Creepy - High Stakes

Episode Date: January 9, 2023

What are you willing to bet?***Written by: J.T. Seate and Narrated by: Owen McCuen***Bonus Episode: "Ghost Hunting" written by: Kemal Onor***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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As a Heppie presents High Stakes Written by J.T.C. And narrated by Owen McCune. As a boy, I'd enjoyed roving

through the country cemetery past its oldest stones wondering if Indians had killed any of the deceased. The infant graves with lambs carved into the stones reminded me of how tough it was for people in olden times.

But the place had never scared me. not until that Halloween. I was 14, and my sister, Rachel, was 12, when we visited my grandparents during the fall. My parents and we two kids lived in the city, but we had a parcel of relatives who lived outside a little town where the cemetery was. Two of our cousins, their parents, and our ailing grandparents lived together in a farmhouse. Haywood was a year older than me, and Barbara was my age, making Rachel the baby of the group. Grandpa was bedridden and his memory wasn't worth a fiddler's fart. God could punch his ticket at any time, my mom used to say.

Grandma's health was equally dubious, making it hard for Uncle Ernest and his clan to keep the farm going while dealing with two invalids. We arrived in the late afternoon. The two farm kids always enjoyed their little pranks when we city kids came for a visit. Barbara told Rachel and me about how they'd uprooted a few scarecrow and tipped a few pieces of light machinery the previous Halloween,

the same as previous country generations had done. Come on, Russ, Haywood said to me. You got any ideas for later? I don't feel like anything destructive, I replied. We watched the orange fireball change to a golden glow in the west, while Haywood whittled a tree branch into a point. I've got a heck of an idea. Let's go to the cemetery.

You two have never been there at night, I bet. I thought we were a little old for that. I'm almost a teenager for crying out loud, Rachel said to me, and I think it would be cool. There you go, Haywood replied. So we made some stakes, one for everybody. Haywood said if we cut through the fields, the graveyard was just a mile, then we could sneak out a few cookies for the trip. So what do we do when we get there? I asked.

I don't want to knock over any gravestones. Heywood. We'll write our names on the stakes. Each one of us will walk across the graveyard alone. When we get to the other side, we'll put our steak in the ground and come back. When everyone's gone across, we'll go over together and see if anybody chickened out. If your steak isn't there, then you cheated. Haywood looked at me. You're not too pussy for that, are you? I looked at Rachel, unsure whether her expression was one of expectation or something more like, and what are we getting ourselves into?

Haywood held up his stake, turning it around, admiring it. They'll bed us guys down in the living room and you girls in one bedroom. We'll sneak out after they're asleep. Besides, it'll be creepier if it's real late. So it was decided. Our cousins had pocket knives,

so we whittled the other three large stakes. Let's don't make them too sharp, I cautioned, in case somebody trips or something. Haywood looked at me like I was a total Nimrod afraid of his shadow but I was only afraid of things that could really hurt you not the graveyard at least not then around 10 o'clock the girls were shuffled off to their bedroom while we boys had the luxury of two living room couches Haywood and I talked in hushed tones until my uncle hollered for us to go to sleep

for the next two hours I listened to the old house settle and a duet between my grandfather and a night owl Granddad's breathing was so labored, I halfway expected the sound to suddenly stop, for him to die in the room on the other side of the kitchen. I pictured him being lowered into the earth beneath the double stone that Grandpa and Grandma's sons and daughters had bought for them. Their information already chiseled in, except for the dates of death. I shivered at the thought of a stone awaiting my parents, or even me and Rachel someday.

A trip to the cemetery didn't seem like such a great idea. I hoped everyone would forget the whole thing when a sudden absolute stillness stirred me. Granddad had stopped breathing. I wondered if I should wake someone, but then I heard him mumbling. Some old saying, or maybe it was a song, I listened a while closing my eyes.

