THE SLOW HAUNTING
JOHN R. LITTLE
YOU DIDN’T KILL me, Timmy.”
“Don’t call me Timmy. You know that. It’s Tim … but I did kill you.”
“It was an accident.”
“Why are you here?”
“You know.”
“I can’t see you. Turn on the light.”
“Can’t do that. I can’t touch anything. My fingers go right through. It’s pretty weird.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Why aren’t you in heaven?”
“You know.”
“I’m turning the light on.”
Tim climbed out from under the covers and walked to his bedroom door. He blinked as he snapped the light on. He hadn’t been sure where Dennis was. His voice seemed to come from everywhere.
“Here,” said Dennis. “Right where I belong.”
Tim looked up at the top bunk bed, and sure enough, there he was. He looked the same as he always did, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mattress, arms back as if supporting himself.
Would that work if he can’t touch anything?
Looking at Dennis was like looking in the mirror. Same dirty-blond hair, same round face and blue eyes, same small mole on the right cheek.
Dennis smiled. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
“I never felt you leave.”
Dennis floated down to the rug and stood face-to-face with his identical twin. “We’ve been together since we were born. Can’t change that now.”
Tim moved to hug Dennis, but his arms fell through thin air and he jumped back in surprise.
“You look real.”
“I am real. To you. But things work differently now.”
“How long can you stay?”
“As long as you want me, Timmy.”
“It’s Tim.”
* * *
Three months earlier, Timmy’s mom had sat on his bed, beside him.
“Timmy? It’s time to get up.”
She swept the hair out of his eyes and touched his cheek.
“We all miss him, but we have to carry on. Today’s the big birthday for you. Moving your age into double digits. It’d be a good time to—”
“He would have been ten too.”
“Yes, and we’ll always remember him on your birthday. And on Christmas and on summer holidays, when you two would be out throwing your baseball around, and on the first day of school, and on every other day of the year.”
“It’s my fault.”
“Don’t ever say that, Timmy. We know it was an accident. You were both curious about the gun. We should never have had it in the house.”
Her eyes watered, but she kept her voice firm, not wanting to cry again in front of him. “If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine. I should have told your father to take the gun with him when he left.”
Silence covered the room like a blanket of snow. She heard the tick-tock of the Spider-Man wall clock and the swoosh of a car as it drove through the wet streets outside.
“Timmy?”
“I think I should be called Tim now.”
“Okay.”
“We stopped calling him Denny last year. I should have done the same. Timmy is for little kids.”
She saw a forced smile on his face and stood back so he could climb out of bed. The frame creaked. The noise had never bothered her before, but without the constant chatter between the two boys, every sound seemed out of place.
* * *
Tim didn’t play any baseball that summer or any of the summers following. Eleven years old … twelve … thirteen … Somehow it wouldn’t be the same. The twins had played ball together since they got their first T-ball set when they were five. They graduated to Coach Pitch at seven and spent most of their waking time in summers playing.
But now Dennis wasn’t there to catch Tim’s pitches, and Tim couldn’t be Dennis’s fielder when he hit fungoes in the park.
Their fifteenth birthday was on March 15.
“Beware the Ides of March, Timmy,” whispered Dennis just before daylight.
“You say that every year.”
Dennis didn’t answer for a few moments. Tim yawned and rubbed his eyes, waiting for a bit of sunlight to start the day.
“Let’s play some baseball this year.”
“You can’t play.”
“Sure I can. I’ll have just as much fun as you will.”
Dennis had aged along with Tim. They were still mirror images.
That Saturday in late May, Tim picked up his glove, went to the ball field, and joined a pickup game. He played second base, and standing right beside him was Dennis, as he always was. Dennis wore his own glove and smacked his fist into it as they both set their stance for the batter.
Tim never talked out loud to Dennis when anybody was around, but he could still talk to him in his mind. Maybe that’s where Dennis talked too. Tim never really understood how it all worked that he could hear Dennis, but nobody else could see or hear him.
