On the anniversary of my sister’s death, I received a resurrection card.
Eight months ago, my twin sister, Maeve, was pushed off a rooftop by school bullies and died.
That bullying, though, was originally meant for me. Maeve went in my place for that “meeting.”
The main culprit, Kian Thorne, due to his family’s influence, managed to avoid any real consequences beyond a hefty settlement payment. Soon after, he died in a high-speed car crash abroad.
“Whoever’s name is written on the resurrection card, that person will come back to life.”
My parents’ eyes were bloodshot from crying. They clutched the resurrection card, then, with all their strength, shoved it into my hands.
After I had carefully written out the name, Mom clasped her hands together and took the card. As she prepared to start the ritual, she mumbled to herself,
“Maeve, you’ll be back soon…”
Suddenly, she shrieked, flinging the card away.
“Why?! Why did you write that bully’s name?!”
I stared at the gilded card, my heart turning to ice.
A scam. Just another scam to get money.
But the gnawing, bone-deep guilt made it impossible for me to refuse.
Because I had seen it with my own eyes – Maeve falling from the rooftop.
When I rushed to the rooftop that day, Maeve’s face was already a bloody mess, slashed by her tormentors.
Kian Thorne gripped Maeve’s hair, forcing her to lift her broken face.
“Trash like you doesn’t deserve to have the same face as my girlfriend.”
My desperate sister, like a wilting leaf, fell from the edge of the rooftop.
That empty gaze, tinged with a horrifying sense of relief, became the nightmare that haunted my nights.
I’d often wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, sitting bolt upright.
If I had gone to that meeting, would it have been me who died?
Did Maeve die in my place?
This thought, like a venomous snake, gnawed at me day and night.
From the day Maeve died, my parents kicked me out of the house.
But they regularly appeared at my dingy rental apartment each month, only to demand money from me.
Séances, spirit-summoning rituals, and desperate attempts to bring the dead back to life, all peddled by charlatans and psychics – they believed and tried them all.
I waited tables at a diner by day and worked a night shift at a convenience store, sleeping less than five hours a day.
Every penny I earned almost entirely went into the pockets of those psychics and mediums.
Mom’s voice was thick with tears as she urged me,
“Rowan, hurry and write it!”
She had gotten thinner, and most of her hair had turned gray.
Dad looked haggard too, his back more stooped than before.
I looked at them, a dull ache throbbing in my chest.
Maeve was their entire world.
“Your older sister should always take care of you.”
That was their favorite thing to say.
But I never resented Maeve.
She always secretly saved me half a cake and shared half her allowance after Mom and Dad favored her.
No one missed her more than I did.
When she left, I lost my home too.
But this resurrection card now? I didn’t believe it for a hundred reasons.
I looked at the crudely made card in my hand; it reeked of cheap, cloying perfume and stale paper.
It was no different from the “soul-summoning scrolls” and “resurrection pills” I’d bought before.
My savings were completely drained; I was even in debt.
I looked at them – one with a haggard face, the other with a hunched back.
They had pinned their last hope on this thin piece of paper.
Enough.
This absurd charade had to end.
I took a deep breath, met their expectant gazes, and for the first time, gathered the courage to refuse.
“Dad, Mom, stop believing in these things.”
My voice was quiet, but tinged with a weary rasp.
“Maeve is gone. She’s not coming back.”
“We can’t let ourselves be scammed again.”
I gripped the card, ready to tear it apart.
Before I could even move, a sharp crack echoed, and a heavy slap landed on my face.
The entire world seemed to tilt with that blow, a high-pitched ringing in my ears.
Mom’s strength was astonishing; I staggered, half my face exploding in pain, then going completely numb.
“You ungrateful wretch! How dare you say such things!”
She was like a cornered beast, her bloodshot eyes glaring furiously at me.
“We worked so hard to raise you, and your sister died in your place. Now we’re asking you to save her, and you dare to say that?!“
“Are you secretly wishing she was dead?!”
I clutched my burning cheek, staring at her in disbelief.
I just wanted them to see reason, to prevent our already shattered family from being dragged down by scammers again.
But all I got in return was another beating and scolding.
“I didn’t…”
My defense was pale and powerless.
Dad stepped forward, and, unusually, forced a stiff, unnatural smile at me.
“Rowan, Dad knows you don’t mean it. You just… don’t know how powerful the Master is.”
He stretched out a rough hand, stroking my head, his voice laced with an eerie warmth.
“Just be a good girl. As long as you write Maeve’s name, everything will be fine, and our family can go back to how it was…”
“Come! Dad will show you, this time it’s real!”
He suddenly snatched the resurrection card, then pulled a small knife from his pocket and viciously sliced his fingertip.
A bead of crimson blood instantly welled up, dripping onto the center of the card.