Something made me open them again. Hovering above me was Haywood's long face lit only by the light filtering through the window. His arm was poised. above his head. He held a stake, ready to plunge it deep into my chest, or maybe into one of my eye sockets. Jesus, I said, and put up my hand in defense. Haywood hissed, the sound cutting through the air like a reaper's scyth. Take it easy, fairy. You'll wake somebody up. I'm just messing with you. I wasn't convinced until he lowered his arm and replaced that maniacal grin with a less

weird expression. Maybe we should just get some sleep, Haywood. Don't be an ass wipe, he said. I'm going to get the girls. But Grandpa, yeah, he does that a lot, sings in his sleep. Put your shoes on. The bed springs squeat like stepped on mice while I grudgingly laced up my tennis shoes. When the girls entered the room, poor Rachel was yawning. I wish we could forget about our little adventure.

The girls were dressed in long nightgowns that flowed down their forms like liquid moonlight. The gown must have embarrassed my sister. but she was determined not to complain about what inconveniences had to be endured at Grandma's house. We stealthily left and didn't speak until we were a good hundred yards from the house. The temperature was pleasant and didn't afford a reason to call this thing off. I'd never felt overly protective of Rachel, but on this night she looked tired and fragile. She asked about the cookies. You want a picnic or an adventure, Haywood sneered, and so we wouldn't forget it was Halloween.

I'm following you, in a ridiculous baritone voice. I'm getting closer, closer, gotcha, he said, as Barbara grabbed Rachel from behind. She let out a squeal to their delight and drew her arm back like she might hit Barbara, but then she laughed. By this time an air of expectation was endemic. Long fingers of a cloud in front of the moon cast ominous shadows as the six of us trundled a quarter-mile. through a harvested field, complete with a menacing scarecrow. I half expected the ugly thing to raise an arm or shake a leg as we passed,

serving as a sentinel to something more dangerous further along. Eventually, we were safely through the field and two barbed wire fences. The moon continued to shine fitfully through the scattered clouds illuminating our path. For a moment, I thought I saw a distant light up the gravel road leading to the cemetery. Did you see that? I asked the others, but it had already winked out. Maybe the headless horseman, Haywood said. Maybe something else coming to play in the bone yard, Barbara suggested.

We walked on. Listen, Haywood said. We fell silent, the only sounds in our imagination. Even the droning of the cicadas had stopped. I didn't like that. I thought I heard something. A chain rattling, maybe, said Haywood, trying to scare us. He shrugged.

Isn't that what we're here for? Ahead was the infamous cemetery, which held generations of corpses in silent, undisturbed repose. I hoped. It lay beyond the view of any farmhouses waiting for us like a sentinel. We all fell quiet. Even Haywood's quips ceased as we made our way to the iron fence. On the other side were the oldest stones.

They stood up like crooked teeth protruding from gums of uneven earth. The cemetery had plenty of stones with 19th century dates, but not many were fine enough to have soaring cherubs or grand guardian angels presiding over the deceased. In the pale light, the rough rectangle of land looked like an evil oasis, an obstacle course with its high weeds, tombstones, a few modest crypts, all serving as barriers to be traversed. We hunkered down in the dirt and scrub grass. I said,

let's do it and get it over with. For me, Halloween, stories about things going bump in the night and crossing the graveyard alone, had lost whatever shine it possessed when we were whittling stakes and watching the sunset. We should have at least bought a flashlight.

Nah, the girls would be easy to see in their nightgowns, Haywood answered. besides our eyes are adjusted to the light so if anyone decides to do something funny like high behind a tombstone we'll spot them okay I said let's make a pact right now that we didn't come all the way out here

just to scare each other each person will walk across the place stick their stake in the ground by the fence and come back who's first hey would ask it was your idea his sister said you go no problem

