“Two days ago.”

Two days!? It took her that long to call me?

Not that I judge her too harshly for it. When Jamie’s boyfriend dumped her for another man, Mom and Jamie became pretty co-dependent. She probably hasn’t climbed out of bed in two days.

I brace myself for Jamie’s next words. Dread’s cold fingers grip my spine. This is it.

“You need to go out and settle the estate, John.”

These simple words slam into me, rending the air from my lungs. The room spins. I must sit down before I collapse. I fall into the nearest chair. I can’t go. Not back to that house. Shame washes over me, burning my cheeks.

“They need you there first thing in the morning, between 8 and 9 am,” Jamie continues. “You should probably leave tonight.”

“Wait. Why me?” My sister, though two years my elder, doesn’t seem emotionally equipped to handle this.

“The will wasn’t changed after Dad died. They decided a long time ago to have you as executor.”

This makes sense. Jamie can’t keep a houseplant alive. Who would trust her with an entire estate?

“John? Are you there?”

“Yeah. I’ll go get packed.”

* * *

“Drive safe.” Meisha kisses me, one arm around me in a hug, the other carrying our sleepy son.

I kiss her back fiercely and ruffle my son’s soft, brown hair. With his beautifully blue eyes, he’s the perfect mix of the two of us. “Daddy loves you both.”

“Call me when you get there,” my wife requests as I slide behind the wheel and close myself in.

I roll down my window to wave at them. “I will. I promise.”

Moments later, it’s just me, the open road, and a deep, foreboding twist in my gut.

The night had been clear when I left my house. After driving for about twenty miles, rain rushes down in sheets reminding me that I forgot to replace the worn windshield wiper blades.

The torrent takes me back to that day when everything changed.

I sat on the polished wood floor in the great hallway near the grandfather clock. Jamie and her best friend Becky dash in squealing from outside where the sky had just opened up and was dumping buckets. My tenth birthday had recently passed, and Becky’s birthday had been the day before. She carried a large, shallow case under her arm that looked like the fanciest Monopoly box I’d ever seen. Their hushed giggles attracted my attention, and I looked up from my Matchbox cars.

“What’s so funny?”

“Where’s mom and dad?” Jamie ignored my question, her head swiveling around as if our parents could materialize at any moment.

“In their bedroom, I think. Mom said something about needing a nap. What are you guys doing?”

“I got an Ouija board for my birthday.” Becky beamed, hugging the box to her chest as if it was precious. “We’re going up in the attic to play with it.”

“What’s that?” Their obvious excitement had me curious, but I probably won’t be allowed to play with them. When Jamie was with her friends, especially Becky, I was her “annoying little brother”.

Jamie’s eyes sparkled. “It lets us talk to dead people. And spirits. We’re going to get all kinds of answers from them.”

“How do you know it does that?”

My sister rolled her eyes. “Because Becky’s mom is a Wiccan. She knows all about these things.”

“Can I come?” I knew better than to ask, but this sounded like fun.

“No, you can’t,” Jamie responded harshly. The girls turned and ran down the hallway in the opposite direction.

As I turned back to my toy cars, I could hear their feet pounding up the stairs. My brow furrowed, and my lower lip pushed forward in a pout. Why did Jamie always have to exclude me from the fun?

Finally, I touched my fingers to my cars, but I just pushed them around now, no longer interested. I kept thinking about sneaking upstairs to spy on the girls. The stairs are creaky though; they’d probably hear me before I got close and send me away.

I was about ready to pick up my cars when I heard a roaring sound that reminded me of waves crashing at the beach. It came from the direction of the stairs that lead to the attic.

When I turned in that direction, a burst of wind whooshed toward me. My skin breaks out in great big goosebumps as it passed by. I followed and found the impossibly heavy grandfather clock was no longer flush against the wall but sitting out at an angle. In the wall behind it was a hole barely an inch in diameter.

Intrigued, I crawled over to the hole and peered through it. What I saw made me stifle a gasp to avoid being heard.

My parents were in bed, but they weren’t sleeping. They were both completely naked. Dad laid over Mother, kissing her, and rocking his hips against her. She moaned and ran her hands over his bare back and hips.

Between me and them, I could see the “gust of wind”. As if it was waiting for me to find it again before it moved on. When my eyes focused on the blur that reminded me of how air dances above sweltering asphalt on a scorching summer day, it moved and whirled its way into my mother’s open mouth.

I couldn’t take my eyes off my parents. Something held me in place like a stone statue. Though I didn’t know what they were doing, it felt wrong to watch them. Tension in my pants slightly distracted me, and I dropped my hand to my lap to massage it.

Dad moved faster, and Mom moaned louder. Their skin was flushed, their breathing heavy. Sweat dripped down my father’s face.

I sat glued to every movement, every hitched inhale.

Mom cried out, a startling sound that surprisingly didn’t indicate pain. Dad’s body stiffened as he grunted and shook. He fell on her, and it seemed to be over. Much too soon. Some part of me wanted them to keep moving.

They both got up, and Mom moved to a chair between me and the bed to put on her stockings. I watched her soft hands smooth them up her silky legs.

She turned her head and her sultry eyes met mine.

“What are you doing?”

I nearly jumped from my skin when my sister’s disgusted voice boomed behind me.

* * *

As I pull into the drive of the mansion, the wave of shame washes through me yet again. My cheeks burn with the same embarrassment I’d felt back then. The humiliation of being caught touching myself while watching my parents through a hole in the wall hadn’t faded over time.

I’m surprised to remember that day so clearly—or at all; I’d forgotten about it until just now. Call it a repressed memory. One that I wish had stayed that way.

Why my sister never told on me begins to make sense. I can still see her, face as pale as a sheet, standing across the hallway.