Sister Satan (Part III)

“Come out here.”  She was standing outside my closed bedroom door.  I was in my room playing. My stuffed animal collection was piled neatly on my guest bed while I served them tea.  “I want to show you something.”

“No.”

“This is the angel.  Come out here.  I’m not going to hurt you.”

Since it was the angel, it was probably safe.  However, the shift from angel to devil seemed to happen at the slightest provocation, like when someone coughed or if the wind changed direction.  She’d go from halo to horns in an instant and it was impossible to tell what might flip the switch.  The devil was always lurking, waiting to pull my hair or use both hands to twist my arm screaming “Red ants!  Red ants!” I opened the door. 

My sister was standing there in dad’s blue winter terry robe.  The arms of the robe were scrunched up so just the tips of her hands showed.  It was tied tightly around her waist and the bottom of the robe dragged on the floor.  She looked plaintive.  Passive.

“Follow me.”  She turned slowly, the robe hanging on the floor behind her.  I kept a safe distance.  I didn’t want to accidentally step on the robe, trip her, and get punched.

As she reached for the doorknob to mom and dad’s room, she turned to face me.

“What you are about to see is a secret.  You are not allowed to tell anyone.  If you do, you will be punished.  By the devil.”  Her demeanor was still calm.  “Do you understand?”

I was terrified.  What was in there?  Did she kill mom and dad?  Was my brother tied to the ceiling?  I nodded.  We stepped into the room. 

The previously beige carpet was white with hundreds of cotton balls scattered all over the floor, like a truckload of stuffed animals had exploded.  The room was quiet. 

“This is Heaven.”  She said.  “That over there is Jesus.”

She gestured toward our brother who was standing by one of the closets in dad’s thin sky blue summer robe.  All of dad’s robes were blue.  They still are.  My brother’s arms dangled at his sides and the arms of the robe reached his waist.  Beside him was a chair dressed in mom’s robe that had been carefully zipped with a brown wig perched on top of it. 

“That’s Mary.”  She said, pointing to the chair.

“I am God.  Welcome.”