Horrors of Us...

December 1, 1898

I never found out exactly what happened to my sister. One day, she was sitting on the scratchy carpet of Mother’s den, gnawing on the foamy blocks. The next day she was gone, and Mother was in hysterics.  

 

I only saw Annabelle once after that. Mother took me to a huge brick building to visit her. The building smelt of stale wax and was jaw-numbingly cold. Upon entering, we were greeted by a tall man and the threat of a rifle. He guided us down a web of narrow halls, all crafted out of stone. 

 

As we neared the entrance to the second hallway, the echos began. At first they were faint. They sounded like strained screams, like birds locked in a cage trying to escape. Then the screeching got louder and more distinct. It became layered, like a chorus of cries strangled within the walls. 

 

“Mama, what is this place?” I clutched onto her arm. 

 

“It’s Annabelle’s new home dear.” She whispered.

 

We continued on. 

 

The guard led us into a room that was built, from floor to ceiling, entirely of stone. In the center of the room was a row of cages, each one just high enough for a person to sit straight and wide enough for them to sway. Inside each cage, were children who looked exactly like Annabelle – each one had pair of wide-set eyes and a soft-bridge nose, with a little teacup mouth.  

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"Mama, what's wrong with them?" I asked. 

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"Nothing's wrong with them, Sweetheart. They have Down Syndrome." Mother said with a smile.

 

Mother and I continued down the row. Inside the last cage, far in the corner of the room, with her fingers wrapped around the bars, was Annabelle. 

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February 19, 1904

I crouched on a soaked-through sheet, newly stained with blood and ruin, my nether regions wet with mucus. I was on hour five of labor and it was time to start pushing. That's what Mother told me, at least.

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My stomach churned, contracting in quick pulses until my insides felt thick as leather. My head felt hot and tingly, my breaths shallowing out. The baby was stuck. I reached beneath my legs and felt one leg and one arm, but nothing else. There was something jamming into my pelvis. I howled. Mother crouched down and spread me apart with her fingers. She said the baby’s shoulder was stuck. Swiftly, in one solid motion, she twisted the baby’s arm, dislocating the shoulder right out of its socket.  

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From then on, it all went smoothly. Mother gently guided the baby out of me, and brought it into the world. She cleansed its face with a cotton pad, and placed it in my arms.  I looked down at my baby girl for the first time. Her eyes were a glistening blue, her face sweet with cherry redness. When I blinked back my tears, I could see Annabelle's face staring up at me. She had the same soft-bridged nose and the same wide-set, almond eyes. Her torso was too long for her minuscule body, and when we flipped over her palm, she had the same single crease indenting it.

 

Mother stood up slowly. She walked into the kitchen in silence, and grabbed a sharp-edge blade from the drawer. She came back to us, and sliced cleanly through the umbilical cord. Then, without flinching, cupped the baby's soft head in her hands and snapped the neck clean.