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The Pines family was haunted by a ghost. Shermie had come to that conclusion long, long ago.
He remembered being young, trailing behind his parents as they visited his grandmother’s house for the holidays. His first memory of the ghost.
His grandma was aging, nearly unable to get out of bed and the expressions of his extended family were grim. He couldn’t know it at the time, but the house was filled with the heavy fog of finality. Everyone knew that this would be the last time they visited her, and subsequently, saw each other. His family just wasn’t the type to reach out without a reason. His grandmother had been that reason since before his brother was even in diapers.
Shermie was a quiet, well-behaved kid. This was disastrous for him at family gatherings. Greats aunts and cousins that he had forgotten the faces of would coo over him and pinch his cheeks until they hurt. The men of the family would shake their heads in disdain and scowl, murmuring to each other: “Fil never did get a proper boy.”
But his introverted tendencies also came with an ability to eavesdrop easily. As he bumped into and greeted each new relative that he would never see again, he would habitually focus in on the accompanying whispers.
“They had another one? Why? That scared of empty nesting?”
“I heard that he was a ‘happy accident,’ if ya know what I mean.”
“Scrawny little thing. Just like the other two.”
That last one was the first admittance of the ghost.
To young ears, it was nothing important. At least, not at first. But as the night went on, hushed conversations only got more interesting to a curious (or nosey, as his Ma would like to say) boy.
“Stanford ran off to college. Don’t know how he managed that. Did you hear about what happened?”
“Yeesh, poor kid.”
“Moses, does Caryn really need that much make-up?”
“Do you think he knows?”
“Yeah, Fil runs his own place now.”
“Caryn said that she didn’t want to tell him til he was older. I think that’s cruel.”
“Hopefully this one turns out better than that other one.”
“Whatever happened to that other one?”
“Now they got three kids. Him, Stanford, and that other one.”
That last one had been uttered a bit too loudly and a bit too close to his Pa. He sent a murderous glare at the cousin who dare spill his business while they sat around for dinner. He chuckled awkwardly, flashing a disingenuous smile before lowering his voice to a whisper and turning to continue filling in Shermie’s great aunt on whatever dirt he had on them.
Shermie paused his poking at his mashed potatoes, turning to glance over at his Ma. She was staring very intently at her plate, avoiding eye contact as hard as she could. Shermie tugged at her dress.
“What was he talkin’ about, Ma?”
“Hm? Oh,” she finally looked up, lips pursed, “I dunno. I wasn’t paying attention.”
He doubted that, and opened his mouth to pester, but a quick light smack to the back of his head by his father shut that down for good. He continued to eat in silence, trying to focus on his food and not the light stinging of his scalp or his cousin's words, but it was hard. Him, Stanford, and the other one echoed through his mind on a loop. Shermie, Stanford, and the other one.
That night, laying next to his mother on his grandmother’s couch and watching as the living room slowly emptied, relatives either leaving or holing themselves up in the few guest bedrooms in the house, Shermie built up his courage to ask his mother again.
“Ma, what was Tommy talkin’ about?”
“Huh? When?”
“At dinner,” he prodded, “When he was talking about me and Ford and he mentioned–”
“Oh,” Ma waved her hand languidly, “He was just confused. Mixed us up with another family. We only have you and your older brother.”
And that made sense to a seven year old. So, he dropped it. And the ghost wasn’t mentioned again that whole trip.
His second earliest memory of the ghost was a bit more substantial. More concrete.
Despite having an older brother, Shermie lived his life as an only child. Ford was off busy in college, being a genius and casting his shadow over the house and Shermie’s childhood. He could see his older brother in the hand-me-down clothes he wore, the glow in the dark stars still stuck to the ceiling above his bed, the meager smile his mother gave at his report card because while they were good grades they were never as good as Stanford’s– but he rarely saw him in person. Ford came down maybe once a year, but even that had become less common. Really, Ford felt more like a distant cousin or family friend than a brother.
It didn’t help that Shermie didn’t have many friends. There were few children in his neighborhood, and even fewer that actually liked him. Most had already decided that something was off about the Pines family, and thus, something was wrong with Shermie. He was the same type of rotten that his family was, the kind that made people throw sideways glances at his mother when she went to the store and acted like Stanford had some sort of disease.
The whispers always followed him. The kind that he didn’t care to listen in on. They were always cruel. Something about his father being a crook or his mother being old or how Shermie was just so strange.
He was lonely, that was for certain.
But it didn’t matter. Because it was the first day of the third grade, and Shermie was still young enough to be optimistic about school and still excitable enough to believe that he could make a friend or two that would stick around until summer hit. He shook with barely contained glee as Ma helped him tame his unruly, puffy brown hair and buttoned him up in the one shirt that was solely his and not one of his brother’s.
He looked at himself in the mirror, preened, and decided that he looked sharp.
Ma sniffled good-heartedly, pressing a smattering of kisses to his cheek, “My handsome boy. You be good, m’kay?”
He nodded eagerly, grabbing his backpack and hurrying down the stairs. He was early for the bus, but punctuality was something he prided himself on, and he was not going to be late for his first day.
Pa looked up from where he sat behind the front counter, stopping him before he ran out the front door and giving him a curt nod. Shermie smiled and waved back, waiting until his father looked away– a silent dismissal, the only kind Pa was ever inclined to do– to sprint to the bus stop.
Glass Shard Beach wasn’t the nicest place on Earth, especially the lead paint district. The bus, pulling up with a hiss of air and squeaky doors, bumped and rattled as it hit pot holes and dodged pedestrians who thought they were better than waiting for the crosswalk. Still, this didn’t dim Shermie’s good mood. Even as the older boys on the bus messed up his neatly combed hair and asked him if his mother was still “entertaining” men on her phone business, (the comment not registering at the time, but looking back, his blood boils) his good mood managed to persist until he reached his classroom.
Shermie took one step and realized that his teacher was a mean old woman named Ms. Clark, and that her eyes narrowed as soon as he walked in. As if he had already done something to upset her.
He deflated immediately. Shuffling to his desk, he stared down at his scuffed up shoes and prayed that Ms. Clark wouldn’t say anything. Around him, other children chattered with old friends and giggled. Surely, one of them would be more interesting for her to pick on.
But, of course, he had never been all that lucky.
She cleared her throat, glanced through her attendance sheet, and took clipped steps over to his desk.
“You’re a Pines?” her voice was high and nasally, a heavy layer of unearned skepticism sucking any casualty from her question.
He swallowed his nerves and sat up straight, like his Pa taught him to, “Um, yes, ma’am.”
“Oh my,” Ms. Clark let out a long, suffering sigh, “I taught your older brothers. They were absolute nightmares to have in class. Always pulling pranks and not listening… I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”
Shermie’s eyebrows furrowed, “I only have one brother.”
“No, don’t fib. I remember them both very well. They were single handedly the worst children I have ever had the displeasure of teaching.”
Even as a kid, Ms. Clark’s attitude towards her students rubbed him the wrong way, but that’s not what really sent his mind going. She had definitely said two.
Shermie, Stanford, and the other one.
But Ma had said that Tommy was confused. So Ms. Clark must be as well. Shermie definitely was.
“I’m confused, ma’am. Ford wasn’t a–”
“Oh, if it really bothers you that badly, I’m not talking about Stanford. He was fine, if a little whiney. I’m talking about that other one. Now he was a problem.”
Feeling uneasy, he tried again to correct her, “No, ma’am, I have one brother. Ford–”
She stuck her nose up at him, “Sherman, stop. I have a strict no telling lies policy. How could I ever forget Stan Pines? You wouldn’t like to be the very first to get the paddle this year, right?”
He glanced over at her desk where a thick wooden paddle lay threateningly. He shook his head.
“Good. Then quit it.”
So the ghost had a name. Shermie knew it. And Pandora’s box had been opened.
The rest of the school day melted into his memory as a hazy blob. He probably made a friend or two, got onto Ms. Clark’s good side because he was nothing like his brother(s), and eventually went home.
What really stuck out was dinner that night.
Dinners in the Pines’ household were silent affairs. Shermie wasn’t sure if that was how they always had been or if his parents took the time to actually speak to Stanford, but they had been like that for as long as he could remember. He sat in between his parents, letting them portion food onto their plates first in tense silence before getting his own. It was meatloaf, still fresh from the oven. Steam wafted into the air.
