The Shrine of Demise

My sister....

When I was 10 years old, I found a recorder in my older sister’s room. It was her most prized possession since it was the first thing she bought with her own savings. She always brought it with her. She didn’t go anywhere without it.

Now, she’s dead. It was her 9th birthday and at that time I was 6. We lived in the lonely part of the village. My father bought the house when my mother was pregnant with my sister and at that time, they were very low on money. It was the cheapest house they could find in the village. The most distinguishable factor of that house was that it was isolated from the rest of the village. It didn’t matter to us at the time because we had a lot of space to play.

My sister and I made friends with the other kids of the village and they would play with us in our part of the territory. The village was quite elevated. All of them lived in the lower part of the village while my family and I lived in the higher part. On her birthday, the kids around her age suggested to play in what we know as the “shrine of demise”.

You see, the “shrine of demise” was just an abandoned temple located higher than our house. It was called as such because those who went there to pray died or met an unfortunate accident and barely survived. Sometimes, the families of the victims would visit the temple but keep their distance.

No one actually forbade us from going to the shrine. There were still the occasional people who would sweep and clean the grounds and nothing happened to them. All of us went there at one point to celebrate the village festival. Nothing happened to us. It was simply abandoned because bad memories were made.

My sister agreed because she wanted to fit in. She didn’t want to feel left out. I wanted to join them but my mother didn’t trust me going without parental supervision. I vaguely remember her telling me the same old “when you’re older”. I threw a fit but stopped when my mom served me some homemade spaghetti. I remember waiting for my sister on the porch with spaghetti sauce all over my shirt.

I remember getting very worried when I saw the sky getting darker. It was almost 6:00. My sister’s curfew was 5:30 and I knew at the time if my sister didn’t follow curfew, I’d get punished too. I was already in tears when it was 7:00. I was sincerely worried about my older sister. I didn’t care if I was going to get punished as long as my sister would come home soon. I remember my dad coming home and wiping the tears on my face as he asked me “What’s wrong, sweetie? Why are you sitting on the steps all alone?”

I remember his angry face as I told him my sister didn’t follow curfew and is still at the shrine. I remember him confronting my mom about it and driving to the shrine. I remember him coming back with a shaken sister of mine. She was in tears too. My father wasn’t angry anymore. He looked slightly scared. I ran to her and hugged her tightly. I noticed she was covered in stains. However, I knew it wasn’t spaghetti sauce. It was-

“Blood! Why are you covered in blood?!” My mother asked as she looked over my sister. My sister just took out her recorder and gripped it tightly. I didn’t fully understand why she did that. I presumed that it was an attempt to destroy the recorder. After that incident, she left her recorder in her room. She didn’t want anything to do with it. She even forbade me from looking at it. My mother and father became very protective of us and they banned us from leaving the house.

My sister kept me company. She kept me company until her demise. She was 12 years old when she died. Someone killed her in her sleep. The most frightening thing was when I woke up I was greeted by an eerie message written on the wall in blood.

LET YOUR SISTER BE A LESSON TO YOU. DON’T FOLLOW HER EXAMPLE OR YOU’LL END UP JUST LIKE HER.

My parents were awakened by the sound of my shrieks. When they asked me what’s wrong, I simply just pointed at the message at the wall. They hurried to my sister’s room and found her dead.