“Mommy?” Four-year-old River rubbed the sleep out of her eye with her tiny hands.
“Go back to bed right now.” Jessica commanded. The authority in her voice was apparent. Her face was on the ground, kneeling to pray. Blood dripped across the wood floor, making a perfect circle around her.
River, curious as she was, slowly stepped forward. She sneaked past her mother and looked for their cat’s food bowls. They were full. Her voice became whiny, “Where’s Mittens?”
“Stay out of the freezer.”
Underneath Jessica’s breath, she doesn’t stop chanting.
River began to gag and fell onto her knees. It crept up her throat and vomit spilled out. It was filled with hairballs, feathers, and even little shards of bones. Her eyes watered, and tears trickled out. Coughing, she pulled leftover pieces of animal fur out of her mouth, some still stuck in the crevices of her teeth.
Jessica grabbed her by the arm and squeezed as tight as she could. “These are the consequences you got yourself into. You don’t listen to me, you get hurt.”
It’s the same motto on her thirteenth birthday. She had a bunch of her friends over to her house for a party, plus some of their parents came for dinner with her mother. The kids thought it was typical chatting and gossiping between adults; joking about their stupid, bratty children that they raised themselves. The idea of a cult never even occurred to them.
River was always the weird kid. In all her classes, people would make fun of her for her “odd haircut” and “gross-looking clothes”.  While the popular kids made out in her backyard at her own birthday party, she sat alone at the kitchen table. She wished the candles were lit so she could make her wish to be out of there.
Her mother had whispered bedtime stories about forgetting about “sweet sixteen” and that her thirteenth was the actual big, important one.
She figured she knew what her mother was talking about when she twisted her wrist and wiggled her fingers and the candles lit up. Focused on the flame, she watched it consume all the dripping wax and spread onto the cake. Burnt frosting was impossible to make, she thought.
It was blown out in less than two seconds, Jessica’s lips still puckered as her eyes meet River’s. “This is really special, dear.”
River giggled and tried to ignore the ache in her chest.
When she was on the verge of her sixteenth birthday, she especially loved when she walked in on one of her mother’s rituals. The fact that it was a sexual ritual for spiritual connecting was not a sight she wanted to see right in her living room.
Her mother just told her, “You’ll understand the feeling when you’re making love at twilight for your beloved religion.”
River promised herself to never understand.
Then, on her eighteenth birthday, it all just comes rushing into her. She could feel every emotion in the world and remembered every detail about her misfortunate self. Shaking her head, denying who she really was, bawling and short of breath.
“You have to face it. This is our world. We have to sacrifice our happiness and favorite possessions. Sometimes even our loved ones too.”
“It’s not right, mom. It’s not.”
River pinched her nose shut, and held her head up to avoid the pungent smell. She was trying to keep herself from puking. Jessica pushed the cup full of her own blood into her daughter’s hands. Black blood that didn’t look remarkably human, flowing and swish around. It was revolting and her mother was looking at it like it was a treasure.
“It’s the tradition. When you’re eighteen, you must drink the blood of your family. It helps us live eternally, on and on forever.” Her mother was so sure of herself. And it haunted River how she thinks this is all normal, everyday life.
History shouldn’t repeat itself. Just because their ancestors did those awful things, it doesn’t mean she has to. “I’m not even supposed to be here. You didn’t want me. You conceived me with some random man on the altar of a Satanism cult, humming six-six-six under your breath.”
Shock crossed her mother’s face, surprised that River stood up for herself. After all the time, she learned how to become her true self. That night, she packed up all her things and left, into the night and darkness.
She met a boy who gave her refuge, someone who wouldn’t know about her ruined up past. He had grown gardens inside her empty, barren heart. His name was Stone, the counterpart of River, the two going hand and hand. Sounded together perfectly like a forest on a clear, summer day with baby blue skies. How nice that it matched his eyes.
His touch lit her skin afire, and it burned a hole through her high walls of security. She had to admit, she loved him. He’d take her on walks to the park, just to enjoy the view of nature. When she asked him his favorite part, he would say, “You.”
He’d steal her breath away and rattled her bones. Over almost a year’s time, she wouldn’t know what to do without him, fully attached.
When the sickness started, Stone barely noticed that it was there. He didn’t want to be taken care of. River had to constantly take his temperature and check on him, worried that one time he’d be gone, just not there for her anymore. Not there to tell her how adorable it was when she snickered, or how he loved that she apologized nonstop when she made a tiny mistake.
        It turned from fainting and dizzy spells to yellow skin and red eyes, then finally hurling blood whenever he ate. It wasn’t like it was a complete mystery, though. River knew what caused this, and it definitely was not natural. (An idea popped into her head about her mother’s revenge, but she didn’t even want to stumble across that thought.)
        After two weeks, and Stone’s symptoms plus the situation was becoming dire, River decided to take control of it. She prayed to the God, the Goddess, and even the Devil, whoever would help her. It was the only time she let herself use her gifts, for the greater good. She summoned all her strength for the one spell she knew she could complete.
       Then, all of Stone’s agony transferred to her. She wished it was gradually, over time, but God, no, it wasn’t. Everything hurt, especially emotionally.
       Whenever River stood up she’d pass straight out, imagine what would happen when she’d try to walk. Stone was furious, cursing night after night at her. “What’d you do? River, you can’t do this to me. You can’t leave me alone.”
       Deep down, River knew that he’d find someone in no time. She wanted to cherish her last moments with someone who mattered, someone who was there for her. They had this, though, and it certainly was special.
Her condition was getting worse.
It was a slow, painful death, but it had to end up this way. If it weren’t like this, she’d continue in the footsteps of her mother, and that definitely was not a happy ending. Then, there was the slow knocking on her door every night at three a.m. She didn’t have to guess what it was. Stone would just hold her a little tighter and whispered sweet nothings in her ear. She knew the thing was going to come after her and devour everything in its path. She’d make sure it’d leave Stone alone, though. Stone had to keep living.
October 31st, the dreaded day where the veil between the spiritual world and living is extremely thin, at three thirty-three a.m. It was long before trick-or-treaters start their round, when River missed the knocking. What a coincidence, the witching hour. The door slowly creaked open, and something invited itself in.
Growling that came closer and closer, death just around the corner.
River died from a heart attack, an odd phenomenon for a healthy girl at age nineteen. Jessica, her mother, attended the funeral. She didn’t shed a tear. A smile was plastered across her face the entire time.