Haywood picked up one of the stakes, took a ballpoint pen from his pocket, and wrote his name on its shaft. I'll see you scared cats in about five minutes. Haywood climbed over the black iron spears that had stood forever around the hollowed ground, and I suddenly felt, no, I knew that we were violating some unwritten rule. I'd always heard of people doing ghoulish things in cemeteries at night. They robbed graves in some of the classic horror. movies. I convinced myself I wasn't afraid of ghouls or ghosts or grave robbers, but I did feel we were tempting fate. I made up my mind that Rachel wasn't going to do this alone. I didn't care how much

she protested. I halfway expected Haywood to try and scare us with a blood-curdling scream once he was out of sight, but except for the girls chatter, all was quiet as a graveyard. ten minutes passed then fifteen he's fucking with us barbara said it was the first time i'd heard a female use that word i guess my surprise showed sorry i'm kind of nasty sometimes away from home i smoke too that's all right i boo heywood hollered springing from the darkness i'm sure i levitated a foot rachel burst into tears "'God damn it, Haywood!' Barbie yelled. "'We said we wouldn't scare each other. "'Look, you got Rachel crying.'

"'Wow. I didn't mean to scare you, Rachel.' "'My little sister sniffed and said it was okay, "'apologizing for being so silly. "'No more of that crap or we're going back,' I told Haywood.' He changed the subject. "'Walking across is really a piece of cake. "'Just look out for a couple of footstones. "'They're hard to see.'

Almost broke my neck on one. I'll go next, I said. I wrote my name on my stake and clambered over the fence as Haywood had done. I just wanted to get it done, and I was bolstered by the idea that years from now, we'd all remember this crazy thing we did on Halloween. I looked back only once. Twenty yards away, the others were already fading from view. It was darker than I'd expected, darker than Haywood had led on.

The wind chose that particular moment to pick up and whistle through the trees. A cloud cover had thickened. No wonder it was hard to see. About halfway across, I reminded myself that stone angels and dead bodies couldn't move, couldn't creep, couldn't talk. I looked to my left where some of our ancient relatives were buried. Again, I thought I saw a glimmer of light, but it was beyond the cemetery up near the road.

I tried to see until I heard the rustle of leaves. Something had moved. I froze. A figure rose above a black gravestone directly ahead of me. Its body undulated and then it crawled to the side of the stone, revealing its spiked pelt. It jumped down and scurried away in the dark. A goddamn porcupine. Once I started to breathe again, I walked faster, not worrying about the footstones,

Haywood had warned about. I should have worried. Closing it on the fence, my toe caught something, and I fell forward. One hand hit hard dirt clods, and the other hit, nothing. I floundered for a moment and managed to shift my weight and roll away from the open pit. Haywood didn't say there was an open grave, the bastard. The grave had been dug recently. The hard clods of earth felt cold and smelled fresh. There was no stone, and I was thankful I hadn't hit the whole dead on. A broken leg would have been the best scenario, but more likely a cracked skull would have resulted.

I picked myself up, brush myself off, and walked the rest of the way to the fence. I looked for Haywood's stake and realized each of us would take a different path than that it could be anywhere. He probably hadn't come as close to the open grave. I plunged my own steak into the ground and started back. careful to avoid the opening in the earth, and equally careful not to run. During the return trip,

I thought I saw all manner of squirmy, creepy crawlies on the stones and crypts. An angel with a broken wing crouched on a time-eaten granite headstone like a gargoyle ready to spring. A mausoleum door looked to be ajar as the wind picked up to a nasty, sand-blowing wine. Suddenly, all the scary stories I'd heard over the years seemed real to me.

The bloodsuckers and monsters, the demons from hell, and the escaped lunatics with hooks for hands. My teeth began to chatter. Rodding corpses were undoubtedly stirring from their long, dark sleep. With a desperation, not quite nameable, my careful steps turned into a trot.

I'd had all the graveyard adventure I wanted for one night. Over here, Barbara called. I rejoined the group. "'Do you know there's an open grave near the fence?' I said, looking straight at Haywood. "'You have to be yanking my crank. "'There's an open grave. I almost fell in. "'It's not safe for anyone else to go in the dark.' "'You sure you don't have bats in your belfry?'

