Throwback Thursday: ‘Growing up with your Dead Sister’ by Tais Teng

After the accident, Lyra’s big sister was buried in a closed casket.  

“But I wanted to say goodbye to her!” Lyra wailed.

“It is better that you remember her the way she was,” her mother said.” Anyway, she wouldn’t hear you.  She went on. Hindela is in a better place now.”  

Lyra really tried to feel glad for her sister. A better place? One where you ate strawberry muffins for breakfast and the sun always shone?  

It didn’t work. She felt betrayed, abandoned. Hindela had always been her guide, her protector, telling her essential things like “Don’t fondle that toad, or your fingers will drop off!” Lately Hindela had been kissing boys and giggling a lot. Lyra didn’t see the use, but she was sure she would be kissing boys, too, later. And only Hindela could tell her how such things should be done.

When they sat down for dinner Lyra saw Hindela waiting in her usual place. She wasn’t ghostly at all and none the worse for wear.

“Mama?” Lyra said. “Why didn’t you set a place for Hindela? She needs a plate and her own cup with the blue roses.”

“What do you mean?”

Lyra pointed.” Hindela is sitting right there!  I bet she is as hungry as I am.” Her sister did indeed look a bit pale, with hollow cheeks. Dying was hard work, Lyra thought. It must make you simply ravenous.

“You see her?” her mother asked.  

“She is just like my grandmother.” Lyra’s father nodded. “It sometimes skips a generation. Give Hindela her plate. Ghosts seldom linger longer than a fortnight.”

During dinner, Lyra watched her sister eat, spooning the rice into her mouth, tearing at the crispy chicken wings with teeth that seemed more pointed than she remembered. But when Hindela sat back, her plate was still heaped with cooling rice and completely intact chicken wings, her cup still filled to the brim.

“Do you want dessert?” Lyra asked her sister.  

Hindela pointed to her ears, put a finger against her lips. Talking wouldn’t work with the dead, Lyra understood. She closed her eyes and discovered that she could see her big sister even better that way.

Hindela spoke right into her head, soundless somehow, but her voice unmistakably. “You are the only one who can see me. Or hear me.”  

“Mama said you had moved on. That you had gone to a better place.”

“Moved on where? This is all there is. And I wouldn’t leave you. You are my baby sister.”