In the third inning, the batter smacked a grounder up the middle. It was bouncing between Tim and Dennis, and both of them moved to the middle to try to get the ball. It went right through Dennis’s mitt and into Tim’s. Things like that still surprised him, and he dropped the ball.
“Dam.”
“Don’t worry,” Dennis said. “You still stopped it from going to the outfield.”
At the end of the game Tim asked Dennis, without moving his mouth, “How’d you get the glove?”
His twin shrugged. “I get whatever I need. That’s just the way it works.”
They walked side by side down the street toward home. They ducked into a 7-Eleven, and Tim bought a Coke. He knew Dennis would find a way to have one in his hand when he next looked.
The sun was hot, but Tim didn’t feel like rushing home. Burbank might have hot weather, but it was nothing like the heat in their apartment. Mom always promised to find a bigger place with air conditioning, but it never worked out. She worked in a nearby bookstore, but money was always tight since Dad left.
The boys walked through Valley Park and found a cool spot sitting at the base of a shade tree. They drank their Cokes and watched people walk by.
“You ever wish things were different?” asked Tim.
Dennis had never hesitated in answering Tim, so he was surprised that he didn’t hear the answer rumble around his head.
“Dennis?”
“Oh, well, sure. I wish I was still alive. Who wouldn’t?”
“It was an accident.”
Again Dennis didn’t reply. He just finished his Coke and then tossed the empty can into the air. It disappeared.
“You know that, right?”
“Yeah, Timmy. I know what happened.”
“It’s Tim.”
“You need to ask Lisa out.”
“What?”
“She’s just waiting for you to ask. I listened to her talk to that new girl the other day. You know, the fat thing. Lisa told her you’re cute.”
“What?”
“Just trust me. Lisa’s hot. Ask her to a movie or something. We’ll all like that.”
Tim didn’t know what to say. Lisa? Did Dennis really hear her say something?
But then, why not? A bunch of other kids were dating. He picked up his glove and smacked it.
“We should get home. Mom’s making macaroni casserole.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
* * *
The next day, Tim saw Lisa at the water fountain outside homeroom. She was wearing a light blue skirt that showed her long legs. To avoid staring at them, he wondered what it would be like to touch her dark, curly hair.
“Go on.”
Tim moved a step closer but froze when Lisa finished her drink and looked up at him. When she smiled, it felt like his guts were going to fall out.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“Did you want some water?”
“Jesus, Timmy, just ask her.”
“Keep quiet.”
He nodded to Lisa. “Hot day.” He started to turn the water on, and when he was looking down, he asked, “Would you like to go to a movie sometime? Or something?”
A million years passed in silence. The water ran down the drain while he watched with a parched throat.
“Sure,” she said. “That sounds like fun.”
* * *
Six weeks later, she kissed him. They were holding hands and walking home after the last day of school. She stopped walking, turned to him, and out of the blue leaned to him and kissed him.
“Wow, that was nice,” he said when she pulled back.
For once, Dennis kept quiet.
That night, Tim woke in the middle of the night. He’d dreamed of Lisa again, and he had a huge erection. He wasn’t surprised. He often woke this way after dreaming of her, and he started to stroke himself, thinking of the day when they would be together. He knew it would happen one day, thought she wanted it as much as he did, but he also knew he was too afraid of screwing things up to try anything.
He thought of feeling her boobs and touching her between her legs, wanting her to touch him as he was doing to himself.
“You should move faster with her.”
Tim jumped and pulled his hand back. He pulled the blanket back on top of him that he’d moved aside earlier. “Jesus, you shouldn’t be spying on me.”
“You know she wants you to.”
“Shut up.”
“I see it in her eyes.”
“What do you know? You died five years ago. You never had a girlfriend. You don’t have a clue what it feels like.”
Silence filled the room, and Tim felt terrible. He’d never wanted to bring up Dennis’s death. His erection wilted away.
