Bravery In My Home
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I was in the kitchen, making tea. I had been there for a while and my back hurt from leaning over to reach into the cupboard; it would have helped if someone else could make me some more cups of tea! But no one ever came near this room except when they wanted something or needed help with their own work.
It made sense really as that’s where all the food is kept so you can’t go wandering around here without permission. And anyway, who’d want to wander through our house? We don’t even have any furniture apart from beds and tables but we do have lots of books which are stacked up on shelves along every wall.
All sorts of different subjects: history, geography, science… Even though I’m only ten years old, I’ve read most of them already because Mum says she doesn’t know how many times Dad has tried to tidy away his things before he finally gave up trying. He just keeps adding new ones too – not like him at all!
Anyway, I got out three mugs and put two teabags into each one. Then I took down four plates off the shelf above the sink and placed them next to the table ready for whoever might come by later today. The plate nearest me was covered in writing – words written across it using a black felt tip pen.
At first glance, I thought they were names but then I realized what they actually said. They’re instructions about how to eat properly. You see, everyone eats differently here. Some people use knives and forks (like us), and others prefer spoons or chopsticks.
There must be hundreds of variations depending on your country and culture. So far, nobody seems to mind much. Everyone just gets on with eating however they feel comfortable doing it. As long as we all get enough to eat, that’s good enough for me.
When I looked closer, I saw that these particular instructions weren’t very clear. One of the lines started with ‘First cut’ and another line ended with ‘Second slice’. That didn’t seem right somehow. Why should anyone need to write such complicated directions? What did it matter whether you sliced your bread horizontally or vertically?
Or why couldn’t you just tear pieces off instead of cutting them neatly into little triangles? Maybe I’ll ask Mum sometime. She always knows everything and never forgets anything either. Ever since I can remember she’s been telling me stories about her childhood and other places she used to live.
Sometimes she tells me about people called Grandma, Uncle Tom, and Auntie Mary, but sometimes she talks about herself too. For example, once she told me how she met Daddy and how they fell in love and decided to move here together.
Once they arrived, they found an empty house and moved straight in. No sooner had they unpacked than they bought some fruit trees and planted them outside, and then built a fence around the garden so none of the animals could escape.
After that, they began building walls inside the house until eventually, they had created separate rooms for themselves – living quarters, bedrooms, and bathrooms. When I asked them why they said it was because they liked having their own space.
They also explained that they preferred to keep the rest of the house open plan so that everyone could share the same big room. This way, we could talk and play games together whenever we wanted to. To be honest, I think it sounds pretty boring compared to the houses I’ve seen in films and TV programs.
Most of those families seemed to spend most of their time indoors watching telly or playing computer games. Anyway, after that day, the house became ours and although it still looks the same now, I wonder what will happen tomorrow. Will we build another wall somewhere else? Or maybe knock down some of the existing ones? Who knows?
As I stood there staring at the writing on the plate, I suddenly heard footsteps coming toward me. A moment later, I turned around and saw Dad standing behind me holding a tray full of steaming hot drinks. “Hello,” he smiled. “Have you finished yet?”
“Yes!” I replied excitedly. “Thanks.”
He handed me a mug and sat down opposite me at the table. He sipped his coffee and sighed happily. “Ahh, that’s better. Now let’s enjoy this lovely weather whilst we can.”
We both stared out of the window at the garden. From where we were sitting, we could see the whole thing stretching out below us. Not a single tree or bush obstructs our view. Just grass and flowers everywhere. On the far side of the lawn, there was a small pond surrounded by colorful plants and bushes.
Beyond that, the land rose gently upwards and disappeared into the distance. Far beyond that, the sky stretched its blue-grey arms wide and yawned invitingly. It reminded me of the sea when the tide goes out, except without any waves crashing against the shoreline.
Instead, the ground sank away into the horizon and left only the sand and pebbles exposed. In fact, almost every inch of the landscape was like that. Sand dunes, rocks, hills, and valleys. And not a soul in sight.
Dad drank more of his tea and continued gazing out of the window. Then he looked back at me and smiled again. “I’m glad you came over, son. I needed someone to help me carry these things from my car.”
At that point, I noticed something strange about him. His face wasn’t quite right. If I squinted really hard, I could make out the outline of his features beneath the skin. But if I blinked quickly, or even tried to look elsewhere, then it would disappear completely. Even though it was difficult to see, I knew exactly what it meant. We’d been here before…
***
It happened five years ago. The morning after we first visited the beach. As soon as we stepped out onto the sand, I felt a familiar tingling sensation all over my body. At the time, I assumed it must have come from the sun shining brightly above us. However, looking back, I realize that it was actually caused by the presence of ghosts nearby. Like the one who had spoken to me earlier today.
The feeling grew stronger and stronger until finally, I realized that it was emanating directly from Dad himself. My eyes widened in surprise. How could that be possible? Wasn’t he dead already? Hadn’t I watched him die last night? Yet here he was, alive and well, smiling at me.
Even stranger, I could feel the same kind of tingle coming from myself. I glanced up at Dad and saw that he was wearing the exact same expression I wore when I was a ghost. A mixture of disbelief and confusion. Only this time, there was no mistaking it. I definitely hadn’t died. Nor did I intend to. There was absolutely nothing wrong with me whatsoever. So why was I experiencing the same feelings as him? What was going on here…?
A few moments later, I remembered. Five years ago, when I first discovered that I was a ghost, I spent several days wandering aimlessly through the house, trying to figure out what had happened. Eventually, I managed to work everything out and understood exactly what was happening to me.
