My​ ​Dead​ ​Brother​ ​Keeps​ ​Talking​ ​To​ ​Me Through​ ​a​ ​Walkie​ ​Talkie

It’s​ ​been​ ​exactly​ ​three​ ​months​ ​since​ ​my​ ​baby​ ​brother,​ ​Colton​ ​died.​ ​I​ ​still​ ​blame myself​ ​no​ ​matter​ ​what​ ​my​ ​parents​ ​tell​ ​me.​ ​I​ ​was​ ​watching​ ​him​ ​that​ ​day.​ ​He​ ​was​ ​my responsibility​ ​and​ ​I​ ​failed​ ​him.​ ​All​ ​of​ ​these​ ​things​ ​that​ ​have​ ​been​ ​happening​ ​to​ ​me recently​ ​I​ ​think​ ​are​ ​a​ ​consequence​ ​from​ ​that​ ​day​ ​-​ ​the​ ​day​ ​I​ ​let​ ​my​ ​brother​ ​die.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​a Thursday,​ ​the​ ​night​ ​he​ ​died.​ ​A​ ​day​ ​almost​ ​exactly​ ​like​ ​this,​ ​except​ ​it​ ​wasn't​ ​storming outside​ ​like​ ​it​ ​is​ ​right​ ​now.​ ​No,​ ​in​ ​fact,​ ​it​ ​was​ ​beautiful​ ​that​ ​very​ ​last​ ​day.​ ​That's​ ​the​ ​one thing​ ​I​ ​can​ ​think​ ​to​ ​and​ ​be​ ​almost​ ​happy​ ​about.​ ​To​ ​know​ ​he​ ​left​ ​this​ ​world​ ​on​ ​such​ ​a perfect​ ​day.

Thursdays​ ​both​ ​of​ ​our​ ​parents​ ​worked,​ ​so​ ​being​ ​the​ ​older​ ​brother​ ​I​ ​was​ ​tasked with​ ​watching​ ​him.​ ​Colton​ ​was​ ​an​ ​easy​ ​kid​ ​to​ ​watch.​ ​Don’t​ ​get​ ​me​ ​wrong,​ ​any​ ​little brother​ ​is​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​annoying,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​wasn’t​ ​all​ ​that​ ​bad.​ ​I​ ​have​ ​friends​ ​that​ ​have​ ​younger siblings​ ​that​ ​are​ ​sent​ ​straight​ ​from​ ​hell,​ ​I​ ​swear.​ ​Colton​ ​was​ ​only​ ​six​ ​when​ ​he​ ​died. Growing​ ​up,​ ​it​ ​was​ ​really​ ​hard​ ​to​ ​connect​ ​with​ ​him.​ ​Being​ ​10​ ​years​ ​older​ ​than​ ​him​ ​didn't help.​ ​If​ ​I’m​ ​being​ ​honest,​ ​there​ ​were​ ​points​ ​in​ ​my​ ​childhood​ ​when​ ​I​ ​was​ ​jealous​ ​of​ ​him. He​ ​was​ ​always​ ​the​ ​baby​ ​in​ ​the​ ​family,​ ​getting​ ​all​ ​the​ ​special​ ​treatment.​ ​At​ ​least​ ​that’s what​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​when​ ​I​ ​was​ ​younger.​ ​Now,​ ​I​ ​just​ ​wished​ ​he​ ​was​ ​alive.

I​ ​loved​ ​Thursdays.​ ​I​ ​basically​ ​had​ ​the​ ​whole​ ​house​ ​to​ ​myself,​ ​besides​ ​Colton being​ ​there.​ ​I​ ​could​ ​listen​ ​to​ ​music​ ​as​ ​loud​ ​as​ ​I​ ​wanted,​ ​play​ ​games​ ​for​ ​as​ ​long​ ​as​ ​I pleased,​ ​and​ ​could​ ​say​ ​any​ ​swear​ ​word​ ​that​ ​crossed​ ​my​ ​mind.​ ​I​ ​obviously​ ​wasn’t​ ​the best​ ​babysitter.​ ​Most​ ​of​ ​the​ ​time​ ​our​ ​parents​ ​would​ ​just​ ​leave​ ​us​ ​pizza​ ​money,​ ​so​ ​I would​ ​order​ ​the​ ​food,​ ​give​ ​him​ ​his​ ​share,​ ​and​ ​that​ ​was​ ​it.​ ​As​ ​far​ ​as​ ​I​ ​was​ ​concerned,​ ​my job​ ​was​ ​done​ ​after​ ​I​ ​fed​ ​him.​ ​Most​ ​of​ ​the​ ​time​ ​he​ ​was​ ​fine​ ​with​ ​that,​ ​he​ ​just​ ​liked​ ​playing in​ ​his​ ​room​ ​alone,​ ​with​ ​his​ ​toys​ ​and​ ​coloring​ ​books.​ ​I​ ​know​ ​it​ ​was​ ​too​ ​early​ ​to​ ​tell,​ ​but​ ​I think​ ​he​ ​could​ ​have​ ​really​ ​been​ ​a​ ​great​ ​artist​ ​one​ ​day.​ ​The​ ​kid​ ​loved​ ​to​ ​draw.​ ​Even​ ​at that​ ​age,​ ​it​ ​was​ ​his​ ​whole​ ​life.

There’s​ ​a​ ​small​ ​river​ ​not​ ​too​ ​far​ ​from​ ​our​ ​house.​ ​Sometimes​ ​on​ ​those​ ​days​ ​I would​ ​take​ ​him​ ​here.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​only​ ​a​ ​five​ ​minute​ ​bike​ ​ride​ ​away.​ ​I​ ​would​ ​always​ ​have​ ​to keep​ ​an​ ​extra​ ​eye​ ​out​ ​on​ ​him​ ​when​ ​I​ ​took​ ​him​ ​down​ ​there,​ ​since​ ​Colton​ ​still​ ​didn't​ ​know how​ ​to​ ​swim.​ ​I​ ​remember​ ​one​ ​afternoon​ ​I​ ​took​ ​him​ ​there​ ​and​ ​he​ ​begged​ ​me​ ​saying,

“Mikey,​ ​will​ ​you​ ​please​ ​show​ ​me​ ​how​ ​to​ ​swim​ ​soon?​ ​You​ ​always​ ​say​ ​you​ ​will​ ​and​ ​I really​ ​want​ ​to​ ​swim​ ​with​ ​you​ ​and​ ​your​ ​friends​ ​this​ ​summer.”

​ ​I​ ​sighed​ ​and​ ​responded,​ ​“Yeah​ ​alright,​ ​I’ll​ ​teach​ ​you​ ​sometime,​ ​but​ ​not​ ​just​ ​yet.​ ​It’s​ ​too cold​ ​out.​ ​Maybe​ ​in​ ​the​ ​spring​ ​when​ ​it​ ​gets​ ​a​ ​bit​ ​warmer.​ ​You​ ​and​ ​I​ ​will​ ​take​ ​a​ ​whole​ ​day to​ ​show​ ​you.”

Colton​ ​looked​ ​up​ ​at​ ​me​ ​with​ ​a​ ​toothy​ ​smile.​ ​“You​ ​swear,​ ​Mikey?”

“Yeah,​ ​buddy.​ ​I​ ​swear.”

On​ ​that​ ​Thursday,​ ​the​ ​day​ ​Colton​ ​died,​ ​he​ ​asked​ ​me​ ​to​ ​go​ ​down​ ​there​ ​with​ ​him.​ ​I​ ​said no.​ ​See,​ ​I​ ​had​ ​planned​ ​the​ ​perfect​ ​day​ ​consisting​ ​of​ ​pizza​ ​and​ ​video​ ​games,​ ​and​ ​didn't want​ ​any​ ​interruptions.

“Well,​ ​what​ ​if​ ​I​ ​go​ ​just​ ​by​ ​myself?”​ ​Colton​ ​suggested.​ ​“I​ ​can​ ​go​ ​and​ ​you​ ​can​ ​stay​ ​here. Please,​ ​Mikey.​ ​I​ ​just​ ​want​ ​to​ ​throw​ ​some​ ​stones​ ​at​ ​the​ ​water.”

