Style: Short story
Statement: In the silence of the night, all one can hear is tip-tap, tip-tap.
Footsteps tip-tapped through the night. They stopped out my bedroom door, suspended for a split second. The shadow of my little brother Peter stood awkwardly — like a flamingo struggling on its perch — with his right foot on his left to stifle the noise. Then, he hurried off again, down the hallway, and into the kitchen.
I leaned forward groggily from my pillow as the pacing dimmed for mere seconds and
approached again, louder with each step. A shadow materialized in front of my doorway. It was
Peter again. Sitting under his armpit was a plastic bottle labeled Arrowhead.
"Jeffy," he prodded at my arm sheepishly, one hand in the pocket of his summer pajama
shorts, struggling to pronounce my name with only his tongue. Buds of new teeth poking out of shiny pink gums replaced his front two.
"It's past your bedtime," I muttered, my voice raspy. "What is it now?"
"Jeffy," Peter repeated, handing me the bottle gingerly, his hands lingering in the air
before meeting mine. "Help me open this."
Begrudgingly, I took the water, the cold plastic scrunching under my thumb. I twisted off the cap of the bottle with ease and handed it back to Peter, who brought the plastic bottle to his lips and took a long sip, his pale hands trembling slightly. His midnight thirst seemed relieved, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something else was bothering him.
As Peter took a breath, he glanced nervously at my bedroom door and then back to me.
"Jeffy," he said again, tugging at the sleeve of my long pajamas. "Can you tell me a story?"
"Not tonight," I replied, glancing at the digital clock on my nightstand. 12:40, it read. "It's
already past midnight, and you should really get to sleep."
"I really want it, Jeffy," he begged, scrunching the delicate plastic in his fist. "You know
mom never tells me a story."
“Sure, Peter. But you better not get used to this.” Upon hearing his silent cheer, I inhaled a deep breath, then began slowly. "Once upon a time, in a world not too different from ours, there were two brothers — a young boy named Jeffy and his little brother, Pete."
The corners of Peter's lips bloomed into a close-mouthed smile. He closed his eyes
despite the darkness.
"Well, little Pete was always brave." The words flew off my tongue without much
thought. "So one day, he decided he would climb a tree. You know, to see the sunset."
Peter giggled, crawling into my bed and snuggling into my arm. "And then? What happened?"
I continued. "It took longer than he wanted to climb the tree. So when Pete finally made it to the top, he was amazed by the beauty of the stars at night. Of course, he wanted Jeffy to see those wonders as well. So Pete called for Jeffy, and Jeffy came outside, even though he was
super duper tired."
"Then?"
"Well, there was a gust of wind, and little Pete fell," I said, rubbing my eyes. "But luckily,
he flew right into Jeffy’s arms. So they lay together in the grass as the wind in the trees sang
them to sleep."
"Is that it?" Peter rolled his eyes, but a smile remained on his lips. "That's such a lame story."
"It's really too late to think of something good." I nudged him in the arm playfully. "It’s
also a sign that you should get some rest. Go to sleep now, Pete."
“G’night, Jeffy.”
Peter tip-tapped back into the hallway. The footsteps hesitated before fading completely. There was something uncannily comfortable with the way the story went.
With a faint smile, I shrugged the weighted blanket over my shoulders and adjusted to the sheets in my bed. The night rustled once more, then vanished into silence.
The day dawned gray. I threw the blanket off my weary shoulders. My plaid red pajamas sat wrinkled across my body. The digital clock read 6:28 a.m., earlier than I usually woke up.
Taking a tentative step, I placed my foot at the door. Tip-tap. Tip-tap.
"Peter?" I asked the empty hallway. Nobody answered. Mom and Dad were still sleeping.
Peter wasn't in his room.
"But he was just there last night!" My voice shuddered violently, more than I would have
liked, as I glanced at the frame of my bedroom door. Tip-tap. Tip-tap.
Then, it all came back to me. It had been a year since I heard those footsteps. The house was silent as always, and the silence swallowed me whole.
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