The Girl They Buried Alive

Every day of my life, I, Hailey, was keenly aware I was nothing but an unwanted burden to my parents, Frank and Brenda, their every word and action reserved instead for my coddled younger brother, Kevin.

Thanksgiving approached, and their solution to saving money for Kevin's new gaming console was horrific: I was to travel hundreds of miles, locked inside an old, smelly footlocker, checked as luggage on a Greyhound bus.

Buried in suffocating darkness, I scratched at the lid with weakening fingers as the air dwindled, until my desperate struggle became nothing more than a final gasp before floating into oblivion.

Upon arrival, my parents, eager to enjoy the holiday, left my tomb in a corner, only to casually open it a day later to find my lifeless, blue body, eliciting Frank's curse and Brenda's chilling remark about the "bad luck" I brought before they paid a local man, with the money saved from my bus fare and food, to bury me swiftly and quietly in an unmarked grave, forgotten for Kevin's new treats.

To them, my life was merely an obstacle, and my agonizing death was nothing more than an inconvenience, solidifying their profound and terrifying indifference towards me.

But then, with a choked gasp, I bolted upright in my bed, the morning sun streaming through my window, and realized I had been given an impossible second chance: it was the same fateful Thanksgiving morning, the old footlocker by the door, and this time, I wouldn't just obey.

Hailey knew her parents didn't love her.

Frank, her father, called her "waste of space."

He hit her often. His temper was a quick fire, especially when he drank.

Brenda, her mother, was quieter.

But her words cut, and her eyes were cold.

They both loved Kevin, Hailey's younger brother.

Kevin got everything.

Hailey got yelled at, or hit, or nothing at all.

Their apartment was small, in a bad part of the city.

Thanksgiving was coming.

Brenda announced they were going to visit some far-off relative.

"A long bus trip," Brenda said, her eyes on Kevin. "A Greyhound."

Then she looked at Hailey.

"We need to save money. For Kevin's new video game console."

Hailey waited. She knew something bad was coming for her.

Brenda smiled, a thin, sharp smile.

"Hailey, you'll travel in the big footlocker. We'll check it as luggage."

The footlocker was old, heavy, and smelled of dust and mothballs.

Hailey looked at her mother.

"It's the only way, Hailey. Don't be difficult."

Frank grunted his agreement. "Do as your mother says."

Kevin smirked. He knew he was the reason.

Hailey was used to obeying.

Arguing only made the beatings worse.

They made her climb in.

It was dark.

The lid shut.

The lock clicked.

She heard them talking, excited about the trip, about Kevin.

The footlocker moved, bumped.

Then the rumble of the bus.

It was a long trip, days.

The air grew thin.

She scratched at the lid, but her fingers were weak.

She couldn't breathe.

It got harder and harder.

Then, nothing.

She floated in darkness.

When the bus finally arrived, Frank and Brenda were eager.

They wanted to show off Kevin.

They wanted to enjoy the holiday.

The footlocker stayed in the luggage hold, then in a corner at the relative's dusty house.

They went to a local Thanksgiving fair.

Kevin got cotton candy and won a cheap prize.

Frank drank. Brenda laughed.

A whole day passed.

Finally, Brenda remembered. "Oh, the footlocker."

Frank grumbled, "Let's get it over with."

They opened it.

Hailey lay still.

Her eyes were open, empty.

Her skin was blue.

Brenda looked down.

"Well, this is just great," she said. "What bad luck she brings."

Frank cursed.

They didn't call anyone.

Brenda said, "We can't have this ruin Thanksgiving for Kevin."

They found a local man, someone who didn't ask questions.

They paid him a small amount.

Money saved from Hailey's bus ticket.

Money they would have spent on her food.

He buried Hailey in an unmarked hole in a field.

Quick. Quiet.

Frank and Brenda used the money they saved, and the money for the quiet burial, to buy Kevin more things at the fair.

He wanted more games, more treats.

He got them.

Hailey was gone.

Forgotten.

A gasp.

Hailey sat bolt upright in her narrow bed.

Her heart hammered.

Her room. The same cracked walls, the same thin blanket.

Sunlight, weak and grey, came through the dirty window.

She touched her throat. She could breathe.

The air was cool, real.

Downstairs, she heard her mother's voice.

"Hailey! Come down here!"

The tone was familiar. The one Brenda used before something bad.

Hailey's stomach twisted.

She remembered.

The footlocker. The darkness. The suffocation.

Every horrifying second.

She went downstairs, her legs shaking.

Brenda stood in the kitchen, arms crossed. Kevin was next to her, eating cereal.

"We're going to visit Aunt Carol for Thanksgiving," Brenda began.

Hailey's breath caught. It was happening again.

"It's a long bus trip, a Greyhound."

Brenda smiled that same sharp smile. "And to save money for Kevin's new game console..."

Hailey saw the old footlocker by the door.

The memories flooded her. The smell, the fear, the not being able to breathe.

"No," Hailey whispered.

Brenda's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

"Kevin," Hailey said, her voice small but desperate. "Kevin is smaller. He might fit better."

It was a weak try, she knew it. But she had to say something.

Brenda's face turned red.

"How dare you!" she hissed. "Selfish girl! Always thinking of yourself!"

Kevin giggled. "Yeah, Hailey's selfish."

"You don't love your brother, do you?" Brenda accused, her voice rising. "You wouldn't want him to have nice things?"

Hailey stared at her mother. The words were like poison.

She remembered Brenda' s face when they found her dead.

Just annoyed.

"I... I just..."

"You just don't want to help this family!" Brenda shrieked. "You're a burden, Hailey! Always a burden!"

Brenda stormed off, shouting for Frank.

"Frank! Your daughter is being difficult again! Ungrateful!"

Hailey felt a cold dread.

She knew what came next.