Short Story: Sibling Rivalry

Here’s another piece of my Halloween creative writing. One classic theme is ghosts. I tried to make it poem but it wanted to be a short story. Not my best but not bad. I think it’s sufficiently creepy.

Sibling Rivalry

He told them I ran away. That after so much death I couldn’t bear to stay here anymore. There was only so much tragedy a fragile creature like me could bear. He was entirely wrong. I was in a dark place back then, being squeezed by my despair. Later I wasn’t strong enough to do anything about it. I’m not fragile anymore.

Years have ticked by while he let my home go to ruins. The front porch is warped and one of the windows is broken. The house creaks and groans with age and neglect. Dust and cobwebs are everywhere. My grandmother’s antique mirror is fractured. The piano I played for so many years sits forgotten in a corner. I run my fingers along the keys. It hasn’t been tuned in years but the music brings me back to happier days.

Almost asleep in his drunken stupor he starts. “Who’s there?” He stumbles out of his recliner and looks around. He doesn’t see anyone, not yet. He goes back to watching football, convincing himself it’s the cat he got to keep away mice. He doesn’t know I ran that cat off days ago.

The floor creaks under by feet. I shut the closet door. Cats can’t close doors. The sound of movement gets him out of his seat. He switches off the TV and quietly grabs the gun he always keeps nearby. He doesn’t say anything this time.

He wanders through the hallway, checking the doors and windows. Nothing on this floor but what about upstairs? You never did fix that window or trim back that tree. How many times have kids tried to mess with this house? Better make sure.

Most of the bedrooms haven’t been used in years. He doesn’t even have to go into them to see nothing’s been disturbed, just check the dust. Nothing here, not a soul as far as you can see. He goes back down to watch TV.

I creak open the door to the basement and feel the stairs groan under my feet. I know he hears me. For years he avoided coming down here alone. Too many memories, too much fear. Possibly guilt or regret but I have my doubts. Enough years passed without any consequence that he relaxed. He never felt totally comfortable down here but he stopped being afraid. One of his many mistakes.

I hear him swearing and threatening whoever is sneaking around in his house. I don’t doubt he’s had enough to drink to shoot someone. I’m hoping he does. It will get the neighbors over here faster. He turns on the light, whipping around with his gun drawn. I come out silently from under the stairs.

Shock. Disbelief. Confusion. Fear. “No. You can’t be here. You’re dead! I buried you!” He’s shaking so much he almost drops the gun.

I regard him calmly. “I know you buried me. You’re standing over my bones right now.” He jumps and dances around as though what’s left of my body will rise up and grab him. I move further out from under the stairs. “You’re the reason I’m buried here. You remember that, don’t you?”

Shaking, he nods. I smile as I continue. “You became a real piece of work after you moved out all those years ago. Drinking, lying, stealing, fighting. Showing up drunk to mama’s funeral. Expecting daddy to bail you out of jail while he was dying of cancer. You were nothing but a burden on our family. I stayed here with our father until he died. I took care of him, I planned the funeral. I didn’t see you until the will was read, when you could get your share. Were you really that surprised you got nothing?”

“That wouldn’t stand for you, no not at all. That’s why you came back here, to my home. When you couldn’t make me leave, you wrapped your hands around my throat until I couldn’t fight you anymore.”

My brother was shaking his head. I think he was close to crying. I was no longer calm. I was angry. The fire of my anger was sucking some of the heat out of the already dank basement.

“Your big mistake was bringing me down here to bury me. No one would look here, you wouldn’t let them on the property long enough but I couldn’t leave. I’m anchored to my bones. I’ve been trapped here with you for years. It’s taken me a long time to work up enough strength but over time I learned to move things.”

I looked up the stairs at the basement door. It slammed shut. My brother started muttering incoherently. He was scared for his life. I was glad. “I also learned to do other things like tie off rope.” I reached behind a box of old engine parts and pulled out a perfect noose.

“Oh god no!” he cried. “I don’t want to die.”

I looked at him coldly. “Neither did I.”

He fired the gun, his fear making the shots go wild. The ones that did hit me went right through me. I waited until the gun was empty. I knocked it out of his hand and threw the noose around his neck. He tried to run but I pulled tight, throwing him off his feet. He lay there shaking, begging for his life.

I threw the end of the rope over a rafter and pulled with a strength I hadn’t known in life. I tied off the end on the stair rail. I tossed an old chair close near his feet.

His eyes bulged as the life slowly drained out of him. Taking a wax pencil I wrote my name on the wall. I took my hands and raked my fingers into the hardened dirt of the basement floor.

I’d heard him make an appointment with his parole officer for tomorrow. When he didn’t show, they would come here looking for him. Someone would finally discover my bones and bury what was left of me with my family. I’d sold off my brother’s plot to pay for my father’s funeral. His remains would be the state’s problem.

The final shades of life were draining from my brother. Revenge, while enjoyable, was never my reason. I’d never had the darkness my brother did, at least not in life. I wanted to be free of him, free of this world. I hoped now I would finally get my chance. I go upstairs to watch from the window.

Music: The Forgotten by Nox Arcana