Hi awanami08, this little thing here is a gift for you – that will leave you downright unsatisfied and craving for more, I know – because this scene was inspired by a comment of yours (more specifically by a word you wrote in a comment).

Did you notice I love time jumps as much as I love foreshadowing?

Chapter 24 – Only I am to Blame

Little Claire couldn't shrink any more.

It was a rare cool night of a summer that, until a few days prior, had been cursed by a row of the worst scorchers in decades. Only in a couple of months Claire would start her very first year at school while Chris would attend third grade, so they were adamant to the nth degree to enjoy every remaining day of vacation, without any compromises. Overall, they were doing pretty good, especially because, not having to go to school nor kindergarten, their parents let them stay up even until eleven p.m.!

The young Redfield children, allowed to safely play outside only after the sunset, had decided to go camping. Since they were still too young to go by themselves and since their parents had been particularly busy that summer with all the work the enlargement of the new Umbrella's underground facility required from all the personnel, the two siblings had brought the camping home. On the first-floor, angular terrace to be specific.

It was nothing compared to the awesome on-the-road vacation in Peru they'd had the previous summer, but still better than watching TV all day long.

It had taken a while to build the pillow fort and all the bedsheets they could find in their drawers but, in the end, they succeeded to concoct a pretty functional fort. Using the outdoor bench and the narrow, square garden table as impromptu wall and pillar, they splayed the colourful fabrics to finally put up what looked like a fusion of a messy laundry pile and a Mongolian tent. Shaded by the leafy trees surrounding their home, the textile building had remained comfortably cool during the last hours of daylight, and it sparkled with magic as, after dinner, they turned the lights on along with a pair of bug zappers.

Armed with two torches, a pitter-patter of tiny feet invaded the terrace and nestled in the homemade fort to let the exclusive camping begin. Of course, not before having promised their mother they wouldn't lean out the banister or bother the neighbours with their hollers.

"They were surrounded!" Chris exclaimed, with his childish voice that already bore a hint of the croaky tone teenage would've gifted him of years later. He held the torch under his chin, even though the whole fort was immerged in a delightful golden dim light and played the role of the storyteller with great commitment. "Zombies were all around and blood dripped down their mouths!"

Claire was listening all curled up behind a big pillow that had the arduous task to grant her shelter from those horrid monsters her older brother's fantasy summoned. Only her big blue eyes and the ginger pigtails peered and the little girl made great effort to hide how hard she was shuddering to that "super true story uncle Will told me" that Chris was so vividly recounting.

Mommy had told her that ghosts aren't real and Daddy had shown her that there were no monsters under her bed – aside from the chopped head of her least favourite doll – but nobody had told her that zombies were science-fiction stuff too. Actually, she was pretty sure she'd never heard of zombies at all. Chris seemed to know a lot about them instead, and she had figured out they were some weirdos stumbling around to bite brains and stinking like poo. And this was more than enough to put her in deepest terror.

"Brains! Brains! The zombies screamed. The kids couldn't run away anymore, the school was overrun! They were aaaaaall gonna die!" Chris continued, grimacing in the whitish light he upcasted on his face. He was pretty satisfied with the rising suspense and jitters he'd elicited in his little sister with his tale. Uncle Will would've been so proud of him! "Then the zombie with no eyes, walked to old John..."

"A-and?" Claire stuttered, regretting her curiosity on the spot. She didn't really want to know what the brain-eater did to the janitor.

Chris shifted onward and towards her. "It grasped him by the neck..." He sinisterly whispered and dramatically waited for the suspense to rise and choke his little audience.

Claire gulped down but didn't dare to blink. She only hid more behind her fluffy shield while her chubby tiny hands wringed the hem of her cute skirt.

The little boy dashed towards her and casted the light straight into her terrified eyes."...And it bit him in the throat!" he screamed and reached out a hand to mimic what the zombie had just done to old John. "AAAAARRRRFFFF!"

Suddenly blinded and attacked by fears come to reality, Claire winced and jolted backwards screaming on top of her lungs and, instinctively, threw her pillow against Chris in an attempt to somehow defend herself from those horrible stories.

Chris tittered in gloating satisfaction for no more than half a second, until he noticed that Claire not only didn't allude to stop screaming but also was weeping and shuddering in fear. He hadn't even the time to try to console her, that the blonde head of Lily broke into the tent of terrors, worried by those screams she'd heard even from her husband's office. She was met by the sight of a crying little girl and an innocently dumbfounded-looking little boy. Lily considerately took the sobbing little Claire in her arms and cooed to calm her down, gently patting her back to reassure the child that mommy was there.

"What happened, Chris?"

The eight years old boy wished to just disappear for the shame and the guilt. His look dropped to the ground without giving any answer.

"Christopher, tell me what you've done." Lily repeated, speaking over her daughter's cries.

"I was telling a story, Mom." He murmured, turning off the torch and putting it away. Playtime was over.

"Which story?"