“No,​ ​seriously​ ​man.​ ​Mom​ ​and​ ​dad​ ​will​ ​kick​ ​my​ ​ass​ ​if​ ​they​ ​find​ ​out​ ​I​ ​let​ ​you​ ​go​ ​alone.”​ ​I replied,​ ​getting​ ​agitated.

With​ ​a​ ​defeated​ ​look​ ​he​ ​sighed,​ ​“Come​ ​on,​ ​please?​ ​I​ ​swear​ ​I​ ​won't​ ​get​ ​into​ ​any​ ​trouble. They​ ​won’t​ ​even​ ​-”

“No,​ ​Colton,”​ ​I​ ​interrupted.​ ​“That's​ ​my​ ​final​ ​answer.​ ​Just​ ​go​ ​draw​ ​or​ ​something.​ ​Please,​ ​I just​ ​want​ ​to​ ​play​ ​some​ ​games​ ​before​ ​they​ ​get​ ​home,​ ​can’t​ ​you​ ​just​ ​be,​ ​like,​ ​normal​ ​for​ ​a few​ ​hours?”

I​ ​think​ ​back​ ​to​ ​that​ ​day,​ ​to​ ​that​ ​exact​ ​conversation,​ ​and​ ​just​ ​wish​ ​I​ ​had​ ​been​ ​nicer to​ ​him.​ ​I​ ​wish​ ​I​ ​could​ ​take​ ​it​ ​all​ ​back​ ​and​ ​just​ ​spend​ ​that​ ​time​ ​with​ ​him.​ ​Maybe​ ​then​ ​he would​ ​still​ ​be​ ​alive.​ ​No,​ ​not​ ​maybe​ ​-​ ​I​ ​know​ ​he​ ​would​ ​still​ ​be​ ​here​ ​right​ ​now.​ ​About​ ​an hour​ ​later,​ ​he​ ​came​ ​back​ ​to​ ​my​ ​room​ ​and​ ​asked​ ​if​ ​he​ ​could​ ​play​ ​in​ ​the​ ​front​ ​yard.​ ​I​ ​didn't believe​ ​him​ ​at​ ​first,​ ​thinking​ ​he​ ​was​ ​just​ ​going​ ​to​ ​use​ ​that​ ​opportunity​ ​when​ ​I​ ​wasn't around​ ​to​ ​go​ ​down​ ​to​ ​the​ ​river.

Annoyed,​ ​I​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​him​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​“Look​ ​dude,​ ​I​ ​already​ ​told​ ​you​ ​no​ ​about​ ​going​ ​down there.​ ​Don't​ ​try​ ​and​ ​think​ ​you​ ​can​ ​trick​ ​-”

“No​ ​Mikey,​ ​I​ ​swear​ ​I​ ​won’t.​ ​Look,​ ​you​ ​can​ ​take​ ​my​ ​other​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​so​ ​you​ ​can​ ​know where​ ​I’m​ ​at​ ​the​ ​whole​ ​time,”​ ​Colton​ ​interrupted.

See,​ ​this​ ​wasn’t​ ​your​ ​average​ ​walkie​ ​talkie.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​this​ ​weird​ ​spy​ ​brand​ ​one​ ​they sell​ ​to​ ​kids​ ​at​ ​all​ ​the​ ​local​ ​retail​ ​stores.​ ​It​ ​has​ ​a​ ​built​ ​in​ ​mic​ ​and​ ​camera​ ​on​ ​it.​ ​That​ ​way you​ ​cannot​ ​only​ ​just​ ​hear​ ​the​ ​other​ ​person,​ ​but​ ​see​ ​them​ ​too.

“Fine,​ ​but​ ​you​ ​better​ ​just​ ​stay​ ​in​ ​the​ ​yard.​ ​You​ ​promise?”​ ​I​ ​asked.

Colton’s​ ​grin​ ​was​ ​huge.​ ​“Yes!​ ​Thanks​ ​Mikey,​ ​I​ ​swear​ ​I’ll​ ​just​ ​stay​ ​in​ ​the​ ​front.”

“Seriously​ ​man,​ ​please​ ​just​ ​stay​ ​there.​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​want​ ​to​ ​have​ ​to​ ​look​ ​up​ ​and​ ​down​ ​the neighborhood​ ​for​ ​you.​ ​And​ ​you​ ​better​ ​answer​ ​me​ ​back​ ​on​ ​the​ ​talkies​ ​when​ ​I’m​ ​on there.”​ ​I​ ​scolded,​ ​like​ ​all​ ​older​ ​brothers​ ​do.

Racing​ ​out​ ​the​ ​front​ ​door​ ​he​ ​replied​ ​with​ ​an,​ ​“Okay,​ ​I’ll​ ​be​ ​back​ ​before​ ​dark!”

“Come​ ​back​ ​when​ ​the​ ​street​ ​lights​ ​go​ ​on.​ ​That's​ ​before​ ​dark!”

“Will​ ​do.​ ​See​ ​you​ ​then.”

And​ ​just​ ​like​ ​that,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​gone.

Walking​ ​out​ ​there​ ​in​ ​his​ ​Spiderman​ ​T-shirt,​ ​red​ ​Converse,​ ​and​ ​his​ ​blue​ ​denim jeans.​ ​I​ ​think​ ​back​ ​to​ ​that​ ​moment​ ​and​ ​wish​ ​I​ ​could​ ​scream​ ​for​ ​him​ ​to​ ​not​ ​go​ ​and​ ​stay inside​ ​with​ ​me,​ ​but​ ​you​ ​can’t​ ​take​ ​back​ ​time.​ ​An​ ​hour​ ​or​ ​so​ ​passed​ ​before​ ​I​ ​called Colton​ ​on​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie.

Pressing​ ​the​ ​side​ ​button​ ​which​ ​turned​ ​on​ ​my​ ​mic​ ​and​ ​camera,​ ​I​ ​spoke​ ​into​ ​it,​ ​“Hey,​ ​you still​ ​there?”

“I’m​ ​here,”​ ​Colton​ ​replied.​ ​I​ ​could​ ​now​ ​see​ ​his​ ​face​ ​on​ ​the​ ​small​ ​screen​ ​covering​ ​the front​ ​of​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie.​ ​From​ ​what​ ​I​ ​could​ ​tell,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​still​ ​in​ ​the​ ​front​ ​yard.

“Alright,”​ ​I​ ​said,​ ​“Just​ ​stay​ ​there.​ ​I’m​ ​going​ ​to​ ​nap​ ​for​ ​an​ ​hour,​ ​but​ ​I’ll​ ​be​ ​back​ ​to​ ​check​ ​on you.​ ​Don’t​ ​get​ ​into​ ​any​ ​trouble,​ ​alright?”

Colton​ ​laughed.​ ​“Yeah.​ ​Sure​ ​thing,​ ​Mikey.​ ​I’ll​ ​be​ ​fine.​ ​I​ ​swear.”

Just​ ​like​ ​that,​ ​I​ ​put​ ​down​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​and​ ​laid​ ​in​ ​bed.​ ​I​ ​woke​ ​up​ ​around​ ​7pm, which​ ​was​ ​far​ ​too​ ​late.​ ​I​ ​had​ ​passed​ ​out​ ​at​ ​around​ ​three.​ ​I​ ​had​ ​no​ ​intention​ ​of​ ​sleeping as​ ​long​ ​as​ ​I​ ​did,​ ​it​ ​just​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​happened.​ ​It​ ​saddens​ ​me​ ​to​ ​admit,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​forgot​ ​all​ ​about him​ ​being​ ​outside​ ​when​ ​I​ ​first​ ​woke​ ​up.​ ​Instead​ ​of​ ​checking​ ​on​ ​my​ ​baby​ ​brother,​ ​I​ ​began to​ ​frantically​ ​clean​ ​the​ ​house.​ ​I​ ​knew​ ​our​ ​parents​ ​would​ ​be​ ​home​ ​in​ ​an​ ​hour​ ​or​ ​so,​ ​and my​ ​mind​ ​was​ ​just​ ​preoccupied​ ​with​ ​that​ ​task.​ ​It​ ​wasn't​ ​until​ ​I​ ​was​ ​in​ ​the​ ​front​ ​yard​ ​taking out​ ​the​ ​trash​ ​when​ ​I​ ​realized​ ​he​ ​wasn't​ ​there.

