MicroHorror

My little brother had a small party for his ninth birthday. A few of his friends from school were there, eating cake and ice cream in the back yard. Dad hung a piñata from a tree branch and they hit it with a broomstick until it spilled candy onto the grass. I wasn’t invited.

I paid my little brother a visit late that night. “Hello, Danny,” I said.

He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. “Huh? Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Danny. Your big brother Tom.”

“I don’t have a brother!”

“Ssh! You’ll wake up Mom and Dad!”

“Where are you? I can’t see you.”

“I know, Danny. I’m talking inside your head. Nobody can hear me except you.”

“Huh?”

“I’m dead, Danny. I died before you were born. On my ninth birthday.”

“What happened?”

“We went to Splashdown, the big water park in Clarksville. It’s not there anymore; they closed it and tore it down. All of my friends were there. I went down the big slide, and into the pool at the bottom. My bathing suit got caught on something, I don’t know what, down there right at the end of the slide. I fell down, and I got trapped under the water. I tried to get up, but people kept coming down the slide and landing on me. I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t breathe. Nobody came to help me–I guess they didn’t know I was in trouble. I drowned, and I died.”

“Wow… uh… did it hurt?”

“Yes, Danny. It hurt very much.”

“So… uh…”

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t Mom and Dad ever tell me about you?”

“They wanted to move on. They blamed themselves, and even though they couldn’t admit it, they wanted to forget about me and have another kid. So they had you. It’s funny–you were born exactly one year after I died. We have the same birthday. For your ninth birthday, you got cake and ice cream and a piñata. For my ninth birthday, I died. That’s not fair.”

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

“Oh, Danny. I thought you’d be smarter than that. I’m here to get what I deserve. I want what’s rightfully mine.”

“Huh?”

I woke up the next morning, yawned, stretched and got out of bed. I went downstairs. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen. Mom smiled when she saw me.

“Good morning, Danny! How does it feel to be nine years old?”

I smiled back.

“Good morning, Mom. Good morning, Dad. I feel great. What’s for breakfast?”