The food was starting to cool by the time he finally spoke, “At school today, I was talking to my teacher…”
A beat of silence before Pa grunted questioningly.
“And she was talking about Stanford, but she said that I had two brothers? She wouldn’t listen when I was tryna tell her that I only have the one and– Who’s Stan?”
His mother’s fork clattered onto her plate.
Pa shot her a warning glance, “That teacher don’t know what she’s talkin’ about,” he said evenly, “Just some crazy broad.”
“But–”
“No buts, she’s stupid or crazy or somethin’. Don’t ask about that again.”
He turned to his mother, watching as her expression twitched before it smoothed out.
“Yeah, your father’s right,” her voice shook, just barely, “I would know who I had. Just you and Stanford. I’ve never even heard of a Stan.”
And Shermie is sure that that was when the ghost solidified in his head, whoever Stan was, and he was sure that that’s when he figured out that his mother was a liar.
Pa stared him down until he went back to eating. The food was just mush in his mouth, but he choked it down anyway, the silence of the table returning tenfold. Afterwards, he wasn’t even allowed to watch some TV after dinner; Pa ordered him straight to bed.
When he turned to his Ma, confused and worried that he was in trouble, she just shushed him and led him to his room, tucking him in and kissing his forehead– something she hadn’t done in a while.
“You’re a good kid, Sherman,” she whispered, “But don’t be pokin’ around, ok?”
He nodded (immediately deciding that he was going to poke around) and she stood, knees popping.
The apartment above Pines Pawns had thin walls, and not long after his mother closed the door behind her, he could hear the muffled voices of his parents drift through the house. They didn’t sound pleased.
He could hear his father, stern and forceful, garble something and his mother’s tense reply. It wasn’t uncommon for their arguments to be the thing that lured him to sleep, but Shermie was a smart kid. He could tell that this one was different. It had to be about the ghost. It wasn’t explosive and loud like their usual back and forth. No, his mother hardly spoke (something that was rare. Ma always had something to say back. She had to get the last word out, even if it meant dragging it on) and Pa snarled just low enough for his words to be lost in between plaster and aging paint.
Shermie closed his eyes, told himself that if he were caught getting out of bed then there’d be no doubt he’d get the belt, and tried to ignore every curious bone in his body screaming for him to investigate.
He lost the argument with himself and– feeling like Nancy Drew– clambered out of bed and crept into the hall.
There, their voices became clearer, and Shermie didn’t even need to press his ear against their bedroom door (although he did that anyway, like a true detective) to make his parents out clearly.
“Stop wallowing, Caryn. My head can’t take it.”
“I’m not! I just… maybe– maybe we should tell him. Doesn’t he have the right to know?”
“It was your idea to lie in the first place.”
“I know,” she sniffled. The sound of a door creaking open and something being dragged across the floor punctuated the pitiful noise.
“Moses, Carrie, don’t go dragging all this shit out. We’re all just better off forgetting about him anyway. He only dragged us down.”
“He–” and Ma made a horrible choking noise before beginning to cry in earnest. It felt wrong, listening to his mother cry, and Shermie felt his heart break.
A soft clatter interrupted her, then the familiar sound of someone rustling through something, and finally Pa swearing quietly.
“Why’d you even keep those? I thought you said you tossed ‘em out.”
“I don’t know… I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“For fuck’s sake–”
“God, how can you be so fuckin’ horrible all the damn time? Just leave me alone!”
“You’re being hysterical.”
“God forbid I be sad over anything! Just– just let me–” and her words got caught in her throat, heavy sobs that must have shook her small frame echoing through the wooden door. Shermie shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.
Pa groaned, “I need a smoke. All of this better be put up by the time I get back.”
Ma said nothing, and the sound of heavy footsteps stomping towards the door scared Shermie badly enough that he scampered back to his room in record time. He just managed to slip under the covers before hearing his parent’s door slam open, holding his breath as his father passed his room up for his office– where he kept his nice cigars– and only relaxing when he heard its door slam shut.
Sleep evaded him that night, and he wished he could say that the next day was full of juvenile sleuthing, where he found out the truth behind whatever was haunting his mother and their family– but it wasn’t. He went to school and busied himself with homework and the never ending task of trying to find friends. Weeks slipped by, and the Pines household went back into its usual routine.
But he never did fully drop it.
The ghost (the other one– Stan) hovered over him like a dark cloud. When he dreamed, it was of a shadowed figure that he never met, one that was hellbent on torturing his mother and causing Shermie trouble at school. It was all he ever thought about. But a third grader (despite what children’s books may have said) wasn’t equipped to fully process what he had heard that night. In truth, most of that argument had been lost to the hazy static that most childhood memories find themselves in.
He was only poking around to find some spare cash; it had nothing to do with what he had heard that night.
Call Shermie a thief, but it was the hottest day of the year, and he was desperate for some ice cream. Pa would never in a million years offer it up freely, so he had to get it himself. His mother always had some cash stashed around. Taking a dollar or two wouldn’t break the bank, and if he got her some, well then they would be even. And that was enough justification for him.
He riffled through their bedside drawers and found nothing. Then, he peeked into their dresser: still nothing. Huffing, Shermie turned his attention to the closet.
Ma kept her good purses in there, that he knew for sure, and if she had any spare money then it’d be in one of them. Pushing the door open, (inch by inch, pausing every so often to listen for Pa bounding up the steps to catch him) he reached for the first purse he saw. It was big, made from very clearly faux leather, and it jingled when he snatched it up. Four quarters and a couple of dimes fell from its worn pockets. They rolled on the hardwood floor enticingly, towards the back of the closet. Shermie grinned and fell to his knees, blindly reaching forward to nab them when–
His hand hit a shoebox.
He pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowing. As he said before: Sherman Pines was a nosey kid.
Automatically, he pulled the box out into the light of day and peered down at it curiously. It was inconspicuous, just a plain brown shoebox with an unlocked lid that popped off easily. He threw it to the side excitedly, already planning to spend the day unraveling his own personal mystery, but soon deflated when it registered what was actually in said mysterious box.
It was just filled with pictures– old ones, some even before Ma bought a camera capable of colored photos, and extremely boring. But, near the bottom of a pile of family photos and unprofessional polaroids, the smooth blue vinyl of Ford’s high school yearbook glinted invitingly. Finally, something interesting.
Inside was what he expected: club gatherings, photos of staff, candid pictures of football games, but Shermie passed all of that up. He flipped through until he found Ford’s senior homeroom class and eagerly skimmed to the ‘P’ section, wanting to giggle at his nerdy older brother’s picture.
He found what he was looking for and froze.
Ford wasn’t the only Pines in the class. Next to him, smiling proudly and completely identical, was Stanley Pines.
Shermie didn’t breathe. He just stared. There he was: the other one. The ghost that followed the family around like a bad smell. The one that had made Ma break down into tears.
Stan was Ford’s twin? He had to be, but it was incomprehensible. Ford didn’t have a twin, even if it clicked perfectly with all of the whispers from his family and the spiel that Ms. Clark gave him. It fit, but he didn’t want it to. Because if the ghost was Ford’s brother, then it was his brother, and Shermie wasn’t sure what to do with that information. So, he kept digging.
He went through that whole box in a daze. Each family photo with two identical smiling little boys was burned into his memory. Stanley and Stanford, twins and apparently close. There wasn’t a single photo where either of them were alone. They were always in a pair, hugging or playing, smiling or sitting stoically for the few family photos taken by an actual photographer. Shermie swallowed thickly.
He had to speak to Ma.
She was working, sitting by the landline on the window seat in their living room and idly filing her nails. Shermie shuffled up, a photograph gripped tightly in his hand. It was of Ford and Stan, arms wrapped around each other as they grinned from ear to ear over some dilapidated ship. It was his smoking gun, the thing that would corner his mother into telling the truth, the piece of evidence that would crack this case wide open.
“Ma?” Shermie shoved the photograph in front of her face before he lost his nerve, tensing and waiting for her to sprint off or lie to him again.
Instead, she sighed heavily, “I shoulda guessed. Sherman, sweetheart, that’s your brother Stanley.”
