The White Dress
“Good. I’m glad you got me, because I don’t want to have to do what I did to Mariam, now do I?” he growled menacingly. “’Member what happened to Mariam, Celia? Remember?”
She nodded quickly, head low, and scooted around on the floor to get closer to the door, but Max stepped on the hem of her dress.
“You’re not going anywhere!" he barked harshly, "If you want to sit by a trunk in the middle of the night, you might as well finish the chore.”
Celia quickly moved back to her previous position, hugging the side of the small wooden trunk. Max stepped back down through the attic trapdoor, not even looking back to make sure he was on the rung. His stare dug like needles into Celia’s arm, and her skin raised into small goose bumps as she listened to him walking away from the ladder. Finally, his bedroom door closed and she was left alone.
Celia felt her breathing become ragged once again as she opened the trunk and cried more intensely than ever before, her tears wetting her grandmother’s white dress.