by Kevin Yu

I was just lying on my bed, listening to music when it happened. I was staring at the ceiling. The familiar lyrics of an ACDC song were streaming into my ears. Then suddenly I saw a dark figure appear above me, instantly followed by complete darkness. I was confused, and wasn’t sure what was happening. “What the fuck!” I tried saying, but only muffled noises emerged. I struggled, barely, the force pressing down on my face was crushing. I then felt a sharp pain run across my neck and warm fluid streaming down. It all happened so quickly. I couldn’t breath, and soon there was nothing.

Ten days ago, I was murdered in my bedroom. My brother was out purchasing groceries for us. My mom was lying in bed in the room across when the incident happened. But, she would not have been able to help me because of her illness. My mother is suffering from muscular dystrophy, leaving her completely immobile except for the face and a few of her fingers. She developed this condition about four years ago, forcing her to quit her job. After she became ill, my father left us. One night, he began packing up his things while my mom lay on the bed, crying. As he walked into the hallway, my brother said, “How could you leave us in such a terrible place when we need you the most? It’s your duty to take care of this family. ”

My dad stopped and looked at my brother. “Son, the world we live in has no justice or obligations. We all just try to make the best situation for our selves.” He turned away and walked down the staircase. The last thing I heard was the door slam behind him, followed by my brother closing the door to his room.

What exactly happened after my death is still a mystery to me. At first, I felt like I was wandering in a black void for hours. All I felt were my aimless thoughts and memories of my life. Then, the darkness began clearing, and I could make out some objects that surrounded me. I saw a bed with blue covers and white pillows. I saw a wooden chair tucked under a table. I realized that I was in the same room I was murdered in; I was in my bedroom. The objects in the room were unmistakable, but the condition of the room seemed unlike anything I have ever experienced. The bed was stained with congealed blood. There were numbered markers placed in various areas on the floor. Yellow tape with the words “crime scene” was streamed across the doorway. The reality of my death had become clear to me, and I felt sad.

I wandered around for a few days. There were too many questions in my head. What exactly am I? What do I do? Why am I still here if I am dead? I didn’t feel hunger, fatigue, or pain of any kind while I was in this state. All I felt was isolation. 

Sometimes I would try to pick things up or move things, but whenever I did, my hand would seem to disappear into the object. I moved not by walking, but by floating in a suspension through the air. When people walked by me on the streets, they seemed to not notice my presence at all, even when I was right in front of them. I was non-existent to everyone, everyone except my brother.

The year my dad left was the same year my brother was graduating from high school. He had been accepted into all his schools, which included Harvard, Columbia, and Oxford, all of which he had been given full scholarships. But he turned them all down. Instead of going to college, he found a job working for the local supermarket as a cashier in order to take care of my mom and me. He would wake up at seven, drop me off at school, and come home at six. I would take the bus home at three. One day, we couldn’t afford to keep mom in a home anymore, so my brother had to work different time slots in order to take care of mom. He had given up everything to take care of his family.

Six days after my murder, what seemed like weeks of wandering aimlessly had dulled my sense of time and reality. I was only able to keep track of time by looking at the clock centered on the living room wall. Only a few times have I left the house, immediately afterwards I felt a strong urgency to return home. I had visited my mom lying in bed. She was crying the first time I saw her. Of all the times I have seen her face, she looked like she was in the most pain at that moment. I wanted to talk to her, tell her that it was ok. My brother was gone, to somewhere I was not sure of, but I had not seen him since I became a ghost. That is, until I noticed the tape around my door had been torn off. I floated into my room and saw him sitting on my blood stained bed with a despaired look on his face. He was wearing a black suite, and had a picture of me in his hand. I wandered closer to him. I realize he had just returned from my funeral, which he had been away for six days planning it. I looked deep into his face that was staring at the photo. Then, without warning, he looked up, directly at me. It wasn’t like he was just looking in my direction, he actually saw me.

Ten days after the incident, I am awaiting my brother’s return from the police station. He left this morning to go talk a CSI agent about my case. After discovering me floating by my bed that night, he swore an oath to figure out who my murderer was. I told him what had happened that night, the figure appearing above me, the quick and unexpected actions. He also followed up on the case by talking to our mom about what she heard, since she was only a few feet away.

“I wasn’t sure what exactly I heard,” my mother said, as my brother sat next to her. “I heard some rustling and footsteps there, but nothing particularly loud.”

“How about any voices? Did you hear anyone speak?” my brother persisted.

“I’m really sorry. Maybe it’s best that we leave the investigation to the police.” It seemed like there was nothing to start with, no stepping off point. My brother arrives back from the police station. He walks into the living room and sits down.

“I talked to the investigator. He says that the most likely way for the murder to have got into your room was by entering the house from the first floor and going into your room from the hallway. Since none of the doors or windows on the first floor was broken, the murderer must have gotten a key to the house somehow.”