Huh. Well, that was anticlimactic.
Caught off guard by how easy that was, he stammered, questions piling up on top of one another.
Ma opened her arms, “Here. Come sit with me. I got some things I wanna tell you.”
He did, keeping the photograph close to his chest and settling onto his mother’s lap. She rested her cheek on top of his head and spoke.
“Stanford and Stanley were– are twins. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, baby, but we just figured it’d be… easier.”
It didn’t set in for a moment, but when it did, it hit like a freight train. Shermie had two older brothers. Neither of them gave him the time of day.
“Where is he? Why don’t we talk to him?”
Ma squeezed him tighter, “Long story. It doesn’t really matter. You just have to promise me that you won’t mention any of this to your Pa.”
Shermie nodded hesitantly.
“Good–”
“Could you tell me about him?”
Her eyebrows furrowed, expression going tight, “Stan?”
“Yeah, just… what was he like? Was he like Ford?”
“He was–” she huffed a laugh through her nose, “No, he wasn’t like Ford. He liked to box and draw and he was just the funniest kid. He made trouble for us all the time, that goof. Teachers always said that he didn’t apply himself enough but I dunno. He just wasn’t book smart. He had personality, though, that’s for sure.” A genuine smile crossed her face.
They sat there for a while, Shermie letting stories of his mysterious older brother wash over him and basking in the quiet happiness radiating off his mother. Slowly, Stan morphed into something else in his mind. He wasn’t an ominous ghost. He was just the other big brother Shermie didn’t know. And from how Ma was speaking about him, that was a shame. He seemed so nice.
Eventually she ran out of steam, and the shrill shriek of the landline put an end to the stories for good. She patted the side of his leg.
“Now go off and play. I’m still on the clock.”
Shermie nodded, sliding off her lap before being caught in a firm grasp.
“And remember,” she said firmly, “Do. Not. Tell your father. Last thing I need is him fussing at me.”
“I promise, Ma.”
“Good boy,” she smiled, picking up the phone and losing the fond wistfulness she had while talking about Stan.
Shermie plodded off to his bedroom, photo still tucked tightly in his palm.
Looking through old family photos became his obsession after that. He wanted to know Stanley so badly. It was fun to think about what it would have been like if he were still there. Maybe he’d play with him, or wrestle, and he would call to check in on him more than Ford ever did. Shermie would run on the beach and close his eyes once he got to Ford’s swingset, imagining Stan swinging next to him or pushing him higher and higher.
As sad as it sounded, Stan became like an imaginary friend to Shermie. He just seemed so wonderful. He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to talk about him, or why he was gone in the first place.
He wondered if Stanford would know.
Ford graduated. It was big news around the house. Pa talked on and on about the grant money and how maybe Ford would be worth something after all. Ma busied herself with buying groceries and making up the couch so that he’d have a place to sleep. Overall, the house was buzzing with excitement. Shermie most of all. His brother was coming to visit. The family was going to have a big dinner and Ford would stay for the weekend. He could hardly wait, already planning out the games they could play and how Shermie would pester him to tell him all that he could about what life outside of Glass Shard Beach was like.
Maybe Shermie could ask about Stan, too. He’d have to catch him at the right moment.
It was finally the big day. Shermie pressed himself up against the glass pane of the pawn shop’s front windows. Any second and the family car would park in front of the store and he’d see Ford for the first time since… well he couldn’t really remember the last time he saw him.
The loud muffler of the car caused him to jolt and sprint out the front, smiling widely when he made it out amongst the busy traffic. He waved excitedly, watching as the car drew nearer and nearer until it was right up to the sidewalk in front of Pines Pawns.
“Stanford!” He greeted before the car had come to a full stop, earning him a sharp reprimand from Pa as he parallel parked crookedly.
“Sherman?” A deep voice that he recognized from the few phone calls home called out from the backseat, the car door popping open to reveal his brother in a mustard yellow sweater vest that even a fourth grader could tell was horrendously ugly.
He looked older than he remembered, face trimmed of its baby fat and posture more steadfast and confident. But he was his brother, even if the only thing truly recognizable was the sixth finger on each hand.
Shermie jumped in place, “Ford! Hey, do you remember me? It’s me! Shermie!”
Ford stepped out, chuckling and dragging his suitcase behind him and up to the front door, “Of course I remember who you are,” he looked up at the apartment, his lips pressed into a firm line, “This place hasn’t changed at all, has it?”
Shermie shrugged, rocking on the balls of his feet, “I could show you around.”
Ford ruffled his hair, “Yes, I would appreciate that.”
He grappled at his brother’s hand, but Ford ripped it away from him. Looking back, it was just the result of Ford being surrounded by strangers that gawked at his six fingers, but at the moment, Shermie flinched like he had been slapped.
“Sorry,” Ford grimaced and offered his hand again, “Force of habit.”
“It’s fine,” Shermie mumbled, excitement returning as soon as he dragged his big brother into the pawn shop. What followed was a brief tour of Ford’s childhood home. He was right; nothing had changed about the place since he lived there. Even the floorboards still squeaked in the places he remembered. It felt like a time capsule.
“Ma says you gotta sleep on the couch.”
The tour circled around from the bedrooms and ended back in the living room. Ford sat his luggage next to the old lumpy couch, sighing, “Ah well, my back won’t be happy, but that’s fine. I’ll only be here for a few days after all.”
He sat down, shrugging off his coat and laying it on the arm of the couch. Shermie stood by, watching him unpack the few things he brought onto the coffee table to be put away later.
“Where’re you going after you leave? Back to college?”
“Ha! No, I’m afraid not. I’ll be moving up to Oregon.”
“Oregon?” Shermie gasped. “But that’s so far away!” He had only just gotten there, and now his brother was leaving for Oregon?
He frowned, “I’m going there for work, Shermie. I’ll call.”
Ford wasn’t as good of a liar as Ma, and even he didn’t believe himself. Shermie groaned and slumped next to him on the couch. Ford shook his head fondly.
“None of that. I haven’t seen you in a while– what grade are you in now? Second?”
He giggled, “No! I’m in the fourth grade!”
Ford’s eyebrows shot for his hairline, “Really? Damn. Well, how’s it been going? Are your grades high?”
He nodded, “Yep! I got all A’s– well except for reading. I got a B.”
“A B? How come?”
“Sometimes I have trouble reading,” he shrugged.
“I see. Um, anything else? Any friends?”
“Not really.”
Ford rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh.”
An awkward silence filled the air, and Shermie had to restrain himself from immediately jumping to: So, you have a twin brother. What’s that about?
Thankfully, the familiar stomp of their parents’ feet making their way upstairs gave Ford reprieve.
“I parked straight. You just weren’t seeing it right.”
“We were halfway in the street! You’re just mad that you had to park again,” Ma said irritably before breaking into a wide smile once she laid her eyes on her sons, “You two getting along? Good! It’s so nice to have you back home, Ford.”
Pa breezed past all three of them for his armchair, settling down and picking up his newspaper from the morning, “It’s alright.”
For Pa, that was a glowing show of sentimentalism.
Ma joined them on the couch, shoving her way into the middle, “Now, since you’re all settled in,” he was so obviously not settled in, “Tell us all about your super cool college years. Heaven knows you never called to chat for long.”
Ford coughed into his hand, “Yes, well, I’m sure Shermie wouldn’t want to hear all about my boring–”
“No, I wanna know!”
“Oh, um. Fine,” he sighed, not being one for group stories, “I suppose I can find something to talk about…”
Shermie listened with rapt attention, even after his Ma began to space out and Ford’s voice began to go hoarse. His brother was kind of bad at telling stories, and it was all pretty boring, but Shermie drank it in.
But still, Stan loomed over his thoughts, and Shermie knew that as soon as he got his brother alone, that’d be the time to ask.
Surprisingly, he got his chance sooner rather than later.
Ma harped on and on about how this dinner was going to be special. She was going to make Ford’s favorite and winked when she told Pa and him that she had picked up the good stuff to drink. She forced everyone out of the kitchen and said that she would call when it was done, leaving Pa to sit in front of the TV and for his sons to figure out something to do.
Shermie dragged Ford to his room, heart beating fast. This was it. This was his chance.
