It was nearing that time of year again.
She could feel it coming. It would cycle, over and over again in the spirit world, replaying out the memories of that night. It would spill over to the real world in the evenings, on the day of, before, and after the tragedy.
She wished she had her bunny to clutch tight. She didn’t like watching Mommy die over and over again. Where was Daddy? She’d never found out. Maybe somebody could help her. Maybe this year she could be with her family again.
She brightened up a little at the idea. She could do this. She would make so much noise someone would have to come and help her make sure her Daddy was ok.
She planned, and waited.
Later that night, but before the scene could play out, she concentrated hard, and was able to make a big mess of the building. The Historical Society, she remembered it being called. She only knew it as home – she had lived here, before they tore down her house and built this place.
Books flew off shelves, display cases exploded – she did anything she could think of to draw attention. “Please wait a little longer for me, Mommy.” she whispered. “I just need to make sure Daddy’s ok before I join you.”