Dropping​ ​the​ ​trash​ ​bag,​ ​I​ ​let​ ​out​ ​a​ ​swift,​ ​“Oh​ ​shit!”​ ​before​ ​calling​ ​out​ ​his​ ​name​ ​frantically.

I​ ​looked​ ​throughout​ ​the​ ​whole​ ​front​ ​area​ ​before​ ​running​ ​back​ ​inside​ ​to​ ​grab​ ​the walkie​ ​talkie,​ ​yelling​ ​into​ ​it,​ ​“Hey​ ​Colton,​ ​you​ ​there?​ ​Hello?​ ​Dude,​ ​don’t​ ​play​ ​right​ ​now.​ ​I swear​ ​I’ll​ ​tell​ ​mom​ ​and​ ​dad,”​ ​Silence​ ​is​ ​all​ ​that​ ​was​ ​met.​ ​“Seriously,​ ​man.​ ​This​ ​isn't funny.”​ ​I​ ​continued​ ​while​ ​making​ ​my​ ​way​ ​into​ ​the​ ​backyard.

I​ ​even​ ​tried​ ​changing​ ​the​ ​channels​ ​on​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie,​ ​hoping​ ​he​ ​somehow changed​ ​the​ ​station​ ​by​ ​accident.​ ​But​ ​I​ ​was​ ​still​ ​met​ ​with​ ​no​ ​response,​ ​no​ ​matter​ ​what station​ ​I​ ​was​ ​tuned​ ​to.​ ​That's​ ​when​ ​the​ ​thought​ ​to​ ​check​ ​the​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​house​ ​for​ ​his bike​ ​came​ ​to​ ​me.​ ​I​ ​ran​ ​as​ ​fast​ ​as​ ​I​ ​could.

There,​ ​where​ ​his​ ​bike​ ​usually​ ​sat,​ ​just​ ​laid​ ​an​ ​empty​ ​patch​ ​of​ ​grass.​ ​I​ ​knew​ ​where he​ ​was​ ​at.​ ​The​ ​fucking​ ​river,​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​to​ ​myself.​ ​That's​ ​where​ ​he’s​ ​at.​ ​He​ ​must​ ​have​ ​just taken​ ​his​ ​bike​ ​down​ ​to​ ​the​ ​river​ ​when​ ​I​ ​was​ ​asleep.​ ​But,​ ​why​ ​wouldn’t​ ​he​ ​answer​ ​me back​ ​on​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie?​ ​There​ ​was​ ​no​ ​time​ ​for​ ​that,​ ​I​ ​thought.​ ​I​ ​jumped​ ​on​ ​my​ ​bike and​ ​pedaled​ ​as​ ​fast​ ​and​ ​as​ ​hard​ ​as​ ​I​ ​ever​ ​had​ ​in​ ​my​ ​whole​ ​life.​ ​The​ ​whole​ ​trip​ ​there thoughts​ ​were​ ​racing​ ​in​ ​my​ ​head,​ ​like​ ​why​ ​he​ ​wouldn’t​ ​answer.​ ​Maybe​ ​his​ ​talkie​ ​died,​ ​or what​ ​if​ ​the​ ​signal​ ​is​ ​just​ ​out​ ​of​ ​reach?​ ​With​ ​one​ ​hand​ ​on​ ​the​ ​handlebars​ ​and​ ​the​ ​other​ ​on the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie,​ ​I​ ​kept​ ​calling​ ​back​ ​out​ ​into​ ​it​ ​until​ ​I​ ​came​ ​to​ ​the​ ​river.

I​ ​jumped​ ​off​ ​my​ ​bike​ ​and​ ​ran​ ​faster​ ​than​ ​I​ ​ever​ ​had,​ ​calling​ ​out,​ ​“Colton!​ ​Hello,​ ​where are​ ​you?”

I​ ​came​ ​to​ ​the​ ​foot​ ​of​ ​the​ ​river​ ​bed​ ​where​ ​his​ ​bike​ ​was​ ​lying​ ​down​ ​near​ ​the​ ​shade of​ ​an​ ​old​ ​oak​ ​tree.​ ​I​ ​knew​ ​then​ ​and​ ​there​ ​that​ ​he​ ​must​ ​be​ ​close.​ ​I​ ​ran​ ​into​ ​the​ ​shallow part​ ​of​ ​the​ ​river,​ ​my​ ​jeans​ ​now​ ​soaked,​ ​screaming​ ​his​ ​name​ ​out.​ ​Over​ ​and​ ​over​ ​again​ ​I called,​ ​but​ ​nothing.​ ​Just​ ​the​ ​sounds​ ​of​ ​the​ ​silent​ ​forest​ ​and​ ​river​ ​area.​ ​That's​ ​when​ ​I looked​ ​over​ ​my​ ​left​ ​shoulder.​ ​I​ ​saw​ ​the​ ​other​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​floating​ ​down​ ​the​ ​stream​ ​of the​ ​river.​ ​I​ ​looked​ ​over​ ​my​ ​right​ ​shoulder​ ​and​ ​my​ ​heart​ ​stopped.​ ​Lying​ ​face​ ​down​ ​at​ ​the

deep​ ​part​ ​of​ ​the​ ​river,​ ​near​ ​the​ ​big​ ​rocks​ ​that​ ​peak​ ​through​ ​the​ ​water,​ ​was​ ​my​ ​little brother's​ ​lifeless​ ​body.

I​ ​fell​ ​to​ ​my​ ​knees,​ ​a​ ​sharp​ ​pain​ ​growing​ ​so​ ​deep​ ​in​ ​the​ ​pit​ ​of​ ​my​ ​stomach.​ ​A​ ​pain in​ ​which​ ​I​ ​cannot​ ​even​ ​begin​ ​to​ ​describe.​ ​I​ ​cried​ ​out​ ​a​ ​short,​ ​whisper​ ​like,​ ​“Oh​ ​my​ ​God,” before​ ​continuing,​ ​“Oh​ ​God,​ ​oh​ ​my​ ​God,​ ​oh​ ​my​ ​God…”​ ​with​ ​each​ ​passing​ ​moment​ ​my cries​ ​grew​ ​louder​ ​and​ ​louder.