Ford looked around the room like it was the most interesting place he had ever seen, expression unreadable. It was messy in there, toys scattered all over the place and dirty clothes spilling from his hamper, but Ford just stepped over that, beelining to sit on the side of his bed and looking up at the ceiling where his peeling glow-in-the-dark stars still were.
“You kept them up?”
He nodded, sitting beside his brother and feeling like he was sweating bullets. Just ask.
“It’s more spacious in here without the– with where you set your bed.”
Shermie swallowed, glancing down at Ford’s hands and watching as he fidgeted, all six fingers tapping against his knee, and then blurted out, “Did Stan have six fingers like you?”
Why that of all questions? It was the least pressing one he had. Yes, he had photos of Stan, and maybe if he looked close enough it would have answered that for him, but they were grainy and hard to make out. Hands turned into blobs of peach pigment and any detail was lost. So it had been a thing of much debate (in his head) over the past few weeks. But, there were a million other pressing things that he could have asked! His brain had just gone on autopilot.
Ford went pale, like he had seen a ghost (when in actuality the other one had been brought up, something ten times worse, apparently) and stone still.
“Stanford…?”
His mouth opened and closed, turning on Shermie like he had cursed at him, “No, he didn’t,” he said sharply, before shaking himself like that wasn’t what he had wanted to start out with, “How did you hear about him?”
“Ma told me,” Shermie confessed weakly.
“Ma told you?” Ford’s face dropped and he stood so suddenly that the momentum caused the bed frame to be shoved into the wall.
“Y-yeah, after I showed her this photo…” Shermie shakily reached for the photo that he kept under his pillow.
It was his favorite. The one that had the two posed in front of some old ship. He’d look at it if he got a little too lonely or upset, rubbing the slowly fraying edge with his thumb like he could jump into the past. Ford stared down at it, expression unreadable. He took it from him slowly, and for a moment, he looked like maybe he was going to elaborate.
Instead, before Shermie could even register that he had done something wrong, Ford was off and down the hall, stomping towards the kitchen. Shermie sprinted after, heart in his throat and tears collecting in his eyes. He hadn’t meant to upset Ford, and Ma was going to kill him when she found out he told on her.
This was bad.
Shermie, as a product of being younger and lighter, skidded to a stop just behind Ford right before he barged into the kitchen, pulling on his sleeve, “Wait!”
Ford spun around to glare and pulled his arm out of his grasp, “Hold on, Sherman. I have to discuss something with our mother.”
When Ford thundered through the kitchen door, Ma was still hunched over the stove, fussing over some side. The main course had already been put on the table and wafted steam into the air, an opened bottle of wine and a few glasses sitting next to it, glinting under the aging light fixtures.
Pa glared from where he sat at the table, arms crossed over his chest and half drank wine glass sitting forgotten in front of him, “Why are you slamming doors in my house?” he snarled, but Stanford did the inconceivable, and ignored him.
Ma turned around, smiling with her oven mitts still on.
“How does Sherman know about Stanley?”
The room plunged into silence. Pa sucked in a breath, head slowly turning to glare down Shermie. He shrunk in on himself.
This was really bad.
“He doesn’t,” she said quickly.
“Don’t lie! He asked me about him! You said that you weren’t going to tell him– that it was easier this way!”
“He found it out himself!” she threw off her oven mitts, voice squeaky, “He found pictures and wouldn’t leave me alone about ‘em!”
“You looked through our stuff?” Pa glowered.
Shermie shook his head, so scared that he couldn’t force the words from his lips. Ford and Ma ignored them both.
“And you just told him? What happened to leaving it in the past?”
“He was going to find out someway anyhow! This isn’t my fault!”
“When is it ever your fault?”
“Don’t yell at me!” Ma cried, throwing her hands up, “Can’t we just have a nice dinner together as a family?”
“We aren’t a family anymore. We have someone missing,” Ford snapped coldly, “And now Sherman knows. Are you going to tell him about why Stan left?”
The dining chair screeched as Pa stood up, the wood scraping against the linoleum. He slammed his hands on the table, large and imposing.
Ford didn’t flinch, even as Shermie shook with fear, “Oh, what? Are you going to kick me out, too?” Without waiting for a response, he stomped out of the room, ripping his jacket off the sofa and pulling it on quickly.
Pa followed him, Shermie not far behind, lingering behind him like a shadow. Without a word, Pa reached out and caught Ford by the arm.
Ford reared back like a snake, teeth clenched, “Don’t bother, I’m leaving.”
And he did. Like a hurricane, Ford grabbed his stuff and left. Shermie watched his brother’s back retreat out of the front door and listened to his mother’s desperate reasoning for him to calm down and come back. He burst into tears as soon as the door shut with a heavy finality. It was his fault after all.
Pa used the belt on him, snarling that his damn meddling had ruined his mother’s night. Shermie only cried harder.
That night taught him a hard lesson. Mentioning Stan was cursed. Bad things happened when the name Stanley entered the open air. So, he didn’t. He let his older brother disappear from the forefront of his mind and got used to being an only child. Ford never called and he never came back, and all Shermie could think was that it was the other one’s fault.
Stan stopped being his imaginary friend. He was just a ghost again. One that was easy to blame for his isolation from his family.
He never did get that photograph back.
Shermie grew older (as children tend to do) and ignored the fact that he had two older brothers. He became a well-mannered and hardworking young man. The neighbors finally decided he wasn’t the same kind of trouble that his family was and stopped ignoring him. He made friends. He didn’t cause any problems.
Until he did. And it was a big problem.
Lori was a sweet girl. They had the same 8th grade math class. She sat just a few seats away from him and smiled whenever he looked over at her. A day before spring break, he managed to work up the nerve to actually speak to her.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth, feeling like his face was on fire, “So, uh, are you busy this weekend?”
She shook her head, cheeks a soft rosy color.
“Would you wanna see a movie or… something?”
“A movie sounds great, actually. It’s a date,” she giggled.
And the word date set his heart off and brain leaking out of his ears, so all he could do was nod breathlessly and wish her a good day before he sprinted for the bus.
Shermie Pines had just asked a girl out and secured his first date. His hands shook with excitement.
The date went well. It went better than well– it went great. He even got a kiss on the cheek when he dropped her off in front of her house. So, they scheduled another date, and another, and another. Just a few short weeks of bliss later and Sherman Pines proudly proclaimed that Lori was his girlfriend and he her boyfriend.
It was awesome. His family liked her and their friends got along. She was beautiful, kind, and so, so smart. They were inseparable. A match made in heaven.
But life happens, even if adults want to pretend it doesn’t.
Lori’s hands were shaking. That is what caught his attention when she walked up to him at the bus stop, backpack slung over her shoulder. They shook so hard that, even though they were clasped over her stomach like a lifeline, they caused her charm bracelet (the one he had gotten for her) to jingle.
“Sherman,” she said calmly, even as her voice trembled, “May I speak with you– privately?”
Uh oh, she used his full name. He swallowed thickly, eyebrows furrowing, “But, I’ll miss the bus–”
“Please,” she left no room for argument and he was helpless to follow as she led him behind the closest building– some sort of mattress store.
Now that they were closer, and completely alone, he could see the details of her face better. Lori’s eyes were puffy and red, like she had been crying, and her cheeks weren’t rosy pink anymore. They were pale, bordering on green.
“Are you ok?”
“I–” she sucked in a breath before breaking down into shaky sobs. Shermie jolted, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.
“Hey,” he soothed, shushing her, “What’s going on? It’s ok, what happened?”
“It’s not ok,” she gasped out, stepping back and wiping the tears off her face. “Sherm–” her voice broke, and she tried again, “Sherman, I’m pregnant.”
The words didn’t register. His heart stopped and his blood went cold, but they didn’t register.
Whatever Lori said next was lost in a muffled sea of word soup. If he really tried to think, he could make out a few words. Something like protection, and parents, and we’re so young. They were. They had only been together for a little under two years. He had just turned fifteen, Lori had two months before she joined him, and now they had a baby on the way?
He worked his jaw, voice hoarse, “What– what did you say? Your parents?”
“They’re furious,” she sniffled, still trying to keep calm while her charm bracelet chimed, “They… they said that I’m not welcome back.”
