“It’s a ghost, in a crate.” My brother bounces up and down, his gestures dramatic.
“It isn’t real, James.” My voice is firm.
James calms, his smile faltering.
“Larry lied.”
He sighs. “Thanks Melanie.”
As he heads upstairs, I slip out the door and run over the road. Larry answers on the third knock.
“Why did you tell James about the crate?”
Larry towers over me. “He has a right to know what’s in his
house. What it did to your Mum.”
I run, my tears escaping into the wind. But the memory remains, in a crate, under my bed.
“It isn’t real, James.” My voice is firm.
James calms, his smile faltering.
“Larry lied.”
He sighs. “Thanks Melanie.”
As he heads upstairs, I slip out the door and run over the road. Larry answers on the third knock.
“Why did you tell James about the crate?”
Larry towers over me. “He has a right to know what’s in his
house. What it did to your Mum.”
I run, my tears escaping into the wind. But the memory remains, in a crate, under my bed.
