Sisterhood

(TW for knives, death, and hinted cannibalism)
A short story by Journee Throughthewoods
~
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Sam stood out in the sea of all the others. All the others dotted around the house, the ones that she let live there. Ever since the attacks, people needed a place to call home, and Sam had miraculously fixed everything up- including the electricity, heating, and plumbing- so that the Walker home could be the place.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Sam repeated, glaring at the boy in the doorway with her piercing green eyes. “We don’t want you.”
Dylan brushed off his shirt and walked into the house, closing the door behind him.
“I’m here for Willa.”
“I know you are. You shouldn’t be here.” Sam retorted, the butcher knife in her hand gleaming in the sunlight. “Willa doesn’t want visitors.”
Dylan glanced at the tall wooden stairs to Sam’s left.
“No one goes up there. No one. Especially not you.”
“Why not me?”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Five years has really taken a toll on you, huh, Samantha?” Dylan said as he ran his hand up the stair’s banister. Sam was quiet.
“Do you remember prom night?”
Dylan winced. “How could I forget?”
“Everyone Willa cared about died that night. Sue. Emma.”
“Christopher.” Dylan’s stomach writhed as he mentioned his brother. Sam nodded.
“All she had left of him was-”
“The monogrammed necklace.” Dylan remembered when Christopher had dragged him out to the jewelry store to buy it, ages ago. “Does she still have it?”
“Of course-”
Dylan began to make his way up the stairs, and Sam started after him. She tugged on the back of his shirt in a feeble attempt to stop him, but both of them reached the top in a matter of seconds. Sam held the knife to Dylan’s back.
“You’re not supposed to be up here. She doesn’t like visitors.”
Dylan had already seen the door marked “Willa”, and he started to make his way towards it. “Let me go, Sam.”
“What do you want with her?”
“The necklace.” He growled, wrenching his shirt free of her hand and grabbing the doorknob. “It’s all I have left of Christopher.” He forced the door open as Sam shrieked.
“Don’t!”
But it was too late.
Dylan’s first thought was that Willa looked like death. Streaks of makeup covered her face, her hair greasy and tangled. Her skin was pale and scarred, her lips ashy and cracked. She was still in her prom dress, humming softly to herself and twirling Christopher’s necklace around her fingers.
“Willa?”
No response. Dylan cautiously walked over to her and grabbed the necklace’s chain. Willa made a choked, gurgling noise. Dylan turned to Sam, whose knuckles were white as she clenched the knife.
“There are 23 people living here.”
Dylan released the chain, annoyed. “So?”
“I have to feed them all, somehow. And you certainly did get…big over the last five years.”
Dylan paled with realization. “Sam-”
Like lightning, Sam plunged the knife into Dylan’s neck as Willa smiled.
“Send Christopher my love.” She whispered, all but silent.