Neurodivergent Narratives Presents: Family Secrets Contest

A writing contest that needs you to keep this in confidence.

'Kidnapped’ - Based on a true story
By Laura Pearson

Shana snapped awake, drenched in sweat. She had the nightmare again, the one where her baby sister Tanis was kidnapped.

In the past, the dream had been nothing more than flashes of Tanis’s hysterical sobbing, while young Shana was borne away inexorably in the backseat of a car, powerless to stop or change direction.

This time was different, though. Names. Names came to mind. The woman was “Bell” and the man was “Verne.” But “Bell” hadn’t been the woman’s legal first name. They had only called her that because, at ages 4 and 2 respectively, Shana and her Tanis hadn’t been able to pronounce the woman’s full first name… What the hell was it? She closed her eyes in concentration.

Lavella.

As soon as the proper name came back to her, Shana scrambled to grab her notepad and pencil to write it down. Until now, all she had to go on was a last name, and there were hundreds of people named Campbell in the state of California. But how many Lavellas could there be?

Tanis had been nothing but a distant memory for almost 40 years. Their father was estranged, their mother had long since passed away, and their younger siblings were too young to remember Tanis at all. If it wasn’t for the birth certificate as proof, Shana might have thought her memories were invented.

Quickly, she dialed Information, gave them the names she remembered, and waited with bated breath.

It took weeks, but Shana had doggedly followed her lead. Standing on the front stoop of the Campbells’ home, Shana took a deep, steadying breath and rang the doorbell. Lavella was guarded, but invited her in for tea.

Looking around, the Campbell’s home appeared the height of ordinariness. All around the quaint mid-century raised ranch, there were framed photos of a beautiful woman at various ages. A high school graduation, a wedding, newborn babies, and first-day-of-school pictures of two young boys who must be Shana’s nephews, all evidence of an entire life lived without her. There was something familiar about this house. Deja vu. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

Lavella watched Shana looking at the photos. “I know you must be excited to meet her, but we wanted to see you first, ourselves. I bet you have a lot of questions for us.”

Yeah, like how the hell you can stand here bold as brass, having stolen my baby sister from me, for starters.

A half-smile. “A few,” was all Shana said in response.

Lavella smiled kindly. “I’m guessing you already spoke to the adoption agency. Did they tell you much?”

“Adoption agency?” Shana blankly repeated back.

The penny dropped.

Shana’s stomach fell to the floor. Her sister hadn’t been kidnapped at all.

'And Then I Realized…’
By Genya Vasilov

When I was about 10 years old, I remember when my family and I got along well. We would play board games like Monopoly, spend time watching movies, and occasionally go on outings. We were the quintessential happy family.

But then I started to notice things. You see, my parents were quite enamored with me, but I’d get an ominous feeling that they were staring at me, as if they were studying something. I was a wild creature in their eyes, waiting for my chance to pounce on them.

I never understood why they looked at me that way. Maybe I didn’t hold eye contact with them. Maybe I was easily startled by mundane things, like the dishwasher turning on. Maybe it was that I didn’t make many friends at my school, and was always alone.

Whatever the case, they still gave me that piercing look, as if they wanted to explore the inside of my soul. I wasn't sure how to respond to their gazes, so I didn’t pay much mind to it.

Until the family dinner.

The whole family was invited, and there was plenty of food to go around. Everyone seemed happy, except for me. I remember I was staring intensely at the floor the whole time.

My father noticed this, and said, “Son, stop staring at the floor. Join the rest of the family.” I did not look up, but I felt the icy glances coming from my family members. Remaining silent, I waited for the dinner to be over, so I could go to my room and watch my favorite show.

My father banged his hand on the table, and shouted, “Son, stop looking at the floor, you freak. No wonder you are a Paleface.” The rest of the family kept staring at me, waiting for my response. I chose to walk away from the family.

“Paleface,” I thought afterwards, “Why does that word bother me so much?” At the time, I didn’t understand why he called me that.

Sixteen years later, I found out the reason. You see, I never saw my reflection during the time I spent with that family. They never had mirrors, at least around me. As I matured, I wanted to find out what my reflection looked like. Eventually, I found a mirror, and saw the reason why my family had those penetrating eyes.

What I saw in that mirror was my face, but it was pale with two black holes enveloping my eyes. “Paleface…” I said to myself.

In college, one of my professors gave a lecture on the Palefaces, a group of entities that families would take them in as their own, but eventually cure them during the “family dinners.” Nobody knew why they existed, just that they deserved it, since they were unnatural.

That’s when I realized it.