"'Haywood added, but without much conviction. "'I didn't hear about anybody dying around here. "'Maybe it's somebody from town. "'Who knows, but it's there.' "'The rest of you want to go home?' Haywood asked. Barbara wanted to go across, pushing out what chest she had with some bravado. Rachel didn't protest, but asked Barbara why she wanted to go. She said she just wanted to prove she could.

Stay over to the left in the direction of the family graves, and go be away from the hole,' I said. "'When you get back, we'll all split, right?' Everyone nodded. Rachel looked like she could fall asleep standing up, so I knew she wouldn't unload on me for not getting her turn. Barbara picked up a stake. If I'm not back in 15, send in the Marines.

She looked like an apparition, floating over the ground in her long nightgown. Black clouds swept over the sky by an ethereal wind. I'm not sure how long we waited for Barbara to come back. One minute can seem like ten when you're waiting for something, and by then we were chilled and, and thirsty. Do you think Barb's messing with us to get even with me?

Haywood asked. Don't know. She's your sister. I'm going after her, he said. Before I could object, Haywood clamored over the fence and ran into the dark. His hair and his shirt tail blew eastward as he disappeared from sight. Several more minutes passed.

A scream tore through the night, like something out of a horror movie. It almost sounded like the bay of Lon Cheney's werewolf. Then, Rachel pleaded with me to go check. Promise you'll stay right here. She promised, truly frightened. I headed back along the path. Haywood was just ahead, kneeling over something.

Barbara lay on the ground next to the fence. I don't think she's breathing, Haywood wailed. She's... I knelt down next to them and put my head on Barbara's chest, not sure if I was hearing anything. I shook her shoulders, not knowing what else to her. do. She's dead!

Haywood cried. I guess I sort of went in a shock. I looked at Barbara's gown. It stretched to the foot of the fence. Her steak was driven through the hem. Oh, Lord, oh good Lord. She must have been spooked. In her haste to get back, she drove the steak through her nightgown.

When she turned to leave, it pulled taut. She thought something was grabbing her. Can someone be scared to death? I wondered. Check her pulse or something, Haywood urged. I looked at her once more not wanting to touch her, not wanting to be next to something dead. Please, Haywood pleaded. I touched her wrist, hoping to feel a pulse.

Please, Barb, please. Her eyes flew open. She made a horrible, guttural sound like the bride of Dracula. I stumbled back and grabbed Haywood's legs. An indefinable sound came from my mouth as I struggled to get to my feet. Barbara rose up and reached for me. Someone screamed then. It must have been me because Barbara's expression changed.

She began to laugh. I looked up at Haywood. He broke into laughter and fell to the ground, his arms around his sides, his chortals coming in waves of delight. I looked back at Barbara who lain back down, tears of amusement streaming down her temples. The sound of their laughter surrounded me. You should have seen your face.

Haywood managed to choke out. You looked like you'd seen it. He couldn't continue, rolling in the dirt, holding his sides, yucking it up. City boy, city boy. Both he and Barbara hooded. We didn't mean to give you a heart attack. Can you talk? I stood up.

Were you planning this all along? Just when you went across, me and Barb decided the night was too boring. The two of them were now at the giggle stage. Hook line and sinker. Haywood added, his chuckles slowing, reveling in their success. I walked to the fence and pulled Barbara's stake from the ground. I looked it over while their fits of laughter became intermittent. I thought about attacking them with the stake, acting like they'd driven me mad.

But what was the point in being equally juvenile? They'd gotten me good, and that's all there was to it. Where's Rachel? One of them asked. I left her on account of you two. I started back, leaving them behind. Hey, wait up, don't be mad. Their hollow voices echoed like a sick joke gone wrong. Think of how we'll all have a good laugh later about getting old city boy a good one.

