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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Aggravating_Road2692 on 2024-09-20 15:09:44+00:00.

I [F19]think my Uncle[M34] Murdered his daughter.

Nobody bats an eye when the old get sick, it’s the way of the world after all. You’re born, slowly grow old, and you die. Sure, people will mourn, a few people may even weep at your funeral, and if you’re lucky someone will lay an occasional flower on your headstone. But when the young die, that’s a completely different story.

My little cousin Olivia was only six years old when she fell down the stairs of her two-story house. The fall had snapped her neck somewhere along those fifteen fateful steps. It was her mother who had found her tiny body. I could only imagine the horror she felt when her eyes met the sight of little Olivia’s neck at a ninety-degree angle. The thought made my spine shiver.

My Aunt Lizy now sobbed uncontrollably as we sat in the little chapel, Olivia’s casket open for the few people who knew her in life to come and say goodbye. If Olivia had died an old woman, the chappel might be overflowing, but in six short years, she had not made many connections in her brief life. While many relatives were present, only a handful had come to know Olivia as well as I had come to know her. I had been her designated babysitter for many years her little lungs drew breath, so my heart shattered when I got the news.

My uncle Jessie spoke for his daughter in our hour of suffering.

“Olivia was a cheerful, energetic, and playful little kid. Her enthusiasm for life brought joy to anyone in her vicinity. Life can be cruel, unjust, and inhumane, but it is not our place to judge the work of the man upstairs. When it’s your time, when he calls you up, when God needs you back we can only heed the call. Olivia was too precious for this world, I believe our heavenly father knew that. That is why I can smile knowing that my little girl is in a better place.”  

I don’t know how he could be so calm and composed while talking about his recently departed daughter. She wasn’t my daughter and even my voice cracked whenever I spoke her name. He must’ve had a heart of stone I thought to myself. Who am I to judge how someone mourned the passing of their little girl? After all, we are all different.

“Those who wish to say one last goodbye to Olivia please do so now, the casket will be closed in a few short minutes.” The funeral director informed. The rustling of a few people standing sounded over my Aunt Lizy’s sobbing. I didn’t want to go up and see Olivia’s body in that state, but my Aunt clutched my arm and pulled me with her for moral support. How could I refuse?

The line leading up to the casket began to thin, and soon we were faced with little Olivia’s peacefully sleeping face. She wore a pristine white dress that seemed to blend with the casket’s padding. Her satin black hair created a deep contrast with the casket’s insides. Her skin looked cold and glazed over. Aunt Lizy’s head dropped onto Olivia, as she gave her little girl one last worldly embrace.

“Why lord, Why!?” tears streamed down onto Olivia’s dress, darkening some of the areas where they soaked into the fabric. I comforted my aunt and could not help but shed my tears as well. The memories of little Olivia replaying in my mind.

“Olivia! Oh, Olivia!” My aunt cried. I looked down at Olivia’s sleeping face, never expecting her to react to her mother’s calls.

“Olivia. My Olivia!” As the last ‘A’ of her name left her mother’s mouth, her eyes snapped open. Thrusting my heart into the pit of my stomach. My eyes instantly dried up in my terror. Then Olivia’s pupils trained their gaze on me. I wanted nothing more than to scream, but as I opened my mouth, the sound never managed to bypass the lump in my throat. I let my Aunt Lizy go, taking a step backward in the process. Just then I knocked into someone. My head shot around to see my Uncle Jessie looking at his daughter’s face, unfazed by her soulless stare.

He then looked at me with an expressionless face and gave me a smile of pity, before returning to his daughter’s facade. I shot back around to look at Olivia but was once again met with her peacefully sleeping expression.

‘What-- What the fuck?’ I thought to myself. ‘Olivia was just-- I must’ve imagined it.’ It must’ve been my imagination, what other explanation could there be?

My Uncle’s cold hands snaked across my shoulders in an attempt to comfort me, and it did, before he whispered in my ear.

“It will be our little secret. You will tell no one of this.”

For the rest of the funeral, I was in a state of constant shock, trying to make sense of the situation, but never could. It had been a week since Olivia had died, they had pumped her body full of embalming fluid, and I’d even read over the corner’s report.

