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My sister went missing in 1993 - she came back, but she’s not herself & now my parents are in danger
It was April 16th 1989 when my parents, Carrie Long & Matthew Stevens, welcomed their baby girl into the world. They named her Dolores, unaware of the meaning of the name - *sorrows*. Little Dolly had hazelnut brown hair & big brown eyes. My mother often spoke of how her rosy cheeks, fair skin & pretty frilly dresses made her look identical to a porcelain doll. Even at the age of 4, people were surprised at how dainty & delicate she was. The way she was described by others, she was perfect.
Despite her being an accidental pregnancy (my parents being no older than 15 at the time), she was considered a blessing. I don’t begrudge her the love my parents have always had for her, but for once I wish I could’ve meant as much to them as she did. I never met the girl. I was born in 2005, long after she went missing. After losing Dolly & the series of miscarriages that followed, my parents had not much love left. I was born more for the sake of it than anything.
I never went a day without hearing about Dolly & my other lost siblings, too. They attempted to name some of them, but gave up after the 8th. Babies that were never born, yet I could never live up to them. Memorial decor filled our home; not that it ever felt like home to me. ‘Hazel would’ve been a beautiful girl, with hair like Doll’s’. ‘Angel would’ve had Dolly’s kind nature’. What about me? Mallory. *Molly*. I’m tall & thin, with pasty skin & beady brown eyes. I am not the beauty my sister was, but I’m here. I never left.
You can just imagine how I felt when Dolly appeared on our doorstep in January, covered in dirt. Her hair remained in pigtails & she wore a pink summer dress. Should she not be a 30 year old woman by now? She turned 5 on her birthday, but was 4 when she showed up. I stepped out of the house to go to school & saw her sitting in the front yard, as if she never left. I paused for a moment, thinking it was just some random girl. I went inside & got my dad, telling him there’s an abandoned toddler outside. Mom was showering, unaware I’d just found her long lost daughter.
“Oh my… Dolly! Dolly, is that you? Come to Daddy, babygirl, I’ve missed you so much,” he sobbed as he squeezed her tight. She didn’t react at first; only when he pulled away, looked into her eyes & said gently, “Dolly?” did she respond with an enthusiastic “Daddy!”
I was more confused than anything as I watched this all unfold. How could this child be my missing older sister? How could she just turn up 26 years later without a scratch on her & without aging a day? I tried to point this out, but no one acknowledged my protests. Needless to say, Mom was just as ecstatic as Dad had been, if not more.
Dolores was sweet in the beginning. I’d sit & watch her play & draw. She was a normal, pretty little girl. I wanted to ask what happened, but my parents insisted we move past it. They were just grateful to have their Dolly back. I for one felt more pushed out than ever.
My first real suspicion of Dolly not being *Dolly* began on the Thursday following her reappearance. I mentioned the stuffed horse she’d been known to carry around with her. She looked me dead in the eyes, then looked down at my drawing of horses in a field & tore it up, all the while screaming, “I hate horses!” over & over until the paper was practically confetti. She then looked up at me again & said in her not-so-sweet little voice, “And I hate you.”
I didn’t chase after her when she stomped upstairs to her bedroom. I just sat there, mouth agape, trying to process what had just happened. Up until then, we’d been having quite a nice time scribbling away with her crayons together. Perhaps the horse was a trigger for her? I tried not to take it personally, but the oddities didn’t stop there.
Her once thick and healthy loose curls were falling out in clumps, her ivory skin was turning a greyish, greenish blue, her adorable brown eyes were blackening, and she was getting unexplainably thinner. I tried to express my concerns to my parents, but they wouldn’t hear it. ‘Dolly hasn’t ever thrown a tantrum, stop trying to get her into trouble!’
‘Don’t say such things about your sister, nothing is wrong with her!’
The last few months have been strange, to say the least, but nothing major has happened. For the most part, I’d had a nice time hanging out with my sister, and having her around made me less jealous than before. I didn’t see her as competition anymore, just my unfortunate (older) baby sister Dolores.