I returned as quickly as I could, not wanting Rachel to be alone, and at the same time wondering if she'd heard the cousins plotting their little scheme to nail me. If so, I probably wouldn't speak to her for some time, but I didn't really believe she would have gone along with it. I'll never know, because when I got back, Rachel was gone. What's the deal now? I said, you guys tell Rachel to hide? Barbara swore they hadn't.

She seemed as mystified as I. Then I saw something on the far side of the fence. Rachel's borrowed nightgown folded on top of her tennis shoes. Rachel! I called. Haywood and Barbara joined in. Rachel! Rachel, come on!

I gathered up the clothes and ran back the way we had come toward the farmhouse. I prayed that this was just another elaborate hoax. I was responsible for my little sister, but I left her alone. I prayed she would be at the house waiting for us. That has to be it, I thought. She was scared and decided to come back by herself. It would sure give us a scare, me most of all,

a lot better than what the cousins had pulled. But as hard as I tried to believe it, I couldn't picture my 12-year-old sister running through the countryside without clothes. with no shoes. The devil had her, making me pay for my negligence. With my heart hammering fit to break free of my chest, I ran all the way to the house.

Everyone was up. Is Rachel here? I almost screamed. They all looked at me queerly. Where have you been? My father asked. I stood there clasping Rachel's clothes against my chest, wondering what else had happened.

your grandmother passed away during the night, Russell. He fought back tears. Where is everyone? I could hear my grandfather singing a tune in the bedroom. At that moment, it seemed to me that the whole world had gone insane. When the other two arrived, I sat on the couch with my head in my hands and told both sets of parents the whole story. I waited for Haywood or Barbara to say it was their fault,

but they never did the shits. My uncle Ernest was on the phone the moment I'd finished. They searched for days, local people and state troopers. I kept thinking about that screaming mouth of earth I'd nearly fallen into, the empty grave. An old man of 90 was laid to rest that morning, the day the search began. I hoped someone had crawled down in that hole before the burial to make absolutely sure nothing had been buried deeper down. People stopped searching long enough to witness grandma's internment four days later. Two days after that, Grandpa croaked.

The remaining sons, daughters, grandsons, and granddaughters came to pay their respects to grandma and hung around for Grandpa's funeral. The Little Country Cemetery had a busy week. One Bible-beating relative had the audacity to proclaim that Rachel had been taken up to be with her grandparents. Frightingly, some authorities thought that as good an explanation as any. I didn't go to the services. I never went near that graveyard again, because I was afraid I might hear Rachel calling for help,

calling for me to find her. If I'd had three wishes on a monkey's paw, they would have been that no one had died, no one went missing, and no one had gone to that damn cemetery. weeks later, I remembered something no one else had thought about, the unused stake. It was missing when I came back to the fence, vanished into thin air, just like Rachel. Things were never the same between my family and my cousins, nor between my parents and me.

Even though they never accused me, I served a penance for my role in Rachel's disappearance. In fact, life had been a struggle because my memories are my memories. all returned to that Halloween night. We all lost something we could never get back. Until now. If the party or parties responsible for my sister's disappearance read this, I beg you to take pity and tell me exactly what happened. I know you're out there.

I know because of what I found in my mailbox yesterday. An old weathered steak with the letters R-A-C-A. H-A-E-L, crudely scrawled on its shaft. For your bonus episode, creepy presents. Ghost Hunting Written by Kamal Anor. Chuck wanted to know if ghosts really did exist. So we trekked out into the woods following an overgrown logging trail.

He told me to be quiet as we went because he didn't want the ghosts to know we were coming for them. Chuck believed he had to catch him when they weren't expecting. it. Otherwise, it'd be nothing but air to look at. The cabin, he said, was where they liked to gather. Even the dead needed something to do, he would say, when I asked why. So there we were, making our way up the hill on a cold October night. You could taste the decay in the air. The wet, mottled, fat pumpkin gorged on sun rain flavor.

