my brain. He interrupts my thought process, "Where did you get the name Lotty from? Maybe you've seen it somewhere before and your brain just matched the two together. You don't know anything else about this 'ghost' except for a name. Did it talk to you?"
"I..." My throat goes dry.
"I'm not trying to be a dick, but you're acting kinda insane. The drawing's amazing, though."
"You are a dick, Adam," Sam half-jokes. "But that's the thing. Lyd says that she's never drawn something this quickly or accurately before. Like look at this detail on her dress. Is that a pattern or som
ething, Lyd?"
I look up from the drawing and immediately reply, "No it's blood." What? I furrow my brow. I wasn't expecting that answer to come so quickly. Do I really look at the picture that often, that I have all the details memorized? Or maybe it's just burned into my brain, seeing as an image that horrifying isn't prone to leaving my memory in much of a hurry.
"Cute, Lydia," Adam shakes his head. "That's pretty sick, drawing a little girl covered in blood?"
I can tell that he, being a guy, doesn't find this entirely sick, but I let it go.
"The point is, it's freaky," --and really cool, I add in my head.-- "And I'm pretty convinced it's a ghost. Sam, did you find anything out?"
She shakes her head. "Nahh, but I was thinking a lot about it, you know, and maybe we can try to contact her after school today?"
Adam lets out a snort of laughter and Sam punches him again. I ignore it and agree, ending the conversation so we can get to our lunches without Adam flipping a shit.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~
"How are we gonna do this?" I ask Sam, laying face-down on my bedroom floor.
"Well, we could ask some questions..." She seems at a loss. I shrug.
"Don't we need a Ouija board?" She shudders at the suggestion.
"Yeah, but like I said. I'm not touching one of those."
I sigh dramatically. It's hard to respect her judgment when using that Ouija Board could easily give us the answers to all our questions. That is, of course, if the concept isn't complete bullshit. "Fine, but what should we ask? The mirror? That sounds so lame... And what would we even ask her? All we know is her name, and that she's a kid. That gets us pretty much nowhere."
Sam doesn't answer. But suddenly I think of something that might get us close to somewhere. "Wait! Miranda used the board already! Maybe Lotty talked to her!"
Sam grins and follows me to Miranda's room. I knock loudly so Miranda can hear it over the loud music blaring on the other side of the door.
The door opens. "What?" Miranda's holding her tummy and her boyfriend, Brian, is looking at her CD collection in the background.
"We have something to ask you," I say and she opens the door wider for us to come in.
"Hey, Brian," I say. He smiles at us. Brian doesn't live at our house, but he's here whenever he's not at the community college for classes.
"What do you want?" Miranda asks in a semi-polite tone, probably so she doesn't seem like a psycho bitch in front of her boyfriend.
"Remember on Halloween, when you were playing with the Ouija Board?"
"And you," she points at Sam, "flipped a shit? Yeah, I remember."
I roll my eyes. "Anyway, did you get anything interesting out of it?"
She glances at Brian, obviously embarrassed by the fact that she was playing with a Ouija Board and that her boyfriend would find out. Not like he's listening, he's too immersed in the back cover of Now That's What I Call Music: 7.
Sighing, she complains, "I don't have time for this. Go play with it yourself and figure out. It's really lame."
"Don't have time?" I retort. "What, are you too busy deciding which Ashely Simpson song is coolest? Cuz I can answer that one real quick--"
Miranda groans and attempts to push me out of the room.
"Don't strain yourself, sis," I laugh. "I'll leave now, just tell me: Where's that paper with all the answers to the questions from that night?"
"I threw it out, dumbass," she scoffs. "Why do you even care? Think our house is haunted?"
Without missing a beat, i nod. Miranda rolls her eyes at me, but to my surprise she says, "Alright, you're not the only one. It's probably in the waste bin in the dining room. Now leave me alone."
I smile. She slams the door in my face.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~
Yes
Yes
9
Girl
Water
Lotty
"What does this have to do with Lotty?" Sam asks, re-reading the note for the fifth time.