“But who would be able to get a key to our house?” I pondered. “The only people who ever leave this house are you and I.” After I said those words, my brother gave me a very suspicious look, like he was in trouble for something he had done. “What else did he say?”

“Well, he wanted to know about our home life so I told him about my job, how mom was sick, how you were in school. Although, it didn’t seem like they had any suspects in particular. I told him about dad. But he has long since left our lives…” At that moment the doorbell rang. I turned to look through the curtains to see who was at the door. I saw a tall slender figure through the thin layer of fabric blocking our window. My brother walked up and opened the door, immediately greeted by someone familiar.

“Hello, son. Long time no see.” My father was standing by the doorway, wearing a blue button up shirt, some kakis, and black coat. I stared at him in disbelief, while my brother did in distrust.

“What are you doing here?” my brother said in a cold tone.

“I heard about what happened to you little brother and I wanted to pay my respects.” He stepped forward into the hallway. He took his coat off and placed it gently on the coat rack. “I am really sorry about what this family has been through. I just wish that I could have been here to make things better.” My brother glared at him in disgust.

“You selfish piece of shit! Don’t act like you care about anything that happens to us. You just care about yourself. You abandoned us, disappeared from the face of the earth. And now you have come back to mock our tragedies even further.”

“Hey, I understand what I did all those years ago was wrong. I was still so childish. All I wanted was to be able to live life to the fullest. Get the most out of this crappy world. I wasn’t ready to spend my life baby-sitting your mother. Countless hours of sponge baths, spoon-feeding her grits, I wanted go to Vegas, live the life I’ve always wanted. But I realize that was wrong of me. The truth is that true happiness comes from caring for the people you love, and being the dependable person I should have always been. And for that, I am so sorry.”

“Get the fuck out of here!” my brother was seething with anger. His fists clenched with rage.

“Easy sport. I just want to see your mother and then--” my brother lunged forward and swung his fist directly at my father. My dad effectively blocked the punch countering with a knee to the stomach. My brother fell to the floor, cringing in pain. I could not act in any way; I was helpless, just watching the events unfold.

“Goodbye, son.” He turned and walked out the door, leaving my brother on the floor.

I sat in my room, which had now been restored to its original state. The crime scene tape had been removed alone with the yellow numbered tags on the floor. My blood soaked bed had been tossed in a dumpster, leaving an empty spot in the room. I stared out the window, trying to make sense of what had happened. Why had my dad returned after all these years? And why now, only a few days prior to my murder? It was all very puzzling.

My neighbor was mowing his lawn. I remembered how he always loved showing his perfectly trimmed grass to passersby. Mr. Jackson was his name. He was a hardworking individual who was determined and diligent. He would often spark conversations with me as I arrived home. Generally, the generic “How’s if going” or “What have you been up to lately.” Sometimes, after coming home late, I would walk through his lawn in order to climb up to the roof and through my window to avoid being seen by my brother. Now, I sat there starring out that window at his perfectly mowed lawn. He stopped to take a break, and after a few seconds, he eyed a discolored patch on his lawn. Then, he looked up towards me, through the window. I felt a strange chill when he looked up at me, like there was something very odd about his look.

I wandered back down stairs to see what my brother was doing. While on the flight of stairs, I heard the doorbell ring. I wandered down and looked through the window to see who it was. It was a group of police officers with guns drawn. 

“This is the police, open up!””

I felt anxious at the sight of them. Was my dad back? Was my brother in danger? My brother dashed over to the door and opened it.

“What going on?” he asked as the officers pointed the gun at him.

“Sir, you are under arrest for the murder of your younger brother. Step outside and come with us.”

“What?! There has been some kind of mistake.”

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and…” They handcuffed him and stuck him in the back of a police car. I stood there in awe as the car with my brother drove away. I was left alone, again.

This can’t be happening. The police had suspected my brother of being the murderer all this time. I didn’t have time to think about it. I had to go see him and figure this out. Luckily, I knew where the police station was. I quickly phased through the front door and floated onto the street. As I passed Mr. Jackson’s home, I noticed a figure on his lawn digging at something. I stopped and went to examine what was happening. I floated over to see who the person was. It was Mr. Jackson; he was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, with the hood over his head. He had a shovel, and was digging a small hole on a patch of his lawn. He was looking for something. I watched as he continued digging until I saw a shiny piece of metal in the small hole. He stopped, and reached into the hole and pulled the object out. What I saw completely blew my mind. He held in his hand a blood stained knife. He turned around to check his surroundings before putting the knife under his jacket and running into the street. He knelt down by a gutter and deposited the weapon inside the rain gutter. He turned around and went back inside. I now knew who did it.

The police station was only a few blocks from my house. I was able to float over their in a timely fashion. I knew who had murdered me and there was only one thing left to do. I needed to tell my brother, the only person who could see or hear me. I moved through the door and into the reception room. I looked around, trying to figure out where they were keeping my brother. A officer walks to the front counter, “hey Laurel. Do you know where they are keeping the suspect who murdered his younger brother?”