“You’re kidding,” a deep anger stirred in his chest and he reached forward to take her hands.
“Are–” her lips trembled, eyes glossy with unshed tears and an expression so terrified that he pulled her in for a hug. She shook, “Are you mad?”
“No, I’m not. It’s… it’s not the best news in the world but I’m not mad. I can’t blame you.”
He was stupid. It was all his fault. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself this time. Lori doesn’t have her parents and her body is going to be put through hell and it was all his fault.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, voice high and hopeless.
He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, “C’mon. Let’s tell my parents. We’ll figure something out.”
“But what if they–”
“I don’t care. They can be as mad as they want, we’ll figure it out. I promise,” he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, “I love you.”
Relief flooded her face, she took a step back and wiped at her tears, “I love you, too.”
That was the first day of school that Shermie ever purposefully missed. Not that was even a concern on his mind. As he walked with Lori back to the Pawn Shop, it felt a little like a funeral march. He was dead. He was going to be kicked out and he’d have to crawl his way to Ford (even though he hadn’t seen or spoken to the man since he was nine) and beg for a place to stay while he found a job.
The pawn shop’s bell jingled cheerfully when he stepped through, and thankfully, Pa hadn’t come downstairs yet.
Shermie turned to Lori, gesturing to a plush chair by the door. It had been there a while, too expensive for anyone to actually consider buying, “Wait here. I won’t make you sit through… whatever is about to happen.”
“You’ll come back down right? Even if they’re mad? You won’t–” she worried her lip, “You won’t kick me out?”
“No, Lori, I promise. Uh, my mom has some magazines stashed behind the counter if you get bored,” he cringed. What a ridiculous thing to say. Like this was just a normal Tuesday and he wasn’t about to drop a bomb in the middle of his life. “But I won’t be too long.”
Lori swallowed and smoothed her skirt out nervously, nodding, “I’ll figure something out. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” he muttered the next part under his breath, “I’ll need it.”
What followed when he went upstairs was not pretty. His parents were furious. Pa’s face was a bright red as he screamed until Shermie’s ears rang. At some point, somewhere between his father pounding his fist against the wall and his mother’s disbelieving gasp, he realized that this was it. He was going to join Stan as a ghost. Lori and him would be on their own. The thought terrified him.
With the heavy feet of a man who knew his fate, Shermie walked away from Pa mid-rant– something that just a day before he would never have imagined doing– to his bedroom.
He intended to pack his stuff and grab all the cash from his piggy bank, hoping that it’d be enough for a motel room with a phone to call Ford, but his feet were rooted to the floor in front of his closet. He couldn’t. He was scared.
Feeling like a child, like the worst boyfriend in the world, like a coward, he turned to curl up on his mattress, holding back tears. He should get up. Pack his things. Go back down to Lori and break the news that they really were on their own. He should, but he didn’t.
His bedroom door creaked open. He didn’t dare lift his head. It was Pa, there to beat him for leaving. Shermie tensed.
Instead of a blow, or maybe even the whip of a leather belt, a slim cool hand placed itself in between his shoulder blades.
“Ma?” he croaked.
She shushed him and sat on the edge of his bed, just behind him, “Do Lori’s parents know?”
“Yes,” he sniffed, voice thick, “She doesn’t have anywhere else to go. They didn’t take it well.”
“Will you take care of her? And the baby?”
He swore on his life that yes, he would. There had never been any other option in his mind.
Ma hummed and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Only then did he have the courage to lift himself up.
“Is Pa gonna kick me out?” his voice broke, and a few stray tears fell down his cheeks. He’d be embarrassed if there wasn’t so much running through his mind.
Ma’s eyebrows furrowed and she pulled him into a hug so tight that her arms shook with effort, “No. He is not,” the last part was spoken so quietly that Shermie felt the air puff against his ear more than he heard the words, “I’m not letting any more of my babies leave the nest too early.”
For the first time in Shermie’s life, his mother stood up to his father. She led him gently back to the living room– where Pa paced back and forth endlessly, chest heaving and clenched fists shaking– and told him that not only was Shermie staying, he should also calm down because a young lady was coming to stay with them and he needed to be on his best behavior.
“She doesn’t have anyone else, Fil. If we don’t take her in, she’ll be homeless.”
Shermie expected carnage from his father. He expected that he’d have to shield his mother from his temper. And for a moment, those possibilities seemed so assured that he took a step in front of her, but then, in a big heavy sigh, Pa deflated.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” he scolded.
“I know.”
“You gonna work? I’m not paying for a whole other baby.”
He nodded firmly, “I’ll do everything I can. I love her.”
“Oh, you say that now,” he glanced at Ma, who only bristled where she stood, “But fine. And if she’s gonna live here, I got a few rules: first, she helps Caryn with chores. Second: she keeps that baby quiet.”
Shermie nodded eagerly, nearly vibrating with energy, “Yes. Yes, of course. So you’re saying–?”
“Do I gotta spell it out for you? Yes! Go get the girl and move her in. It's the least you can do since you decided you can’t wrap it up. Moses, I need a smoke,” he grumbled.
“I’ll– I’ll go get her–”
Ma raised an eyebrow, “You better not be pullin’ her outta school. I still need to make space for her.”
“Oh, no, she’s downstairs.”
“You left her in the pawn shop!?”
“I panicked!”
It was more than awkward getting Lori (who had nearly fallen asleep in the chair, apparently not having slept at all the night before) moved in. Pa glared silently, like a gargoyle, and Ma flitted around her like she had never seen the girl before.
“So how far along are you?”
“Um, two months or so? I think?”
“You think? Have you not gone to the doctor yet? You know, I know this great doctor. He delivered Shermie and he is just the best. Here I’ll give you his number–”
“Ma!” Shermie shot a disbelieving glare, holding the single bag that Lori grabbed from her house before her parents pushed her out of the door that morning. Her backpack. The thought of that made guilt curl up in his ribs like a parasite.
“What? I’m helping!”
Shermie had to disagree, but he kept his mouth shut as the three of them passed over the threshold of his room. Lori had been in there before, but even so, she stared around it like it was brand new.
Ma had an unreadable expression on her face as she stared at her, “Sherman, hun, could you run out and go to the store real quick?”
“Uh, and get what?”
“Me some smokes and some extra pillows and blankets for Lori here. This lil throw blanket ain’t gonna keep you two warm.”
Right. There would be two people living in his room, it needed some adjustments. Silently, he thanked whoever was watching over him that he had decided to upgrade to a full-sized mattress a year back.
Lori’s eyes widened like Ma had just offered her a hundred dollars, “No, no that’s not necessary. Really, letting me stay here is enough–”
“Sh! Don’t worry about it,” she waved her off, turning to fix Shermie with a skeptical glare, “Now what are you waiting for? A kiss on the cheek?”
He blinked, “Huh? Oh! Right! On it!” He scampered off, followed by his Ma’s annoyed huff and Lori’s giggle.
Shit. He forgot to ask for money. He didn’t have a job yet, meaning that he was flat broke for future references. He backpeddled, hesitating right before he appeared in the doorway. Ma was saying something– something that probably wasn’t meant for his ears.
“I remember when I moved in with Filbrick after I found out I was pregnant,” she murmured, “It’s never easy.”
“Yeah, but you had your parents. You weren’t called a slut that opened up for anyone that asked. You were married.”
Ma scoffed, “Oh, please. Girl, my mother was furious at me. Filly had just gotten the loan for the pawn shop, and we had a great idea about how to celebrate. Suddenly I was knocked up with a man that both of my parents hated. Oh, and I was unmarried. I moved in with him because I had nowhere else to go.”
A sharp intake of breath, “I-I’m sorry. I had no idea. God, look at me. Getting an attitude with you while I’m under your roof,” she let out a desolate whimper.
“Enough of that. I get it. Hormones and all.”
Lori sniffled. She must have started crying again. He wanted to burst in there and comfort her but her response stopped him just short, “Do you think we’ll be ok?”
“You two? Oh yeah, you’ll do just fine. And if you don’t… well you’ll always be family to me, sweet girl.”
“I can’t say h-how thankful I am–” she choked, breaking down into proper sobs.
“Lori, sweetheart, it’ll be ok. Sh, it’ll all work itself out. You’ll see.”