“Dennis? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Still nothing. Tim climbed out of bed and flipped the light on. The top bunk was empty.
In the years since Dennis was killed, they’d lived together with their secret friendship. The bond between them was stronger than between any other friends Tim knew of, and he would never endanger it.
“Dennis? Come back. Please.”
He pulled out the chair from his desk and sat, staring at the bunk beds. After a moment, he noticed the tick-tock of the clock and glanced at it—4:42 a.m.
* * *
The gun was supposed to have been locked up in the cabinet near the bathroom, but the whole apartment had been turned upside down. Dad was leaving, and neither Tim nor Dennis knew why. Mom spent all her time in her bedroom crying. She only came out to go to work, and when she arrived back home, she brought fast food for the twins’ dinner. For two weeks, they lived on burgers, pizza, tacos, and wings.
Then Mom started to be okay. She never did talk about why Dad left, and he never came to visit them. Tim only saw him the one time, at Dennis’s funeral. Even then, they didn’t even find a way to say “hi” to each other. Dad sat at the back of the church with a woman Tim didn’t recognize.
The cabinet wasn’t locked.
It must have been due to the rush of Dad moving out. He’d been grabbing things all over the place, throwing them inside two ratty suitcases, glaring at the boys, and yelling at Mom, who yelled right back.
The twins mostly tried to sit on the couch, holding hands, hoping the fight would just end.
Dad yelled one more time at Mom, and then he stormed out and slammed the door. After crying for an hour, Mom washed her face and left too. Tim knew she was going to the bar down the street. He hoped Dad would be there, too, but that seemed like a slim possibility.
“What a mess.”
“Yeah.”
There were clothes scattered through the apartment, some Dad’s, some Mom’s, and even some of the boys’. They picked up their own clothes and took them to their room. There was broken glass in the kitchen, and papers covered much of the hall floor.
“I think they’re bills or something,” said Dennis.
“Hey, look.”
The cabinet door was ajar. Through the glass window, they could see the gun.
“Wow. I’ll get it,” Dennis said as he swung the door open and grabbed the gun.
“Let me have it. I saw it first!”
“No, I’ve got to—”
“Damnit, Dennis, you can’t have everything and—”
* * *
Tim pulled his mind back from that awful day and focused again on the top bunk.
For the first time in his life, he felt alone. The invisible elastic band that always connected him to Dennis had snapped, and he was adrift, as if sailing off on a lifeboat by himself.
He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out his scrapbook. Inside were photos of him and Dennis, several from the last year before the accident. He touched Dennis’s pictures and tried to smile, but nothing felt right.
Tears fell down his cheeks. He blew his nose and wiped his face before flicking the light back off and heading back under the covers. All thoughts of Lisa were gone. He just replayed memories of Dennis and himself in his mind for about thirty minutes. Finally he drifted off to sleep.
* * *
“Hey, sleepyhead. Time to wake up.”
“Dennis?”
“Who else?”
“You’re back!”
“I couldn’t stay away. I missed you.”
Tim stood beside the bed and stared up at Dennis. “It’s Saturday. Wanna hit a movie this aft?”
“Sure.”
Tim got dressed and they went down for breakfast. As always, Dennis paced around the kitchen and living room, waiting for Tim to eat his cereal. Mom read the newspaper and drank a black coffee.
“You should try a coffee sometime,” called Dennis. “We’re getting old enough.”
Tim shrugged and answered silently, “Doesn’t smell very good.”
“Lisa’ll like you better. Make you look grown up.”
He finished off the Rice Krispies and rinsed his bowl in the sink.
“She wants you to grow up faster. Wants you to fuck her.”
“What did you say?”
“Tim?” Mom looked over at him. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No, it’s okay. Sorry, Mom. I was just …”
“Talking to Dennis again? I thought you’d stopped that.”
Dennis started laughing.
