Beans

We sat together, my sister and I, day after day. We stayed as quiet as we could while the nightmares crept down the hallways. The only door to our room was hidden behind an imposing painting of some well-known historical figure.

The room itself had always existed near the stained-glass window on the second floor, below the second set of stairs, nowadays about four feet away from an outstretched decaying hand.; and that’s where we hid from them.

We couldn’t see the shadows of the shifting figures, but we could hear the scratching of their dragged limbs. You can interpret their threat level by the intensity of their shambling. They came and went every so often, and were perfectly fine to do so, as they posed no threat seeing as they had no direct prey in sight.

“It’s my fault.” Jenny said. “It’s all my fault.”

My sister was facing the small window overlooking the street below. I heard her, but barely. I stopped chewing, choosing then to swallow the awkward amount of unchewed beans. It was lumpy and uncomfortable, yet I still ended up choking it down. She shifted anxiously in her seat while I coughed to clear my throat. “What’s your fault?”

Her bowl was empty. ‘I should fix that.’ I thought. I reached for her empty bowl and inquired further. “What do you mean?”

She turned back to me and frowned. Leaning in to take another sip of her drink, I caught a glance at her small hands . Her nails were short, bitten off at the ends. Her finger tips were red and irritated. I scooped a spoonful of beans into her small plastic bowl.

“Everything is my fault.” she sighed.

I scooped another spoonful of beans into her bowl and carefully passed it back over to her. “All of it?” I asked. “How could you do all of it?“ I gestured towards the outside. “I suppose you created all of them in your secret underground laboratory?” I asked her sarcastically. “Did you invent them?”

There was a long pause. I heard the distant sounds of banging, much like the clamoring sounds you’d hear coming from your neighbor’s garage as he tinkered with another “unfixable” item. I disregarded the far-off noises as I continued eating more of my cold, canned beans.

“Yes. I think I did.” She replied. “It’s all my fault. And I really want to tell you how sorry I am.” I snorted at her response before noticing the sincerity splattered across her face. “How?” I asked, curious as to what she could possibly say. “How is it you always think you’re to blame? For everything? I don’t, I-”

“The night before Christmas, I snuck out to look at the presents.” She blurted. “I wanted to see how many I was getting this year. And I wanted to see if there was anything from Mommy.”

I nodded. After our mother passed away, my father would sometimes include gifts addressed from her. Perhaps it was his way of keeping her memory alive and connected with us. At first it was thoughtful. But then it just became a reminder of who we had lost.

“I found it. Daddy wrapped it in gold paper and had the white bow around it, just like she used to do.” Looking away, she continued. “It said not to open until Christmas.”

“And?” I asked. She whipped back around to face me, almost angrily. “Well, what was it?” I asked curiously.

“She calmed as she pondered her answer. “A locket. A heart shaped locket, with her picture inside.” She whispered. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.”

I shook my head. “I don’t get the 24/7 guilt. I really don’t.” ‘My sister, the bleeding heart.’ I thought to myself , rolling my eyes.

“Everybody… dying. I’m the reason they all died and didn’t die. I’m the reason they keep getting back up and hurting people.” Jenny was no longer holding back her tears. She cried real, steady tears. The knot in my stomach was immediate; the understanding I sought was still out of reach. Before I could question her further, she continued through gritted teeth. “I made a bad wish.”

I was a little taken aback. Not so much from my sister’s pleas of guilt, more-so how much she’s talking. She hadn’t said a word since the world, well, died. Well, mostly. It only took one afternoon for our entire lives to be set on a very dark, very dangerous course.

“I blame myself too, kid.” I aid to her, attempting to soothe her misplaced guilt. Before she could respond, I continued.

“The night before,” I said, “ I couldn’t sleep. Tossed and turned all night. I don’t know.” I shook my head lightly. “I was so worried about… all…these… unimportant shit.” Looking back up at her, I could tell she was still crying. She seemed to be listening. “I kept telling myself I wanted to die. So, I did something I hadn’t done before.” I looked off sheepishly.

“You did?” she inquired.

“Yeah, “ I sighed. I gathered my thoughts, then continued. “I asked God to take me back. Told Him I didn’t like it here.”

I sat there, uncomfortable with my own words. Maybe it was more than the words, it was the most honest I’d ever been with someone. And this someone was also the only living person in the world who knew I still existed. My naïve, innocent baby sister.

I cleared my throat. “I was in a lot of pain. But I woke up the next day and acted like everything was fine. And you know what happened?" I knew I didn't need to tell her the rest, she knew what came next.

"And there hasn’t been a day gone by where I haven’t carried that guilt. We lost everything, and everyone we cared about all at once.” My head jerked backward as it physically rejected the flashing images of the dead feasting on the people we loved.

“There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought about how hard it was to lose everyone. “ I swallowed another spoonful of beans. “And I wanted to throw my life away, for what? Because Dana Grundeman ghosted me?”

I made a nauseated sound. Then I laughed. “It was just a coincidence.” I said, a little more calmly. “I know that, and now you know that. We’re not to blame for any of…” I gestured around. “This.”

“Dead people are walking around, and you wanted to be one of them.” She replied, coldly.

"I don't know what I wanted." I replied quickly, "But I didn't want that." I said, gesturing towards the small window.

“I didn’t want anybody to die.” she said in soft sobs. “I told them I never wanted anyone to die ever, ever again.”

“What do you mean, you told them?” I asked, confused. “And wh-“

She cried out, interrupting me. “I didn’t want to lose you too, Emmy. Maybe, if I would have stayed in bed, they wouldn't have seen me.” She uttered in a low tone.

She must have read the silent confusion through my own facial expression. “I just remember seeing a bright light and then they were there…” she trailed off.

“The zombies?” I asked, still not understanding.

“No. No! You’re not listening.” Jenny was getting frustrated. “The grey men. They asked me what I wanted. And I didn’t want anyone to die anymore.”

I was stunned. Was she feverish? I quickly placed the back of my palm on her forehead. “I don’t get what game-“

“It’s not a game.” She said sternly to me, before sobbing into her sleeve.

The banging noises became devastatingly clear now. The door behind the painting, upon repeated beatings, began to quiver under the weight and force thrust upon it. And the window… The window was bright. Bright light seeped into the small space unlike anything I’d ever seen before.

“They found us.”

‘They didn’t just find us. They were looking for us.’ I thought. I reached over to grab my knife, only to realize my hands were shaking tremendously.

The beatings on the door became increasingly more violent and loud.

“They found me! They’re coming for me!” she screamed. Her wails drew more violence upon the door, the dead rejuvenated by the thrill of having found their prey.

“Emmy!" she cried out to me. "I’m s-”

And suddenly, she was gone. My sister, like the lights, had vanished. The beatings on the door continued.

She was gone, and the monsters had found me.