The​ ​next​ ​thing​ ​I​ ​know,​ ​I’m​ ​racing​ ​over​ ​to​ ​his​ ​body​ ​and​ ​dragging​ ​him​ ​out​ ​of​ ​the river.​ ​I​ ​laid​ ​on​ ​the​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​channel​ ​and​ ​weeped.​ ​I​ ​don’t​ ​know​ ​how​ ​long​ ​I​ ​sat​ ​there with​ ​his​ ​lifeless​ ​body​ ​in​ ​my​ ​arms.​ ​He​ ​was​ ​cold,​ ​so​ ​very​ ​cold,​ ​and​ ​still​ ​soaking​ ​wet.​ ​I​ ​must have​ ​been​ ​there​ ​a​ ​long​ ​time​ ​because​ ​at​ ​some​ ​point​ ​this​ ​couple​ ​saw​ ​me,​ ​or​ ​rather​ ​heard me​ ​from​ ​down​ ​the​ ​road,​ ​sobbing.​ ​They​ ​called​ ​the​ ​cops​ ​and​ ​that​ ​was​ ​it.​ ​That's​ ​how​ ​my parents​ ​found​ ​out.​ ​The​ ​investigators​ ​determined​ ​that​ ​he​ ​must​ ​have​ ​taken​ ​his​ ​bike​ ​down there​ ​when​ ​I​ ​was​ ​asleep​ ​and​ ​at​ ​some​ ​point​ ​decided​ ​to​ ​try​ ​to​ ​walk​ ​on​ ​top​ ​of​ ​the​ ​rocks near​ ​the​ ​deep​ ​end.​ ​He​ ​must​ ​have​ ​slipped​ ​and​ ​fell​ ​right​ ​in.​ ​He​ ​didn’t​ ​know​ ​how​ ​to​ ​swim and​ ​had​ ​nobody​ ​around​ ​to​ ​help​ ​him.​ ​I​ ​know​ ​you’re​ ​thinking​ ​this​ ​is​ ​all​ ​my​ ​fault.​ ​If​ ​I​ ​had been​ ​watching​ ​him​ ​like​ ​I​ ​should​ ​have,​ ​or​ ​if​ ​I​ ​taught​ ​him​ ​how​ ​to​ ​swim​ ​like​ ​I​ ​promised​ ​I would,​ ​he​ ​would​ ​still​ ​be​ ​very​ ​much​ ​alive​ ​today.​ ​I​ ​know​ ​my​ ​parents​ ​must​ ​think​ ​it's​ ​my​ ​fault too,​ ​though​ ​they​ ​would​ ​never​ ​admit​ ​it.​ ​They've​ ​been​ ​making​ ​me​ ​go​ ​to​ ​this​ ​counselor ever​ ​since,​ ​but​ ​it's​ ​just​ ​useless.

It​ ​was​ ​about​ ​a​ ​month​ ​later​ ​when​ ​I​ ​began​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​something​ ​coming​ ​from​ ​the walkie​ ​talkie​ ​Colton​ ​had​ ​given​ ​me.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​so​ ​odd​ ​sounding.​ ​I​ ​was​ ​sitting​ ​at​ ​my​ ​computer desk​ ​at​ ​the​ ​time,​ ​just​ ​browsing​ ​facebook,​ ​when​ ​I​ ​began​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​this​ ​static​ ​like​ ​noise.​ ​At first,​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​maybe​ ​it​ ​was​ ​something​ ​wrong​ ​with​ ​my​ ​headphones.​ ​But​ ​when​ ​I​ ​took them​ ​off,​ ​I​ ​could​ ​still​ ​hear​ ​it.​ ​That's​ ​when​ ​I​ ​looked​ ​in​ ​my​ ​desk​ ​drawer,​ ​where​ ​I​ ​had​ ​put the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​Colton​ ​had​ ​given​ ​me.​ ​I​ ​picked​ ​it​ ​up​ ​and​ ​pressed​ ​my​ ​ear​ ​against​ ​the speaker,​ ​realizing​ ​that's​ ​where​ ​the​ ​source​ ​of​ ​noise​ ​was​ ​coming​ ​from.​ ​I​ ​was​ ​utterly confused,​ ​since​ ​I​ ​hadn't​ ​touched​ ​the​ ​thing​ ​in​ ​about​ ​a​ ​month.​ ​Not​ ​after​ ​that​ ​day.​ ​I​ ​knew the​ ​other​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​that​ ​Colton​ ​had​ ​on​ ​him​ ​broke​ ​when​ ​he​ ​fell​ ​into​ ​the​ ​river.​ ​Plus,​ ​the police​ ​had​ ​detained​ ​it​ ​after​ ​collecting​ ​his​ ​body,​ ​so​ ​I​ ​assumed​ ​the​ ​other​ ​one​ ​must​ ​be sitting​ ​in​ ​some​ ​evidence​ ​locker.​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​maybe​ ​it​ ​was​ ​just​ ​picking​ ​up​ ​some​ ​random signal,​ ​so​ ​I​ ​changed​ ​the​ ​channel​ ​it​ ​was​ ​connected​ ​to.​ ​Just​ ​like​ ​that,​ ​the​ ​noise​ ​was​ ​gone.

Two​ ​days​ ​later,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​in​ ​my​ ​bed,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​get​ ​some​ ​rest.​ ​Ever​ ​since​ ​Colton​ ​died,​ ​I haven't​ ​been​ ​sleeping​ ​well.​ ​I​ ​guess​ ​it​ ​serves​ ​me​ ​right,​ ​but​ ​on​ ​this​ ​particular​ ​night​ ​I​ ​began to​ ​hear​ ​a​ ​sound.​ ​I​ ​wasn't​ ​sure​ ​what​ ​I​ ​was​ ​hearing.​ ​At​ ​first​ ​it​ ​was​ ​static.​ ​Given​ ​my experience​ ​from​ ​two​ ​days​ ​prior,​ ​I​ ​knew​ ​where​ ​to​ ​look​ ​-​ ​my​ ​desk’s​ ​drawer.​ ​I​ ​opened​ ​the

drawer​ ​and​ ​right​ ​as​ ​I​ ​did,​ ​it​ ​just​ ​stopped.​ ​Dead​ ​silence.​ ​I​ ​was​ ​confused,​ ​so​ ​I​ ​picked​ ​up the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​and​ ​switched​ ​it​ ​off​ ​and​ ​on.​ ​I​ ​tried​ ​changing​ ​the​ ​channels,​ ​even​ ​messing with​ ​the​ ​volume​ ​settings.​ ​It​ ​all​ ​seemed​ ​fine.​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​maybe​ ​I​ ​should​ ​throw​ ​it​ ​away,​ ​but​ ​I just​ ​couldn't​ ​bear​ ​to​ ​do​ ​that.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​last​ ​items​ ​I​ ​had​ ​from​ ​my​ ​brother.

​ ​I​ ​just​ ​chalked​ ​it​ ​up​ ​to​ ​being​ ​a​ ​cheap​ ​kids​ ​toy​ ​that​ ​wasn’t​ ​working​ ​properly anymore.​ ​Right​ ​as​ ​I​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​put​ ​it​ ​away,​ ​another​ ​noise​ ​emitted​ ​from​ ​the​ ​device. This​ ​time​ ​it​ ​was​ ​very​ ​different,​ ​a​ ​sound​ ​that's​ ​impossible​ ​to​ ​forget.​ ​It​ ​began​ ​to​ ​cry.

At​ ​first​ ​it​ ​sounded​ ​like​ ​a​ ​small​ ​whimper,​ ​but​ ​it​ ​began​ ​to​ ​grow​ ​louder​ ​and​ ​louder. Shocked,​ ​I​ ​dropped​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie,​ ​and​ ​after​ ​I​ ​did​ ​I​ ​noticed​ ​a​ ​small​ ​puddle​ ​of​ ​water surrounding​ ​the​ ​device​ ​where​ ​I​ ​had​ ​dropped​ ​it.​ ​The​ ​crying​ ​stopped.​ ​I​ ​stood​ ​there,​ ​not sure​ ​what​ ​to​ ​make​ ​of​ ​any​ ​of​ ​this.​ ​My​ ​body​ ​couldn't​ ​move​ ​to​ ​react,​ ​but​ ​my​ ​mind​ ​was moving​ ​faster​ ​than​ ​ever​ ​before.​ ​I​ ​picked​ ​it​ ​back​ ​up​ ​and​ ​noticed​ ​the​ ​water​ ​was​ ​coming from​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie,​ ​where​ ​the​ ​batteries​ ​were​ ​located.​ ​I​ ​still​ ​didn’t understand​ ​any​ ​of​ ​this,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​looked​ ​for​ ​any​ ​way​ ​to​ ​explain​ ​it.​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​maybe​ ​it​ ​was​ ​just battery​ ​acid​ ​leaking​ ​out,​ ​or​ ​what​ ​if​ ​at​ ​some​ ​point,​ ​without​ ​knowing,​ ​it​ ​had​ ​gotten​ ​soaked? Maybe​ ​the​ ​day​ ​I​ ​ran​ ​into​ ​the​ ​river​ ​to​ ​drag​ ​Colton​ ​out.​ ​That​ ​must​ ​be​ ​it,​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​to myself.​ ​It​ ​must​ ​have​ ​just​ ​got​ ​soaked​ ​that​ ​day,​ ​which​ ​could​ ​explain​ ​the​ ​static​ ​sound. Perhaps​ ​some​ ​water​ ​just​ ​got​ ​trapped​ ​in​ ​it,​ ​too.​ ​But,​ ​what​ ​about​ ​the​ ​cry?​ ​How​ ​could​ ​I rationalize​ ​that?​ ​I​ ​just​ ​convinced​ ​myself​ ​that​ ​it​ ​wasn't​ ​a​ ​cry​ ​and​ ​I​ ​was​ ​just​ ​hearing​ ​things. But​ ​if​ ​I​ ​was​ ​being​ ​honest​ ​with​ ​myself,​ ​it​ ​didn't​ ​just​ ​sound​ ​like​ ​any​ ​cry.​ ​It​ ​sounded​ ​like​ ​my little​ ​brother.​ ​I​ ​just​ ​tried​ ​shaking​ ​it​ ​off​ ​told​ ​myself​ ​it​ ​was​ ​impossible.

