The photograph that ruined my childhood had been hanging in our Ohio home since the day I was born, and when I was 4 years old, the masked man inside it finally turned his head and spoke to me.
Chapter 1
Until that moment, I had believed the picture showed the terrible future my parents had warned me about every day of my life: someday a stranger would come for me, and my older sister Megan would die saving me. What I didn’t know was that my mother had built our entire family around that prediction—and that three days later, someone really was coming.
My mother, Margaret Hayes, claimed her old Polaroid camera could photograph the future. When I was born, she had placed newborn me beside six-year-old Megan and snapped one picture. Instead of two little girls, the photograph showed a dark warehouse, a masked stranger, and Megan lying motionless while I escaped.
Mom treated that picture like scripture.
“Megan is going to give her life for you someday,” she told me. “The least you can do is make her life happy until then.”
So Megan got the sunny bedroom with pink curtains and a canopy bed. I slept on a thin mattress inside the utility room beside it, close enough to fetch her water, turn off her lamp, or pick up whatever she dropped. At dinner, I waited until Megan finished, then ate whatever scraps Mom allowed me to have.
Dad sometimes looked uncomfortable, but discomfort was as far as he went.
One winter night, I woke burning with fever. My head spun so badly I did not hear Megan calling through the wall for water. Mom stormed into the utility room, dragged me up, and shoved me into the unheated mudroom.
“Your sister may die because of you one day,” she hissed. “And you’re too lazy to bring her a glass of water?”
“Mommy, I’m sick.”
“The cold will bring your fever down.”
She locked the door.
I stood there until dawn, shaking beneath an oversized sweatshirt that had once belonged to Megan. When I heard voices in the kitchen, I pressed my ear against the door.
“Margaret, she’s four,” Dad said. “This has gone too far.”
Mom sighed as though he were being unreasonable.
“When Megan was born, we promised she would be our only child. Then Sadie happened. I have felt guilty every day since.”
My name was Sadie.
Dad lowered his voice. “That doesn’t justify treating her like this.”
“It makes things fair.”
“Fair?”
“If Sadie gives way to Megan, I don’t feel as guilty for bringing another child into Megan’s life.”
There was a pause.
Then Mom laughed softly.
“Besides, David, the camera doesn’t really predict anything. You know that photograph was manipulated.”
My breath stopped.
Dad said nothing.
Mom continued, “When Sadie is older, we’ll tell her. She won’t even remember most of this.”
I stepped away from the door.
The prophecy was fake.
The punishment was fake.
Megan was never going to die for me.
For four years, I had slept beside detergent bottles and eaten scraps because my mother felt guilty for having me.
I wandered into the living room and stared at the framed photograph.
Then something moved.
The masked stranger slowly turned his head.
His eyes looked directly at mine.
“Sadie.”
I froze.
His voice seemed to come from everywhere.
“Would you willingly take your sister’s place?”
I thought of Mom’s words.
Megan could have all their love again.
Dad would not have to argue.
Nobody would have to feel guilty that I existed.
“Yes,” I whispered.
The stranger tilted his head.
“In three days, I will come for you.”
The photograph went still.
For the first time in my little life, I felt useful.
I ran to Mom’s bedroom.
“Mommy! I fixed everything!”
She turned from her dresser. “What are you talking about?”
“The man in the picture talked to me. He said I can die instead of Megan.”
Her face hardened.
“I told him yes.”
Mom stared at me.
I smiled because I expected her to smile too.
“Then Megan doesn’t have to save me anymore. You and Daddy can love only her again.”
Mom slapped me.
I fell onto the carpet.
“What disgusting nonsense are you talking about?” she snapped. “Don’t say things like that in this house. What if you bring bad luck to Megan?”
My stomach growled.
I looked toward the stale dinner roll on her nightstand.
“Mommy?”
“What now?”
“If I’m going to save Megan, can I have that bread?”
Her expression changed from anger to disgust.
“So that’s what this is about.”
I shook my head.
“You invented some crazy story because you’re greedy.”
“No, Mommy.”
“You’re always trying to take what belongs to your sister.”
She raised her hand again, but when she grabbed my arm, she suddenly stopped.
Her palm touched my forehead.
“You’re burning up.”
She found the thermometer.
The alarm sounded.
“104.”
For one second, fear appeared in her eyes.
Then Megan called from the hallway.
“Mommy! I got dressed all by myself!”
Mom’s whole face brightened.
“My wonderful girl!”
She left me on the floor.
Later, Dad looked into the utility room. He was wearing his winter coat.
“We’re taking Megan to the amusement park for her dance recital,” he said. “Do you want to come?”
Mom appeared behind him.
“She’s sick.”
Dad frowned. “Then shouldn’t we take her to urgent care?”
“Megan has practiced for weeks. You want to disappoint her?”
From the living room came Megan’s voice.
“Daddy! We’re going to be late!”
Dad looked at me.
I knew the correct answer.
“Take Megan,” I whispered. “Sadie is okay.”
Mom placed two fever pills and a glass of water beside my mattress.
“We’ll be back later.”
Then she smiled as though remembering something.
“I’ll buy you a new dress on the way home.”
My heart lifted.
“Blue?”
“If you’re good.”
“The one with little white flowers?”
“Fine.”
I closed my eyes, holding that promise like treasure.
When I woke hours later, the house was dark.
I tried the utility-room door.
Locked.
My stomach hurt with hunger. In the trash basket, I found a cup containing a few swallows of an old sweet tea Megan had discarded.
It smelled sour.
But it was sweet.
I drank it.
Within an hour, my stomach cramped so badly that I curled into a ball. I used the cheap children’s watch on my wrist to call Mom.
Music roared behind her.
“Sadie?” she shouted. “Why are you calling? Megan is about to perform.”
“Mommy, my tummy hurts.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“It hurts really bad.”
“Take the medicine I left.”
The line disconnected.
I called Dad.
No answer.
I looked at the medicine.
Maybe two pills had not been enough.
Mom told me to take medicine if I felt sick, so I swallowed the remaining tablets one by one.
Then I lay down.
The room grew strangely peaceful.
As darkness gathered around me, I remembered the blue dress.
I hoped Mom remembered too.
