The Whispers in the Storm
Are you sure you are the real you?
Wait. That makes no sense unless I start from the beginning.
Let’s try again.
When there’s a storm, grown-ups say you should remain calm, stay inside and keep away from windows (as if that can protect you from the screams in the sky).
Creepy. I know.
“Let’s go to C.J.’s,” I told Jake, my twin brother.
“No!”
“Why?”
“I’m allergic to cashews.”
“Huh?”
“I’m saying you’re nuts, Esau!”
“Ha, freaking ha,” I said. “Look outside!” A thunderstorm was wreaking havoc in our small town. “Eleven-year-olds shouldn’t be alone when the world is ending.”
“Not alone. We have each other,” Jake said.
“That’s like being alone with myself,” I scoffed. “Who wants that?”
“I’ll give you a hand.” He started unplugging appliances in the family room.
“Watch out!” I pushed him out of harm’s way as the stormy wind blasted a window open and knocked over one of his trophies, almost hitting him in the head. How could he be so careless? Mom would die if he got hurt!
After I locked the window, a hair-raising burst of green light startled me. And then we heard what sounded like an angry giant shrieking in the clouds. We covered our ears until it stopped. I didn’t know how long it lasted, but it felt longer than a Social Studies class. And that’s saying something.
Jake’s face turned white. “What’s happening?”
For a second, I wondered if I looked that scared too. I mean, we are twins, after all: we both have jet-black hair, bright green eyes, and skinny legs. People would mix us up twenty-four seven if he didn’t need glasses or if I didn’t wear a different baseball cap for every occasion.
I hate to admit it, but we are identical copies of each other, except that I am me, and he’s like the next Mozart or whatever. He even played a solo cello piece at the last school concert.
“Grab the phone!” I shouted. “Maybe Mom will call.” I’d never wished I owned an iPhone so badly before.
Then the power went out, and a tree branch shattered the dining-room window into a gazillion pieces. We both screamed. By that point, all I cared about was getting us to safety.
“We need to take shelter!”
After we made it to the basement, I tried closing the door behind us, but the gale coming through the broken window was too strong.
“I’ll help!”
“No,” I said. “I’ve got this.”
In my mind, what happened next played out in slow motion. Jake reached for the doorknob as a gust of wind burst the door open, striking us both. I held on tight to the banister, but my brother wasn’t so lucky; he rolled down like a boulder and knocked over a big stack of cartons at the bottom of the stairs.
“Jake! You okay?”
He wasn’t. We weren’t. Jake leaned forward for a hug, but I gently made him keep his broken arm close to his chest. After that, we stayed paralyzed near the furnace, listening to the mean voices raging in the wind.
And I wish I could say those chilling whispers were the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.
But they were only the beginning.