The sweet smell of death hanging in the air. burning away like a candle in a jack-lantern's mouth. We said nothing as we made our way along the dirt path. I only knew Chuck was there ahead of me by the vague shape of his silhouette. He was so quiet I couldn't make out his feet touching the ground or the sound of his breathing as we went up the hill. Soon, we were before the cabin. It rose up in my mind like a gravestone sprouting out of the earth,

like a single rotten tooth that stuck on it. at the top of the hill, sagging and leaning out of its brown gums. Chuck was my older brother, and I always looked to him with a younger sibling admiration, the kind that marveled at his success in all areas, something for me to aspire to. If I could only be more like Chuck, I would be better prepared to face the terrors of the world. Still, for my own desires, I couldn't understand why my older brother had such a strength. A strange fascination with the occult. We entered the cabin.

It was dark and smelled of termites and rot. There were no ghosts. The only thing to greet us, other than the smell, was an even stronger darkness, like a shadow folded and layered on top of an even darker night. Chuck said nothing at first, and now I couldn't hear a slow movement to know he was there. Close your eyes. Chuck whispered to me. I did as my older brother told me to do and close my eyes.

I strained my ears and focused on my other senses. At first, only a damp chill floated about my head. A silence stifled me, filling my gut with cold stones. The cabin had a faint tobacco smell that I'd started to detect, like a fragrance had been attempted to be scrubbed away, but was too baked into the skin to ever be lifted. Then I caught a faint sound that drove spikes into my belly. The sound of cards being shuffled.

Slowly moved by invisible hands. I trembled where I stood, feeling the cold spell welling in me like I was freezing and becoming hollow inside. The wind gasped outside and we heard the dry voices that leaves sweep about us. I continued to keep my eyes shut and focused on my hearing and sent. There was a chime that I heard somewhere in the cabin like glasses kissing and a toast to good health. Chuck and I stood separated by a matter for a few feet, and I wasn't sure if he could hear or smell what I witnessed. Neither of us spoke.

Even though we were separated by a meager distance, we might as well been standing on separate continents, with nothing but darkness swallowing the space between us. Nothing jumped at us from the dark, and there were no ghostly shapes revealed by moonlight. Chuck? I said trying to keep the quiver from my voice. The cold feeling in me was boiling.

A stark chill that wedged its fingers between your ribs and seeks to separate you with bony fingers. It drives for your heart, attempting to turn the beating thing to lifeless cold stone. My breath stuck in my throat, and I had without realizing it. Back my way to the door. I knew Chuck had brought a flashlight,

and I was terrified of the idea that he might turn it on and sweep the beam through the abandoned cabin. I couldn't stand to be there any longer. Chuck, come on. There's nothing here. I heard Chuck move, and I jumped at how close he was to me. We'd both been invisible from the moment we entered the cabin. The way home was a lot better,

but the cold feeling didn't relinquish its grip on me. Even after Chuck turned his flashlight on, and the trees fell to the sides of our dirt road, I could sense the swirling uncertainty in my gut. I kept thinking to myself we shouldn't have gone there. We hadn't seen any ghosts, but that didn't mean they weren't inside the cabin. I said nothing and stared at my feet all the way home. For a long time, I lay awake in my bed. I couldn't shake the sounds I heard and the smells it rushed at me.

Every time I closed my eyes, my mind ran to the top of the hill with the abandoned cabin. And this time, it was filled with ghosts. Like smoke trapped under glass, they wafted there in the doorway and behind the windows. Each a ghost gray, pale, and sickly as the moon. I whimpered and shivered, knowing we shouldn't have gone there. In the coming weeks, Chuck started to complain about a black spot showing up in his vision. He'd blink several times and rub his eye, but he couldn't get the spot to go away. He started to become a lot clumsy here, and he crashed his bike when we were all riding.

