The moment the first streaks of morning sunlight began to show through the windows of their house, Ophelia got ready. For what? She had no idea. But she knew they couldn’t possibly sit still and watch their aunt slowly wither away, or worse, become the very thing they had been running from. They called their father the previous day, when they tried everything but Aunt Florence wouldn’t wake up. He decided to take the first, earliest flight back to Westwend.
Aunt Florence still hadn’t woken up. It was like a death sleep.
Ophelia stuffed the screwdriver into the back pocket of her sweatpants. She sighed, feeling sick and tired. Yesterday had been a nightmare. She had promised herself to stop feeling sorry about her life, but what could she do, when the thing is a constant nightmare? Every
