by MJ Ware
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Brother's Keeper
“Bradley!" I yell at my little brother, "where’d you put my sled?”
Bradley's green eyes glare. “I already told you, I didn’t take it.”
We've only been at the cabin for a day and already my big Christmas present is missing. Steel runners, composite frame, even a steering harness, it was awesome. Until it disappeared. “I know you took it. If I find it outside, you’re never borrowing it again.”
“Again? You’d have to let me actually use it before I could borrow it again.”
“Zack, I’m sure you just left your sled somewhere,” Mom says without looking up, too busy rummaging through cabinets trying to figure out where everything's stored. “Did you check outside?”
“Yes, I looked out all the windows; it’s gone.” I grip my mug of hot cocoa, trying to get some feeling back into my fingers.
“Well, maybe you should go outside and look.”
“Maybe Bradley should, he’s the one who left it out—”
“Did not,” Bradley snaps. “But if I find it, you’ve gotta let me ride it too.”
“Did too. And you better go look now, ’cause if it gets covered with snow, we’ll never find it.”
“There’s going to be a major storm tonight,” Dad says, looking up from the paper. “I’ll check around for the sled. I need to bring in more firewood anyway.” He heads out of the kitchen and down the stairs that lead to the front door.
Mom picks up from dinner while I make faces at my little brother.
“Do you hear that?” Mom asks.
“Hear what?”
“I think it’s the door,” Bradley says, getting up.
“I’ll get it.” Pausing just long enough to push my brother back into his seat, I run down the stairs toward the front door. The cabin sits on the side of a hill with the main floor on top of the garage, so a really long stairway leads down to the door.
Opening the door, I see my dad with a stack of firewood so high, the top of his head is barely visible. “Whew, I’m glad you heard me from up there. I was really pounding. I think the doorbell’s broken.”
“Where’s my sled?” I ask.
“Sorry, sport, couldn’t find it.”
Poking my head out the door, I glance around outside. No sled, just gray storm clouds gathering around the cabin.
I get upstairs just as Dad's throwing another log into the big red brick fireplace. He shakes the snow off his jacket. “Hope I got enough wood to last all night.”
Everyone sits around an old pine coffee table. “Zack, come play.” Bradley holds up a worn pack of Uno cards.
“Not with you, you sled thief—” I'm about to say more when I catch the look in Dad’s eye. I know I’m about to get it, so I take off for my room.
The cabin has two big rooms in front that sit over the garage, with a great view of the lake. Bradley’s afraid of sleeping in a strange place, so he got the room next to Mom and Dad. That leaves me with the dinky back bedroom. No view, just a half-window that looks onto snow-covered pines.
I'm deep in thought about how ticked I am at Bradley for losing my sled when I trip over it.
Lying on the ground, grabbing my throbbing knee, seems to jog my memory. Now I remember dropping the sled in my room after coming inside. Mom was yelling at me for tracking snow through the cabin. I left it here to keep it away from my little brother.
I feel kinda bad. I mean, sure, statistically speaking, it’s almost always the little brother’s fault—except this time.
I can make it up to him by letting him ride it tomorrow. I just need to make sure no one finds out it was here all along, or I’ll be in the doghouse for the whole trip.
Sitting on the floor, I grab my sled and push it way back under the bed's old rusty steal frame.
Once my knee stops aching, I think about going to play cards with the family, but decide I don’t feel like it. For a moment, I even consider telling my brother sorry, but that thought is quickly replaced with figuring out how to get the sled out without anyone noticing.
The best option seems to be waiting until everyone’s asleep and then dumping it outside.
I play Tetris on my phone until Mom comes in to tell me goodnight. “You know, you really shouldn’t be so hard on your bother. You’re lucky to have one.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don't tell me again how terrible it was to be an only child,” I say, not looking up from my game. “Night, Mom.” I hear her blow me a kiss as she leaves.
After waiting like thirty minutes, I decide it’s probably safe to go take the sled out. I figure I’ll leave it somewhere Dad might think he just overlooked it.
Sled in hand, I tiptoe toward the front of the cabin. As I'm passing the kitchen, there's a sound at the front door. Someone’s down there. I dash back before I’m seen.
After several minutes of silence, I figure it’s safe to try again.
Slowly, I descend the stairs, my sled in hand. Every time a step creaks I stop and count to ten before moving on.
The big oak door is slightly ajar; closed, but not enough to latch. That noise must have been Dad carrying more wood up. He must not have closed it all the way.
Outside it’s pitch black. The wind howls and the only things visible are snow flurries flying in crazy patterns.
My PJs and slippers aren't exactly cold weather gear. The chill is already stinging my ears. I can’t wait around for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Feeling the shingle siding with my one free hand, I head around the side of the cabin, looking for somewhere to put the sled.