The boy hesitated a little but lastly, he gave in to sincerity. "Uncle Will's zombies one." He admitted, overwhelmed by guilt.

The bare mention of zombies was enough to provoke another wave of deafening cries and sobs, so Lily took Claire away, earnestly commanding her son to destroy the fort and tidy up the terrace.

Once alone, the kid began blaming himself and vented all his frustration on every pillow he came across, kicking them against the banister with all his anger. Before any of them would've fallen on those Robert's beloved flowerbeds right below the terrace, getting him another punishment, Chris calmed down and finished the chore his mother had commanded. As he closed the glass door of the terrace, he found his mother waiting for him in the corridor. Lily calmly approached and knelt before her son who looked at her like a battered puppy. Her hand affectionately rubbed his shoulder to let him know she wasn't angry. She was pissed off, of course, but just not with her firstborn. As she stretched a loving smile to her little boy, Lily inwardly grinned at the thought of the "well-mannered" merciless earful that overgrown asshat of her brother-in-law would've received on the next Sunday meal for daring cultivate her son's taste for horror.

"Christopher, Claire is too young for the stories uncle Will tells you." The woman said with softness and reproach at the same time.

"I didn't think it'd scare her, Mom!" Chris whimpered in his defence. "It doesn't scare me…"

"But Claire is not you." Lily candidly replied. "Don't expect her to behave like you'd do. She is Claire. You are Chris."

"But she told me to…"

"What if she told you to watch her put a finger in the socket?" Lily asked, keeping her voice firm and serious. "Would you let her do it?"

"Well, no, but…" Chris frowned, foreseeing where his mother was going with her rebuke.

"You are the oldest one, Christopher. You should know what is good for her and what is not, until she can do it on her own." The woman concluded.

Chris slowly raised his look into his mother's and, lastly, nodded.

Chris spat the minty foam in the sink and resumed brushing his teeth as he mumbled to himself. The sulky boy in the mirror was all frown and pout. His mother had told him she'd put Claire to sleep, but Chris couldn't just go to bed without apologising – just like he couldn't go without flossing.

What if Claire had zombie-nightmares? It would've been al his fault! Then Mom and Dad… No, no, no! He had to tell her zombies don't exist and that she had absolutely, for no reason on Earth, to dream of them! He was a good brother! He couldn't stand truth being otherwise.

Like a basketball player, Chris hastily threw his toothbrush into the glass and left the bathroom to sneak into his little sister's room. He'd floss the following morning.

That night, the flamingo lamp was still on, as it'd remained any time the invisible-to-adults bad dude under the bed had come to torment Claire's slumber. The thinnest pinkish halo filtering through the crack between the door and the floor only confirmed that his sister was still terrified to death. Chris imagined her shuddering and whimpering in fright inside her bed and thinking bad of him. He needed to make it not happen!

Chris grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open. Right at the foot of the headboard, there was a little bundle, the size of a big watermelon, with little Claire inside, lying down all curled up.

"Pssst… Claire!" Chris whispered, closing the door. "Are you asleep?"

A rustle of blankets and shy "no" encouraged the boy to come closer, climb onto the bed and crawl towards her.

"I'm sorry." He said, sitting on his heels right next to his sister. "I didn't want to scare you."

"Ok." The little girl mumbled.

"Don't be scared!" Chris added.

"Ok…"

"Zombies don't exist!" Chris jabbered. "They're not real! Believe me!"

"I know. Mommy said it too." Claire sniffled and rubbed her eyes, still reddened by tears. "But… why do those ugly stories exist then?"

Chris shrugged. Honestly, he had no clue. He only knew those tales were super fun to tell, but he couldn't tell why.

"You just don't think about them, ok?" he said. "And don't dream about them! Just forget!"

"I'll try." Claire murmured, not sure about how to forget things.

Heartened by the sight of his sister not shuddering and not crying anymore, the young boy said goodnight and beckoned to crawl away from where he'd come but the tiny hand that grasped his pyjamas' pants stopped him. With a twist of his neck, Chris looked at the small, chubby fist that held him and raised his eyes to meet her begging ones.

"Can you stay here?" Claire pleaded, with all her voice, pout, eyes and self.

Chris remembered he had left the light on in his bedroom, hence he should've gone to at least turn it off, but he didn't feel like asking her to let his pants go. And even less he wanted her to see him leave her alone – even if for just a moment.

"Sure." He replied and slid underneath the blanket, right next to her.

Now the flamingo lamp could finally go to sleep too.

Cool down, guys, cool down. I know it's a ridiculously short chapter. This was meant to be just "part 1" of chapter 24, but because of its meaning in the overall context of the third act, it deserves a standalone chapter.

Anyway, I have good news for you as chapter 25 is only 3 days away. "Tune" in on Saturday the 12th of December for the rest of your eXtra Xmas gift. Many "X" involved. Especially Xaori's. You can take advantage of this time and re-read "Candy Perfume Girl" as the 25th will be its direct continuation.