aken a sleeping pill, and my father had drunk hi

in her favorite quilt, the one she' d made by hand decades a

e sleeping town. The wheels squeaked with every rotation, the sound ec

the opposite direction, up the steep road tha

' d spent her whole life. She said the souls there were at peace. My parents wanted that spot, too. They believed some

garden shovel I' d stolen from the shed. My hands were raw and bleeding by the tim

red her body i

ith a tiny picture of me inside. It was the only nice

I'm so sorry. They were cruel. They were evil. Bu

If you can hear me, don't find peace. Not yet. Make the

it bled and let a few drops fall onto her sh

to the grave with her and be

ise. I was covered in dirt and my body ached. I clea

y wheelbarrow, clean and back in its pla

tling smile on her face. She even gave

weight had been lifted from the house along with my grandmother's body. They were almost

did

secret burial, th

engine was completely dead. Then, Matthew, my parents' golden child, came down with a fever. It wasn't just

the backyard for eggs. One morning, I found all five of

ace pale with fear. "This isn't norma

usual apathy, agreed. "It' s

y decided to cal

ative, preying on the fears of desperate people. He had once looked at me, a sickly child then, and told my

he local church. My mother made the call, her v

We need you. Something