“Do you ever feel that he’s still here?” asked Tim.
Mom put her paper down. Dennis stared at her and then back to Tim.
“I feel him every day. I’ll always have him.”
“Bullshit,” Dennis said. “She’s got nothing.”
“Yeah,” said Tim. “It just feels like he’s right beside us sometimes.” He looked over at Dennis, who now was wearing his spring jacket.
“Oh, aren’t you the funny one.”
“We’ll never forget him.” Mom picked up her paper again.
Tim grabbed a lacrosse ball and his baseball glove and walked over to the schoolyard. The back of the school was solid, no windows, and he tossed the ball at the wall. It bounced back just as hard as he threw it, and it smacked hard into his mitt.
For thirty minutes, Tim threw the ball over and over. Dennis dodged in front of him, trying to block Tim’s view. The normal game they played.
“I meant it,” Dennis said. “She wants to fuck you.”
“Don’t say that. She’s nice. She wouldn’t talk like that.”
“Sez you. Just go for it. She’s waiting for you to find a way.”
The next day, Tim met Lisa in the afternoon and suggested they go for a walk through the woods in the park. Almost nobody ever did that, because there weren’t any normal walking paths. You had to pick your way among thick trees.
As they moved into the forested area, Tim clenched his mouth and took hold of Lisa’s hand. She didn’t shake him off, just smiled.
“That’s nice,” she said.
“See,” said Dennis. “Told ya.”
They found a clearing in the middle of the woods, sat down, and talked about school. They laughed, and Dennis just watched. At one point he rolled his hand in a circle. Get a move on.
During a lull in the talk, Tim leaned over and kissed Lisa. They kissed for a long time, and Tim felt unbelievable. Lisa placed her hands behind his head, and he tried to copy her.
Go for it.
She was driving him crazy, and that gave him courage. He moved his hand under the front of her T-shirt and lifted up to cup her breast. He couldn’t believe he had the nerve to do it.
“Hey!” Lisa slapped his arm away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I—I thought …”
“I’m not that kind of girl. Besides, we’re only fifteen, for God’s sake. I thought you liked me.”
“I do. I really like you.”
She stood up and crossed her arms. “I’m going home.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You can come with me if you want or you can stay, but I’m going.”
He rushed to keep up with her as they headed back out through the trees to the street.
“Lisa, I’m really sorry. I was just being stupid.”
She slowed her walk a bit and looked at him. “C’mon, let’s get home.”
Dennis laughed on the way out of the woods and all the way home.
Later, Tim asked him, “Why’d you lie to me?”
“Just trying to help. I thought she wanted it.”
“You said you knew.”
“Yeah, well. I was wrong. But at least you got to feel her boob.”
* * *
Lisa and Tim were eighteen when they made love for the first time. It happened in the back of Tim’s ten-year-old, secondhand Taurus, and this time it was Lisa who engineered things.
Dennis sat in the front seat and didn’t make a sound.
They were twenty-one when they got married. Dennis was Tim’s unofficial best man, standing right there along with the rest of the wedding party. He wore a matching tuxedo.
Lisa’s parents were happy to splurge for a huge ceremony. “As long as you understand we won’t pay for another one,” her father whispered to her that morning. “So make this work.”
Tim’s dad wasn’t invited.
Lisa’s father walked her down the aisle. She was the most beautiful bride in the world, and even after all these years, Tim couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be with her.
Every day is devoted to you, my love. He would never tell Dennis, but for the first time ever, Dennis was not the closest person to him and never would be again.
Tim’s voice cracked when he said, “I do.” His hand shook as he slipped the ring onto her finger, not caring one whit that he’d be paying for the diamond for the next three years. She was worth every penny.
Through their courtship, they’d talked about everything to do with their future. Career aspirations, kids, houses, even what they wanted to do when they retired, though that was an unimaginable time in the distant future. She wanted to be sure he was the right man for her.