That was until last Sunday. It was the night before the anniversary of the day she went missing, and I awoke to her standing beside my bed, watching me sleep. Half asleep, I asked, “Dolly, what are you doing?”
“They got rid of me. Then they replaced me with you. They have to pay.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s not your fault, Molly. It was Mommy. She didn’t see me get in the car. She left me in the woods and Daddy helped her. *They have to pay*.”
She then walked out, and went to sleep. It didn’t happen again and neither of us mentioned it. I begun researching her disappearance. The things she said, what did they mean? I thought about how she hadn’t aged and how she’d been covered in dirt when I found her. Then I thought about my mother’s history of suicide attempts near the time of Dolly’s disappearance. Then I thought about her unusually coloured skin, her hair, and her eyes.
I researched children going missing and coming back the exact same age. Dolores was one of many. All the children died mysteriously after being found, and a lot of them did some strange things before they passed. Some killed animals, family pets, siblings, family, other children their age. Or they commit arson, attacked people, or made strange art. I realised their art, actions, or weird things they said connected to their disappearances.
Maggie Price was found in her back yard, 13 years after her disappearance, still a little girl, and covered in bruises. She cut her dad’s hands off as he slept, before stabbing him in the throat. Their decaying bodies were found three days later.
There were all sorts of stories like this. It occurred to me to check Dolly’s drawings. Cars. Forests. Dirt. Shovels. Mom and Dad with ‘x’s for eyes. I ran to the garage where her toy horse was framed on the wall, then climbed into my Dad’s car. When I got to the woods closest to my house, I knew where to go. Our old dog, Ducky’s grave.
There it was. An empty hole beside his place of burial. Something had escaped. No, *someone*. I’ve been staying at a friend’s house since then. I know that I can’t stop Dolores from completing her unfinished business, or I’ll become part of it. I’m starting the grieving process for her and my parents now, to make it easier for myself when they die. To be honest, I’m going to miss Dolly most.
It was April 16th 1989 when my parents, Carrie Long & Matthew Stevens, welcomed their baby girl into the world. They named her Dolores, unaware of the meaning of the name - *sorrows*. Little Dolly had hazelnut brown hair & big brown eyes. My mother often spoke of how her rosy cheeks, fair skin & pretty frilly dresses made her look identical to a porcelain doll. Even at the age of 4, people were surprised at how dainty & delicate she was. The way she was described by others, she was perfect.
Despite her being an accidental pregnancy (my parents being no older than 15 at the time), she was considered a blessing. I don’t begrudge her the love my parents have always had for her, but for once I wish I could’ve meant as much to them as she did. I never met the girl. I was born in 2005, long after she went missing. After losing Dolly & the series of miscarriages that followed, my parents had not much love left. I was born more for the sake of it than anything.
I never went a day without hearing about Dolly & my other lost siblings, too. They attempted to name some of them, but gave up after the 8th. Babies that were never born, yet I could never live up to them. Memorial decor filled our home; not that it ever felt like home to me. ‘Hazel would’ve been a beautiful girl, with hair like Doll’s’. ‘Angel would’ve had Dolly’s kind nature’. What about me? Mallory. *Molly*. I’m tall & thin, with pasty skin & beady brown eyes. I am not the beauty my sister was, but I’m here. I never left.
You can just imagine how I felt when Dolly appeared on our doorstep in January, covered in dirt. Her hair remained in pigtails & she wore a pink summer dress. Should she not be a 30 year old woman by now? She turned 5 on her birthday, but was 4 when she showed up. I stepped out of the house to go to school & saw her sitting in the front yard, as if she never left. I paused for a moment, thinking it was just some random girl. I went inside & got my dad, telling him there’s an abandoned toddler outside. Mom was showering, unaware I’d just found her long lost daughter.
