About halfway through a rainy day in March, two years after JJ disappeared, I marched out of my house in a rage. My parents had been fighting the entire day. About her. My sister. Ever since Aibhlinn died, they haven't had a single day where the blame wasn't thrown around between the two of them. Sobbing over whose fault it was, what should have happened, and how they would have liked it if I had died instead. I know to clear out when they start blaming me for her death. It happens all the time. I just train myself to ignore it. It's what I do to most things these days.

I blindly ran through the rain, the raindrops mixing with the puddles already there in the street. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion for me. I could hear the drumming and pounding of blood rushing through my ears. The raindrops fell slowly, allowing me to see the twinkling shine of the water as it fell and splashed on the concrete. The drops shook the earth as they fell and broke apart on the street. The rushing, rushing sound of water, pouring into the large drain pipes. I closed my eyes.

Suddenly, there wasn't any rain pouring over my head anymore. I could still hear the pounding and drops, but I couldn't feel it. I looked up. I was on JJ's front porch. I looked behind me. Regular speed raindrops dove towards the street. These are Gods most brave creations, I thought to myself, their life is falling, and yet they feel no fear. I looked forward.

The porch was covered with the shoes of his younger siblings, eight in total. It used to be nine. The flappy sneakers of the older children, the stiff, new shoes of the younger. A small rocking chair was to the side of the porch, well worn and warm. A small, round red pillow in the middle decorated the mahogany wood. The damp boards creaked as I stepped over them. I made my way over to the rocking chair, stepping over the pairs of shoes. I sat down carefully and hugged the red pillow to my chest. Raindrops started to pour down my face again. I opened my eyes in surprise. It wasn't raindrops. It was tears. I closed my eyes and let them come.

The front door opened, letting out the sweet smell of baking bread, the feel of warmth, and the beautiful sound of music.

"Oh honey." came a soft voice. JJ's mom. Warmth and happiness engulfed me in a hug. I squeezed the pillow tighter.

"Come on in, child," she pulled me up and steered me towards the door, "come in and rest." I nodded and took my shoes off at the door. The rest of the evening was a blur. I took a fine nap, and then one of his brothers came and woke me up for dinner. I sat in JJ's old spot. Just before dinner, we prayed that JJ was happy and comfortable, wherever he was. Life at the Armstrong household was just the same as it was before. Lively, happy. They did not mourn the loss of their son, but were grateful that they had a chance to know him. I wished I was wise enough to have that mindset. We played games after dinner. The house was so full of laughter and happiness, I almost forgot all of my worries, my fears. They offered to have me spend the night, but I knew I had to get home. Maybe, just maybe, I would be able to change the way my parents saw things. Hope rushing through my veins, the Armstrong family wished me good luck, and I was on my way.

The rain had stopped. I skipped down the street, leaping in puddles, eager to get home. Walking back home, I passed a particular house on our street. Inside lived an old woman who had just reached 100 last Saturday. She was a kind old woman, and whenever she saw me taking a walk down the street, she invited me in for a cup of tea and biscuits. Her hands shook all the time, a disorder that she never learned how to control. However, when she picked up a paintbrush, her hands steadied and became as still as a statue. When she brought out her paints and easels, her body became relaxed, not rigid. She painted beautiful, wonderful things. She painted dreams. Her paintings were magic.

She painted her house the picture of a sea, a gigantic whale, swam through the middle with fish surrounding him, and the calm waves of the ocean flowing by him. Normally I loved to watch the colors that she elegantly danced along her house. Today, however, something was wrong. I stopped skipping and stared completely at her walls. The paint was moving. A drop of rain hit me on the nose. I looked up. Dark grey clouds swirled above our little town, covering everything in sight. They lit up for a second as lightning hit a few miles away from us. A few seconds later, the thunder roared through the streets. A second drop. A third. Soon it was pouring down, even harder than before, but all I could see was that house. The waves were crashing into each other. A hurricane. The waves frothed and fought with one another, sea foam and spray looked like it was ready to leap off of the walls. Water droplets were sprayed straight at my face. I blinked. The water tasted like salt. I looked up, shocked. The fish painted on her house had scattered. The whale was thrashing. The paint on the old woman's house looked ready to burst off of the walls. Another small wave of water in the storm hit my neck. It was salty. I ran.

As I ran through the storm, wishing more than ever to just be back home, I passed the House of Worlds. Lighting hit again and lit up the front yard. Thunder echoed through the houses not long after. I skidded to a stop, and stared. In the wind, roof tiles had ripped off and skittered across the street, making awful screeching noises. The roof was the color of dried blood, and the house was the color of shadow. Sometimes, on a very dark night like this one, you couldn't even see the house. Lightning flashed again, accenting the cracks and crevices of this house. The rusty iron gates that wrapped around the entire house were groaning, bending with the wind and rain. Some of the wood that covered up the broken windows came loose and splintered into the road. A large piece of wood, about the size of my fist, blew into the street and scraped my cheek. My head whipped back and was flung forwards again. I reached up to touch my cheek, and my hand came back stained with blood. I looked up at the House of Worlds, and my eyes found the knocker on the door. It was a serpent. The eyes of the serpent glowed red. I screamed, and the house started to moan. The gates flew open, the lock blown to bits by the wind. The house seemed to swell, the door banging open and stretching towards me, the yard collapsing in upon itself, the space between the door and me, shrinking with every passing moment. The house seemed to come alive, it's mouth, the door, swelling, hovering over me, ready to sweep me up at any second. And I just stood there. Looking at it. Daring it to kill me, sweep me up into its depths, because I was done. Everything seemed to pause in motion. The rain didn't move. I didn't move. The house didn't move. It stayed like that for what seemed an eternity. And then everything went black.