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