I still loved him dearly as any younger sibling who admired the older ones, hoping to emulate him become more like their older counterpart, but ever since that night at the cabin, Chuck was starting to change. It was gradual at first. like a slow-acting poison seeping into the bloodstream. Some time passed, and Chuck started to say that the spot wasn't going away, but rather growing. He now angled his head when he looked at you,

and our parents took him to see a vision specialist. He wouldn't tell me much about the results of his doctor's appointment, and we started to spend less time together. Chuck started to spend a lot more time in his room. I struggled with the idea that the cabin was at first, fault for my brother's misfortune. Chuck became reclusive, and even his friends at school saw less and less of him. My parents were now taking him doctor visits on a weekly, if not daily, basis. Now and then, I'd see a strange look in my mom and dad's face, a look of pity that they

had for Chuck. One day Chuck started yelling, and I could hear him tearing the basketball posters off his walls. Chuck had always loved sports. But over the time since our excursion to the cabin, more of it was disappearing from his life. One day it was raining. And rather than watch a show on TV or play video games, Chuck simply sat in our kitchen,

head tilted, looking out the window. In this way, Chuck went through a metamorphosis. In my mind, I continued to believe it was all tied to the cabin. something about the dark space had burned into his eyes a black spot and that last of his vision was continuing to burn away like fire eating at the edge of newsprint he seldom spoke anymore and when he did his voice rattled in his throat like a stone dropped down a well my admiration for him held strong he was still my brother but i could feel the dynamics began to slip i continued to watch the look in my parents' eyes deepen.

With each passing day, their look became more morose. Their brow is rigid with deep-set lines. It appeared no amount of doctor visits was going to be able to prevent or preserve Chuck's vision loss. I wondered if Chuck told him about the cabin we went to at the top of the hill. I wondered if the missing piece of Chuck's vision could still be found there, lying on the floor, gasping for air. Was it possible to restore Chuck's vision?

My resolve in thinking it was a mistake for us to have ever gone in search the ghost strengthened. We never should have gone inside. I was plagued by the thought that even though we had tried to catch the ghosts, unaware, they had someone managed to reach inside my brother's head and pull his eyes out from his skull. Chuck became shy and timid in his approach to life. He seldom left his room. When he did, it was merely to sit at the game. and table and do his best to look out the window. Chuck? I said, sitting beside him.

Yeah, he replied without turning to face me. Are you dying? I asked. No, not dying. He appeared distant, the voice labored. I think I know where your eyes are. He didn't respond to my statement, but turned his shoulder to me and tilted his head further towards. the kitchen window. I waited a moment, expecting him to respond in some way. He didn't. I got up and left him at the kitchen table. The dynamics between us were shifting ever more,

and I had a sinking feeling that I might have to muster my courage and assume a more important role in our relationship. While Chuck was changing, I'd failed to realize that I'd need to change too. It had to be done without anyone asking me. me. At the time, I wasn't sure if I could explain what I had to do, but I knew I'd have to try and become more like Chuck, and I knew I'd have to try and find his eyes for him. I found I could no longer sleep. My mind burned with thoughts and worry. I could sense a strange

terror brewing in my gut, like the first stirring breaths of a sinister storm. The first tides of an ill-fated swell, I knew I'd have to go back. I tried the best I could to push the idea out of my mind. I think it was for a number of reasons, but mainly the terror festered in my gut and was burrowing deeper into me. Chuck seldom left the kitchen table now, a ghost of his former self. The vision that was taken from him forced him to retreat, forced him to diminish and fold in on himself. He could barely eat anything. His sadness filled me with pity.

I desperately wanted to help my older brother, but I was not yet ready to do what I believed I had to do. One day I worked up the courage to go back to the abandoned cabin during the daylight. I hope that by going in daytime I could strengthen my resolve to help Chuck. I hoped that my fear would lessen, and the command the dark place held in my mind would be revealed as nothing more than an empty room. I chose daytime because, according to what Chuck used to say about ghosts, they didn't like the sun too much.