I shrug. "Maybe they were just fooling around? Maybe Lotty only answered the last one?"
Sam sighs. "Miranda said she thinks the house is haunted. Why the hell, then, is she leaving us in the dark?"
"It looked like she didn't want to talk about it in front of Brian. He must be like Adam and doesn't believe in this stuff..."
"I don't know. Adam's always been a skeptic, ya know?" I never thought about the fact that Adam completely shot down everything Sam believes in, and how that must hurt her. Maybe he doesn't know that she likes this stuff. I mean, I didn't until a few days ago.
"If only I could ask Miranda what the questions were... Ugh. That would help us a lot."
"It's pretty much the only way we can figure out if this is bullshit or not..."
"But it says 'Lotty'...it has to be right."
Sam gazes at the paper for a long minute. "Yes, yes, 9, girl, water, Lotty..."
"I've got nothing," I sigh. "I'll ask her tonight, I guess? Then I'll let you know at lunch tomorrow?"
She shrugs and puts the slip of paper down on the table. "Okay, but call me tonight. All right?"
I don't want to let this go until Brian leaves. I want to know now. But I stuff the paper in my pocket and put my head down.
You're not the only one. The words ring in my head.
10. She Fights With Herself
I stare at the slip of paper blankly for a while after Sam leaves. Brian still hasn't left, so I know that Miranda won't want to talk about it. A light drizzle dances on the concrete outside, dripping down the window. When we were little, Sam and I used to sit in the rain and try to catch raindrops in our mouths, claiming they always had different flavors. "I got a cherry one!" Sam would yell, and I would try to compete with her and lie about catching a banana split flavored one, then the game would progressively get more and more elaborate as we tried to get the coolest flavor. The whole time I would play along, knowing that there really was no taste to the cool, heavy water that fell from the sky, but I wondered intensely whether or not Sam could taste what I couldn't. It's funny what little kids will say just to impress other people.
I stare out the window and the late November rain pours down harder. The rain drops are racing, skydiving, plunging as fast as they can to be the first one to the ground, the first one to freedom. I wish they actually tasted like cherries and ice cream and mashed potatoes like we used to pretend. I wish I knew what--
The door bursts open and I don't even realize that it's six 'o clock. Mom's home, shaking her hair and setting her purse on the telephone table.
I'm about to ask what's for dinner, suddenly starving after thinking about flavored rain, but Mom looks up at me and says, "Ready to go? I've got the car running still, I've just got to go grab an umbrella..."
"Ready to..."I mumble then gasp, causing Mom to jump. "Right! Dad's!"
I forgot that it's Friday, and my Dad's weekend for me to stay over. Shit, that puts everything on hold...
I run to my room and stow the slip of paper in my sock drawer. "Lotty?" I whisper after much contemplation, standing in front of my mirror. No reply. That's just as I expected, though. "Don't do anything spectacular while I'm gone, okay?" Still nothing.
I feel like an idiot.
~_~_~_~_~_~_~
“Hey, sweetie.” My dad smells like the Home Depot and cologne, just like he always does. I pull out of the hug and head to the kitchen table for dinner.
He used to be the one who did all the cooking, all the home improvement. Mom was obsessed with fixing up the house. She had him build shelves, paint the walls, remodel the kitchen, stuff like that. She still rearranges furniture all the time, but sometimes it seems like her heart isn’t in it. I can barely remember why they even split up.
I don’t care.
They argued a lot. Mom is extremely moody, Dad likes to get his way. They were mature about the divorce, you could say. When I was twelve, they sat Miranda and I down one day and explained that they wouldn’t be married
anymore. I didn’t really understand; it’s always different on TV, you see a drastic change and the protagonist feels all sorts of twisted emotions over the change in lifestyle. But I felt no drastic emotion, it was just that one day Dad lived with us, the next he didn’t. It was quieter, you could say, after the divorce. Less fighting.