Sophie's Necklace
- Matthew Walker
- 3 days ago
- 5 min read
A free-to-read flash fiction from the Retinue of House Walker. Originally written and published online around 2016 with the title, Sophie's Necklace. Trigger warning, this story could be described as a creepypasta. That means that it could contain all of the things that makeup a scary story.
That is why it now has a home in our archives along with other recovered and salvaged works from the era written by Matthew C. Walker under the pen name Clarence W. Matthews.
Sophie's Necklace, is a short fiction story about the consequences of even just a momentary lapse in supervision.
This story is free to read. If you enjoy it, the best way to support the Retinue is to subscribe to our channel on YouTube, join the email list, or follow along on TikTok and Bluesky.
About the Work I Should Have Worn A Different Watch
Title: Sophie's Necklace
Work Type: Flash
Length: Approximately 950 words
Status: Free to read
Releases:
Website- Free to read! (.pdf editions are available for stories that break the 5,000-7,500 word mark)
Content Note: contains mature themes and child harm.
Read Sophie's Necklace
Sophie fell asleep on the couch again.
Her mother had noticed when she came back into the living room carrying a basket of laundry. Sophie was curled into the corner between the armrest and one of the throw pillows, her knees tucked beneath her and one hand resting beside her face.
Usually Sophie fought sleep as though it were something being done to her. She would rub her eyes and insist she was not tired. She would ask for water. Then milk. Then another story. Then she would remember that one of her stuffed animals was still downstairs and she absolutely could not sleep without it.
Tonight she had simply stopped.
Her mother smiled.
She set the laundry basket down quietly.
There was still half an hour before Sophie’s usual bedtime, but moving her seemed unnecessary. If she picked her up now, Sophie would probably wake, and then the whole bedtime routine would begin again.
Better to let her sleep.
She would carry her upstairs later.
The living room looked like it usually did at the end of the day. A plastic cup sat on the coffee table beside a handful of crackers Sophie had apparently decided she no longer wanted. Most of them weren’t even crushed.
The phone charger was stretched from the wall outlet behind the couch to the end table. Her phone had been plugged in earlier, but Sophie had apparently pulled it free sometime during the evening. The little white connector lay on the couch beside her.
There were dishes still in the sink. She should do those now while Sophie was asleep.
Once the dishes were done, she wiped down the kitchen counters, packed tomorrow’s lunch, and stood for several minutes scrolling through her phone.
Every so often she glanced toward the living room.
Sophie had not moved.
It was almost funny that a child who could somehow rotate ninety degrees in her own bed during the night was sleeping perfectly still on the couch.
Her mother checked the time. She should put her to bed. She walked into the living room and crouched beside the couch.
“Sophie.”
Nothing.
She smiled again.
Out cold.
There was a strand of hair across Sophie’s cheek. Her mother brushed it away with two fingers. Sophie’s skin felt cool. Not cold, just cooler than she expected.
“Sophie?” she said again softly, touching her shoulder
The little body moved with the pressure of her hand but did nothing else. Her mother frowned. She put her hand on Sophie’s back. For several seconds she could not understand what was wrong. Then she realized what she was waiting for.
Movement, breathing, ANYTHING.
“Sophie,” she said again louder.
She shook her shoulder harder. Sophie’s head rolled slightly against the cushion. That was when her mother saw the cord. It disappeared beneath Sophie’s hair. At first she thought it was lying behind her neck. Then she saw it again. A white line running beneath her chin.
Her mother grabbed it and pulled. It did not come free. The charging cable had looped around Sophie’s neck twice. One end ran beneath her shoulder and down between the couch cushions. The other trailed across the seat toward the end table, the little metal connector pressed against the fabric near her hand.
For one impossible second her mother only stared. It looked absurd, like a necklace. Something a child might put on while pretending to be grown up. Then she saw the mark beneath it.
“No.”
She pulled at the cord. It had tightened beneath Sophie’s weight, caught between her neck and the cushion. Her fingers slipped against it.
“No, no, no.”
She lifted Sophie and dragged the cable loose. Her daughter’s head fell backward over her arm. Her mother screamed. She put Sophie on the floor because that was what she remembered you were supposed to do. Flat surface. Check breathing. Call for help.
Her phone. Where was her phone? She had been holding it, it was on the kitchen counter. She ran for it, knocking the laundry basket sideways as she passed. Clothes spilled across the floor. The emergency operator asked questions she could barely understand.
Was the child breathing?
No.
Was she conscious?
No.
How old was she?
Three, almost four.
The 911 operator told her what to do. She pressed on Sophie's chest. She breathed into her mouth, she counted, she started all over again.
The front door was still locked when the paramedics arrived, and someone had to shout at her to open it. After that, the room filled with people. Someone moved her aside. Someone cut Sophie's shirt. Someone asked how long she had been like this.
Her mother did not know.
Twenty minutes, an hour? She had checked on her. Hadn't she? She had looked into the living room several times. Sophie had been right there. Sleeping, perfectly still. Later, after the ambulance had gone and the house was quiet again, her mother sat alone on the floor beside the couch.
The laundry was still scattered where she had dropped it. One of Sophie’s tiny shirts lay near the coffee table. The charging cable was on the carpet. Someone had unplugged it from the wall. She stared at it for a long time. It was just a phone charger. White plastic, and six feet long. The sort of thing every room seemed to have now.
That morning she had stepped over it twice and told herself she needed to put it away. Now it lay curled on the floor in a loose circle. Like someone had taken off a necklace and forgotten it there.
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