Shermie turned away. He was right. This conversation wasn’t for his ears.
Nine months passed by quickly when you were frantically trying to move the mother of your child into your home, saving up money for baby necessities, and desperately looking for a job while balancing school. Who knew.
Shermie was exhausted, so was Lori, but life continued on. She helped Ma with cleaning and cooking when she didn’t have homework. The two got on like a house of fire. Shermie would constantly walk in on them either chatting or laughing about some sly comment that Lori had made. Ma even taught Lori how to read tarot cards. By the time she was so far along that she couldn’t comfortably help around the house, she had wormed her way into Ma’s favor and Pa’s tolerance. Not that Shermie had been worried about her getting along with his parents. She was incredibly charming.
Shermie ended up getting a part time job at the cinderblock factory in town and scraped up enough to buy a barebones crib and enough diapers to last them a month or two. He unearthed his old clothes and read up on how to mend clothes and fix broken toys. Slowly, his room was transformed to not only fit Lori and him, but their son as well.
Before he even knew it, it was time to welcome the next chapter of his life.
Matthew Pines was born a whopping seven and a half pounds to two stressed, overworked, but happy young parents.
Shermie passed a hand over Lori’s sweaty hair, staring down at his son and holding back a hurricane of emotions.
Mattie was a pale yellow, with red cheeks and the barest tuft of brown hair on his head. He didn’t really wiggle just yet like Shermie expected babies too, rather deciding to just curl up in the thin blanket the hospital provided, eyes closed and expression serene. He was perfect.
Instead of the emotional gibberish that swam through his thoughts, what came out of Shermie’s mouth was, “He looks like an alien.”
Lori gave a small smile, “Just like his father.”
“I’m going to ignore that.”
He reached down to press his finger into Matthew’s chubby hand, smiling as his son gripped it with all of his might. He grinned, a lump forming in his throat, “My lil slugger.”
“No,” Lori leaned back against her hospital bed with a content sigh, “He’ll be a football player.”
“We’ll see,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world, despite it all.
As soon as they took him home, Ma was all over Mattie. It’s true that grandchildren soften up their grandparents. She made a point to ask Lori how she was, and as soon as she confirmed that she could stand and would live, Matthew was plucked from his carrier and hosted into his grandmother’s arms.
“Filbrick, would you just look at him!” she squealed happily, bouncing him, “I could just eat him up.”
“Be careful, Ma!”
She rolled her eyes at him, “I’ve had three kiddos. I know how to hold a baby. Not like he’s complaining.”
Pa stomped over, peering down at the (admittedly) very content Matthew with a raised eyebrow, “He’s good looking.”
Shermie couldn’t believe it. For his father, that was the equivalent of jumping up and down in excitement.
“I am going to spoil him so much. He’ll be best friends with his nana!”
The apartment was happier than it had been in a while. Ma was just in love with Matt, Pa would smile at him when he thought no one was looking, and Matt was a healthy, easy baby.
Not to say that it was all a dream. Nights were sleepless and work was backbreaking at the factory. Lori had been struggling to keep up with her classes and feed Matt, taking off as much as she could before they got a letter in the mail that threatened her with truancy if she missed any more days.
Ma had to start taking care of Matt, much to Pa’s grumbling, and it had been an argument up until she told him to just knock it off.
“Matt’s my best bud!” she had proclaimed, “Only one with a problem with it is you!”
Pa gave up and just got used to seeing his grandson throughout the school day. Things really clicked into place. Shermie let himself relax.
Shermie dropped off his keys and took off his heavy work boots at the door, sighing heavily. It was a dreary winter, the outside grey and cold, and he was so ready to just lie down–
A wail. A deep, gut wrenching wail that pierced the air and sent Shermie into an immediate panic. He rushed forward, vaguely hearing his father’s footsteps pound up the pawn shop stairs behind him, and skidded to a stop just at the entrance of the kitchen.
His mother was hunched over the table. Her heavy sobs boarded on screams and echoed off the thin walls, disturbing Matthew from his nap. His cries mixed with hers, becoming truly ear piercing.
“Caryn, what in the hell–?” Pa gasped out.
She lifted her head, mascara screaming down her cheeks and face screwed up in grief, and let out a wordless yell, tossing something at Pa. It hit his shoulder and rolled uselessly at his feet. It was a crumpled up ball of paper, one that Shermie picked up while Pa snarled over his mother.
“What is going on, Carrie? I’m being serious now. Tell me or else.”
He smoothed out the wrinkles on the paper, his parent’s screaming fading into the background. It was a newspaper, one with a picture of a smashed car on its front. He didn’t want to read any further.
Stan was dead. Stanley Pines was gone and it had destroyed his mother. She wouldn’t be the same, he knew this in his bones, and as she screamed the truth for the first time in her life at Pa, his face fell. He knew it too.
Lori, holding a crying Matthew, pressed beside him, “What’s going on?”
The words were flat when they left his mouth, “My brother is dead.”
“What? How? I thought he was in Oregon?”
“Not that one. The other one. Stan.”
Her eyebrows knit in confusion, “...Stan?” but Shermie didn’t need her to ask about his apparent other brother, so she switched gears quickly, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Sherm.”
Pa was holding Ma close, even as she screamed that she hated him and this was all his fault and her baby was dead now and she’d never see him again. He was emotional as he could be, mouth set in a deep frown and shoulders hunching in on themselves.
“It’s fine,” Shermie turned and grabbed Matthew from Lori’s arms, walking slowly to their bedroom, “I didn’t know him, anyway.”
The next week passed by in a blur. Apparently, Ford was the one who sent the newspaper clipping. It seemed like a cruel move, but what did Shermie know. He would never be able to know what it was like to lose a twin. Or a son. Ma was a wreck, hardly sleeping or eating. Pa was snappish, drinking more than he had in a while.
Things got worse. The joy that had been present in the house for so long seemed to be sucked out in one go. Shermie was busy making sure his mother didn’t drown in her despair, and school just became too much, so at sixteen Shermie dropped out. He tried to feel sad about it, but whatever heavy fog Stan’s death put him under didn’t let him. He simply told himself that it was necessary.
The apartment was quiet most of the time. There was no more laughter or Ma’s showman’s voice as she swindled clients. Just her quiet crying, the clatter of Pa’s beer cans being knocked off his nightstand when Lori cleaned up, and Matthew’s pained wailing from his teeth cutting through.
He blinked, and suddenly Ma was pretending that she was a person again, dressed in all black and carrying a suitcase.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
Ford had organized a funeral for Stan and had invited the whole family. Ma was the only one who had said yes.
“I told you, Ma, I got work.”
It wasn’t technically a lie. Now that he was full time, he was at the factory more days than not. He did have work. But he could have taken off. In truth, a juvenile part of him worried that, despite Stan being gone, the curse was still there. His ghost was everpresent, afterall, and facing his final resting place wouldn’t get rid of it.
Ma shook her head, eyes sad in a way that confirmed for Shermie that she knew the real reason. Her voice wobbled as she stepped forward to cup his cheek, “He woulda loved you. If only…”
Tears gathered in her eyes, and Shermie pressed her into a firm hug as she broke down again. That’s all she ever did these days: break down in need of someone to hold her together. It broke his heart, but his brain was still foggy. Nothing showed on his face.
His mother sniffled and wiped uselessly at her cheeks. It was no use, her mascara ran in black streaks, “I’ll be gone for a few days. It’s a long trip. Be a good boy. Look after your father.”
He had been having some strange health issues. Pa was tired more often than not, and he hadn’t been eating as he should. It was concerning, but a lot was happening. There was no time to linger on it.
Pa was a tough guy. He’d be fine. But Shermie nodded regardless, “I will, Ma. Be safe.”
She picked up her suitcase and kissed him on the cheek.
The whole family was gathered in the living room. Ma sat tensely at her usual window seat, occasionally bursting into bouts of agitated pacing when the time dragged on a little too long for her comfort. Shermie and Lori huddled together, keeping a close eye on Matthew from where he rolled around on his play mat. It felt like they were all frozen in time, waiting.
