Bury Your Memories Deep

I was always told to stay out of the old garden behind the house. My parents kept saying it was unsafe, overgrown, and full of thorns. I believed them, as children believe their parents. When I grew up and moved back into the family home after they passed away, I decided to clear out that forgotten space. I wanted to reclaim it, make it mine.

While I worked, my shovel hit something hard. As I dug deeper, I uncovered a small, old box. Inside were tiny bones, neatly arranged, and a locket with a picture of a baby. And then it hit me. My heart started racing, and from the depths of my memory, something resurfaced that I had long repressed. I had a sister. A little sister I had forgotten about. My parents made me believe she never existed. And I believed them.

Now, with no one left alive to tell the truth, I didn’t know what had happened to her. Had she disappeared and been found dead? Had she suffered a tragic accident, or were my parents hiding something far more sinister?

I’ll never know the truth, nor why I found five more small coffins buried in the garden..