However, just like now, I didn’t know whether anyone else could sense me. After all, I couldn’t find any evidence that Mum or my friends could detect my presence either. But for some reason, Dad appeared to be able to do so instinctively.
“So how long are you staying?” asked Dad eventually.
Before I could answer, the doorbell rang. Instantly, Dad jumped up and hurried across the hall to open it. Moments later, two men walked inside. They carried large trays filled with food which they placed carefully on the kitchen countertop.
Both of them were dressed smartly in suits and ties. One of them was older than the other; probably in his mid-forties. The younger man was maybe thirty years old. He was tall and slim, but still muscular enough to give off an air of authority. His hair was short and neatly trimmed, while his beard was neat and tidy too. He gave me a friendly smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Jones.”
“Hi, guys,” said Dad, shaking their hands. “How can I help you?”
They exchanged pleasantries, then the older man spoke again. “Well, we’ve brought you a little treat. Hope you don’t mind.”
My dad laughed. “Not at all! Please, go ahead. Help yourself to whatever takes your fancy. You’re very welcome here.”
With that, the two men headed straight towards the dining room. I followed behind them, curious to see what was on offer. Once inside the spacious room, I stopped in my tracks. Everything was covered in red paper and white bows.
There were plates piled high with sandwiches, bowls full of crisps and chocolates lined up next to jars of sweets. And there was a huge cake sitting proudly in the center of the table. It was decorated with white icing and pink roses. On top of it sat three candles – one for each year since Mum’s death.
All around the edge of the table stood piles of presents. Each one had a tag attached to its ribbon. Some were wrapped in shiny gold paper, others in plain brown packaging. Still more gifts had ribbons tied around their boxes, while a couple of them simply bore handwritten notes.
As I began to read them, I suddenly became aware of the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Then, seconds later, another pair of feet entered the room. This time, they belonged to a woman. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties.
Her blonde hair was cut into a stylish bob, and she was wearing a black dress with a small bow at the neckline. Unlike the other guests, however, she seemed to be carrying a baby in her arms. Judging by the size of the bundle, it had to be a newborn child.
I recognized the voice immediately. “Mum!”
She smiled warmly at me. “Hello, honey. Are you having fun?”
For a moment, I hesitated before answering. Why would my mother be visiting me? Surely she should have been with Dad right now. Or perhaps somewhere else entirely. Instead, she’d chosen to spend her day alone with me. Perhaps because I needed comforting. Maybe she wanted to make sure I was okay after losing both of my parents within such a short space of time…
Whatever the case, it made me happy to see her. Even if I wasn’t quite certain about where she came from.
“Yes,” I replied finally. “It’s great seeing everyone together like this. Especially Grandma and Gramps.”
Grandpa and Gran were seated opposite us. They were holding hands and smiling happily at one another. Their eyes met mine briefly, then they returned their attention to the party games being played nearby. My grandfather was clearly enjoying himself.
At least, judging by the way he kept laughing whenever someone shouted out a funny joke. Meanwhile, Gran was busy showing off the new scarf she’d bought herself as a gift. As always, she wore it loosely over her shoulders, making it look even longer than usual.
A few people laughed politely, but most of them pretended not to notice. Not that Gran cared. She loved dressing up and putting on a show for everyone. In fact, she often did it without realizing it. Which meant she sometimes ended up embarrassing herself.
After a minute or so, Mum turned back to me. “What do you say we get started?”
At first, I didn’t understand what she was talking about. But then I realized she must mean the birthday celebrations. So I nodded eagerly. “Okay, let’s start eating.”
We spent the rest of the morning playing various party games. We also ate lots of delicious food, drank plenty of tea and coffee, and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. By lunchtime, the whole family had gathered around the table once more.
Except for this time, we weren’t just celebrating my birthday. No, today was much bigger than that. Today marked the end of an era. The final farewell to our old life. After everything that had happened, it felt appropriate to mark the occasion in style.
The mood was festive. Everyone was chatting away merrily. Although, given how many guests had arrived, some conversations were taking place in whispers. That was understandable, though. With so many relatives present, there was bound to be tension between them.
It wouldn’t take long for things to turn ugly if nobody tried to defuse the situation. Thankfully, no fights broke out during the afternoon. Not yet, anyway.
Then came the moment I’d been dreading ever since I heard about it.
“So, when are you going to tell him?” asked Auntie Pat.
Everyone fell silent. Nobody dared answer. For a second, I wondered whether she might be referring to Uncle Paul. He was the only person who knew about my father’s secret identity. Yet somehow, I sensed this conversation concerned something else entirely. Something far worse.
Auntie Pat gave the group a meaningful stare. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
Nobody responded.
“Well?” she demanded. “Are you planning to keep your promise to him?”
Again, silence descended upon the dining room.
Eventually, my cousin John spoke up. “He already knows, doesn’t he?”
My aunt frowned. “How can you possibly know that?”
John shrugged. “Because he told me last night.”
That was true enough. After all, I hadn’t slept well at that evening. All thanks to the nightmares that plagued me every single time I closed my eyes. And those dreams had been filled with blood-curdling images of murder and mayhem. Images that left me feeling sickened beyond belief.
But despite knowing the truth, I still couldn’t bring myself to admit it aloud. To anyone. Because the thought of telling the world terrified me. Terrified me almost as much as the prospect of keeping quiet.
In the end, I decided to remain silent. Just as I’d promised Dad.
Yet deep down, I knew full well that I could never go through with it. Not unless I found a way to escape. Somehow, someway. Then again, escaping sounded easier said than done. If anything, it seemed less likely than ever. Now that I was living under the same roof as the man responsible for my father’s death.
The End