Chapter 3Strange Nightgowns

That evening, my sister came home sobbing uncontrollably.

It turned out that her boyfriend of four years had dumped her.

The reason?

He said she was ugly.

“Mom! I can’t live like this anymore!” she wailed. “How is it that you’re so gorgeous, but my sister and I turned out like this? Are you even our real mom?”

Mom avoided her gaze, brushing it off with a casual excuse. “Oh, don’t blame me—it’s your dad’s fault. He passed on all the bad genes to you.”

But we’d never even met our dad. Not once in our entire lives.

“I don’t care!” my sister screamed. “Mom, everyone says your silk nightgowns can make women beautiful! I want to wear one too! I want to be just as stunning as those girls next door—you know, the ones who work at the nail salon? I’ll show Jason what he’s missing!”

She begged and pleaded, demanding a silk nightgown so she could “transform,” but Mom refused. She wouldn’t explain why, only mumbling something about it being “for her own good.”

Of course, my sister wasn’t having any of it.

That night, she dragged me out of bed, shaking me awake. “You’re coming with me. We’re stealing one of those nightgowns.”

“I know where Mom hides them,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “They’re in the basement under the storage room. Once I get my hands on one, I’ll look just like Mom—beautiful, with a perfect body. Jason will regret ever leaving me!”

She was already imagining her ex crawling back to her.

I, on the other hand, was panicking. “What if Mom catches us?” I whispered, trying to talk her out of it.

But she wouldn’t listen.

The storage room was far scarier at night. When the hidden door creaked open, the narrow staircase leading to the basement was pitch black. We stood at the top, staring into the darkness. Neither of us dared to take the first step.

Finally, the temptation to be beautiful won out, and my sister mustered up her courage. She ran her hands along the damp walls, making her way down blindly, step by step.

Every few steps, she’d glance back at me, her face pale, as if she expected some terrible creature to leap out from the shadows and drag her away.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, either.

I’d seen how other people cared for silk fabric—how they’d hang it out in the sun to keep it fresh and dry.

So why did Mom’s silk nightgowns have to be stored in such a dark, creepy basement?