As my eyes begin to adjust, shadows appear in the trees, the wind moving them in fits and bursts; they look like angry vipers poised to strike.
I know under a tree's the best place to put my sled, but I’m having a hard time convincing my feet. The bitter bite of the cold wins out over fear, and I step into the snow, toward some trees about half a basketball court away. Before I get five feet, something rustles in the bushes. It’s unmistakable, not wind, but something moving.
What type of animal—or monster—would be out on a night like this? If it's growling, I can’t hear it over the wind. I don’t wait around to find out. Dropping the sled, I dash inside and lock the door, listening for the click as I turn the deadbolt.
Lying back in bed, I look out the window. Most of it has iced up; all I can see is dark shadows violently tossing snow around.
I try to figure out why I can’t sleep. Then, as my mind begins to wander, a sound creeps into the room. A tap, tap, tapping.
Sitting bolt upright in bed, I listen. The only sound now is anger in the wind as it pummels the treetops.
It must have been my imagination; maybe frozen snow battering the window.
Sleep almost comes, when I hear it again. Tap, tap, tap. Looking at the dreary window, it seems as if the shadows are creeping closer. I throw the blankets over my head.
Whatever it is, it can’t be an animal. Because of the hill, outside the house that side window is pretty far up.
I tell myself, it must be hail, maybe a tree branch, batted around in the wind.
I sit and listen. As if on cue, it starts. Tap, tap. This time it continues: Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap—softer now, almost desperate.
Still under the covers, I reach for my headphones. Tap, tap, tap. The sound drills into me; I feel it in my gut.
I put the earbuds in. Tap, tap, tap.
I plug them into my phone. Tap, tap, tap.
I quickly select a song. Tap, tap—the sound is driven out by music.
By the light of my phone, I setup a playlist of music that I might be able to sleep to. Then turn it down as low as I dare. I won’t hear that sound again. That tap, tap, tap. But there it is, still echoing in my head.
I try to sleep, but the tapping won’t leave me alone. I can’t hear it, but it’s still there. I know it is, calling out to me—desperate for my attention.
I don't sleep well, I keep having this dream that a branch bre
aks through the window. Snow and ice howl into the room. The branch reaches in for me like a monstrous bark covered hand. After many restless hours, I finally wake up. I sit up in bed and the aroma of pancakes drifts down the hall.
I jump out and dash for the kitchen, hoping to make it before my brother eats all the bacon.
Mom and Dad sit at the table, coffee and OJ in hand. I smile at the big plate of bacon sitting between them.
“Oh good, you’re up, honey,” Mom says, “Between you and your brother, I thought breakfast might get cold.”
“Some storm we had last night, huh?” Dad puts down his mug. “Woke me up a few times.”
I pile way more than my share of bacon onto my plate, then put a piece or two back. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep well either.”
“Can’t put if off any longer; we need more firewood.” Dad looks down at my plate. “I better wake Bradley up before he misses out on breakfast.” His slippers make a shuffling sound on the wooden floor as he heads toward the front bedroom.
Silent and still, I sit looking at my plate. Pancakes with blueberry syrup, scrambled eggs cooked in beacon grease. It all looks so good, but I don't know—I just can’t eat.
Mom looks at me and puts a hand on my forehead, “Zack, don’t you feel—”
“Where’s Bradley?” Dad suddenly appears in the room. “Susan, have you seen Bradley? He’s not in his room.”
“What? Where could he be?” Mom stands up. “Zack, you don’t know where your brother is, do you?”
“Who, me? Did you check under his bed? He’s such a big chicken. Maybe—”
“His coat’s gone, but the rest of his clothes are still hung up.” Dad’s putting on his jacket and shoes.
“You don’t think he went outside?” Mom says, turning off the stove.
“I don’t know. Where else he could be?” Dad’s already heading down the stairway, gloves and scarf in hand. “You two get dressed and meet me outside.”
Mom's face turns pale as snow. "Didn't you say the doorbell was broken?"
I run to my room and put my jacket and ski pants over my PJs. When I reach down for my boots, I almost throw up.
I start to lose my balance and sit on my rear to get my boots on. Something’s missing. No tap, tap, tap.
I grab my cap and run down and out the front door. Dad’s coming back from across the street.
“Zack, check the left side of the house, I’ll go right. We’ll meet up around back.”
“No Dad, let’s go together…” but he’s already taken off.
“Bradley!” Dad's voice echoes through the trees.
Slowly, my feet carry me around the cabin, as if they’re on automatic. I round the corner, and there’s my sled. Not where I left it, but upright against the wall, right under my window.
Standing on it, my little brother, covered in frost, like a Popsicle left in the freezer too long. Arms, hands, fingers, reaching up to the window outside my bedroom. He's still, slumped upright, not moving. Tiny fingers motionless, frozen to the bottom windowsill.
In my head I still hear tap, tap, tap.