I​ ​almost​ ​told​ ​my​ ​parents​ ​the​ ​following​ ​day,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​knew​ ​they​ ​would​ ​look​ ​at​ ​me​ ​like a​ ​madman.​ ​I​ ​came​ ​so​ ​close​ ​to​ ​telling​ ​my​ ​therapist,​ ​but​ ​if​ ​I’m​ ​being​ ​honest,​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​like him​ ​much.​ ​He’s​ ​boring,​ ​stale,​ ​and​ ​in​ ​all​ ​honesty​ ​I​ ​don't​ ​like​ ​his​ ​advice.​ ​A​ ​few​ ​days​ ​later​ ​I was​ ​again​ ​at​ ​my​ ​desk,​ ​browsing​ ​the​ ​internet,​ ​trying​ ​to​ ​look​ ​for​ ​any​ ​similar​ ​cases​ ​to​ ​this specific​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​malfunctioning.​ ​Nothing​ ​was​ ​that​ ​close​ ​to​ ​what​ ​I​ ​had​ ​encountered. Especially​ ​not​ ​the​ ​crying​ ​part.​ ​I​ ​picked​ ​up​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​to​ ​see​ ​if​ ​I​ ​could​ ​take​ ​it​ ​apart. Right​ ​as​ ​I​ ​touched​ ​it,​ ​something​ ​happened.

A​ ​small​ ​voice​ ​sounding​ ​from​ ​the​ ​static​ ​cried,​ ​“Mikey,​ ​help​ ​me.​ ​Help​ ​me.​ ​Please,​ ​help me.”

The​ ​voice​ ​continued,​ ​“Help​ ​me,​ ​Mikey.​ ​I​ ​can’t​ ​swim.”

I​ ​pressed​ ​down​ ​on​ ​the​ ​microphone​ ​button​ ​hard​ ​and​ ​yelled,​ ​“Whoever​ ​is​ ​doing​ ​this,​ ​it's not​ ​fucking​ ​funny!​ ​This​ ​isn't​ ​some​ ​joke!”

That's​ ​when​ ​the​ ​most​ ​shrill​ ​scream​ ​blasted​ ​from​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie’s​ ​speaker.​ ​In​ ​all my​ ​life,​ ​I’ve​ ​never​ ​heard​ ​something​ ​like​ ​this.​ ​Dropping​ ​the​ ​device,​ ​I​ ​ran​ ​to​ ​my​ ​mom​ ​and dad's​ ​room.​ ​I​ ​didn't​ ​care​ ​how​ ​late​ ​it​ ​was.​ ​I​ ​figured​ ​they​ ​must​ ​have​ ​heard​ ​the​ ​noise,​ ​but no,​ ​they​ ​didn't.​ ​They​ ​told​ ​me​ ​I​ ​must​ ​have​ ​been​ ​having​ ​a​ ​bad​ ​dream​ ​and​ ​all​ ​this​ ​is​ ​from the​ ​stress​ ​of​ ​Colton's​ ​death.​ ​They​ ​said​ ​I​ ​shouldn't​ ​feel​ ​guilty​ ​and​ ​that​ ​it​ ​wasn’t​ ​my​ ​fault. That​ ​I​ ​just​ ​needed​ ​some​ ​rest.​ ​I​ ​told​ ​them​ ​that's​ ​all​ ​bullshit​ ​and​ ​I​ ​know​ ​what​ ​I​ ​heard.​ ​I tried​ ​showing​ ​them​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie,​ ​but​ ​just​ ​like​ ​that​ ​classic​ ​trope,​ ​it​ ​didn't​ ​work​ ​in​ ​front of​ ​them.​ ​Not​ ​just​ ​in​ ​the​ ​way​ ​I​ ​had​ ​hoped​ ​with​ ​that​ ​crazy​ ​scream​ ​and​ ​all​ ​the​ ​talking,​ ​but the​ ​thing​ ​wouldn't​ ​even​ ​turn​ ​on.​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​maybe​ ​it​ ​had​ ​finally​ ​broken​ ​from​ ​all​ ​the​ ​times​ ​I had​ ​dropped​ ​it.

“I​ ​think​ ​talking​ ​more​ ​to​ ​your​ ​therapist​ ​will​ ​help,”​ ​My​ ​father​ ​said,​ ​his​ ​voice​ ​laced​ ​in concern,​ ​but​ ​his​ ​eyes​ ​only​ ​showed​ ​disappointment.

“Dad,​ ​It's​ ​not​ ​like​ ​that.​ ​The​ ​thing​ ​was​ ​literally​ ​leaking​ ​the​ ​other​ ​day.”

“Mike.​ ​Will​ ​you​ ​just​ ​stop?”​ ​My​ ​father​ ​continued,​ ​“I​ ​know​ ​you’re​ ​going​ ​through​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​of pain​ ​-​ ​we​ ​all​ ​are​ ​-​ ​but​ ​please,​ ​I​ ​already​ ​have​ ​a​ ​dead​ ​son.​ ​I​ ​can't​ ​have​ ​a​ ​crazy​ ​one,​ ​too.”

Though​ ​it​ ​was​ ​painful​ ​to​ ​hear,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​right.​ ​They​ ​did​ ​have​ ​a​ ​dead​ ​son.​ ​A​ ​crazy one​ ​added​ ​to​ ​that​ ​list​ ​was​ ​just​ ​the​ ​cherry​ ​on​ ​top​ ​of​ ​an​ ​already​ ​horrific​ ​situation.​ ​I​ ​knew from​ ​then​ ​on​ ​that​ ​I​ ​was​ ​in​ ​this​ ​alone.​ ​Whatever​ ​was​ ​happening,​ ​I​ ​had​ ​to​ ​deal​ ​with​ ​it myself.

Weeks​ ​passed​ ​and​ ​not​ ​sound​ ​from​ ​the​ ​thing.​ ​I​ ​tried​ ​my​ ​best​ ​to​ ​fix​ ​it,​ ​but​ ​it​ ​was​ ​all to​ ​no​ ​avail.​ ​Everywhere​ ​I​ ​went​ ​I​ ​took​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​with​ ​me,​ ​in​ ​hopes​ ​that​ ​maybe​ ​it would​ ​work.​ ​By​ ​this​ ​point,​ ​school​ ​was​ ​back​ ​in​ ​and​ ​my​ ​mind​ ​finally​ ​began​ ​to​ ​detach​ ​itself, albeit​ ​slowly,​ ​from​ ​that​ ​incident.

