The Haunting of Velkwood

by Gwendolyn Kiste

“She’s like a reverse Snow White. But instead of bluebirds and butterflies, she only attracts creepy things.”

“Why does she do this?” Sophie whispered to me one Saturday morning when our mother was on the rampage again, screaming and cursing and tossing all my little sister’s toys into a Hefty garbage bag just because she’d forgotten to pick them up the night before. “I don’t know,” I said, and pulled Sophie closer, as if that would be enough. As if I could protect her from the world. But then there were days when I didn’t need to protect my little sister. You could blink your eyes, and our mother would be almost normal again, a tight smile on her face, pretending like none of it ever happened, like we were a real family, healthy and happy and whole. She’d bake us sugar cookies at Christmas and foil-wrap our birthday gifts, and when we’d hear the tinkling of the ice cream truck down the street, she would grin and reach into her black leather purse.