The Ghosts of Spaces Occupied

Hide-And-Seek

My brother Billy, he loves to play hide-and-seek. Everyday after coming home from kindergarten, he would dash straight to my room with the same whiny request.

“Play hide-see with me?” He would butcher the name every time.

I would begrudgingly drag myself AFK (away-from-keyboard) -- but secretly happy that I’m his go-to brother for his favourite activity.

I would do the same drawn-out, staccato count-down with my cheeks pressed against the staircase wall. I would hear him chuckle delightfully, frantically cutting across the living room into the storage closet.

“Fiiive… Fouuuuuuuuuuuuuuur.”

By this time, I would hear the familiar sound of the storage closet door opening. Then, a creaking hinge from the chest stored inside, followed by him clumsily depositing his body and limbs into its interior. The chest is a family heirloom from my great-grandpa’s generation, crafted out of rich mahogany wood and lined with rusty spiked metal strips. It is large enough to fit two boys Billy’s size.

For a six-year-old, Billy has enough wit to close the storage closet door before shutting the lid to his secret hiding place.

“Twooooooooo... One and three-quarters...”

There is no mistake where he is. I hear his muffled giggles. If I strain my ears hard enough, I could also hear the start of another voice. I play along every time.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

I always make a show of sifting through all the rooms in the house. I make my round from downstairs to upstairs, loudly opening doors and pretending to search seriously. I would drag my steps and take my sweet time, because Billy would want me to. He would want enough catch-up time with his buddy.

I don’t know at which point in our hide-and-seek routine that I caught him whispering to his elusive friend in the chest. It might have been the second or third day, but it seriously scared the crap out of me. There I was, hand gripping the storage door handle, eavesdropping anxiously on the two voices coming from within the closed lid.

But it was all harmless child-speak. Billy talked about his favourite comic book heroes and the other voice would react enthusiastically. The voice belonged to a boy who couldn’t be much older than Billy. When my hands flew to open the lid of the chest, Billy was the only one inside. He simply beamed me his usual sweet grin.

“You found me!” He jumped into my arms as I stood shell-shocked, staring into the now empty chest.

I have not confronted my brother about that day, or all the days that followed. The conversations were always harmless and he seems to value his daily catch-up with his buddy. This has now become his routine.

Though I have never quite figured out why he prefers to have his catch-up with me involved. If I had to guess? He’s a little boy after all. Despite how close he might be getting to his friend, deep down he is probably still scared of this unknown being. If he ever needs an out, he knows I’m around to find him.