‘A complete evisceration of the C-1 and C-2 vertebrae resulting in a complete severance of the spinal cord. Pronounced dead at the scene.’

‘There was no way Olivia could still be alive, absolutely no way.’ Those words played in my head as the first few pails of earth began to blanket her coffin. But my resolve was constantly questioned by Uncle Jessie’s thousand-mile stare from across the freshly dug hole.

‘There is no way Olivia is still ALIVE.’

My Aunt Lizy continued in her emotional state long after Olivia had died, it’s not hard to imagine given that Olivia was an only child. Auntie Lizy and Uncle Jessie’s lives revolved around my little cousin. I tried my best to stay away, it was hard for me to hear her shrieking cries. As much as I loved Aunt Lizy, there is only so much sadness a person can take. I’d preferred to push little Olivia as far out of my mind as I could. Well, there was that, but also Uncle Jessie’s comment on the day of the funeral. I’d tried to dismiss it as it being a part of my imagination, but no matter how hard I tried his words were as clear as that day they tickled my ear.

‘It will be our little secret.’

That fear, however, would have to be put on the back burner, because Aunt Lizy had called me over to help get rid of some of Olivia’s things. Looking at them had brought too much grief to her heart and she was having a hard time boxing them up, so it was up to me to lend a helping hand.

I walked into their house, the same house where I’d babysat Olivia so many times. Everywhere I looked, memories of that little girl flooded back into my mind. Then my eyes met the bottom of the stairs, I couldn’t help but imagine her little body sprawled out on the hardwood floor. A door creaked open, and I jolted in my uneasiness. It was Aunt Lizy stepping out of the master bedroom, situated on the first floor. Her eyes were puffy, she’d been crying, and she attempted to compose herself before, greeting me with a warm smile.

Our conversation was brief. She’d only given me instructions on what to box up. To my surprise, her instructions were to get rid of everything but Olivia’s twin bed. She disappeared into her bedroom, and I thought I heard her faintly sobbing through the door.

I trained my eyes on the top of the stairs, precariously stepping around where I’d imagined Olivia drew her last breath. There was a sense of apprehension as I reached the second floor, and I swore the air was colder as my foot graced the last step, but I pushed it out of my mind as I plunged myself into the task at hand. There was a lot to box up.

About an hour into my work, I saw my breath condense in front of my face; The air temperature had plunged drastically. I felt my skin pimple in gooseflesh, not because of the cold, but because a familiar figure graced the edge of my eye. Standing in the corner was a little girl wearing a white dress. Olivia.

Her skin was no longer the same color as the day the casket’s lid fell on her restful face, it was pale, icy, and cold. The mortician had done a fantastic job of styling her hair, but it now draped over much of her face in an unkempt way. She lifted her head, but before it could reach its full extension, it slumped over with a loud crack, likewise, her cervical spine now pointed to the ceiling as it poked through the skin on her neck. Her head may have been resting on her shoulder, but her eyes looked at me with the same intensity as the day I swore I saw her open them while she lay in that tiny little box. I fell onto her bed cowering backward until the drywall caressed my rear.

Our eyes jousted there for what felt like hours, in reality, it was only seconds. Little Olivia raised a jagged finger, pointing to her nightstand beside her bed. I was too fearful to let go of my knees that were pressed up against my chest, but Olivia did not waver. She stood there steadfast, her eyes planted on me, her finger gesturing at the nightstand. I wasn’t going to be let go until I investigated whatever she needed me to see.

I cautiously unfurled myself out of my beatle position and crawled my way over to the first drawer, pulling it out while making sure Olivia wasn’t going to jump on me. Inside were many of Olivia’s crayon drawings, many were family portraits, and some I’d even helped draw myself on the many nights I babysat. But as I flipped through the pieces, they became less wholesome and more strange.

The was a stick figure of a little girl crying, a pair of eyes peering at the girl through the door. A drawing of a man, evident in the stick figure touting a beard, covered in blood. I’m pretty sure it was my uncle Jessie. And a picture that made my heart sink, the little stick figure drawn girl crying in a corner as a mommy a…

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