Their entire lives were mapped away in her mind, and he loved her all the more for it.
Dennis helped answer all Lisa’s questions, which was fine with Tim. After all, they were one, and what mattered to Dennis mattered to Tim. Sometimes he just figured it out faster.
The newlyweds wanted three children, spaced over eight years. Not too close together, not too far apart. They planned to conceive their first child a year after their marriage.
* * *
Sixteen months passed.
“Tim? Look!”
She held the little plastic stick up to his face. “Positive!”
“Hey!”
He picked her up and twirled her around their apartment. When he put her back down, he stared at the test. “You’re sure?”
“Well, these things are never a hundred percent, but I’m as sure as I can be.”
“Get her a glass of wine to celebrate,” called Dennis. “Piss her up!”
Tim ignored him. “We need to get you to the doctor to double-check.”
They kissed. The elastic bond between Tim and Dennis was definitely weakening as the bond grew stronger with his own family.
Seven months later, Lisa delivered a perfect set of identical twin girls. They named them Patricia and Denise.
Patricia was Lisa’s mother’s name. Tim said he wanted to name their other daughter Denise, to honor his long-dead brother. Lisa thought that odd, but she liked the sound of the name.
“Denise is the pretty one,” said Dennis. “Of course.”
Tim laughed. “Just like I’m the more handsome of us.”
Dennis spoke more somberly. “I feel like I’m their father as much as you.”
Tim just nodded and smiled. Not a fucking chance, he thought.
Having his brother’s ghost around was second nature, and he could always carry on separate conversations with him and with Lisa whenever he needed to. Some things, though, were better left unsaid.
Lisa never suspected he was talking to a dead man.
* * *
Tim couldn’t have imagined how his life would change after the girls were born. They became his first thought every morning and his last thought at night. He held them in his arms every evening, waiting for them to fall asleep. And when they learned to smile, he knew he was totally sunk. His whole life was devoted to the girls.
Lisa didn’t mind. She never felt ignored or neglected, and she appreciated all the time Tim spent taking care of them. It gave her a chance to escape after being with them all day while Tim was at work.
Even Dennis didn’t mind. He seemed to love the girls just as much as Tim.
“I wish I could hold them,” he said one night.
Lisa was out picking up a couple of groceries, so Tim talked out loud. “We’re awfully lucky. Everyone says so.”
Dennis reached his hand to Denise and pretended to pat her hair. Tim thought he felt more involved in the family when he acted out like this.
“Just don’t leave any guns around,” Dennis whispered.
Tim didn’t answer. He was shocked that Dennis would even bring up such a possibility.
They heard Lisa’s car door slam, and the ghost pulled his hand back, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
Tim automatically switched to talking to Dennis in his mind. “I wish she’d met you when you were alive.”
“Well, she kinda did, since we’re identical, right down to the last cell.”
“We only look the same. We don’t think the same at all.”
Dennis shrugged and floated to the other side of the room, knowing Lisa would rush in and sit down where he’d been sitting.
“No, we don’t,” he said after a moment.
* * *
By the time the girls hit their ninth birthday, Lisa’s long-term plan for their lives was scattered to the winds. They never conceived another child and probably never would. Neither of them wanted to go to the doctor to see whose plumbing was at fault. They were happy with Denise and Patricia.
The bigger house she had hoped for didn’t work out either. Living in Burbank wasn’t cheap, and they’d only been able to afford to rent a basement apartment. Both of them worked full-time, she in the local Starbucks, and he at an auto body shop. They weren’t rich, and sometimes he wondered about the endgame of Lisa’s plan: retirement. He’d already passed his thirty-first birthday, and he could see tiny tufts of gray hair on the back of Dennis’s head. He refused to look that closely in the mirror, but he knew what he’d see.
“Hard to believe it’s their birthday again,” said Dennis. He’d been missing for the past half hour, which had worried Tim. “Where’ve you been?”
