short story

Short story: Horror.

My brother arrived late in the evening, in the thick humidity that rolls in with the last of the summer storms. The front drive was littered with dead leaves that crumbled underfoot as I stepped out to greet him. I wasn’t greeted back; Marcus refused to look me in the eye. A strange expression persisted on his face as he looked over my foyer and hallway, even into the living room. I thought I saw his lip rising in a sneer when I pointed out the new credenza I had recently purchased, as if it physically disgusted him. I only pointed it out because I thought it would please him. But I told myself that he was only tired from his trip, or that I was imagining it all. Marcus’s face was shadowed from many days without shaving. It could have been that the lighting caused me to see an expression on Marcus’s face that wasn’t there at all. I do keep certain rooms dimly lit to wash out the hideous colors Catherine picked for them. Still, when I motioned him to an armchair, he sat cautiously and remarked that I seemed to be doing very well for myself. I couldn’t disagree; my business had been moving steadily forward with a minimum workforce and Catherine and I had found no reason to worry about money.

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