Ever since Ma returned from Stan’s funeral, the house had felt like that. Tense, like another tragedy was waiting around every corner. That morning, Pa had off-handedly mentioned that he was going to be gone for a few hours and to not wait up. Shermie didn’t think anything of it, it wasn’t like his father was exactly talkative, but Ma had quickly shuffled them all into the living room after he left. Apparently, he was finally going to the doctor. The tenseness only increased from that point. Now, it wasn’t just waiting around the corner, the tragedy was threatening to suffocate them.
The entire family perked up at the familiar click of the front door being unlocked. With heavy footsteps, Pa stepped through the open doorway and hardly looked at them as he shrugged off his coat.
His shoulders were heavy in a way that spoke of bad news. For a moment, irrationally, Shermie was worried that Ford had passed. Stan’s funeral was only a few months ago, Ma wouldn’t be able to handle that heartbreak. She had only just recently gone back to work.
Lori saw the look on his face and gripped Shermie’s hand tightly, reading his mind. Pa sat down in his armchair, his silence grim and imposing.
Ma tsked impatiently from the window seat, “So, what’d the doctors say?”
Pa took a pause, staring hard at Matthew, “Liver’s failing.”
“What?”
He shrugged, picking up his newspaper from that morning, “Liver’s failing. They said they could put me on meds but… it don’t look good.”
“Y-you–” Ma shook her head in disbelief, “Your liver is failing and you’re sitting there?”
“What else am I supposed to do? I’m enjoying my time before I get put in a hospice bed.”
She stood up, knocking the landline to the floor, “Anything, Fil! Anything is better– better than– goddamnit!”
Shermie, without a word, scooped Matthew up onto the couch with him and covered his ears.
Was he sad? He should be. Pa was probably going to die, liver failure was no joke, but there was just a hollow pulsing of where sadness should be. He needed to be strong for Matthew, for Lori, for his mother. What use were his tears?
Ma looked around the room, for anyone else to share her outrage, and when she found no one, she let out a wordless yell of frustration and went to her room, slamming the door. In her wake, the room was so silent that you could hear a pen drop. Lori took a breath and gave Shermie a meaningful look. He understood, and he wasn’t surprised when she left the room and followed after Ma.
And then, it was just him and Pa.
“So… you’re dying?”
“Yep.”
“And there’s nothing you can do?”
Pa put down his newspaper, sunglasses slipping down his nose and exposing his yellow scleras. The only outward evidence that something was wrong. “Maybe, but let’s be honest, I’ve spent my life fuckin’ up my liver. Trying to fix it would be money that we don’t have.”
Shermie swallowed, looking away and down at his son. He was getting so big, already a year old and growing like a weed. His father might not see him to his second birthday.
He cleared his throat, “Would you like to hold Mattie?”
“...If you twist my arm about it.”
Matthew cooed and babbled as he was carried across the room and sat down onto his grandfather’s lap. A ghost of a smile crossed his face.
Shermie stood by, a strange jumble of emotions pushing at his ribs.
“He’s a strong kid. Reminds me of… of Stan,” Pa coughed, bouncing his knee gently.
Pa never spoke about Stan. Ever. Not even when he realized that Shermie knew about him. He could piece together that the two had had a falling out, it was probably the reason Stan wasn’t there in the first place, but he was never sure. Against his policy, and in fear of the curse, Shermie forced himself to ask.
“What happened between you and Stanley, Pa?”
A long, pregnant pause. So long in fact that Shermie began to fear that the curse was alive and well, and that he had just ruined this nice moment. Then, Pa rolled his shoulders and shook his head, “The kid never knew what was good for him. Always– always gettin’ in Ford’s way and messin’ things up. A few months after you were born, Ford had this scholarship lined up to this great school. West Coast Tech. I mean, I mean this was big. We coulda had all the money in the world. But, Stanley, that knucklehead went and broke Ford’s machine and cost us all millions.”
Pieces clicked together, “So you kicked him out?”
“Yeah,” he admitted softly, pinching Matt’s cheek gently, “Yeah, I did. I-I didn’t want him to– to go off and die though–” a horrible, wheezing sound came from his father and he lowered his head, coughing. It wasn’t real, Shermie realized. Pa was crying. Or at least, very close to it. “Idiot had no fucking sense in this world. He never had a chance. But, hey, guess I’m real close to joining him, huh? I’ll have to answer to him one way or another. I just hope–” he sucked in a shaky breath, “No, actually. I don’t hope anything. We’ll– I’ll figure it out when I get there.”
He waited for him to continue, to lapse into a few stories of Stan as a child, or to speak of his regret now that his son was truly gone. But he didn’t. His breathing evened out and his mouth set itself into a firm line, his usual facade of stern frankness covering up any emotion that Shermie might have been able to parse.
He should have known better than to expect any kind words from his father, even towards his dead son. Even as he was dying.
Shermie let them both sit in silence, Matthew tugging at Pa’s collar and giving him some happiness while he was still well enough to enjoy it. His son let out a particularly loud babble, one that actually forced a small smile onto Pa’s face. He wondered if his father had ever let one of his older brother’s, or Shermie himself, onto his lap. If he had ever smiled at them like that.
Doubtful, in all honesty.
Pa had gotten soft in his old age. He never raised his voice at Matthew, not once. Ma and him didn’t fight like they used to. Shermie was able to speak to him without trembling in fear. So, he could only wonder, if Stan were still here, would they have finally made up? If his parents had waited just a bit longer to have the twins, would Pa still have thrown Stan out?
He could feel the ghost breathing down his neck. He swallowed. Shermie would never know.
The final nail in the coffin had been hammered in a few months after his diagnosis. The news that Pa would soon die was anticlimactic, met with only a sad sigh from his mother and an assurance to Matthew (who didn’t understand a word of anything said, he was only two after all) that everything was going to be ok. They went back home and made arrangements for his father’s looming death.
None of it felt real. It wasn’t like when he lost his brother. It wasn’t sudden or fast or out of his hands. No, Shermie was front in center during all of it. He had to be, he was the man of the house now, nearly eighteen and about to be married. Shermie just had to keep going: going to work, going to Pa’s beside to have strained conversations about what would happen to the shop when he passed, going and listening to Ma convince herself that none of this was really happening, going and watching Matthew grow bigger and bigger. It was… a lot. But he had been dealing with a lot for a while. So it simply happened. And he carried on.
The fog broke the night after Pa’s funeral. For the first time in a while, Shermie cried. Lori held him in her arms, cuddled together in their bedroom with hand-me-down glow in the dark stars above their bed, and let him cry. None of it was fair. He was left with a crumbling business, a grief stricken mother, a passionless job, and a broken family.
“We don’t have to be broken,” Lori whispered to him, “Me, you, and Matthew can be better. We don’t have to keep going on like this.”
The silence, the isolation, the lies, it was killing him and his family. His mother wasn’t the same, his son was growing up without knowing his family, and Lori was carrying the burden of trauma that wasn’t even hers to bear.
Shermie gulped, letting the tears dry on his cheeks and listening as Matthew stirred in his crib just beside their bed. He wanted more for him. He didn’t want Shermie to grow up with any ghosts.
“You’re right,” he admitted softly, Lori stroked his back silently, “I’m gonna call Ford soon. Set something up.”
Soon turned out to be a whole year later. Old habits die hard, and it was easy to get swept up in the day to day mess that was the Pines family business. Pines Pawns just wasn’t making a profit, and no one wanted to work it other than Shermie. Lori got sick at the thought of touching dead people’s things, and Ma simply said that it was too much.
Shermie couldn’t blame her. It was too much for him as well.
A real estate company offered a pretty penny for their seaside business property, and Shermie took it without hesitation. It was enough to actually get them back onto their feet, and enough to move out into a nicer neighborhood. His factory job was a pain but it didn’t pay too bad when you worked there a while. He could actually afford the bills to put his family into suburbia, someplace close to a school where Lori could pick up teaching once she finished her degree and his son could have plenty of neighborhood kids to play with. Things were leveling out.
So, he didn’t have an excuse anymore. He had to reach out.
It was his day off and Lori had taken Ma and Mattie out to the park. He had the house to himself, half of their furniture packed away in boxes and the stuff that couldn’t be was covered in white bedsheets for the company to do with as they pleased. There would be nothing to distract him from the landline that sat in front of him. Lori did this on purpose, he couldn’t prove it, but he felt it in his bones.
