SHORT STORY | HORROR
Her Late Sister’s Husband’s Hoodie
A horror story. An unsolved murder, an old sweatshirt, and a hoodie.
Amy absently sifted through her sister’s clothes, crying softly. Tears erupted often since her sister’s needless death.
She buried her face in Emma’s favorite college sweatshirt and breathed in deeply. The smell of Emma flooded her with a lifetime of memories.
Third grade. Emma facing down a bully who’d been harassing Amy.
High school. Emma saving her from a drunken idiot at a party.
College. Emma coaching her through difficult classes time after time.
Amy’s big sister had been her savior. Her rock. And now she was dead and buried, murdered while jogging in the park. The funeral earlier today was emotional torture.
She squeezed Emma’s sweatshirt tighter against her black dress, as if hugging Emma herself. She’d given her sister this sweatshirt several years ago and it quickly became Emma’s go-to casual top. They had borrowed each other’s clothes hundreds of times since their school days, but Amy had never once worn this sweatshirt. Somehow that made it more special. She would ask her brother-in-law if she could have this one. She needed it. She needed whatever snippets of her big sister that she could salvage.
She slid her hands in the sleeves. More echoes of times past rushed into her mind. Shared smiles, laughs, long talks, and…something else. Nothing specific, just a sliver of unrecognized darkness.
A sharp rap on the door jarred her out of memories.
Her brother-in-law peeked his head through the door as Amy slid her arms out of the beloved sweatshirt.
“I miss her too, kiddo.”
Don’t call me kiddo, you fucking asshole. You know I hate that nickname.
Guilt immediately followed her gut reaction.
Not today. Today is about Emma.
Amy looked up at Bob, giving him a half-hearted nod.
“I’m sorry for camping out in your bedroom, Bob. I was just looking at some of Emma’s clothes and remembering her. Mind if I take her college shirt? It’s pretty special to me.”
“Of course, not, kiddo. Take whatever clothes you want. I can’t use them for anything.”
YOU can’t use them? What a prick.
“Thank you, Bob. I really appreciate it. I’ll be down to join everyone in a few minutes, okay?”
“Take your time, kiddo. I just came upstairs here to check on you. Some folks downstairs are worried about you.”
Amy nodded. “Tell them I’ll be down there shortly, I promise.”
“You got it, kiddo,” Bob answered as he backed out of the room and closed the door behind himself.
With a deep breath, Amy turned back to the sweatshirt.
What was that darkness?
Like a memory she could sense but not quite see.
She pulled the sweatshirt fully over herself now, slipping her head and arms through, basking in the feeling that Emma was closer now.
Instantly a tidal wave of emotion, energy, and memories overwhelmed her. She viewed fragments of argument after argument, seeing veins bulge in Bob’s neck as he screamed at Emma. Could hear Emma’s voice yelling back. Could see Emma staring at the clock late at night, waiting for him to get home. Mixed in were snapshots of herself and Emma and other good friends. More grins and more laughter.
Then, jogging in the park, in the midst of darkness, the barrel of a gun pointed at her. Straight at Emma. The blast of the gun and Emma collapsing. Looking back up at her attacker as her breathing became labored and vision blurred. Amy could just make out a man’s outline staring down at her fallen sister. And the gun lifted again. Emma’s eyes opened wide one last time before the man pulled the trigger. Just for the last second, but this time the man’s face was clearly visible.
Amy broke out in a cold sweat.
Bob.
That fuck Bob.
The vision of her brother-in-law faded and Amy felt her own arms curling around herself. The sweatshirt hugged her. Emma was hugging her.
Amy sensed or heard — she never quite knew — Emma’s voice inside her.
Amy, my baby sister, you were the light of my whole life. You can’t take my sweatshirt yet though. Soon, but not yet. I love you, sister.
The sweatshirt — Emma — squeezed her again. One last hug and one last request.
As the sweatshirt loosened its grip and quieted, Amy lingered in it another minute, still shocked at the visions. She reluctantly took it off, folded it neatly, and placed it gently in the top drawer of the dresser.
She said nothing about her discovery to anyone downstairs, mingled just long enough, and said her goodbyes.
After the crowd of mourners left his house, Bob poured himself a drink and climbed the stairs. A long week and a longer day were over.
The first thing to do is to take this monkey suit off and get into some comfortable clothes. Not one of those imbeciles at the funeral suspected a thing. The “heartbroken husband” played to perfection.
He would keep up the facade for a few weeks or months longer and then disappear into a new life.
The huge life insurance payment would help greatly with that.
The thought comforted him as he opened the top drawer to grab his hoodie. He was surprised by the sight of Emma’s old college sweatshirt.
I thought Amy took this thing. Well if she doesn’t want it, I’ll throw it away later.
He tossed the sweatshirt to the corner of the room and snatched his hoodie that lay directly underneath. He pulled it on, grateful for the soft feel of the material against his skin after suffering through the stiff black jacket and tie all day.
He plopped down in his armchair and took a long pull of his cocktail. Deep within his head, his wife’s voice spoke.
Hello, Bob.
Bob jumped out of the chair, spilling his drink as he looked around wide-eyed.
“What the fuck??”
The hoodie became a straightjacket, squeezing his arms in a vice-like grip around his body.
“Whaaat? WHAT THE HELL?”
His wife’s voice again.
Time to pay, dear.
Bob staggered toward the door, but with no arms available to help balance, he tripped over his feet and dropped to the carpet. Through his panic, he noticed that the hoodie was sliding over the back of his head. In no time, it was fully in place over his head. But it didn’t stop. It stretched over his face until it closed into a tight circle around the tip of his nose.
The hoodie pressed tighter and tighter around his nose and mouth, cutting off all breath. Bob’s body twitched and jerked as he tried in vain to rid himself of the suffocating garment.
Soon he stopped moving altogether and the hoodie relaxed its grip, sliding back to normal. The soft material ensured that no marks had been left on her husband.
Two months later, as the secondary beneficiary of Emma’s policy, Amy got the life insurance check in her mailbox. Even after her murder, Emma took care of her little sister.
Amy went inside, put on the special sweatshirt, cried a while, and thanked her big sister.
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