The television said we were still just under a severe thunderstorm warning, not a tornado alert. In the Midwest, no one bats an eye until there is an actual tornado warning complete with sirens. Even then, you check the storm’s path to see if your part of town is included. And then go to the basement only after going outside to look at the sky, take some pictures, and then take shelter when an actual funnel cloud is spotted on your street.

The storm wasn’t anywhere near panic levels, so the kids were in the playroom engaging in a fierce battle of Hungry Hungry Hippos while I finished up the dishes. I thought of how little things seemed to have changed from when Mavis was alive. So much of the domestic labor fell on the women, an unspoken expectation.

I closed the kitchen cabinet, went into the family room, and sat down on the couch. I watched the rain fall as I thought of my sister’s words in her notebook, and of the pleas for help from Liz on the picture.

My sister was gone, but Liz was still here. I felt that she was still in there somewhere, unable to control the darkness inside of her. The demon inside of her.

Mavis Wanneberg.

I didn’t dare say her name out loud, but I turned it over in my head. I had googled her name, in the hopes of finding some bread crumb that would help us. But there wasn’t so much as a picture of her anywhere. It was as though she hadn’t existed.

I would have thought that a woman who murdered her entire family would at least have a write-up somewhere, or a blurb on a true-crime website. Shit, they made entire podcasts about much less. But it was as though Mavis wasn’t even worthy of that. She was truly invisible.

I tried to imagine her descent into madness. Did she realize she was losing her grip on reality? The research we read on Mavis didn’t give a date for the murders, but rather: the winter.

Winters in Winchester can be long, drawn-out affairs that leave even modern-day residents begging for sunlight. Gray snow blankets the ground for months, lasting much longer than what the calendar might suggest. Houses are always drafty and cold, and that’s with modern HVAC systems.

I couldn’t imagine being alone in a farmhouse with my family in the dead of winter. The days short on sunlight, the nights long with ice and wind. And Mavis was an immigrant, far from her family, who likely didn’t know anyone. The closest house was miles away, not exactly conducive to making any friends.