I​ ​was​ ​in​ ​my​ ​math​ ​class​ ​when​ ​“it”​ ​happened,​ ​whatever​ ​“it”​ ​is.​ ​I​ ​was​ ​looking​ ​outside the​ ​class​ ​window​ ​and​ ​began​ ​to​ ​notice​ ​the​ ​rain​ ​fall​ ​and​ ​the​ ​condensation​ ​grow​ ​on​ ​the windows.​ ​That's​ ​when​ ​I​ ​heard​ ​something​ ​coming​ ​from​ ​my​ ​backpack.​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​maybe​ ​I had​ ​forgotten​ ​to​ ​turn​ ​my​ ​phone​ ​on​ ​silent,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​realized​ ​my​ ​phone​ ​wasn’t​ ​in​ ​my backpack,​ ​and​ ​instead​ ​in​ ​my​ ​right​ ​back​ ​pocket.​ ​The​ ​sound​ ​grew​ ​louder​ ​and​ ​louder​ ​and in​ ​a​ ​panic,​ ​I​ ​threw​ ​open​ ​my​ ​bag​ ​and​ ​saw​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​was​ ​back​ ​on,​ ​fully​ ​functional.​ ​I was​ ​scared​ ​others​ ​would​ ​hear​ ​because​ ​the​ ​sheer​ ​volume​ ​of​ ​the​ ​noise​ ​was​ ​ear shattering.​ ​Though​ ​as​ ​I​ ​scanned​ ​the​ ​room,​ ​I​ ​realized​ ​no​ ​one​ ​seemed​ ​to​ ​even​ ​take notice.​ ​Almost​ ​as​ ​if​ ​they​ ​couldn't​ ​hear​ ​it.​ ​I​ ​even​ ​looked​ ​up​ ​to​ ​my​ ​teacher,​ ​whose​ ​eyes

met​ ​mine.​ ​Without​ ​even​ ​saying​ ​anything,​ ​I​ ​knew​ ​what​ ​he​ ​was​ ​telling​ ​me​ ​-​ ​“Get​ ​back​ ​to work”.​ ​I​ ​turned​ ​the​ ​volume​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way​ ​down,​ ​thinking​ ​to​ ​myself,​ ​please​ ​not​ ​right​ ​now. Anytime​ ​but​ ​now,​ ​to​ ​have​ ​this​ ​freak​ ​out​ ​in​ ​class,​ ​infront​ ​of​ ​everyone.​ ​Please,​ ​God,​ ​not right​ ​now.​ ​But​ ​of​ ​course,​ ​it​ ​happened.

“MIKEY,​ ​HELP!​ ​PLEASEEE​ ​MIKEY,​ ​HELP​ ​ME!”​ ​the​ ​voice​ ​was​ ​much​ ​more​ ​clear​ ​this time.

“I​ ​CAN’T​ ​SWIM,​ ​HELP​ ​ME!​ ​HELP​ ​ME!​ ​HELP​ ​ME!​ ​HELP​ ​ME…!”​ ​the​ ​voice​ ​blared.

There​ ​was​ ​no​ ​way​ ​around​ ​it​ ​this​ ​time.​ ​I​ ​knew​ ​that​ ​voice.​ ​​That was Colton.

“Colton!”​ ​I​ ​screamed.​ ​I​ ​stood​ ​up​ ​and​ ​yelled​ ​into​ ​the​ ​device,​ ​“I’m​ ​here,​ ​buddy!​ ​Hello? COLTON!”

Everyone's​ ​head​ ​was​ ​now​ ​turned,​ ​looking​ ​at​ ​me​ ​as​ ​I​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​yelling,​ ​over​ ​and over​ ​again​ ​for​ ​my​ ​brother.​ ​Mr.​ ​Donovan,​ ​my​ ​teacher,​ ​began​ ​to​ ​speak,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​couldn't​ ​even hear​ ​him.​ ​All​ ​other​ ​sounds​ ​and​ ​voices​ ​were​ ​drowned​ ​out​ ​by​ ​my​ ​racing​ ​heart.​ ​I​ ​just​ ​ran.​ ​I ran​ ​as​ ​fast​ ​as​ ​I​ ​could​ ​out​ ​of​ ​the​ ​room​ ​and​ ​down​ ​the​ ​hall.​ ​That's​ ​when​ ​the​ ​camera​ ​turned on.​ ​Instead​ ​of​ ​a​ ​black​ ​screen,​ ​I​ ​could​ ​see​ ​something.​ ​I​ ​could​ ​see​ ​my​ ​brother​ ​in​ ​the water.​ ​He​ ​was​ ​panicking,​ ​arms​ ​flailing​ ​all​ ​around,​ ​screaming.​ ​Screaming​ ​for​ ​my​ ​help.​ ​I knew​ ​where​ ​to​ ​go.​ ​That​ ​damn​ ​river.​ ​I​ ​ran​ ​out​ ​of​ ​my​ ​school​ ​and​ ​hopped​ ​onto​ ​my​ ​bike​ ​that was​ ​chained​ ​up​ ​at​ ​the​ ​bike​ ​area.​ ​I​ ​didn't​ ​know​ ​how​ ​or​ ​why,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​if​ ​I​ ​could​ ​get there​ ​in​ ​time,​ ​I​ ​could​ ​save​ ​him.​ ​I​ ​could​ ​somehow​ ​bring​ ​my​ ​brother​ ​back.​ ​I​ ​peddled​ ​hard, harder​ ​than​ ​even​ ​the​ ​first​ ​time.

“Colton!​ ​Hang​ ​in​ ​there,​ ​I’m​ ​on​ ​my​ ​way!”​ ​I​ ​yelled,​ ​my​ ​voice​ ​shaking​ ​and​ ​heaving​ ​for​ ​air.

I​ ​practically​ ​fell​ ​off​ ​of​ ​my​ ​bike​ ​when​ ​I​ ​reached​ ​the​ ​river.​ ​I​ ​raced​ ​down​ ​the​ ​small​ ​hill connecting​ ​the​ ​road​ ​to​ ​the​ ​grassy​ ​field.​ ​I​ ​ran​ ​all​ ​the​ ​way​ ​to​ ​the​ ​river​ ​bed.​ ​By​ ​this​ ​point my​ ​body​ ​was​ ​soaked​ ​drenched​ ​from​ ​the​ ​drops​ ​of​ ​rain.​ ​That's​ ​when​ ​I​ ​saw​ ​him.​ ​He​ ​was​ ​in the​ ​water,​ ​reaching​ ​out,​ ​screaming​ ​for​ ​me​ ​to​ ​help​ ​him.

“MIKEY,​ ​JUMP​ ​IN!​ ​GRAB​ ​ME​ ​MIKEY,​ ​GRAB​ ​ME!​ ​I​ ​CAN'T​ ​SWIM!”

I​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​dive​ ​right​ ​in​ ​and​ ​save​ ​him,​ ​when​ ​I​ ​took​ ​notice​ ​of​ ​something.​ ​This wasn’t​ ​right.​ ​I​ ​know​ ​that's​ ​obvious,​ ​but​ ​at​ ​the​ ​time,​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​I​ ​really​ ​could​ ​save​ ​him.​ ​I must​ ​have​ ​been​ ​going​ ​crazy​ ​or​ ​something​ ​to​ ​actually​ ​believe​ ​I​ ​could​ ​save​ ​my​ ​already dead​ ​brother.​ ​The​ ​thing​ ​that​ ​stopped​ ​me​ ​though​ ​wasn’t​ ​that​ ​I​ ​rationalized​ ​the​ ​situation​ ​in

my​ ​head.​ ​I​ ​noticed​ ​something​ ​was​ ​different​ ​about​ ​him.​ ​His​ ​skin​ ​looked​ ​more​ ​pale, almost​ ​a​ ​faint​ ​blue.​ ​His​ ​eyes​ ​were​ ​yellow​ ​like​ ​gold,​ ​and​ ​his​ ​teeth​ ​looked​ ​rotted​ ​and decayed.​ ​As​ ​I​ ​stood​ ​there,​ ​he​ ​kept​ ​screeching.

“Help​ ​me,​ ​damn​ ​it!​ ​You​ ​killed​ ​me,​ ​MIkey!​ ​Now​ ​jump​ ​in​ ​and​ ​save​ ​me.​ ​Fucking​ ​get​ ​in!” Colton​ ​demanded.

