Guilt

I don’t hear anything, but I see everything.

I see the priest on the podium moving his arms passionately, his eyes fixed on the Bible before him. I see the mother and father falling over themselves, their mouths wrenched open in a soundless scream. I see my friend, Jessie, beside me, wiping her tear-streaked face too hard with the back of her hands. Finally, I see her, but I don’t cry like them. I don’t feel like them. Instead, I’m suspended in time; a growing numbness intertwines around my bones, slowly consuming me like a predator would its prey.

Ivy Monroe. Her name is written in bold script on the poster beside the casket, and above it is a picture of the girl she once was. She’s smiling brightly, and her honey eyes are glowing, shining like amber. Her curly raven hair with streaks of blue falls effortlessly to her shoulders. Her parents couldn’t have picked a better picture. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was the sweetest soul, and she was…sometimes. The girl in the casket, though, I don’t know her at all. She’s too pale, too still, too lifeless, and no amount of makeup can hide that.

A hand gently shakes my shoulder, stealing my attention and returning sound.

“Samantha?” Jessie’s eyes are red and puffed, her voice is tight and hoarse, and for a second, I forget why. She nods to the crumpled paper in my hands. “The eulogy.” Right, that. I nod, take a deep breath, and stand. Suddenly, the distance between me and the podium seems almost out of reach. The first step is the hardest, but I somehow manage to make it without falling. That small victory is short-lived when I try to uncrumple the paper because my hands won’t stop shaking. The silence stretches for too long; It becomes deafening. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, waiting for me. Get it together, Sam. I force my head up, trying to find comfort in Jessie’s soft smile, but comfort doesn’t come.

“I um…,” I start, my voice unsteady. I glance at the girl in the coffin, reality settling in, the weight of loss growing. “Ivy–” Instant flashes of blood and screams paint my vision. No. Not the time, Sam, not the time. “Ivy Monroe was the kind of person you’d be lucky to meet. She was everything you could’ve wanted in a friend… in a sister…in a daughter. She was there through the darkest times and the brightest days. You could always count on her. You could always talk to her, and she’d listen. Really listen and uh…,” A breath catches in my throat as memories of Ivy surface–smiling, laughing, crying, and that’s when the first tear drops. I clear my throat and begin again. “Out of Jessie and me, Ivy was the one to take risks. She lived for that. Every day was a new adventure, and when Jessie and I seemed hesitant, she’d always say, ‘It wouldn’t be any fun if we weren’t doing it together.’” I pause. I glance again at the girl in the casket. “Ivy was my best friend. My sister. And I have no idea how to–” My voice falters when I see her. At the back of the room, in the very last pew, a figure rises. A girl who doesn’t belong. A girl with honey eyes and curly raven hair with blue streaks down to her shoulders. Her clothes are soaked in crimson, droplets falling onto the tiled floor. But it’s the smile that sends shivers down my spine. It’s wide and unfeeling, a smile that possesses no warmth, and she’s smiling…at me.

I look back at the casket and see her as expected, lifeless and still, but that does nothing to calm me. This can’t be happening right now. It’s all in your head, Sam, hold it together. “Um, I’m sorry…Ivy-” The figure in the back takes a step forward. I stumble backward, tripping over myself, choking on a sound that doesn’t make it out. The room is spinning, and my breathing becomes shallow. The edges of the world blur until only one thing is clear: the dead girl is coming for me. Concerned whispers erupt all around.

“Sam?” Jessie appears before me. I can’t hear anything she says, but I know she’s worried; I can tell by the crease between her brows.“Samantha?” She takes my face in her hands, gently shifting my attention to her, forcing me out of my trance. I grip her arm like a lifeline and pull her close.

“I can’t do this,” My voice comes out shaky and low. “I can’t.”

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” She whispers, voice wavering. She pries the paper from my hand and helps me up. “Can you walk to your seat?” I nod and keep my head down as I do, too afraid to see if she’s still there, if she’s still smiling at me.

Once in my seat, I harshly brush the hair strands away from my flushed face. Jessie continues the eulogy, and I try to listen, but my mind won’t let me. It wouldn’t rest, jarred by a girl who looked like my dead best friend, and it would remain that way even when the service concluded.

Later, after the service, I stood beside the open grave and watched as Ivy’s casket was lowered into the earth. The sight of it shatters something inside of me.

“Samantha?” I hadn’t even noticed Mrs. Monroe approach me. Her eyes were dark and sunken. Her skin was pale, her body thin, thinner than I remember.

“Mrs. Monroe.” Looking at her hurt because all I could see was Ivy in her eyes. I let my gaze drift to the ground. “I’m sorry that I uh-couldn’t finish the–”

“It’s alright, dear.” Her voice sounded so frail, so hopeless. “I was just speaking with Jessie. You girls are welcome to come over anytime. I’m sure there are things Ivy would want you two to have.” I lift my head, meeting her sorrowful gaze. I doubt that, but I don’t say it.

“Thank you…And I’m sorry.” She offers a quick smile and nod before joining her husband in the car. I let out a heavy sigh and turned to the grave, unable to leave. Jessie joins me by my side, brushing her hair from her tired face. It’s only the two of us now. Just silence and wind.

“You saw her, didn’t you? When you were doing the eulogy.” She finally whispers. I don’t answer because she already knows. “How many times do I have to tell you she’s not real?”

“This isn’t normal, Jessie. I don’t know how you do it, but I can’t just pretend she’s not there.”

“Normal or not, you have to hold it together.” Hold it together? We’re standing at Ivy’s grave, and she’s telling me to hold it together. I scoff, brushing away a bitter laugh.

“Why? So no one finds out what we did?”

Jessie spins, her voice rising. “We didn’t do anything.”

I step closer, matching the heat in her gaze. “Bullshit.”

“Like you said, Ivy was the one to take risks.”

“That’s not–”

“Enough.” The word lashes out like a whip. I stare at her, unable to breathe.

“I can’t carry this, Jessie. This thing that we’re seeing…whether it’s Ivy or not, it’s freaking me the hell out. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t…”

“You think this doesn’t scare me, Sam. Because it does.” Her voice is shaking. “God, it does.”

“Then let’s tell the truth, let’s just–”

“Are you insane? I’m not going to ruin my life because Ivy wanted to have fun.”

“Jessie–”

“Let it go.” Let it go. She says it like it’s easy.

“She was smiling this time,” I whisper.

“What?”

“Ivy…she was smiling at me, then she took a step towards me. That shit is pretty hard to let go.” The color from Jessie’s face drains, terror flooding her eyes.

“She what?”

“This thing isn’t going to leave us alone, Jessie. Do you get that?” She rakes her hand through her hair and rubs her temples.

“It has to, Sam, it will.” Her wavering voice betrays her words. She’s afraid.

“You sure about that?” I ask, my voice low. The silence that followed was the only answer I needed.

Ivy was dead, and whatever we were seeing…real or not…was coming for us.