Not All as They Seem

By Lizzy T. 

Ages 13-17 Winner

Fall 2023 Writing Contest

            Rain pounded steadily upon the roof of the Carter house as I, Andrea Prescott, carefully slipped into the parlor, a tray of tea dishes and finger foods precariously balanced in my arms. I hadn’t planned on staying this long during my visit with Mother, but I had no choice when the skies opened up. There was no way I would ride Shasta, my chocolate palomino, in the pouring rain back to Memory Creek Ranch.

            “Careful,” Mother murmured from her seat by the fire.

            A laugh slipped from my lips as I slowly inched towards Mother, eyes glued to the floor. “I know. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

            In an act of bravery, I lifted my eyes from the floor to meet her sparkling ones. As I did, my foot connected with a lump in the carpet, and I felt myself tumbling forward. Horror struck me like the lightning outside as I desperately tried to regain my balance, but it was too late. I crashed to the ground and teacups shattered around me, splashing piping hot liquid as little cakes and sandwiches rained down from above.

            Groaning, I sat up from the floor and felt a cake sliding down my face and landing with a sploosh in a puddle of tea. I cringed at the mess and sheepishly glanced up at Mother. She wasn’t smiling, but her eyes shone with repressed laughter.

            “Oops…” I mumbled, and Mother couldn’t contain it anymore. She exploded with laughter, a hand covering her lips in a failed attempt to hide her humor. After a few moments, I joined in as well.

            “I’m sorry, Andrea,” she said between gasps. “I-it’s just,” laughter slipped through her lips as she finished. “You have a sandwich on your head.”

            I gasped and patted the top of my head, and sure enough, my hand connected with a small square of bread and cheese. We laughed until tears rolled down our cheeks. Mother helped me stand up and brush some of the crumbs and frosting off my clothes, but her efforts were futile. I was soaked to the bone.

            “Why don’t you change?” Mother asked. “You can borrow one of my dresses until your clothes dry.”

            Relief flooded through me. “Thank you,” I exclaimed and slipped away to change and wash off the frosting. When I returned in clean and fresh clothes, I felt mighty bad for what happened. “I’m sorry, I…” I bit my lip and glanced at the floor. “I broke your only tea set.”

            Mother crossed the room and pulled me into an embrace. “Don’t worry about it, Andrea. I have another one stored in the attic.”

            “Really?” Looking up, I saw her nod.

            “If you want to help, you could bring it down for me.”

            I grinned and nodded my head, eager to help. “I’ll be right back!” Turning, I raced out of the room.

            “Oh, and Andrea?” I heard Mother call. “Don’t drop it this time.”

***

            The attic was much smaller than I remembered it being, though I was a lot smaller the last time I was up here. Nothing changed much. The crippled rocking horse with a broken hoof still sat in the corner, a bookcase of dusty novels and textbooks still rested by the small window, and– there! A weathered, old crate labeled “dishes.”

            Satisfied, I glided over and peeked inside to find neatly stacked teacups and saucers. As I reached for them, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an antique chest I didn’t recognize. Dishes forgotten, I headed over and knelt by the mysterious trunk. The lid was stuck fast, but after some struggling, I pried it open.

            I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. Treasure? Old Carter secrets? But what met my eyes were just… books. They weren't old like the ones on the bookcase, and they hardly looked used. But what were new books doing stuffed away in the attic?

            I pulled one out of storage and held it to the flimsy light, but immediately dropped it in terror. W-what is this…? I picked up the book again to see… me. I was on the cover. Tearing through the rest of the books in frantic madness, I noticed that I was on all of them, and they were all about me. My life, my ups and downs, failures and sadness. There were over twenty-six books, and the same name stared back at me from all of them: Susan K. Marlow.

            I hefted the chest into my arms and struggled down the stairs. I needed an explanation, and Mother had better have a good one. I told myself this must be some kind of joke as I clomped down the stairs. There’s no way someone knows this much about my life as to write all those books about it!

            Bursting into the parlor, I dropped the trunk in front of Mother. “What is this?” I demanded.

            Mother chuckled as she rose to her feet. “Andrea, this is a chest. An old one, by the looks of it.” She began pushing it away. “Now, where is the tea set?”

            I growled and grabbed onto the evidence. “Don’t try to change the subject. You know very well what’s inside this chest, and I demand an explanation!”

