Echoes of Home

For far too long I had put off my responsibilities at home for those elsewhere. Now my homecoming arrived not as that of the prodigal son but on a summons of foreclosure. This had been a shock to me, as, to my understanding, the one-room country house was owned by my younger brother. But alas, the lawyer’s message revealed that I was now the sole inheritor of the property. And so here I was, performing a final survey before the family home became that of another.

I halted, struck by the stillness of the place. What was once the epitome of my childhood was rendered into a desolation of time. The battered storm door banged shut behind me as I graced the dilapidated estate with my heavy presence. The room, achingly familiar yet alienated by time, gaped like a clouded window into the past. This was where I spoke farewell for the last time, although I did not realize it then. I can still picture him lazily sprawled out on the couch with his arm extended in farewell as I traipsed off for my adventures elsewhere in the world. His laugh echoed in my ears, the last vestiges of a parting jest tickling that spot in my soul where its wings sprouted. Oh, my brother’s laugh. There was never anything like it.

And there never would be again. I sullenly wandered through the room, absently taking notes of what furniture was there. The couch still hunkered next to the armchair, although both now took up residence close to the wood burner. The carpet was new. The old lamp upon the rickety end table was missing its bulb. Entering my mother’s kitchen, I turned the tap on and let the long-stagnant water flow over my wrinkled hand. I made another mental note that the hot water worked and the pressure was still more than adequate. Examination of the ancient fridge found it mostly cleaned out, but still ghostly cold. I took a quick peek in the freezer and noticed an empty box of fudge bars. Our favorite. A soft smile cracked my chapped lips, and I picked up the box. My brother’s incorporeal laughter sounded in my mind’s ear again, gentle and joyful, when I found it empty. I shook my head with a smirk.

That’s the sort of thing he would do: replace the empty box in the freezer. Never out of a mean spirit, although he found it funny when I eagerly picked it up in expectation of a reward. It was hard to be mean at his chuckles, especially when he let you have the first pick out of the next box. I shook myself and closed the freezer to stumble through the rest of the haunt.

In the hall, I spotted the lugubrious portraits of our dear parents, frozen as if in a trance. I lingered where I stood in the doorway and gaped, overtaken by the thin, bony fingers of emotion. I remembered being stuck in some faraway land, trapped by the responsibilities of university, as news trickled in of their misfortune. I strained to escape the clutches of my new life, but was only able to visit them after they’d been to the crossroads. My brother had already been re-ensnared by his job, although I was all too happy to let him keep the house for himself while I, again, pursued my endeavors of ambition. Now my mother’s pallid eyes stared back at me from the confines of her gilded frame, my father’s faded face frowning at her side. Were they disappointed that my decades-long excursion had yielded little remuneration? I sighed. Where was the laughter now?

Then I heard it, echoing faintly down the hallway from the dust-soaked bedroom. We were young, maybe 10, and our father lay belly-up across the mattress. Mother was complaining about the sheets draped over her arms, with a huge smile splitting her face (of course). My brother and I were writhing, as if in agony, as our father held us tightly. He flipped himself over and flopped on me, stifling my joyous screams while my brother’s beautiful laugh filled the room to bursting, swelling down the hall and flooding the rest of the dwelling.

Now the bed was made, the sheets tucked smartly under the mattress, and the quilt neatly folded around the pillows. Strangely, however, it seemed to me as if the laughter had slipped across the ostensibly insurmountable barrier of time to echo phantasmically about the decrepit bower.

Did I imagine it? I hesitated in the empty doorway, heart racing, and listened uneasily. It was, for better or for worse, absent.

I stepped down the hall to the next room. Memory informed me that it was once mine, but my eyes would not reconcile with what was in front of me. The space was barren save for the eastern wall, which was concealed by storage boxes. The warped floorboards supported a carpet no longer, and even the window blind had been unseated from its lofty throne. It was this that drew my eye, as through the naked panes, I spied another haunt. I crept closer to the window until my breath fogged the glass. The object of my fixation was the empty field behind the house. Only—it wasn’t empty. I could see my brother and me running back and forth across the grassy knoll. We bore stout sticks in our small hands as we valiantly battled against imagined opponents, vanquishing them in the name of fair maidens and noble kings.

Our laughter rang out, his most prominently, and I couldn’t help the gentle grin that tugged on my wan cheeks… but… The field was silent. The laugh that tickled my ears set the hairs on my neck on end, for it came from within the house! I backed away from the window, the memory gone, and glanced around with fevered eyes as the merry noise reverberated through the lonely building. I took several quick strides toward the hall, but by the time I reached it the only sound breaking the silence was my own ghastly breathing.

Thoroughly disturbed now, I hurried down the hall to the final room. I would finish my errand quickly and get out. However, this plan would not come to fruition, as upon crossing the threshold, it was immediately apparent that this room showed some sign of life. My heart thudded in the silent space as I realized this was where my brother had taken residence. The bed was untidy, appearing thrown together as one does after rising in the morning. There was a bottle of stale water next to a tray of vitamins on the nightstand. A faded shag rug still blanketed the scarred floorboards. A crucifix leered at me from above the window. And everything rested under a thin layer of dust. A soft chuckle echoed through the space, reminding me of my urgency, but as I turned to leave, my eye rested upon the desk. Amid the clutter of pens, bills, books, and snack wrappers lay an envelope. After a brief hesitation, I swiftly stole over to investigate. My name was written across the front, with one of my prior addresses below. A faint laugh sounded behind me, but I barely heard it. With careful, trembling fingers, I lifted the envelope and shook out the letter. I slowly began to scan the page.

It seemed my brother had written before—several times, in fact—although I had no memory of their reception. Continuing along the page, he describes trivial matters of life: a book he finished recently, repairs to the roof, the neighbor’s chickens getting into trouble (the house snorted with amusement as I read that). He mentions that he’s been using my room as a closet, but has been working on preparing it for me again. Then he asks when I might come to visit. He wants to hear of my adventures. The interesting people I must have met. Perhaps (the laughter swelled at this) a fair maiden? He concludes by saying how he’s got to help some friends repair a silo this afternoon and he will send it upon his return.

The letter slipped from my stiff fingers as I slumped against the wall. Would he still be laughing if he knew how little I had achieved? If he knew how much failure I had endured? Or maybe he did! Maybe his laughter truly was mocking me. Look how much happier I am, it said. But why? Why would my kind, warm-hearted brother mock me this way? No, he would never. He would never! So why does the laugh persist? Why not his kind words, his generous sentiments, even his gentle teasing? Could he not see the torment I was caused? I collapsed to my knees. “Cease!” I cried, “What do you want from me!?” I wept to the empty house. Yet still, the easy sound of mirth drifted through the bygone building and penetrated the hands thrown up in defense around my throbbing ears. I must leave, escape from this den of revelry! I had accomplished my task as best I could—let them have it, all of it! I want nothing more to do with this place! I sprang to my feet and dashed to the door. I burst outside with a great crash, collapsing to the gravel driveway, alone in the cold, silent night. “No more!” I shrieked at my former abode, scrambling away from the laughter that reached me no longer.