The One Chosen to Die Chapter 07

The One Chosen to Die Chapter 07

The crying drew a neighbor, Ms. Hill, over.

She had probably been passing by and heard the noise. She peeked into the yard and stepped inside.

She stood at the doorway and glanced in. Seeing me in Mary’s arms, Linda collapsed on the ground, her lips curled, then she clicked her tongue.

“Oh my, this is… Bella didn’t make it?”

Her voice was lowered, but every word was clear.

“Poor thing. She finally made it to sixteen, and still didn’t survive…”

Mary raised her head and looked at her.

“It’s not Bella,” she said. “It’s Clara.”

Ms. Hill froze. The expression on her face shifted from pity to shock, and then to something else.

Her voice rose, loud enough for the whole yard to hear.

“Clara is dead? Wasn’t it Bella who was supposed to be taken?”

No one answered her.

She stood there, holding a fur bag. Her mouth moved faster than her thoughts as she muttered, “This… the one who should die didn’t, and the one who shouldn’t did…”

Linda sprang up from the ground.

I had never seen my mother move that fast.

Like a cat with its tail stepped on, she lunged at Ms. Hill, screaming, her fingers spread wide as she tried

to claw at her mouth.

Ms. Hill stumbled back in fright. The fur bag fell to the ground.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Linda’s voice was sharp. “Who did you say should die? Who are you calling that?!”

Bella also rushed out from the corner. Her bare feet stepped on gravel, and her eyes were red.

“Get out! Get out of here!” she screamed.

Ms. Hill was so frightened by the two of them that her face turned pale. She stumbled backward.

“I’m going, I’m going,” she said, running out of the yard. She tripped at the gate, got up, and limped away.

The yard fell silent again.

That silence was harder to bear than the crying.

Mary held me and stood up.

My body in her arms was light like a bundle of dry wood. My head hung limply, my arms swaying.

“Prepare the funeral,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word was firm.

Linda rushed over, trying to take me back.

“Clara isn’t dead!” she shouted, tears flying everywhere. “She’s not dead! You can’t take her away!”

Mary turned slightly to avoid her. The movement was calm and precise, as if she had expected it.

Holding me, she looked down at Linda. There was no anger or sorrow in her eyes, only coldness.

“Linda,” she said, word by word, “Clara’s wolf spirit is gone.

“You locked her in the basement yourself for an entire night.”

It was as if Linda had been struck in the chest. Her knees gave way, and she fell to the ground.

David kneeled too, hitting the stone floor with a dull sound.

Then his forehead hit the stone again and again, each strike real, until blood covered his forehead.

“Mom, I was wrong… I was wrong…” his voice was broken. “Please don’t take her away… Don’t take her…”

Bella crouched in the corner, hugging her knees. There was no light in her eyes, like dusty glass beads.

Her lips moved, opening and closing. It was unclear if she was saying anything or just crying silently.

Mary didn’t look at David.

She held me and turned toward the door.

Her steps were steady and slow, each one firm.

David scrambled up and rushed forward, grabbing Mary’s leg.

“Mom, please, please…” His voice cracked.

“Clara is my daughter. You can’t take her away…’

Mary lowered her head and looked at her son lying on the ground, at her daughter-in-law kneeling beside him, crying, and at her granddaughter in the corner.

Her lips moved.

“Let go.”

Mary carried me across the threshold and stepped into the noon sunlight.

I wanted to turn back and look at my sister, but my lingering soul was pulled by a force, following my grandma as she walked away.