            Mother looked like she might argue with me but then deflated. “You weren’t supposed to know about those…” She whispered. “Nobody was.”

            The blood drained from my face as I listened to what she was saying. “What do you mean? Who is this ‘Susan K. Marlow’ person? How does she know about my life?”

            A sigh slipped through her lips, and she reached over to brush some hair out of my face, but I flinched away. Hurt flashed across her face before she schooled herself and stood up straighter. “You really want to know what’s been going on your entire life?”

            Something in her eyes told me that if I said “yes,” there would be no going back. I said it anyway.

            Her lips pressed into a firm, hard line before she opened them and said, “She has been here all along.”

            “Who?” I whispered, even though I already knew the answer.

            Mother confirmed this when she mumbled, “Susan K. Marlow.” I gestured for her to elaborate. “She has been living in the shadows, disguised, ever since you were a child. She has been watching you, taking notes, and writing novels about your life, and there was nothing I could do to stop her.” She looked away as she whispered, “Nobody can stop her.”

            I stood there shaking, unsure what to think. There is no way this could actually be happening… That this “Susan K. Marlow” person really exists. And yet, the evidence was sitting right there… I glanced at the books again. “Where is she now?”

            “There is no way to know. She could be anywhere, looking like anyone.” She glanced up at me, a smile curling at the corners of her lips. “She could be me…”

            I gasped and took a stumbling step backward as Mother reached up and began peeling off a mask concealing her face to show that– no! It wasn’t Mother… It was Susan K. Marlow!

            Screaming in horror, I turned and fled out of the room. I didn’t stop for anything as I tore open the front door, raced to the barn, and leaped on Shasta. I didn’t care about the rain anymore. I only wanted to return to Riley and Jared as fast as possible.

***

            Valleys turned into blurs as I raced Shasta out of the barn and into the storm, rain and wind tearing at my borrowed clothes. Lightning lit up the sky overhead, and a few moments later thunder boomed and reverberated around me. I heard moaning, and terror coursed through me as I urged Shasta into a faster gait, but as I continued, I realized it was just the wind.

It didn’t take long to reach Memory Creek Ranch, and as soon as Shasta raced into the barn, I flew off her and into the house, door slamming shut behind me.

“Riley!” I cried and raced into his arms from where he stood next to the stove. A sob caught my throat as I explained what happened during my visit with Mother.

            “Oh,” he whispered as soon as I had finished my story. “You finally know about Susan K. Marlow?”

            I turned to ice as I stepped out of his embrace. “What do you mean, ‘finally know..?’” Anger surged through me. “Have you known this whole time!?”

            Riley chuckled as he said, “Oh, Andi… I know everything.” And with that, he reached up and, just like Mother, removed a mask concealing her true identity.

            “How do you keep doing that!?” I screamed in the face of Susan K. Marlow before I turned and fled up the stairs into the room Jared was playing in. Flinging open the door, I collapsed next to Jared and the toy horse he had racing across the carpet. “Honey, we have to go!”

            He looked up at me from his cowboy and asked, “Why, Ma'ma?” Then, to my horror, he reached up with a grin and peeled off yet another mask.

            I leaped to my feet and took shaky steps backward from Susan K. Marlow. “How…” I whispered. “Why..?” All I was met with was laughter. I took a few more steps away from her, but then the floor disappeared. I had walked off the stairs.

            I fell and fell and fell until I was met with darkness.

***

            Bolting upright, a scream lodged in my throat, I felt myself tangled in sheets. I looked around and found myself in bed, darkness coating the window to my left, and to my right was Riley, snoring softly.

            “A dream…” I breathed. “It was only a dream.”

            Slipping noiselessly out of bed, I climbed down the stairs and into the kitchen. After pouring myself a cup of milk, I shuffled to the window overlooking the front lawn in an effort to calm my racing thoughts. There I froze in terror, for staring back at me from the property, bathed in moonlight, was Susan K. Marlow.

            She winked at me, and I raced to the kitchen door and flew it open, only to find that she had disappeared. All that was left was a fragment of a memory drifting through my mind.

            Was she real? Did I actually see her, or was this just another dream?

I never saw her again after that night, but there would be the occasional time where right as I was about to drift off to sleep, I thought I would hear her laughter. Or as I was going about my chores, I might catch her out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned, Susan K. Marlow would be nowhere in sight.

            No matter what had happened, I never told a soul, and I don’t think I ever will.