He Answered... But It Wasn’t My Brother
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They told me, it's just an unfortunate accident and never was my fault and I shouldn’t blame myself.
But when you watch your little brother getting swept away and you don’t try to jump in after him. How the hell are you supposed to live with that guilt?
Jonah was only ten. That same summer, he’d gotten obsessed with the paranormal. We'd joke about ghost hunting, Ouija boards, making pacts to haunt each other if one of us died first. Stupid kid stuff. Except he never really treated it like a joke. He was always so serious about it.
After his death, I didn’t go into his room for years. I just couldn’t. Everything in it was frozen, his dinosaur sheets, his toy chest, the poster of that creepy moon-faced cartoon he loved. Hoping that he might just walk back in one day, wet from the rain, asking what was for the dinner.
Last week, I finally cracked.
I went in. And that’s when I found it.
The old Ouija board he got for his birthday. We never really used it much because our mum freaked and banned it before he ever got the chance.
But something tells me… I don’t know. As if someone is prompting me to try.
So here I am. Sitting cross-legged in Jonah’s room. Candlelight flickering. Dust hanging in the air like it’s waiting to breathe again. My fingers rest on the planchette.
“Jonah… are you there?”
Nothing.
“Jonah, I miss you. I’m so sorry. I should’ve saved you.”
A pause. The air goes colder.
The planchette moves.
Y
E
S
My breath catches.
I swallow. “Jonah? It’s really you?”
H
E
Y
That was always how he started. “Hey,” like he was afraid of bothering me, even though he never did.
I test him. What's his favorite cereal was, the name of the neighbor’s dog he hated, what he called that tree behind the house with the weird branch. He gets it all right.
It has to be him.
He says he’s scared. That it’s dark and lonely where he is. That he wants to come back.
L E T
M E
I N
I froze. “What?”
J U S T
F O R
A
L I T T L E
W H I L E
“No. That’s not… you don’t need to do that. I can talk to you here.”
The candle flames pull sideways, like someone exhaled over my shoulder.
The planchette jerks hard.
I
D O N ’ T
L I K E
W A I T I N G
The closet door creaks. Not fully open, but just enough to make a noise.
I try to stand, but I can't move. My fingers are stuck to the planchette. Like it's holding me there.
I
N E E D
A
B O D Y
The shadows crawl up the walls, bending wrong. And then I hear it.
Laughter.
But it’s not Jonah’s laugh.
It’s deeper. Crooked. Like someone tried to copy it but didn’t get it quite right.
From the corner of the room, something steps out. Wearing his pajamas. The ones he drowned in. But his eyes — they’re empty. And he's too tall. His neck’s just a little too long.
He tilts his head at me.
And smiles.
Then, nothing.
When I wake up, it’s morning. The candles are gone. The Ouija board’s gone. But the pajamas, those of the water-stained ones? They’re laid out on the bed.
Folded.
And I hear knocking.
From inside the toy chest.
I don’t think it’s over. I keep hearing my name in Jonah’s voice at night. But it’s not him. It’s just wearing him. And it’s getting better at it.
To be continued…