He didn’t deserve her. Really, he didn’t.
His hands shook. How long had it been since he saw Ford? Eight or nine years? He had a kid now, and a fiancé, and they had both lost a brother and a father. Would Ford even want to talk to him? He hadn’t come to the funeral, not that Shermie could blame him for that.
Just call him.
Shermie took a breath and dialed his big brother’s number. It rang once, twice, even a third time, but before Shermie could lose his nerve, a gruff voice (one that didn’t sound all that familiar. It really had been a while) answered with a blasé: “This is the Murder Hut. Tours are fifteen per person. Whaddaya want?”
Sheesh, his brother must have picked up smoking. And what the hell was a Murder Hut?
“Uh, Ford?”
His brother sputtered and coughed, and he must have bumped into something because Shermie heard a crash in the background of the call, “W-who– ahem– who is this?”
He should have guessed that his voice wasn’t recognizable just like Ford’s wasn’t. He hadn’t even started puberty last time they spoke. He huffed a humorless laugh through his nose, “Your little brother. Sherman.”
“Oh. Oh! Sherman– Shermie!” Ford sounded so excited. Shermie relaxed just a bit. His brother had missed him. What a relief. “What’ve you been up to?”
Shermie faltered, he had been up to a lot, “Ma didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what? We… didn’t really talk much at the– you know.”
“Uh, this is awkward. But, I’m a father now. I have a son, Matthew–”
“WHAT!?”
“Yeah, you,” he let out a surprised laugh, “You missed a lot.”
“How old are you? Do you have a girl? How old is the kid?”
“I’m eighteen, Ford. Aren’t you supposed to be good at math?”
“I’ve been busy!” he cried petulantly, causing Shermie to laugh again, “I don’t have time to calculate ages!”
“Whatever. And yes, I have a fiance. We’re getting married as soon as we get the time. Things have been busy around here.”
“Tell me about it.”
They talked for a while. Ford seemed super interested in every part of his life; a far cry from the last time they spoke. It was nice. So nice that Shermie started to feel a little braver than usual.
“Hey, Ford,” he blurted out after their laughter at Shermie’s retelling of Matthew’s first time in the ocean began to trail off, “Would you want to come down and visit? Sometime, you know, if you aren’t busy or anything.”
His nerves instantly returned at the silence that followed, screaming at him to find some way to politely hang up and forget that he ever asked such a silly question. Obviously Ford didn’t want to.
“Uh, I’m really busy up here, Sherm, I don’t think I’ll be able to.”
Dejected but not surprised, he let out a breath, “Yeah, of course. I get it. Sorry, I won’t keep you–”
“WAIT! Uh, you could… come up here. I guess I have enough room. If you and your lady don’t mind sharing a room with Matt.”
“We already do that,” he snorted, “It’s not a problem.”
“Wonderful. So, you gonna come down or not?”
He’d have to call off work. And wait until he could get Ma settled at the new place. She was getting older, but not enough to where she wouldn’t be able to take care of herself the few days they would be gone. And they should have enough gas money for the (very long) drive…
“Uh, yeah, why not? We will. Just give us a week or two to get settled.”
“You got it, Germy-Shermie,” his nose wrinkled at the nickname. Ford didn’t seem like the type to give out silly nicknames, but what did he know?
“See you then.”
“Yep. Bye.”
The phone clicked and then beeped. Shermie put the receiver down, chest feeling light. That went remarkably well. He let himself feel cautiously optimistic (and ignored the nagging voice that something was off with his brother.)
The ‘Welcome to Gravity Falls’ whizzed past their windshield view, causing Lori to grin.
“Almost there, Mattie!” she cooed, tossing a look to where Matthew sat buckled in his carseat. He had woken up from his car nap not too long ago, impatiently asking (closer to incoherent babbling to anyone without young children) if they were there yet.
Shermie could appreciate how idyllic the town was. Just like most of Oregon, it was covered in heavy pine tree forests and the buildings were quaint. Nothing like New Jersey.
He whistled lowly, “No wonder Ford moved out here. Look at how cute this place is.”
“It’s like out of a fairytale book,” Lori sighed, looking out the window only to see a possum and raccoon fighting over garbage scraps, she frowned, “A very weird one.”
Shermie began to slow down, squinting at the address he had jotted down from his Ma. Gravity Falls wasn’t even on maps, that’s how small it was.
Lori hummed, pointing at a small and easy to miss sign up ahead on the road, “Is that it? Gopher?”
“Probably,” he shrugged, turning down onto the dirt road.
“His house is so deep in the woods!” Lori gasped. They had been driving for a while and still hadn’t seen anything close to a wooden cabin, “How does he stand it?”
Shermie had to admit, the air was stuffy without the salty ocean spray he was so used to.
“I mean, he is a scientist,” the trees began to thin, and something that looked vaguely house-shaped began to come into focus, “Probably appreciates his privacy.”
Shermie then pulled into what could only be described as a tourist trap nightmare. Groups of people clumped together on the front lawn and spilled out of Ford’s backdoor carrying what seemed to be… merch? Even more oohed at the various scientific equipment littering the yard and posed in front of a shoddily painted “Murder Hut” sign. So that explained the whole fifteen bucks a person thing.
“Are you sure we’re at the right place?”
He shook his head in disbelief, “I mean, this is the right address. Maybe he had a sudden career change?”
Cautiously, and fully prepared to turn the car around if he were wrong, he honked his horn once and stepped out of the car. The crowd hardly reacted.
The front door of the cabin slammed open and there Ford stood, frame heavier and missing his glasses, his confused snarl transforming into the brightest smile Shermie had ever seen on his face.
“Brother!” he threw his arms wide and raced to the car, “You’re… here early!”
Lori stuck her head out of the car, “Because this maniac practically sped all the way here!”
“I went the speed limit. She’s making fun of me.”
“He really does drive like an old woman.”
Ford’s smile quirked at the corner, confusion flickering over his features, “And who is this lovely lady?”
She got out of the car, sticking her hand out while Shermie turned to get an impatient Matt out of his carseat, “Loraine, his fiancé. Call me Lori.”
Ford shook her hand (nice that he got over his aversion to that) and smiled brightly, “Nice to meet you, toots. And is that the kid I heard so much about?”
Matthew, ever nervous around strangers, shied away into his father’s shoulder. Shermie tutted and bounced him gently while Lori opened her arms and cooed.
“Oh, c’mon, son. Say hi to your uncle.”
“Bah,” Ford waved it off, “Can’t blame the kid for being suspicious. Lori, you and him go get settled. Mi casa is your casa or whatever the saying is. Me and Shermie can handle the bags.”
Matthew went easily to his mother, and Lori thanked Ford before winking at Shermie and mouthing, take your time.
And then it was just him and Ford. They were closer than before and Shermie just happened to glance down where his hands rested on his hips before going stone still.
Five fingers. He counted again, and again, eyes bouncing from digit to digit. Ford had five fingers. Shermie’s eyes flicked back up to his face, and now something about it seemed so obviously wrong. He was missing the cleft in his chin. This wasn’t Ford.
He took a step back on instinct.
This wasn’t Stanford. Shermie was looking at a person who looked exactly like Stanford Pines, but had five fingers. The other one. The ghost.
Stanley.
Ford’s– Stan’s smile faded and he tilted his head. Shermie glanced down to his hands again, and as if remembering who he was pretending to be, he tucked them cooly into his pockets and eyed Shermie suspiciously. The silent question was clear. Did you see? Did you figure me out?
He had a decision to make. If this was Stan (and he was sure it was) then how was he still alive? Where was Ford? Did he even want to know? Did he want to confront him? Should he?
Taking a steading breath, Shermie made his choice.
“Hey, Ford. Good to see ya. Help me with the bags, will ya?” he smiled.
Stan relaxed and waited for him to pop the trunk before gathering up all the luggage he could carry with just two five-fingered hands.
Shermie wasn’t going to keep his family apart anymore. He wasn’t going to rock the boat. He didn’t understand it and he didn’t care to. Ford had never been there for him, had never reached out, but Stan clearly wanted to. He wasn’t going to let his big brother fade from his life any longer.
Matthew wasn’t going to live in a house full of ghosts. He was going to know his family.