My Family's Faith, My Bloody Fate

It started on the one-year anniversary of my return, a day meant for joy.

Instead, my family, devout and God-fearing, brutally murdered me.

My brother, my protector, became a "defiler" screaming monster, my father, a man of God, cut off my hand with a rusty saw, and my mother, once overjoyed, called me an "abomination."

They threw my bleeding body into a silo, sealing the hatch, and as I died, I only had one question: Why?

It was the locket. The small, carved wooden locket my sister, Esther, had given me moments before, a "welcome home" gift that instantly turned my loving family into rabid killers.

Somehow, I woke up. It' s the same day, the same anniversary. Esther is coming up the stairs, the locket in her hand, about to give me the gift that will trigger their bloodlust again.

This time, I refuse. But Esther is cunning, and soon, I'm dodging my family's crazed attacks, desperately trying to expose their dark beliefs to the authorities. They look at me like I' m simply a troubled girl with an overzealous family.

Knowing the law won't stop their fanaticism, I have no choice but to use their own twisted faith against them, no matter the cost, to finally break free.

My family killed me.

On the one-year anniversary of my return home, they murdered me in the old barn.

My brother Jakob, who always protected me, screamed I was a "defiler." He attacked me with a fury I'd never seen.

My father, a man of God, dragged me across the dirt floor. He used a rusty handsaw to cut off my hand. He shouted in Pennsylvania Dutch that the curse had to be severed.

My mother, who had cried with joy when I came back, called me an "abomination." Her eyes were filled with pure terror.

They threw my bleeding body into the grain silo and sealed the hatch. As the air thinned and my vision faded, I had only one question.

Why?

It was the locket. It had to be the locket.

My younger sister, Esther, had given it to me just moments before. A "welcome home" gift, she said. A family heirloom. A small, hand-carved wooden locket.

I put it on, and my loving family turned into monsters.

I didn't understand. I still don't.

But now, I have a second chance.

I'm awake. The sun is streaming through my bedroom window. The air smells of fresh bread and manure, the familiar scent of our farm.

I look at the calendar on the wall. It' s the anniversary of my return.

Today is the day they will kill me.

Today is the day I will find out why.

Downstairs, I hear my mother humming a hymn. I hear my father's heavy boots on the porch.

I hear Esther's light footsteps coming up the stairs.

She is coming to give me the locket.

Esther entered my room, a bright, innocent smile on her face. She was holding the small wooden locket in her hand.

"Sarah," she said, her voice sweet. "I have something for you. To celebrate you being home for a whole year."

She held it out. The same locket. The same dark, carved wood.

My breath caught in my throat. I remembered the saw. The blood. The darkness of the silo.

I took a step back.

"No."

Her smile faltered. "No? What do you mean, no? It' s a gift. For you."

"I don't want it, Esther."

Her face fell, a mask of hurt sliding perfectly into place.

"But why? It's a family heirloom. I wanted you to have it. Don't you want to be part of the family again?"

The words were a calculated blow. She knew how much I wanted to belong, how much I ached for their forgiveness after all my years away in the "English" world.

"Of course I do," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "I just... I don't wear jewelry."

"It's not just jewelry, Sarah. It's our history." She pressed forward, trying to put it in my hand.

I pulled my hand back sharply. "I said no, Esther!"

She looked genuinely wounded now, her eyes welling with tears. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to do something nice."

She turned and left the room, leaving the locket on my dresser. I stared at it, my heart pounding. I wouldn't touch it. I wouldn't go near it.

A few hours later, I was in the kitchen, helping my mother knead dough for the afternoon bread. I was wearing one of her simple aprons.

Jakob came in from the fields, his face flushed from the sun. He smiled at me, a wide, genuine smile.

"Smells good in here, little sister."

Then his eyes dropped to my apron. His smile vanished.

His face twisted into a mask of pure rage.

He was looking at the apron pocket.

I looked down. The wooden locket was sticking out of the pocket. She must have slipped it in when I wasn't looking.

"You defiler," Jakob hissed, his voice a low growl.

He lunged at me.