Blood Calls from the Unlistened Phone

A bone-chilling cold spread through my bones as I stood beneath a faded umbrella outside the wrought-iron gates of the Roberts' Villa. Today is my eighteenth birthday—the very day I was kidnapped, tortured, and killed. In my final moments before death, I summoned all my strength to call home, only to hear my mother Joyce's impatient reprimand through the receiver: "Sage, what nonsense are you up to again? Jessica's birthday banquet is in full swing—don't cause trouble!" Then came the cold click of the call ending. In that moment steeped in overwhelming resentment, I felt my soul being pulled by an unseen force. When I opened my eyes again, I had become a half-transparent vengeful spirit, clutching this umbrella that shields from sun and rain, granted seven days to return to the living world. The iron gate stood ajar, and inside erupted deafening music and laughter. I pushed open the door and stepped inside; the courtyard was festooned with lanterns and streamers, guests gathered in throngs, all eyes fixed on the girl dressed in a princess gown, the center of admiration—Jessica Roberts, the Roberts's adopted daughter, my "fake younger sister." She was laughing as she cut the enormous birthday cake, the happiness on her face stabbing my eyes with pain. "Well, look who's back." My father, Felix Roberts, spoke with unmistakable disdain, his gaze sweeping over the hem of my dress stained with dirt and dark crimson smears, his brows tightly furrowed. "Why do you look so wretched? So, where's the fake kidnapping scene this time — another cry for attention?" My mother, Joyce, hurried over, stepping back in disgust as if I were filthy trash. "Sage, can you at least be sensible? Today is Jessica's birthday, a happy day. Why do you have to come here and ruin it?" My dear elder brother Jacob, the young man who once showed me some tenderness, now frowned, his voice cold: "Hurry back and change your clothes. Don't make a scene here." No one noticed my translucent form, nor did anyone catch the faint scent of blood that still clung to me. Jessica walked over holding a glass of juice, a victorious glint hidden in her eyes, but her words were feigned concern: "Mom, Dad, Jacob, maybe Sage just ran into some trouble. Please don't speak of her that way." "Trouble?" Joyce sneered, "All her troubles are of her own making! Always so gloomy—nothing like Jessica, who is so obedient and sensible." I listened silently to their accusations, offering no defense. The burning pain from the torture still lingered in my throat, and those hideous faces and venomous words flashed relentlessly in my mind. After a long silence, I raised my head, my gaze sweeping over these three blood relatives so utterly cold, and softly said, "In seven days, you will have your wish." Her voice was soft, yet carried a chilling coldness that pierced straight through to the heart. Felix paused for a moment, then angrily retorted, "What nonsense are you spouting? If you're going to die, do it far away—don't bring misfortune upon us by dying before our eyes!" I tugged at the corner of my mouth, revealing a silent smile. I am already dead. These seven days, I have only returned to watch the bitter fruits they themselves have sown come to bloom and bear fruit.