The Secret Lives of Little Brothers

The Secret Lives of Little Brothers

By Lisa Pais

Ernest clutched the doll to his chest. His nana had given it to him for his 8^th birthday. The doll, which he’d named Kevin, was a ventriloquist dummy. It was also his best friend.

In his usual spot under the deck, well hidden behind the pump for the hot tub, Ernest could hear his parents arguing as if he were in the same room. His parents often went out to the deck to argue, completely unaware that Ernest was tucked away listening in. It had become a habit for both parties.

“You don’t find it the least bit creepy?” his father said. The clink of ice against a glass as it was set down on the railing made Ernest’s teeth chatter and he had a bad feeling. His stomach did flip flops, like the time he had eaten the leftover egg salad after the cookout.

“She meant well,” his mother said, her voice sounded tired, like it always did lately when she talked to his father.

Ernest’s father snorted.

“She’s eccentric,” his mother added. Ernest didn’t know what that meant but assumed it wasn’t good.

“That’s the understatement of the year. Now she’s trying to get her hooks into Ernest and color him with her own brand of crazy.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Come on Linda, the kid is already awkward enough without giving him a ventriloquist dummy. What’s next, an accordion?” 

“Geez Pete, great sensitivity. Ernest isn’t awkward. The doctor said it’s just a phase, a normal part of growing up.”

“Fancy doctor speak for weird.”

“I can’t talk to you.” Footsteps, then the sound of the sliding glass door opening and then forcibly shut. His father didn’t follow, he finished his drink. Ernest could picture him downing it in one gulp before going inside. He heard him mumble something that sounded like ‘ought to burn it when he’s asleep’ and then sighed heavily before going back inside the house.

Ernest stayed where he was, held his breath and waited. When they didn’t return, he breathed out.

“It’s going to be alright Kevin. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Ernest said to his doll. He peeked out of the small hole in the wood frame. The coast was clear. After another minute had passed, he crawled out from his hiding spot only to bump into Penelope, his older sister.

“Hey weirdo, what are you doing in there?” Ernest scowled at her but said nothing. It was none of her business, then started to walk away.

“Boys don’t play with dolls,” she called. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” He whipped around to face her. Daring her to say it.

“Maybe you think you’re a girl.”

“Do not.”

“Do too,” she said in a singsong voice. “Let me see it.” She made to grab Kevin from him. That’s when he heard a creak and then a rip.

“You broke his arm!” Ernest said.

“What are you going to do about it? You going to cry? Cry like a little baby. I heard you talking to your doll. They don’t talk back dummy.” She pointed and laughed. “Dummy one and dummy two.” Ernest swallowed his tears. He couldn’t let her see him cry.

“You’re stupid,” Ernest yelled. His face red with the effort, and he clutched Kevin even tighter to his chest and ran away.

#

That night, Ernest’s mother came to tuck him in for the night. She sat down on the edge of his bed and stroked his hair. She was all made up and wearing a pretty dress. She and daddy must be going out tonight.

“Would you like me to read you a story?”

“Do you have time?”

“Yes, darling, I always have time for a story.” Ernest scrunched up his face like he was concentrating.

“Let me ask Kevin.” He turned to his new pal, whispered, then leaned his left ear toward the doll as if waiting for an answer. “Are you sure?” he asked the doll. “Okay,” he said then turned back to his mom.

“Not tonight momma, Kevin is tired. But he thinks you look real pretty.” The corners of her mouth turned up.

“Why thank you, Kevin,” she said addressing the doll directly, then turned to her son. “That was very kind of him,” the warmth in her voice genuine.

“I think so too,” Ernest said. His mother leaned over and kissed him on his forehead. “Don’t forget Kevin.” At this she raised her brows but then pecked his forehead too. A dark silhouette filled the doorway blocking the hall light.

“Let’s go, Linda. It’s getting late.” His father didn’t enter Ernest’s room. “The babysitter is here.”

“Jackie?” Ernest perked up a bit. She was nice. Dad thought so too.

“No dear,” his mother said. “Mrs. Humbolt.” Ernest frowned. He didn’t like her. She was mean. She never let him have his favorites like Oreos or cholate chip ice cream. “Just go to sleep. When you wake up in the morning, we’ll be here.”