His​ ​voice​ ​sounded​ ​lower,​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​lower.​ ​No​ ​way​ ​this​ ​was​ ​coming​ ​from​ ​my​ ​six​ ​year old​ ​brother.​ ​As​ ​I​ ​stood​ ​there​ ​he​ ​stopped.​ ​The​ ​water​ ​grew​ ​still​ ​and​ ​he​ ​was​ ​silent.​ ​I wondered​ ​if​ ​I​ ​had​ ​just​ ​let​ ​him​ ​die​ ​again.​ ​This​ ​couldn’t​ ​be​ ​real.​ ​I​ ​heard​ ​him​ ​start​ ​to​ ​laugh. I​ ​could​ ​barely​ ​make​ ​it​ ​out,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​was​ ​hysterically​ ​laughing​ ​from​ ​underneath​ ​the​ ​water.​ ​I watched​ ​as​ ​air​ ​bubbles​ ​came​ ​up​ ​and​ ​the​ ​laughing​ ​grew​ ​louder​ ​and​ ​louder.​ ​I​ ​turned around​ ​and​ ​ran.​ ​I​ ​ran​ ​straight​ ​up​ ​the​ ​hill​ ​towards​ ​my​ ​bike.​ ​As​ ​I​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​hop​ ​on​ ​and haul​ ​ass​ ​away,​ ​I​ ​saw​ ​his​ ​head​ ​peaking​ ​out​ ​from​ ​the​ ​river.​ ​He​ ​somehow​ ​looked​ ​even worse.

He​ ​yelled,​ ​“I’ll​ ​come,​ ​for​ ​you​ ​Mikey.​ ​I’ll​ ​come​ ​for​ ​you.​ ​You​ ​let​ ​me​ ​die!​ ​I’ll​ ​come​ ​for​ ​you!”

I​ ​got​ ​home​ ​and​ ​ran​ ​up​ ​to​ ​my​ ​room.​ ​I​ ​took​ ​off​ ​my​ ​wet​ ​clothes,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​was​ ​still shaking​ ​from​ ​the​ ​whole​ ​thing.​ ​None​ ​of​ ​this​ ​made​ ​sense.​ ​I​ ​knew​ ​it​ ​couldn't​ ​be​ ​real.​ ​But, what​ ​if?​ ​What​ ​if​ ​it​ ​was​ ​real​ ​and​ ​I​ ​wasn’t​ ​crazy?​ ​What​ ​if​ ​somehow,​ ​someway,​ ​the​ ​ghost​ ​of my​ ​little​ ​brother​ ​wanted​ ​me​ ​dead?​ ​Could​ ​that​ ​even​ ​be​ ​possible?​ ​I’ve​ ​never​ ​actually believed​ ​in​ ​ghosts​ ​or​ ​anything​ ​like​ ​that,​ ​but​ ​what​ ​I​ ​saw.​ ​No,​ ​that​ ​wasn't​ ​a​ ​ghost.​ ​That was​ ​something​ ​different.​ ​Something​ ​darker,​ ​and​ ​I​ ​feared​ ​something​ ​much​ ​worse.​ ​I​ ​knew my​ ​parents​ ​would​ ​probably​ ​find​ ​out​ ​from​ ​the​ ​school​ ​that​ ​I​ ​ran​ ​out​ ​of​ ​class​ ​in​ ​paranoid episode.​ ​I​ ​didn’t​ ​care​ ​though,​ ​none​ ​of​ ​that​ ​mattered​ ​now.​ ​The​ ​only​ ​thing​ ​I​ ​could​ ​think about​ ​was​ ​what​ ​he​ ​meant​ ​by,​ ​“I’ll​ ​come​ ​for​ ​you.”

Just​ ​then​ ​static​ ​came​ ​from​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie.​ ​I​ ​picked​ ​it​ ​up​ ​and​ ​murmured​ ​a terrified,​ ​“Hello…?”​ ​No​ ​response.​ ​I​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​put​ ​it​ ​down,​ ​when​ ​the​ ​screen​ ​came​ ​on. This​ ​time​ ​I​ ​could​ ​clearly​ ​see​ ​him.​ ​Underneath​ ​the​ ​water,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​looked​ ​even​ ​worse​ ​than before.​ ​He​ ​was​ ​rotting​ ​and​ ​falling​ ​apart.​ ​He​ ​looked​ ​like​ ​a​ ​dead,​ ​wet​ ​fish.​ ​Just​ ​from​ ​the visuals​ ​alone,​ ​I​ ​could​ ​image​ ​how​ ​foul​ ​he​ ​must​ ​of​ ​smelled.

“I’m​ ​coming​ ​for​ ​you,​ ​Mikey,”​ ​he​ ​said.​ ​“I’m​ ​coming​ ​for​ ​you.”

I​ ​slammed​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​down.​ ​I​ ​decided​ ​then​ ​and​ ​there​ ​that​ ​I​ ​wasn't​ ​playing any​ ​of​ ​his​ ​fucking​ ​games​ ​anymore.​ ​I​ ​ran​ ​down​ ​to​ ​my​ ​dad's​ ​tool​ ​shed​ ​and​ ​got​ ​a​ ​hammer. I​ ​smashed​ ​that​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​into​ ​a​ ​million​ ​little​ ​pieces.​ ​I​ ​didn't​ ​care​ ​if​ ​my​ ​dead​ ​brother

gave​ ​it​ ​to​ ​me.​ ​I​ ​had​ ​to​ ​stop​ ​it.​ ​This​ ​couldn't​ ​go​ ​on​ ​for​ ​any​ ​longer.​ ​With​ ​each​ ​smah​ ​of​ ​the hammer​ ​I​ ​heard​ ​a​ ​cry,​ ​an​ ​almost​ ​pained​ ​sound.​ ​With​ ​each​ ​blow​ ​it​ ​sound​ ​worse​ ​than before.​ ​I​ ​smashed​ ​until​ ​there​ ​was​ ​practically​ ​nothing​ ​left.​ ​I​ ​knelt​ ​down​ ​and​ ​cried.​ ​I​ ​cried my​ ​eyes​ ​out.​ ​I​ ​cried​ ​for​ ​my​ ​dead​ ​brother,​ ​I​ ​cried​ ​for​ ​my​ ​parents,​ ​and​ ​I​ ​cried​ ​for​ ​my​ ​lost mind.​ ​I​ ​finally​ ​got​ ​some​ ​rest​ ​that​ ​night.​ ​I​ ​don’t​ ​know​ ​how.​ ​Maybe​ ​I​ ​was​ ​tired​ ​from​ ​all​ ​the running​ ​and​ ​racing​ ​on​ ​my​ ​bike,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​slept​ ​like​ ​a​ ​baby​ ​that​ ​night.

My​ ​parents​ ​eventually​ ​had​ ​a​ ​sit​ ​down​ ​meeting​ ​with​ ​me​ ​and​ ​my​ ​therapist.​ ​They implored​ ​for​ ​me​ ​to​ ​get​ ​on​ ​some​ ​medication,​ ​that​ ​I​ ​might​ ​be​ ​suffering​ ​from​ ​some​ ​sort​ ​of disorder.​ ​I​ ​tried​ ​telling​ ​them​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​all​ ​fine​ ​now,​ ​that​ ​I​ ​destroyed​ ​the​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​and the​ ​nightmare​ ​was​ ​over.​ ​None​ ​of​ ​them​ ​listened.​ ​Ever​ ​since​ ​then,​ ​I’ve​ ​been​ ​telling​ ​them I've​ ​taken​ ​my​ ​pills.​ ​In​ ​reality,​ ​I've​ ​just​ ​been​ ​flushing​ ​them​ ​down​ ​the​ ​toilet.​ ​I​ ​go​ ​and​ ​see my​ ​therapist​ ​almost​ ​everyday​ ​after​ ​school.​ ​He’s​ ​somehow​ ​grown​ ​even​ ​more uninterested​ ​in​ ​anything​ ​I​ ​have​ ​to​ ​say.​ ​I​ ​know​ ​it's​ ​his​ ​job,​ ​but​ ​damn​ ​does​ ​he​ ​look miserable.​ ​For​ ​a​ ​while​ ​there,​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​maybe​ ​this​ ​hellish​ ​nightmare​ ​was​ ​over,​ ​that maybe​ ​destroying​ ​that​ ​walkie​ ​talkie​ ​severed​ ​whatever​ ​connection​ ​there​ ​was​ ​between me​ ​and​ ​my​ ​dead​ ​little​ ​brother.​ ​Of​ ​course,​ ​I​ ​had​ ​been​ ​wrong.

