Short Plays Magazine – <i>She Came Back</i> by William Robert Carey

Short Plays Magazine –

She Came Back by William Robert Carey

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May 15th, 2026

Short Plays Magazine Contest #2 – First Place

She Came Back

by William Robert Carey

CAST OF CHARACTERS:
MOTHER: late 30s to mid 40s
PENELOPE: Age: 17
 
PLACE
A Home in Any Town, Anywhere
 
TIME
Present Day, Evening

					SCENE

(Sfx: Rain
A dark living room containing a couch, counter or table, and a door.
Light streams through a window onto MOTHER, in her 40s, sleeping on the couch.
EFX: Lightning Flashes and Thunder. 
Sfx: A Knock at the door.)

MOTHER (doesn’t move.)

(Sfx: Knocking, louder.)

MOTHER stirs. 

(Sfx: More Knocking.)

MOTHER sits up, startled. She jumps off the couch and turns on a light. She
steps warily to the door. 

MOTHER: Hello? Who’s there?

PENELOPE: It’s me, Mom. Penelope.

MOTHER: (gasps and clutches her chest. She lunges for the door and, opening it,
 finds 17-year-old PENELOPE in dirty tattered clothing.)

MOTHER: (hugging her) Oh my God! Penelope. Oh, my darling, you’re back. You
 came back. I knew you would. Come in, come in!

 (She pulls her inside, leaving the door open). Oh my God, look at you. You look
 so pale. So thin. Haven’t  you been eating?

PENELOPE: Don’t start, Mom.

MOTHER: No, no, I won’t, honey. It doesn’t matter. You’re here. That’s all I
 care about. You can’t imagine how...how worried I’ve...

PENELOPE: I’m a big girl. You don’t have to worry about me all the time.

MOTHER: I know. I know, honey. It’s just I love you so much. I don’t want
 anything to happen to you. But your clothes. They’re...they’re so dirty
 and... We have to get you out of them.

PENELOPE: It’s not important.

MOTHER: Of course it is, sweetie. You don’t want to look like you’ve been
 dragged through a ditch. And you’ve always taken such pride in your
 appearance. All your clothes are upstairs. Your room is exactly the 
 same. I haven’t touched anything. 

PENELOPE: I thought you’d have given it to Dylan by now.

MOTHER: What? No. Never. Why would I do that?

PENELOPE: He’s your favorite.

MOTHER: No, he’s not, honey. I don’t know why you say that. You’ve always
 had the biggest bedroom, haven’t you? I always bought more clothes for
 you than him.

PENELOPE: You guys go to the movies together.

MOTHER: You used to come with us, too – when you were younger. We went
 to all kinds of movies. Lord of Rings and, uh, Harry Potter. And
 those movies with the green giant. Not the vegetable guy. You know. 

PENELOPE: Shrek.

MOTHER: Yes! You loved those. See, we went all the time. Then you didn’t
 want to go anymore.

PENELOPE: Didn’t he want it? 

MOTHER: Who?

PENELOPE: Dylan. My room.

MOTHER: No. It’s yours, honey. He didn’t care. And sometimes, I sleep in
 there.

PENELOPE: You do?

MOTHER (nods.)

PENELOPE: That’s weird. 

MOTHER: No, it’s not. It made me feel close to you. 

PENELOPE: So, you missed me?

MOTHER: Of course I did. Every day, sweetheart. Morning, noon and night.
 I even dream about you, sweetie. 

PENELOPE: Really?

MOTHER: All the time.

PENELOPE: Like what?

MOTHER: Well, let’s see. Last night I dreamt that bees were attacking you.
 It was horrible. I tried to brush them off, but you got stung all over.
 Me too.

PENELOPE: I’ve always been afraid of bees. 

MOTHER: I know. But that wasn’t as bad as when I dreamt you were drowning.
 At night. The water was so dark. I couldn’t find you. I woke up screaming
 for you.

PENELOPE: Do I always get hosed in your dreams?

MOTHER: No, no. I dream about good things too. Like your first day of
 kindergarten. Remember that? You were so excited. You put on your
 favorite pink hoody and shorts. And I bought you a Princess Bride
 lunchbox. You looked so cute. But when I dropped you off and started to
 leave, you cried your eyes out. 

PENELOPE: That’s a good memory?

MOTHER: Yes. It was sweet. You didn’t want me to leave. Don’t you think
 that’s sweet?

PENELOPE: Better than drowning, I guess. 

MOTHER: I dream about your drawings too. All the time. 

PENELOPE: What drawings?

MOTHER: What draw...? Honey, you used to draw a picture of me every day
 when you were little. Everything I was wearing.

PENELOPE: I did not.

MOTHER: You did. It was the cutest thing. Every day for almost a year you
 drew a picture of me. In whatever I was wearing that day. It was like you
 were making a record of my wardrobe. I pinned the drawings on the fridge
 or message board. All of them -- well, not the one of me getting out of
 the shower, but all the rest. I see flashes of them in my dreams. Like
 moments in time. I love them. They remind me of when you were young,
 and we were close. Like when we sat on the couch and watched TV together.
 We’d wrap ourselves in a big warm blanket and eat popcorn watching Buffy.
 I loved that. You did too. We should do it again. We’ll have a Buffy
 Marathon. Wouldn’t that be fun?