“Yea. He’s being interrogated in room B214.”

“Thanks.”

I phased through a series of security doors that required a pass card to get through if you were a person. I looked a few labels on the wall. “B116,” “Evidence Locker 3,” “B118,” I knew that they must have been holding him on the second floor. I decided to move strait up into the ceiling, through feet of floorboard and tile. I finally passed through the floor onto the second floor and began looking at numbers again. I finally found the room. B214.

I quickly passed through the heavy metal door into the interrogation room where my brother was sitting in a seat. Two officers were inside talking to him.

“We know you did it, just confess and make it easier on yourself. You are the only one with key to access the house, there is no one else who could even get near your family.” My brother stared stone-faced at them. Then, he noticed me standing there, and his expression immediately changed into concern. The two officers noticed his change and turned towards the direction he was looking. They then looked back at him.

“Forget it. He’s lost his fucking mind. First he kills his little brother, and then he tries to punch his own father. He’s going to the loony bin.” The officers exit. I walk over to him. He looks down and places his hand over his mouth as to not raise suspicion.

“What are you doing here?”

“I know who did it. I know who murdered me all those night ago.” I explained to him what I saw when I was coming over here. After I told him, he had a confused look on his face.

“Why would Mr. Jackson want to kill you?” I did not know the answer to that question.

“All I know is that he was hiding a knife in his front lawn and now he just stashed it inside a gutter. We can prove that you’re innocent and who the murderer is. We just need to figure out a way to get you out of here.”

The officers came back with handcuffs ready. They cuffed his hands and escorted him out of the interrogation room. After a few minutes my brother made a lurking gesture and looked up. “Oh god, I really need to use the bathroom.”

“Alright, I’ll take you there. You got five minutes.” An officer walked my brother into the bathroom and set him in front of a urinal. My brother looked at the officer.

“Can I get a little privacy? I can’t go when you’re starring at me.” The officer gave him a disgruntled look before turning around. “Thanks.” Then, my brother spun around and clubbed the officer in the head with his arms. The officer fell to the ground, unconscious. My brother took the keys and un-cuffed himself. He then climbed on top of a toilet in a stall and started taking the cover off one of the vents. He climbed through the vents and into the air conditioning duct. I floated along side the duct and watched for anybody who might here him crawling. An officer was having a water break underneath the duct, so I quickly floated up and peered through to speak to my brother. I told him to be quite and he continued down the vent silently. I followed the duct to a closet near the exit. I guided my brother to the vent and he jumped down into the closet. He exited the closet in a nonchalant manner and walked out of the station.

I was so happy when we got out of the police station. My brother started running towards our house with me following him without a sweat. Then, we started hearing sirens in the back. The police were chasing us.

“We need to get to Mr. Jackson’s home so that we can show the police the knife. You know where it is right?”

“Yea.” I started feeling excited.

We ran for another few blocks until we finally reached the house. Unfortunately the police were waiting there, guns drawn.

“Freeze!”

“Wait, I know who killed my brother. It was Mr. Jackson. He has a knife stashed away. It’s right inside that drain.” The officers looked puzzled. They grabbed my brother and cuffed him again. One officer walked over to the vent and looked into it. He turned around to speak to his fellow officers.

“He’s right. There is a knife in here.” Mr. Jackson had heard the noise and came out of the house. The officer approached him.

“Sir, did you place this weapon inside a sewer drain?”

“What? I had nothing to do with this whole thing. That weapon could have been placed there by anyone. Why do you think it was me?” The officers looked puzzled, but somewhat convinced. “You know what I think, I think that punk killed his brother and stashed the knife in that drain in order to frame me. He’s the one who killed him.”

“I don’t think so.” We all turned around to see my father standing there with a digital camera in his hands. “I have digital photos of you, Mr. Jackson, digging a hole in you lawn and burying the knife. You have no where to run now.” The officer took the camera from my dad and examined the photos.

“This is ridiculous. There is no way I could be the killer. How could I have even entered the house without a key?”

“I know exactly how. In fact, my son used to do it all the time. You, however, would be the most familiar with climbing into his room through the window.” Things started to make sense now. But I was shocked by how my father was solving the mystery. “Once you were in his room, all you had to do was do it. Then you left through the way you came. You stashed the weapon in your precious lawn. Then later, you thought that it would be better to hide it somewhere less obvious.” Mr. Jackson looked enraged he was about to explode. “But what I want to know is why? Why did you have to kill my son?” There was a long pause, all the eyes were on Mr. Jackson.

“I spend twenty hours a week, two thousand dollars on keeping my grass healthy and alive. The one thing in life I ask for is to have a nice lawn and I can be happy. Ever night, that little brat treads through my grass and makes these ugly footprints. I had to make it stop.” We were speechless.

The officers arrested Mr. Jackson and he was convicted of murder of the first degree. My dad decided stay with us again. He would help take care of my mom so that my brother could go to college. It was all because of him, we found the killer.