Page 4 of Don't Call Me Daddy
Only it’s too late.
I grip the steering wheel to brace myself as I slam my foot on the brakes. The smell of burned rubber, the high-pitched shriek of tires. I crank the wheel to the right, and my car rolls off the road and down a hill, narrowly missing a large tree before finally rolling to a stop.
Heart racing in my chest, I cough several times, trying to catch my breath as my airway starts to restrict. Thankfully, I’vestill got an emergency inhaler stowed in my glove box from when Fern first bought this car. She insisted I keep one in here just in case … even though I haven’t had an asthma attack in years.
I take a couple of puffs, feeling my breathing return to normal, and sag against my seat. Even from the grave, my sister’s still watching out for me. That sounds exactly like her.
I don’t know how I’ve managed to survive all on my own these past five years, but I can’t rely on my sister’s forward thinking to save me anymore, no matter how much I wish she would just appear to me and tell me what to do next.
That’s why I’m here.
I tried to do things my way. I even went to college and did all the things I was supposed to do, but no matter how much I pushed myself, I somehow still felt empty. It was like I was walking around with a giant hole in my chest, only feeling things halfway … like the other piece of me was missing.
Maybe I’ll never feel whole without my sister, but I’ve got to try. I’m desperate for something to make me feel alive again, so desperate that I dropped out of school with only one semester left and sold all my belongings—not that there was much left.
I needed a change and figured,What the hell do I have to lose?
So, I packed up the few belongings that could fit in my car, donated everything else, and set out to have an epic adventure with my sister’s list as my only guide.
Maybe not the most responsible idea I’ve ever had, but that’s what desperation will do to a person. Besides, I never claimed to be responsible. That was all Fern. I’m more of the fun, impulsive twin.
And now, it seems I’m getting to deal with the consequences of my own actions.
I twist the key in the ignition, but rather than rumbling to life, there’s a hiss coming from underneath the hood. I try again, and hear a clicking sound, but the car doesn’t start.
“Are you serious right now?” I shout to no one.
With an annoyed huff, I grab the bag of rice containing my phone and step out into the dark, eerie forest.
I narrow my eyes, trying to make sense of where I am. If I can just find the road, maybe I can flag someone down for help.
A bead of sweat drips down my spine, the damp, muggy air not doing me any favors. I tighten my grip on the plastic bag of rice to keep from dropping it as my feet come to a stop.
Was it left or right? I’m so turned around from the car spinning out of control that I don’t know which way I came from. I spin around as if the change of direction will suddenly spark my memory, but it’s no use.
I’m lost.
I suppose I have a fifty-fifty shot of picking the right way, so I might as well get going.
What was that thing in the road anyway? It was huge and gone just as quickly as it had appeared. An eerie feeling creeps up my spine, and I shiver at the thought of it.
Now is not the time to remember Fern’s creepy bedtime stories.
As if on cue, her words play in the back of my mind …
“Whatever you do, don’t look in the trees. If you don’t see them, then you’re safe, but once you see them …”
I dart my eyes down and cup my hand, shielding my eyes as an extra precaution as my heart races and my imagination goes wild.
Just don’t think about it.
They can sense fear.
Stop being scared.
Whatever you do, don’t run.
Stop it, Ivy. This is so stupid.
