Three in the Morning, and a Voice

He Laughed

The first time I heard the voice, I thought it was my brother being an idiot.

That was the only explanation that made sense.

It was nearly three in the morning, and I was standing in the bathroom of my parents’ house brushing my teeth, still wearing the black shirt and jeans I had worked in all night. I worked at a small bar back then, the kind of place where closing time never really meant closing time. There were always glasses to wash, chairs to stack, floors to mop, and one customer who somehow needed another drink five minutes before you locked the doors.

I was in my early twenties, still living at home, still trying to figure out what I wanted from life.

The house was the same house I had grown up in. Nothing special. A normal family home on a normal street. The kind of place where the carpet had worn patches from years of footsteps, where the kitchen cupboard doors didn’t close properly, and where the hallway light took a second longer than it should to turn on.

It was a house full of ordinary things.

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Nimra Khan — original fiction published on RapidTale.