I Will Never Stop Trying

My mother hated my second father when she met him. Luckily for her, she only had to deal with him for a few weeks before my second mother joined the family.

Luckily for me, she wrote me letters explaining how much she loved my original father and me before that other woman took over.

Unluckily for me, I will never get to meet my actual parents.

The worst part is that nobody sees what’s happening. Instead of seeing who is actually there, they only see the originals. They probably mutter behind closed doors over my father’s strange headgear and odd-colored eyes and wonder why my mother looks so gray and haggard all the time. But no one knows the real reason they look like they do.

And I can’t tell them, because they wouldn’t believe me.

Here’s the deal. When my first father went to pick my first mother up from the hospital after I was born, my second father snuck out to get cigarettes from the convenience store. He didn’t believe the doctors when they told him how ill he was. Dazed, he stepped out in front of a car as he left the building. He died just as my first father walked past.

That’s what I learned from the newspaper.

What the news doesn’t tell you is that my second father’s soul pushed my original father from his body after the accident and took over.

That part I got from my second parents. The secret letters from my first mother confirm it. She wrote them to me before her soul was forced out of her body as well. My first mother claimed she knew something was wrong the moment he entered her hospital room. The nurses said it was postpartum hormones.

My first mother called me Lilith when she wrote to me. That’s the name I was born with. My second mother and father can’t say it. It gets caught up in their throat like a rock and rolls around their tongue. I found it amusing to watch when I was younger. And no matter how hard they try, it always comes out as Lily. I think it’s because Lilith was the original woman. I don’t know why, but somehow, it affects them.

Anyway, about my first mother’s letters. They all start the same.

My dearest Lilith,

She even calls me dearest. My second mother and father just call me stupid and rotten. I ruined their lives; they say.

I ruined THEIR lives?

Sorry. Moving on.

I can’t live with this creature much longer. I’m trying to escape, but he told me I can’t leave. When I ask why, he mumbles something about his one true love and hobbles off. I don’t know what that means, but it always sends a chill down my spine.

The fear is immobilizing at times, and nobody believes me when I tell them what happened. They say the hormones and the stress are causing me to imagine things that aren’t there and then they ask me how I’m sleeping. Not a bit honestly, but it has nothing to do with you, sweet one. You sleep like an angel and sometimes I have to check and make sure you’re breathing. It’s the screaming that keeps me up and I’m afraid that will be what causes me to break.

It was horrible. I still slept through it most nights, but when I couldn’t, it was the worst noise you could imagine. It began in the evening when he retired to his room for the night. My second mother said it got better when he started wearing the net over his skull. Like it held in the pain of his soul trying to escape a body it didn’t belong in. I snuck into his bedroom once to see why he screamed like that and hid in the corner for hours, unable to move as I watched him holding his head and thrashing around on the bed in agony.

I never did that again.

When I was seven, right after I found the letters from my real mother, I confronted them. I thought I wanted to know. They told me the truth without hesitation, as if they had just been waiting for me to ask so they could unload their dark secret on my tiny and unsuspecting being.

“Why do you wear that weird thing on your head, daddy?”

“To keep my soul from escaping this body,” he said.

“Is that why you scream at night?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you trying to escape?”

“Because I don’t belong here. I stole your father’s body looking for happiness.” He looked at my second mother. “She was supposed to make me happy.”

She glared at him, then turned to me with sparkling eyes. “I suppose you know the truth now, no reason to hide it from you anymore. When he died, he didn’t want to leave me alone, so he kicked your original father out of his body and sent for me. I took over your poor mother. She was so crazy and heartbroken she didn’t even put up a fight!” She clapped and smiled. “And now we’re stuck with each other. You have to learn to deal with it as I did.”

When I was ten, she came into my room when I was reading. “Let me braid your hair, little one.”

I hesitated. But the thought of spending a pleasant moment with her overcame my fear. “Okay.” I sat in the chair before my vanity and handed her my hairbrush.

“It’s so soft.” She used her hands more than the brush with a sense of longing I wasn’t familiar with. “I remember when my hair was beautiful like yours.” She brushed it tenderly a few more times before her hand skimmed against my cheek and I heard a ‘snip’ sound.

I flipped around in my chair. “Did you just-”

“Oh, poo. It’s a tiny piece, dear, a memoir of sorts. I miss having such soft hair!”

“You stole my hair!” I pulled at the shorter chunk where she had cut my locks without permission. “You pretended to be kind, but all you wanted was to steal from me! How dare you!”

“If you had locks like mine, you would understand,” she said.

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t stolen my mother from me, you’d still have nice hair!” I pushed her out of my room and slammed the door in her face. Then I ran to my closet, where I stored the letters.

My dearest Lilith,

I fear I cannot leave. I would do anything to get away. Not just for my sake, but yours, to save you from this horror house. This is my last letter. I am going to hide these somewhere you may find them and then either escape this hell or die.

If I don’t succeed, please know I loved you. And I hope she loves you too.

I pounded my desk and sobbed. She doesn’t love me! Nobody loves me! And I can’t do anything to change it.

I couldn’t live with them any longer. I grabbed the letters and ran from the room. In hindsight, after everything else, the fact that the turning point came when she stole my hair seems silly.

But I was ten. No one loved me. And my real parents? Pretty much zombies.

Would you have done anything different?

I took the headpiece from my father before I left. The screams followed me as I ran, clutching the headgear in one hand and my letters in the other. The next morning, the police found me and brought me home. They didn’t believe me.

I’m still here, living with these creatures. They homeschool me now and don’t allow me to leave the house.

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know if I will escape.

But I will never stop trying.