The Blood We Keep

By Mallika Badwal

The dream is always the same. A woman standing in a dark room; her hands covered in blood, dripping onto the floor. She just smiled, “I did it for you, Theodore.” I’d try to speak, but when I did, I would wake up, gasping for air. I sat up in bed, covered in cold sweat, trying to calm down. The dream felt too real this time; it burned into my mind like a scar. I ran a hand through my damp hair, trying to shake the feeling of her hands, her bloody, calm hands. “It’s just a dream,” I whispered to myself until I heard a knock on the door. “Theo?” It was Dad; his voice was low, and he sounded tired. “Everything okay?” I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. “Yeah, Dad. Just a bad dream.” There was a brief pause, the sound of him shifting outside the door. “You’ve got school. Get dressed.” 

I dragged myself out of bed, getting dressed, as I walked down to the kitchen; Mom was there, flipping pancakes and humming softly to herself. Dad was seated at the table, sipping his coffee, and reading the newspaper on his tablet, his glasses lying on the tip of his nose. “Morning, Theodore. I made your favourite,” Mom said, her smile warm. Dad took another sip of his coffee, finally looking up at me. “You want me to drop you off today?” “Yeah, sure,” I said. Mom set a plate in front of me. “I know you’ve had a rough week. Thought I’d make it better.” “Yeah,” I replied, pushing the pancakes around with my fork. “Thanks.” My parents had always paid close attention to me as mom could never conceive, so I was their ‘miracle kid;’ they have always been there for me, the ones who made everything feel... safe. I never had friends growing up I felt like I was cursed in a way, like anyone who got close to me was just... erased. My thoughts were interrupted. “Are you feeling okay?” Mom asked, “Yeah, um, thanks for breakfast.” 

As the school bell rang, I headed down the hallway, keeping my head down. The cafeteria was nosy than ever. I sat at the edge of the table, poking at my food, not hungry. Morana slid into the seat across from me. “Did you know your name means 'blessing from God'?” she asked. I blinked, surprised. “Well, my parents always say I’m their miracle.” Morana tilted her head, chewing her sandwich. “Lucky, my name means death. Like, literally.” I blinked again, half-laughing. “Death?” I repeated. She grinned. “Yeah. I’m cursed.” “Guess we’re both cursed.” 

Morana chuckled, "maybe," she said, leaning back in her chair. " I found myself trying to understand her. She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. She seemed... untouchable, yet she was always so carefree. "So," she said after a moment. "We have an assignment due; do you wanna work on it tonight at your place?” My stomach twisted. My parents weren’t exactly big on guests; they had always been protective, and introducing a new friend to them felt... dangerous. Just maybe, she wouldn’t leave me like everyone else. "Yeah, sure, I’ll just... ask my parents." "Perfect!" she smiled. 

 That evening, when Morana arrived, my parents offered her drinks and small talk, but I could feel tension. They were watching her every move, though they hid it behind those sweet, perfect smiles they always wore. It felt like they were waiting for her to slip up, as if they knew she was dangerous in a way I couldn’t see. It was getting late, and my dad offered to drive her home. "Thanks for everything, Mr. and Mrs. Cains." I walked her and Dad to the door, feeling my parents’ gaze on us. As they stepped out the door, Morana gave me one last look, "See you tomorrow."

I woke up to my alarm, grabbed it, I looked at all my messages to Morana, which were still undelivered. What the hell was going on? I opened the news app, and the headline hit me: Local Teen Disappearance: Father Pleads for Return. My fingers trembled as I clicked on the article. ‘How could this happen? Dad dropped her off.’

I headed downstairs. Mom was in the kitchen, humming. Dad was at the table, his usual spot, coffee cup in hand, on his tablet like every other day. Mom glanced up from the stove. “Morning, Theodore,” she said, the warmth in her voice so... comforting. I was too distracted to care about breakfast. The news had already knotted my insides. "I saw the news," Dad stated, still staring at his tablet. “She’ll be fine,” he said, “Kids do stuff like this. Just... give it time.” I didn’t trust it. Why were they so calm? I forced myself to sit down. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had been happening to me, what had happened to everyone who got close to me. Friends and teachers mysteriously gone. And now Morana was gone, too. I took the day off from school, trying to reach her. Mom and Dad were carrying on like nothing had changed. The house went quiet by supper. I lay on the couch until I noticed a smell almost like rotting meat coming from the basement. 

My heart was racing. I never went into the basement; the door was always locked, but it was wide open. I walked toward the basement stairs, the smell stronger with each step. I turned on the light, and the dim light flickered across. Then I saw it, feeling sick to my stomach.

Morana. She was lying there, her lifeless body sprawled on the cold basement floor with blood all over her neck. Her eyes closed, and her pale skin. Suddenly, I felt a hand rest on my shoulder; it was Mom. “I did it for you, Theodore.” 

By Mallika Badwal