Daddy, Don't Be Mad, I'll Stay Put

The next morning, the villa was a flurry of activity.

Callie was to participate in the city's children's talent competition. Stylists and makeup artists buzzed around her.

She was wearing a fluffy tulle princess dress, yet she was throwing a tantrum.

"Where's my doormat? Without Arlene to carry me to the car, I'm too scared to walk!"

She sat in her wheelchair, slamming a hairbrush down with a loud crash.

Frantic, Mom yelled at the housekeeper, Harriet Browning, "Drag Arlene out of the basement. Make sure to wash her properly so that she doesn't dirty Callie's dress."

Harriet scurried off obediently, and I drifted after her into the basement.

She covered her nose and nudged the stiff body on the floor. "Ms. Arlene, stop sleeping. Ms. Callie is waiting."

The body didn't move an inch.

Harriet impatiently gave a hard tug. With a dull thud, the corpse rolled over. The face was bruised and blackened, the pupils clouded and fixed, staring straight up at the ceiling.

Harriet let out a terrified scream and fell on her backside.

"Ms. Arlene is dead!"

The scream pierced through the villa. Before long, Dad, Mom, and Callie rushed down. At the sight of my corpse, Mom's first reaction wasn't grief. Instead, she took a step back in disgust.

"How unlucky! She just had to choose the day of Callie's competition to die. I bet she must've done it on purpose."

Callie covered her nose, tears springing to her eyes instantly. "Mom, I'm scared. Has Arlene turned into a vengeful ghost to come for me?"

Dad held Callie tenderly, pressing her head against his chest. "Don't look. It's filthy."

He turned his gaze toward my corpse, his eyes terrifyingly indifferent. "Maybe it's better this way. Saves trouble for the family later. Harriet, put her in a sack and bury her in the back hills. Make sure no one sees. We can't let this ruin Callie's mood for the competition."

Harriet's hands shook, but she dared not move.

Dad impatiently kicked the body. "Stop playing dead! Get up!"

The corpse rolled over from the kick, a stiff arm twisted at an eerie, unnatural angle.

This time, Dad finally froze. He stared at those small hands that had once reached out to him countless times, begging to be held. They were covered in needle marks and scars from cigarette burns, wounds inflicted by Callie during her "episodes", right under his watch.

He used to say, "Callie is sick, so you have to be understanding."

Now, those hands were utterly still.

Dad's face paled slightly. "She's really dead?"

Mom urged impatiently, "Willard, what are you standing around for? We're about to be late for the competition. For an ingrate like her, death is probably a release."

Dad snapped out of it and took a deep breath. "Right, the competition is what matters. Lock the door for now. We'll deal with this when we get back. The media must not find out. Otherwise, the company's stock price would be affected."

Without even sparing me another glance, he turned and pushed Callie's wheelchair away.

"Callie, don't be afraid. I'll carry you into the car. You're the most beautiful princess today."

The basement door was locked once more, and my corpse lay alone on the cold floor like a forgotten bag of trash.

I drifted in the air, watching them leave. Suddenly, a surge of hatred welled up, threatening to consume me.

So, death wasn't the end. To be regarded as worthless by one's family, to have one's death fail to stir even the slightest ripple in them—that was the greatest punishment.

But why? Why did the wicked get to don finery and receive applause? Why did the victim have to rot in the dark corner? There was no way I was going to accept fading away like this!

Even if I had to become a vengeful ghost, I would drag them all down to hell with me.