It​ ​was​ ​a​ ​week​ ​ago​ ​when​ ​it​ ​happened.​ ​I​ ​was​ ​about​ ​to​ ​take​ ​a​ ​bath.​ ​The​ ​stress​ ​from all​ ​of​ ​this​ ​was​ ​physically​ ​draining,​ ​so​ ​the​ ​thought​ ​of​ ​a​ ​relaxing,​ ​warm​ ​bath​ ​didn't​ ​sound too​ ​shabby.​ ​I​ ​sat​ ​there​ ​for​ ​a​ ​minute​ ​or​ ​so​ ​until​ ​I​ ​started​ ​to​ ​hear​ ​something.​ ​I​ ​heard​ ​a​ ​cry, coming​ ​from​ ​the​ ​water.​ ​I​ ​jumped​ ​up,​ ​my​ ​naked​ ​wet​ ​body​ ​shivering​ ​as​ ​the​ ​air​ ​hit​ ​me.​ ​As​ ​I looked​ ​down,​ ​I​ ​could​ ​make​ ​out​ ​a​ ​face​ ​in​ ​the​ ​water.​ ​It​ ​looked​ ​like​ ​the​ ​reflection​ ​of someone​ ​or​ ​something.​ ​I​ ​looked​ ​closer,​ ​and​ ​I​ ​saw​ ​Colton​ ​-​ ​his​ ​dead​ ​body.​ ​He​ ​looked worse​ ​than​ ​the​ ​last​ ​time,​ ​now​ ​completely​ ​rotted,​ ​with​ ​chunks​ ​of​ ​skin​ ​hanging​ ​from​ ​his once​ ​innocent,​ ​youthful​ ​face.

He​ ​smiled​ ​-​ ​a​ ​big,​ ​rotted,​ ​almost​ ​toothless​ ​smile​ ​-​ ​and​ ​said,​ ​“Did​ ​you​ ​miss​ ​me,​ ​Mikey? I’m​ ​coming​ ​for​ ​you.”

I​ ​jumped​ ​right​ ​out​ ​and​ ​as​ ​I​ ​did,​ ​I​ ​slipped​ ​and​ ​twisted​ ​my​ ​ankle.​ ​I​ ​got​ ​back​ ​to​ ​my feet​ ​and​ ​dragged​ ​myself​ ​to​ ​my​ ​room,​ ​slamming​ ​the​ ​bathroom​ ​door​ ​shut.​ ​Luckily,​ ​nobody else​ ​was​ ​home​ ​with​ ​me.​ ​I​ ​put​ ​on​ ​some​ ​clothes​ ​and​ ​grabbed​ ​my​ ​baseball​ ​bat.​ ​I​ ​limped backed​ ​to​ ​the​ ​bathroom​ ​and​ ​slowly​ ​opened​ ​the​ ​door.​ ​I​ ​looked​ ​down​ ​at​ ​the​ ​tub​ ​and noticed​ ​that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​gone,​ ​no​ ​sign​ ​or​ ​sound​ ​of​ ​him​ ​anywhere.​ ​‘Have​ ​I​ ​really​ ​lost​ ​my mind?’​ ​I​ ​thought​ ​to​ ​myself,​ ​my​ ​heart​ ​still​ ​hammering​ ​in​ ​my​ ​chest.​ ​I​ ​didn't​ ​take​ ​a​ ​bath​ ​or shower​ ​for​ ​a​ ​whole​ ​week,​ ​until​ ​I​ ​could​ ​tell​ ​others​ ​were​ ​offended​ ​by​ ​my​ ​smell.​ ​I​ ​know​ ​it's gross,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​was​ ​terrified.​ ​Things​ ​didn't​ ​stop,​ ​though.​ ​Anytime​ ​I​ ​was​ ​near​ ​a​ ​large​ ​body​ ​of water,​ ​I​ ​would​ ​see​ ​him.​ ​I​ ​would​ ​see​ ​him​ ​when​ ​I​ ​was​ ​out​ ​at​ ​my​ ​friend’s​ ​house,​ ​in​ ​their

backyards​ ​by​ ​their​ ​pool.​ ​I​ ​would​ ​hear​ ​him​ ​call​ ​out​ ​for​ ​me​ ​over​ ​and​ ​over,​ ​how​ ​I​ ​let​ ​him die,​ ​how​ ​it's​ ​all​ ​my​ ​fault.​ ​Nobody​ ​else​ ​could​ ​see​ ​him.​ ​But​ ​I​ ​could.​ ​Each​ ​day,​ ​he​ ​was more​ ​rotted​ ​than​ ​the​ ​last.​ ​I​ ​could​ ​smell​ ​him​ ​anytime​ ​I​ ​opened​ ​a​ ​bottle​ ​of​ ​water.​ ​The stench​ ​would​ ​fill​ ​my​ ​nostrils​ ​and​ ​the​ ​urge​ ​to​ ​puke​ ​almost​ ​overcame​ ​me.​ ​But,​ ​I​ ​had​ ​to​ ​act normal.​ ​If​ ​my​ ​parents​ ​knew...​ ​then​ ​well,​ ​who​ ​knows​ ​where​ ​they​ ​would​ ​ship​ ​me​ ​off​ ​to.

That's​ ​what​ ​leads​ ​me​ ​here,​ ​today.​ ​It's​ ​a​ ​Thursday​ ​meaning​ ​both​ ​my​ ​parents​ ​are at​ ​work.​ ​It's​ ​been​ ​exactly​ ​three​ ​months​ ​since​ ​Colton​ ​died.​ ​I’m​ ​sitting​ ​here​ ​alone​ ​in​ ​my living​ ​room,​ ​writing​ ​this​ ​on​ ​my​ ​laptop.​ ​It's​ ​storming​ ​out​ ​tonight.​ ​The​ ​weatherman​ ​told everyone​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​indoors,​ ​and​ ​keep​ ​your​ ​pets​ ​inside​ ​too,​ ​that​ ​there​ ​could​ ​be​ ​some flooding.

He​ ​was​ ​right.​ ​My​ ​whole​ ​backyard​ ​was​ ​flooded.​ ​Nothing​ ​too​ ​crazy,​ ​but​ ​enough​ ​for him

​ ​ ​to​ ​be​ ​there.​ ​Right​ ​now,​ ​I​ ​see​ ​him​ ​standing​ ​outside​ ​the​ ​glass​ ​sliding​ ​door.​ ​I​ ​can​ ​smell his​ ​blue,​ ​rotting​ ​flesh​ ​from​ ​in​ ​here.​ ​His​ ​skin​ ​is​ ​sliding​ ​off​ ​of​ ​his​ ​little​ ​bones,​ ​falling​ ​apart like​ ​some​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​monster.​ ​He’s​ ​standing​ ​there,​ ​looking​ ​at​ ​me​ ​and​ ​tapping​ ​on​ ​the​ ​glass.​ ​I think​ ​he​ ​wants​ ​me​ ​to​ ​open​ ​it,​ ​to​ ​let​ ​him​ ​inside,​ ​to​ ​give​ ​out​ ​any​ ​justice​ ​he​ ​thinks​ ​I deserve.

I​ ​think...​ ​I​ ​think​ ​I’m​ ​going​ ​to​ ​open​ ​it​ ​now.​ ​I’m​ ​going​ ​to​ ​let​ ​my​ ​baby​ ​brother​ ​come home.​ ​It's​ ​time​ ​for​ ​all​ ​of​ ​us​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​family​ ​again.