“Just reminiscing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes, I just get sad.” He walked to the window and looked outside. “Do you ever think about that day?”
Tim moved to stand beside him. The girls were in their room, napping, and Lisa was out picking up party supplies. It was still a few hours until the guests arrived.
“Sure. I still think of it all the time.”
“We were nine. Just like Denise.”
“And Patricia. Why do you always leave her out?”
“You shouldn’t have tried to grab the gun.”
Tim took a long breath and watched a car roll down the street.
“It was an accident.”
Dennis said, “It’s hot. I’m going to open the window.”
And he did.
Tim took a step backward. What the fuck?
His first thought was that he’d just had some kind of daydream—imagined what he’d seen. But, no. He replayed it in his mind. Dennis had leaned down and turned the rusty lever at the top of the window, lifting the screen and pushing the window open.
“You can’t do that.”
“Apparently I can.”
“What the fuck’s going on, Dennis? How long have you been able to do that?”
Dennis stared at him. “Since you fucking well killed me.” He took a step toward Tim, who stumbled back and found himself in his easy chair.
“You can touch things. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
“Let me show you something,” Dennis said. He moved to Tim and grabbed his left arm.
“Jesus, what are you doing?”
Dennis’s fingernails were sharp. He scratched deep into Tim’s arm, leaving three bright scars.
Tim stared, speechless.
“You killed me.”
“It was a fucking accident, and you goddamn well know it.”
“I remember the pain. I didn’t die right away. Remember that? You shot me in the gut.”
Dennis lifted his T-shirt and rubbed his stomach and chest.
“You burst my left lung, and fragments of the bullet bounced around everywhere. My heart started to leak, and I couldn’t get enough breath. I guess Mom never bothered you with all the gruesome details.”
Tim couldn’t say anything.
“You don’t remember? I suppose you don’t remember me drowning in my own blood, spitting up painful red vomit and looking at you for help. And I’m sure you don’t remember how you just froze, didn’t move a muscle to help, didn’t call nine-one-one, didn’t do a godammned thing.”
“I was only a little kid.”
“A little murderer, you mean.”
“You always told me you couldn’t touch things.”
“I lied.”
“What’s going on? Why are you doing this?”
“Because it’s Denise’s ninth birthday. She’s lived as long as I did, and that’s long enough.”
Tim stood up. “You touch her and I’ll—”
Dennis laughed. “What? You’ll kill me?”
“It’s time for you to go.”
“Actually, on that, I agree. I’ve just been waiting for today. Waiting a long time. I’ve already killed her. That’s where I was earlier.”
“You shit. I don’t believe you.”
Tim pushed past Dennis to go toward the kids’ room, but Dennis grabbed him. He had more strength than seemed possible, and he used it to throw Tim down into his chair.
“And I called the police to confess. They should be here any minute.”
“They wouldn’t be able to hear you …”
“Sure, they heard me. Probably recorded me. And my voice is identical to yours.”
“Let me get to her.”
Again he stood, and again Dennis threw him down, rougher this time.
In the distance, Tim heard a siren, and in his heart he knew that Dennis was telling the truth, that Denise was dead.
“How did you …?”
“I strangled her. She was sleeping and I used every ounce of my strength to squeeze the life out of her. She tried to fight, but there wasn’t much she could do. She didn’t understand why her daddy was doing that.”
Tears rolled down Tim’s face.
“They’ll find my DNA on the skin beneath her fingernails. Defensive wounds. Just for good measure I spat in her face.”
Tim closed his eyes and lowered his face into his hands.
“Of course, the DNA they find will match yours. We’re identical twins, after all. Even our scratches match.”
Dennis rolled up his sleeve to show identical scars to those he’d given Tim.
The sirens screamed as two patrol cars pulled up in front of the house.
“Open up!”
“Not yet, brother.” Dennis kept Tim a prisoner in his seat.
After a moment, the police broke down the door and found Tim alone in his living room, staring with guilt into his hands.