When my sister was born, momma never let me see her. Said she was the devil. Momma took care of her until she was able to bathe and take care of herself. When she was seven, momma locked her away. I could hear her pleadin from the attic all night and day.

“It’s too hot, momma,” she cried durrin the summer. To cold during the winter. All she had was a cot and a blanket. Momma only fed her durin dinner. She got bread and milk. That was, until momma been bed ridden. She was the only one who knew where the key was. She wouldn’t tell me, and soon the cries at night… they’d just stop commin. I did pray for my sister, even when I was a youngin. The day I moved back into momma’s old house, that was the day I realized that my baby sister never left. The milk would spoil when I brought it in, and the bread would rot. A few years passed and I had two twin girls. They looked like her. As I walked into ones bed room, I seen her drawin a picture. I asked her who she had been drawing. The girl was sad, looked like she had only skin and bone. The words my child spoke, I’ll never forget.

“It’s me when I lived here before. Remember momma? This is what I looked like when I died.”