“No!” I gasped, certain they’d misunderstood. “You don’t understand, I… I must have been dreaming….I thought I was walking to the basement!…”
“Shelby?! Shelby, where is your brother, he wasn’t with your father when we woke up, and…”
“Max?” I asked, fear gripping my throat.
“We thought he may have followed you,” explained my father.
I shook my head. “No, I… Max is in the basement. That’s why I was…”
My explanation was cut off by my mother’s scream. My father’s gaze followed to where she was pointing, and he gasped, his entire body going rigid. I turned to look, but he clasped his hands over my eyes. Still, it was too late, because I’d already seen what had caused them such alarm.
My brother was floating face down in the water.
My brother was five years old when he died.
I still remember the tiny coffin my parents bought for him. It was so small, it looked like a doll’s coffin. I liked to imagine it was, because then I could forget what was really inside it.
My poor, baby brother.