“The medium said the blood of a closest kin can connect with the spirits!”
His expression was frantic as he thrust the blood-stained card in front of me.
I held my breath, staring intently at the card.
A hundred reasons told me it was a scam, yet my body tensed uncontrollably.
One second, two seconds…
Nothing happened.
Just as I was about to let out a sigh of relief, that single drop of blood on the card suddenly emitted a faint red glow.
Then, an ancient, frail voice abruptly sounded in my ear.
“I… I miss you all so much…”
It was Grandpa’s voice!
Grandpa had passed away three years ago!
My blood seemed to freeze solid in that instant, a bone-chchilling dread surging from my feet all the way to the top of my head.
How was that possible?!
“Did you hear it?! Did you hear it?!”
Mom frantically grabbed my shoulders, shaking me violently.
“It’s your Grandpa! You can’t mistake his voice, can you?! This card is real, your sister really can come back!”
My mind went blank. Reason told me it was a trick, but the voice had sounded so real.
Could it… could it be true?
A thread of absurd hope began to frantically sprout in my desolate heart.
“The Master said that for a resurrection, you, her closest blood twin, must write her name!”
Mom, seeing my wavering expression, immediately fanned the flames.
“Now, all you, her sister, have to do is sign, and Maeve will come back to life!”
She forcefully pressed a pen into my hand, her eyes burning with urgency.
My hand trembled.
To sign, or not to sign?
That voice… was it really real?
“I… I’ll try dripping a drop of my blood too.”
I reached for the knife in Dad’s hand.
I wanted to verify it myself!
However, my hand hadn’t even touched the hilt when Mom suddenly shrieked.
“What are you trying to do?!”
She seized my hair, pulling with such force it felt like my scalp would be torn off.
“Are you trying to pull another trick?! I see it now, you just don’t want your sister back!”
The excruciating pain made my vision go black; I didn’t even have time to cry for help.
She dragged me out of the narrow room like a lifeless rag doll!
Mom dragged me by my hair, pulling me down the stairs.
My scalp screamed in pain, and my forehead hit the cold, hard concrete steps, instantly drawing blood.
“Let go of me! Mom! Please let me go!”
I cried out, struggling desperately, but it was useless.
Muttering curses, she dragged me all the way down to the street below our rental building, where people were coming and going.
“Everyone look! Come and see this heartless daughter!”
Mom’s voice, shrill and piercing, instantly drew the attention of everyone around.
Neighbors, passersby, vendors… countless eyes turned to stare at me.
My clothes were disheveled, my hair a wild mess, blood from my forehead streaking down my cheek – I looked utterly wretched, like a street beggar.
“My daughter died, she died for this one! Now there’s a chance for her to come back to life, but this one is stopping it!”
Mom pointed at my nose, accusing me with dramatic sobs.
“She’s just jealous! She’s always been jealous that her sister was prettier, more likable!”
I shook my head frantically, my lips trembling as I tried to protest:
“I didn’t… I’m not…”
“You didn’t?”
Mom sneered, her words more venomous than the winter wind.
“Kian Thorne, the one who bullied your sister, he was after *you* initially, wasn’t he? You just hate your sister for ‘stealing’ your man!”
“I bet if Kian hadn’t died, you would’ve been eager to get rid of your sister just to climb into his bed!”
“You’ve always been like this! Stealing your sister’s dresses, snatching her allowance – you’re a thief! You’re an ungrateful piece of trash!”
**截断点**
My mind went blank. These baseless accusations shredded my soul, tearing me apart limb by limb.
The pointing fingers and hushed whispers around me became a deafening roar, completely engulfing me.
“Oh my God, so she’s really like that…”
“She always seemed so quiet, who knew she had such a wicked heart.”
“To be jealous of her own sister, it’s terrifying.”
“Smack!”
Dad rushed forward too, and without a word, slapped me hard again.
“How could we raise such an animal?! Your sister’s death is all your fault!”
“Smack!”
Mom slapped me backhanded again, making blood seep from the corner of my mouth.
“Are you signing or not?! If you don’t sign today, we’ll beat you to death!”
They took turns slapping my face. I was dizzy from the blows, barely able to stand.
My heart ached more than my bruised body.
Just as I was about to pass out, an old, strong voice rang out from beyond the crowd.
“Stop this at once!”
I struggled to open my eyes. Seeing the newcomer, a flicker of hope ignited in my heart.
Uncle Marcus, our great-uncle, was the most senior elder in our family. He had been a teacher in his youth, and he surely could stop Mom and Dad’s madness.
Uncle Marcus, leaning on his cane, pushed through the crowd, his face grim as he approached my parents.
“What do you think you’re doing?! Beating your own daughter in the street, you’re disgracing our Clarke family name!”
Mom and Dad’s bravado instantly deflated; they sheepishly released their grip.