PENELOPE: Sounds cheesy.

MOTHER: (sighing) Yeah. You’re too old for that now. Too grown up to stay
 home and watch TV with your corny old mom. But you’ll always be my baby,
 honey. No matter what. But we should stop gabbing and get you out of
 those awful clothes.

PENELOPE: You never like my clothes.

MOTHER: What? No, that’s not true, honey. It’s just they’re sometimes...
 so revealing. I worry. There are bad people out there.

PENELOPE: Gramma says you wore clothes just like mine.

MOTHER: Oh, she did, huh? Gramma talks too much. 

PENELOPE: You’re a hypocrite.

MOTHER: A hypo...? I can’t believe you said that.

PENELOPE: You know what else she says: There’s nothing open past eleven
 at night but legs.

MOTHER: She said that to me too, whenever we argued about curfew.

PENELOPE: I found that tracking app you put on my phone.

MOTHER: I know. You turned it off. Why did you turn it off, honey?

PENELOPE: It was sneaky.

MOTHER: I was trying to protect you.

PENELOPE: You were trying to control me.

MOTHER: No. I...

PENELOPE: You yelled at me for smoking pot. You yelled at my friends.

MOTHER: You were doing something illegal. 

PENELOPE: Not anymore. It’s therapeutic. 

MOTHER: Not for a 17-year-old.

PENELOPE: You snooped in my room.

MOTHER: I was afraid you were taking drugs.

PENELOPE: You’re a druggie.

MOTHER: I am not.

PENELOPE: You were an Oxy-junkie.

MOTHER: That’s not fair. I hurt my back. I had a problem. But I got over it.

PENELOPE: You were like zombie, Mom.

MOTHER: I’m sorry.

PENELOPE: Not sorry enough. You’re still doing it.

MOTHER: I am not. 

PENELOPE: You look like it.

MOTHER: I take a Xanax now and then. To help me sleep. I haven’t been the
 same since you... disappeared.

PENELOPE: You got some nerve sneaking around my room.

MOTHER: You want to talk about sneaking? How about you sneaking out the window?

PENELOPE: You can’t lock me in my room looking.

MOTHER: I didn’t...! – No, no, I don’t want to fight. I’m glad you’re back.
 That’s all that... But I don’t understand. Why did you sneak out so late?

PENELOPE: It wasn’t that late.

MOTHER: Nothing good happens after eleven, remember?

PENELOPE: She didn’t say good. She said nothing is open.

MOTHER: Alicia said you going to Jack Rooney’s house. Is that true?

PENELOPE see the note tacked to the board. She pulls it off.

PENELOPE: What’s this doing here?

MOTHER: Please. I need to know. Did you go to Jack Rooney’s house? He claims
 you never got there.

PENELOPE (holds out the note.)

MOTHER: It’s the grocery list you wrote.

PENELOPE: It’s five years old. 

(She crushes and tosses it.)

MOTHER: No, please. 

  (She chases after it and un-scrabbles it.)

     It’s the last thing you wrote.

PENELOPE: You need to let go, Mom.

MOTHER: No. You’re back. I don’t have to.

PENELOPE: But I can’t stay.

MOTHER: What? No. You must. I won’t let you go this time.

PENELOPE: You didn’t last time.

MOTHER: You have to listen now. You can’t go, you hear me? You have to stay.

PENELOPE: Calm down, Mom.

MOTHER: Where are you going? Why do you have to go? Where did you go then?

PENELOPE: You need to lie down.

(She guides her back toward the couch.)

MOTHER: No. I don’t want to.

PENELOPE: You have to.

MOTHER: Please, I need to know. Where did you go? What happened to you?
 Please, tell me.

PENELOPE: You have to move on, Mom.

PENELOPE (helps her lie down.)

MOTHER: No, I won’t. I don’t want you to leave.

PENELOPE: Stop thinking about me. Stop dreaming about me.

MOTHER: I can’t! Please! You came back. You can’t go! You have to stay. I
 can’t take it anymore. 

(EFX: Lightning and Thunder)

(The room lights go out. PENELOPE backs out.)

(EFX: Lightning and Thunder.)

PENELOPE: Bye, Mom.

MOTHER: Please! Where are you going? Where did you go? I need to know!

PENELOPE (backs out of the room. The door slams shut behind her.)

(EFX: A Crash of Lightning and Thunder)

MOTHER: Penelope come back!

(She bolts upright breathing hard. She looks around the room, confused. She
 leaps off the sofa and runs to the light switch. She scans the room,
 wild-eyed. She remembers the note and looks for it. But it’s not where
 she put it. She looks at the board. It’s tacked to it. She realizes it
 was all a dream. She collapses, sobbing.)

(Blackout.)

END

About the Playwright
William Robert Carey resides in Los Angeles, California, United States.
Read the playwright's biography and The Short Play's the Thing publications on William Robert Carey's Artist Page.

Performances
To stage this play, email a query to Florencia Bay Books at info@florenciabaybooks.com. Your query will be forwarded to the playwright.

Short Plays Collection
This play is also featured in Short Plays Collection #2, published in the The Short Play's the Thing Playhouse.

Keywords: Drama, horror, 2-person

Previously published in Short Plays Magazine:
Save Me a Seat From Broadway
by Jessica Conine

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