“No funny business,” his dad said shutting the door behind his mother. Ernest had no idea what kind of ‘funny business’ his father expected him to get up to, especially at this hour, but he rolled over careful not to squash Kevin’s bandaged arm. Ernest’s mom had sewed it for him, after seeing all the duct tape, which Ernest had learned was not made from ducks, after trying to patch the rip himself. When his mother asked him what happened, Ernest didn’t squeal on Penelope, even though it was her fault that Kevin’s arm had nearly been torn off and she deserved to be punished for what she’d done.

#

Ernest’s eyes snapped open. He was wide awake, but he wasn’t in his room. A strip of moonlight carved a long swath across his sister’s bed. Something gleamed on the floor. Scissors. Bits of hair too. His heart sped up but to Ernest it felt as if a tiny gremlin inside his chest was banging against his rib cage demanding to be let out. Something was wrong. He stepped closer to Penelope to get a better look and then clamped his hand over his mouth when he saw her. Someone had cut off two large hunks of her long blonde hair. It was the thing she was most proud of, brushing it 100 strokes every night.

Kevin was lying on the floor at the foot of her bed. Like tiny fingers crawling up his spine, an odd sensation crept over Ernest. His pajamas felt damp. His skin was clammy covered in a sheen of cold sweat, and he had a sudden urge to pee.

I’ve never walked in my sleep before.

But that wasn’t what bothered him, and he pushed the uneasy thought aside. How would he explain what happened? He reached for Kevin, careful not to make a sound and scooped him up. Should I pick up the hair too? Not daring to take his eyes off his sister, he slowly backed out of her room. Terrified she’d wake and yet, afraid of being alone too, he had one foot over the threshold when the hallway filled with light. Ernest froze. A woman’s laugh, shushing sounds, then more laughter as his parent’s made their way up the stairs, just now returning from their evening out. Ernest had no idea how late it was, but knew he wasn’t supposed to be out of bed and there was no time to run back to his room.

“Ernie, sweetheart?” his mother called gently. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Tell them you were going to the bathroom. But Ernest couldn’t seem to find the words and before he could answer his father brushed past him and entered Penelope’s room.

“What the hell happened in here?” his father said. Ernest squeezed his eyes shut, if only he could just disappear.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” His mother’s voice concerned but not alarmed and Ernest wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or his father until he felt meaty fingers grip his arm. 

“Did you do this?” His father demanded yanking Ernest back into Penelope’s bedroom with one hand, the scissors in his other. At the same time his sister stirred awake, and his mother gasped.

Ernest shook his head hard enough that he made himself dizzy.

“Daddy,” Penelope called rubbing the sleep from her eyes. With a glance at Ernest his mother rushed over to Penelope.

“Well, if you didn’t do it, who did?” His father hollered, brandishing the scissors.

Ernest shrugged and kept his eyes on the floor. “I don’t know.” But that was a lie. Ernest knew. His stomach tightened and he tried to hide Kevin behind his back even though his father towered over him and could see what he was doing.

“Gimme that thing.” His father made a grab for Kevin. “Ouch,” his father yelped and pulled his hand back, dropping Kevin on the floor.

“What’s the matter?” his mother said.

“I cut my hand on something sharp.” A sudden scream cut him off. Penelope had seen the hair. His mother sat on the bed to soothe her, but her attention was drawn back to his father.

“For heaven’s sake, Pete, you’re getting blood on the carpet,” she said, and Ernest wondered if his mother was more upset about a ruined carpet than his father’s injury.

In response, his father stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked the blood. Gross. But Ernest knew better than to make a face. Instead, he kept real still willing himself to become invisible.

“Stay here,” his father said then stomped toward the bathroom. Where would Ernest go? Though he had the urge to bolt down the stairs and out the door. The sound of the tap and then, “Linda!” his father shouted.

“What’s wrong?” his mother called in exasperation. Penelope’s cries had dissolved into quiet whimpers.

Kevin was still lying on the hallway floor and Ernest bent to pick him up as his mother ran past him.

“You’re in big trouble,” Penelope said coming up behind him, her voice laced with menace. Her tear-stained face full of anger. Though she was eyeing Kevin, Ernest took a step back both afraid for and afraid of Kevin.

“I didn’t do it,” Ernest said, his voice was weak. She advanced on him, made to grab Kevin but Ernest held him tight. They struggled. Penelope cried out and Kevin landed on the floor between them.

Both parents came running.

“Now what?” his mother said. His sister was sobbing and clutching her hand to her chest. “Let me see, Pen.” She reached toward her, taking Penelope’s hands into her own, then screamed. There were bite marks on Penelope’s hand. And they were too small to be Ernest’s. END#