I looked at him like he was my lifeline, tears streaming down my face.
“Uncle Marcus, I didn’t… I don’t not want Maeve to come back. I’m just afraid they’re being scammed…”
My voice choked with tears and injustice.
Uncle Marcus sighed, a complex pity in his eyes.
He turned, steadied me, and his voice softened.
“Rowan, I know your heart is hurting. But the dead cannot return. Those of us still living must think of the family.”
I froze, not understanding what he meant.
He patted my hand, speaking earnestly.
“Your parents have gone mad. You can’t reason with them. Just play along, give them something to hope for, and life can go on.”
I stared at him blankly. He seemed not to notice the despair in my eyes, continuing to persuade me in his esteemed tone.
“It’s just a signature, isn’t it? Are you really going to watch this family fall apart completely just for your so-called principles?”
“Listen to your Uncle Marcus, a harmonious family is a prosperous family, remember that.”
“A harmonious family is a prosperous family…”
I murmured, repeating the words, finding them utterly ironic.
My pain meant nothing under the pressure of this “harmonious family for prosperity.”
My hesitation, to Mom and Dad, was an act of defiance.
Mom suddenly shrieked like a maniac.
“Stop wasting your breath on her! She just doesn’t want us to be happy! Don’t pretend! You think we don’t know you won the lottery?!”
Her words exploded like a bombshell in the crowd.
“Twenty million dollars! A full twenty million!”
“Now that you’re living comfortably, you don’t care about your family anymore, do you?!”
My heart tightened.
The fact that I’d won the lottery, I’d only confided it in messages on Maeve’s old social media account, just talking to her.
How could they know?
Dad’s sanity completely snapped. He pulled a fruit knife from his pocket, its tip glinting menacingly in the sunlight.
“If you won’t sign it yourself, then we’ll show you! We’ll draw some blood from you! Then you’ll know if this card is real or not!”
He advanced on me, his face twisted in a snarl. Mom, meanwhile, gripped my arm tightly, pinning me in place.
A gasp went through the crowd, but no one dared to step forward and intervene.
I shrieked in terror:
“What are you doing?!”
“What are we doing? Drawing your blood! We’ll drip your blood on the card and you’ll see with your own eyes how your sister comes back!”
Dad roared, raising the knife.
I watched, horrified, as the cold blade came closer and closer to my wrist.
Fear choked my throat; I could even feel the chill emanating from the blade.
From a nearby neighbor’s open window, the TV news was broadcasting.
“Latest news from the city: The prestigious Thorne Group declared official bankruptcy liquidation yesterday due to a broken capital chain. Chairman Charles Thorne absconded with funds, and his son, Kian Thorne…”
The Thornes… went bankrupt?
That arrogant, terrifying Kian Thorne, his family went bankrupt?
This news, like a flash of lightning, sliced through my muddled thoughts.
A bold and insane idea instantly formed in my mind.
“I’ll sign!”
Just as the blade was about to cut my skin, I screamed out with all my might.
Dad’s movement froze. The knife’s tip was just a millimeter from my vein.
Everyone was stunned.
Mom released my hand, a triumphant joy spreading across her face.
“See? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just do that?”
She handed me the crumpled resurrection card and a pen, like a gift.
“Hurry and write! Write your sister’s name!”
I took the card, head bowed. No one could see the expression in my eyes.
My finger, as if casually, rubbed the card.
It was thick, much thicker than ordinary cardstock.
I looked up, a compliant smile on my face, and took the pen.
Under my parents’ relieved gazes, and the collective sigh of relief from relatives and neighbors, I gripped the pen and began to write.
Each stroke was clear and forceful.
After finishing, I handed the card back to Mom.
“There.”
Mom, ecstatic, snatched the card, her greedy eyes falling directly on the signature.
The triumphant smile on her face hadn’t even fully bloomed before it instantly froze.
The next second, she snapped her head up.
Those eyes, which moments ago had been filled with hope, now bulged like brass bells, veined with blood and brimming with extreme fury.
She shrieked:
“Why did you fill in that murderer Kian Thorne’s name?!”
Relatives and neighbors looked utterly shocked and bewildered.
“Kian Thorne? That murderer?”
“What… what is this? Why write the name of someone completely unrelated?”
Dad violently snatched the card from Mom’s hand.
Seeing the name, his face, which had been flushed red with anger, instantly drained of all color, turning ashen.
Their previous frantic demeanor, desperate to seek justice for their daughter, vanished without a trace.
I watched their expressions instantly return to normal, and the last sliver of hope in my heart completely disintegrated.
I took a step forward, asking in a deliberately innocent tone,
“What’s wrong? I resurrected the enemy who killed my sister. Aren’t you going to hit me anymore? Aren’t you going to scold me?”
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