The cabin had still grown to something forcible in my mind, and even facing the overgrown path gave me pause. I closed my eyes and could feel my heart beating in my chest. I forced my mind to think my older brother Chuck. I forced myself to see the boy he once was and the boy he'd become. I started up to path in silence, though I wasn't concerned about catching the ghosts unaware, but rather I was concerned about them finding me alone. A stray breeze stirred the leaves to rattle like bones of the ancient dead. My mind rose with the same thought I'd carried in secret the first time we walked this

path together. The idea that we, and now I, should not be here. I had to do it, though, for Chuck. The image of his current state urged me towards the dark cabin in the dark room where the ghosts had been, smoking and playing cards. After all, Chuck had always told me, even the dead need something to do. I took the path as slow as I could, but each second to pass was a triumph that I hadn't already turned away. It was daylight, and even though there were a few shadows to grab my breath, I still felt a tremble blowing about my thoughts. The nightmares I had had about this place were becoming all too real.

I had terrible dreams of returning to this cabin. But I had to be strong. I had to be brave. I had to be more like the chuck I wanted to remember. I looked down at my feet and stuck my fingers in my ears, humming to keep the dry-throated voices of the dead things brought to life by the cool October wind. I felt myself being blown and swept along towards a dark room where my brother had lost the sight. The place where the ghosts had laughed at the game they played on my big brother

by sewing a patch over his eyes. I had to be strong. I had to change. I had to reclaim what Chuck had lost in the cabin. Like a tide, I felt a fire rise in my blood and I quicken my pace. I was ready to face whatever would be hidden in the cabin now. Then it was before me. The dilapidated a grave stone of a single brown tooth, sagging and leaning in a rotten mouth. Even in the daylight the cabin was as menacing as I remembered it in my dreams, it still appeared forbidden, like an unearth tomb, a catacomb, or mausoleum housing hundreds of decaying skeletons. It was like stumbling on the remains of an ancient burial ground.

I stopped, still a safe distance from the structure. my eyes drawn to the dark windows. I held my breath, almost expecting a face to appear. There was none, and I cautiously approached the cabin. When I reached the door, I stood and listened. I tried to see if I could make out the faint sounds of invisible cards and invisible hands. I tried to see if I'd caught the ghosts unaware. This time there was no soft sound.

But as I stood outside, with the sun shining through the windows. I heard a thud, like a ball bouncing again and again. I edged my way and crouched at the base of one of the windows. There was just enough light that passed through that I could make out two bright green balls bouncing up and down in the middle of the room.

I watched, unable to understand how this could happen. The balls dropped and bounced in perfect time with one another, falling with a single note and rising back to the same height. I blinked and wondered if it was just some trick of the light. But as I watched, I started to see a boy appear like mist. He was pale in his youngest truck. I realized the poor truth. I'd caught the ghosts unaware.

Now there was something to see more than air. I continued to watch this boy bounce and play with the green ball. Then I watched in horror as he took both in his hands and popped them into where his eyes should be. He blinked, and the orbs fit neatly in his face. The green color faded to that of mist gray. I stifled a scream by covering my mouth. I fell backwards and rolled on the ground. I was hit by the harsh realization that this ghost had taken my older brother's eyes.

The green of the balls was the same clear, grain of my older brother's eyes. Like a bell striking in a deep, dead of night, my fear returned. And the warning I told myself when we first came screamed in my head. I shouldn't be here. A fan. I ran tripping and falling along the path, but I didn't stop. I ran blind with my eyes closed, remembering the command Chuck gave on our first visit.

Keep your eyes shut. So I did. I ran with my heart beating in my chest. I ran with tears welling in my eyes. I wasn't able to be as brave as Chuck. Even with his vision gone, I would always admire him. The dynamics of our relationship had been forever altered, but he would always be my older brother.

I made it back home. I was breathless and shaking as I came inside. Chuck sat at the kitchen table, and I saw him smile as he heard me come in. I sat down next to my brother and took his hand. I couldn't return Chuck's vision, but I was able to tell him one thing for certain that ghosts are real.

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