“Oh my… Dolly! Dolly, is that you? Come to Daddy, babygirl, I’ve missed you so much,” he sobbed as he squeezed her tight. She didn’t react at first; only when he pulled away, looked into her eyes & said gently, “Dolly?” did she respond with an enthusiastic “Daddy!”
I was more confused than anything as I watched this all unfold. How could this child be my missing older sister? How could she just turn up 26 years later without a scratch on her & without aging a day? I tried to point this out, but no one acknowledged my protests. Needless to say, Mom was just as ecstatic as Dad had been, if not more.
Dolores was sweet in the beginning. I’d sit & watch her play & draw. She was a normal, pretty little girl. I wanted to ask what happened, but my parents insisted we move past it. They were just grateful to have their Dolly back. I for one felt more pushed out than ever.
My first real suspicion of Dolly not being *Dolly* began on the Thursday following her reappearance. I mentioned the stuffed horse she’d been known to carry around with her. She looked me dead in the eyes, then looked down at my drawing of horses in a field & tore it up, all the while screaming, “I hate horses!” over & over until the paper was practically confetti. She then looked up at me again & said in her not-so-sweet little voice, “And I hate you.”
I didn’t chase after her when she stomped upstairs to her bedroom. I just sat there, mouth agape, trying to process what had just happened. Up until then, we’d been having quite a nice time scribbling away with her crayons together. Perhaps the horse was a trigger for her? I tried not to take it personally, but the oddities didn’t stop there.
Her once thick and healthy loose curls were falling out in clumps, her ivory skin was turning a greyish, greenish blue, her adorable brown eyes were blackening, and she was getting unexplainably thinner. I tried to express my concerns to my parents, but they wouldn’t hear it. ‘Dolly hasn’t ever thrown a tantrum, stop trying to get her into trouble!’
‘Don’t say such things about your sister, nothing is wrong with her!’
The last few months have been strange, to say the least, but nothing major has happened. For the most part, I’d had a nice time hanging out with my sister, and having her around made me less jealous than before. I didn’t see her as competition anymore, just my unfortunate (older) baby sister Dolores.
That was until last Sunday. It was the night before the anniversary of the day she went missing, and I awoke to her standing beside my bed, watching me sleep. Half asleep, I asked, “Dolly, what are you doing?”
“They got rid of me. Then they replaced me with you. They have to pay.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s not your fault, Molly. It was Mommy. She didn’t see me get in the car. She left me in the woods and Daddy helped her. *They have to pay*.”
She then walked out, and went to sleep. It didn’t happen again and neither of us mentioned it. I begun researching her disappearance. The things she said, what did they mean? I thought about how she hadn’t aged and how she’d been covered in dirt when I found her. Then I thought about my mother’s history of suicide attempts near the time of Dolly’s disappearance. Then I thought about her unusually coloured skin, her hair, and her eyes.
I researched children going missing and coming back the exact same age. Dolores was one of many. All the children died mysteriously after being found, and a lot of them did some strange things before they passed. Some killed animals, family pets, siblings, family, other children their age. Or they commit arson, attacked people, or made strange art. I realised their art, actions, or weird things they said connected to their disappearances.
Maggie Price was found in her back yard, 13 years after her disappearance, still a little girl, and covered in bruises. She cut her dad’s hands off as he slept, before stabbing him in the throat. Their decaying bodies were found three days later.
There were all sorts of stories like this. It occurred to me to check Dolly’s drawings. Cars. Forests. Dirt. Shovels. Mom and Dad with ‘x’s for eyes. I ran to the garage where her toy horse was framed on the wall, then climbed into my Dad’s car. When I got to the woods closest to my house, I knew where to go. Our old dog, Ducky’s grave.
There it was. An empty hole beside his place of burial. Something had escaped. No, *someone*. I’ve been staying at a friend’s house since then. I know that I can’t stop Dolores from completing her unfinished business, or I’ll become part of it. I’m starting the grieving process for her and my parents now, to make it easier for myself when they die. To be honest, I’m going to miss Dolly most.
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