My Poor Mother (Eng)

Night.

Heavy rain poured outside the window. Thunder rumbled. The TV began to flicker with static. The air turned chillingly tense.

Something struck the window. I jumped. Then, as lightning flashed, I saw a strange shadow outside. The distant light formed the shape of a terrifying smile.

“I’ll go to the room,” I said.

Mom didn’t react. She kept trying to fix the TV. I could tell she was exhausted.

I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Peering through the keyhole, I saw something black and shapeless gripping my sister’s neck. She couldn’t scream — only struggled to breathe, gasping for air. My own throat tightened as if I were suffocating too. Tears welled up. Then she went limp, and the black mass disappeared.

She wandered around the room, looking for something. Thunder crashed again outside. She screamed and slammed her fist into the mirror. I jumped. I was afraid she would hear me — but she didn’t react.

Her hand was bleeding. She began to scream and cry hysterically. I couldn’t move. The black “hand” grabbed her again, and, screaming, she fell to the floor.

Then I remembered.
I never had a sister.

I turned to Mom.

“Why?” she whispered, staring at my photograph in a black frame on the table.