Homecoming | Short Story

It’s rare that Sister and I get to spend time together. Since leaving Home, we’ve built separate lives—far enough to stay independent, but close enough to reconnect within a few hours. As we drive the rental car away from the airport, I glance over at her and smile.

"I'm glad we finally made time for this," I say, the grip of nostalgia tightening around my throat. We’ve only been in Connecticut half an hour, and already memories of our childhood flood back in waves.

"Me too, Brother," she smiles, her baby face lighting up.

Growing up, it was always us against the world. Our parents didn’t have the best relationship, but swim team kept us busy and close. Now, being here with her, I feel something close to happy. Given the circumstances, it could be a lot worse.

Dad passed away two years ago. He lived alone in the family home after the divorce. He was the life of the party—my friends used to ask where he was if I showed up without him. He never felt like a dad; he felt like a best friend.

The Connecticut winter hits hard. Sister and I are woefully underdressed. I left for California as soon as I could, and she followed a few years later. As we barrel down the highway, the barren trees claw at the sky, like they're trying to escape winter's grip. I’m right there with them. Two days, maybe less. If I never see winter again, it’ll be too soon.

We exit the highway and head toward Home, a postcard-perfect New England town. Main Street, lined with Mom-and-Pop shops, leads us to the square where carolers are prepping for the annual tree lighting. We pass the town center and wind into the forest, toward our house—far from traffic, deep in the woods.

Families build snowmen, hang lights, sled in backyards. I wipe my eyes. Maybe it’s the heater blasting, or maybe it’s a memory sneaking up on me. Either way, Home doesn’t feel like home without Dad.

I take a right onto the driveway, fishtailing slightly. "My bad," I chuckle. Sister grabs the oh-shit handle. The forest thickens, branches forming a tunnel overhead. I don’t remember it being this creepy. As the iron gates appear, rust creeping across them, the house looms into view—a Victorian mansion with spires clawing at the sky.

I circle the fountain and park. The house feels wrong. Hollow. Accusing. Like it knows we stayed away too long.

"Can you text Gramommy and ask where she left the keys?" I hand Sister my phone. As she taps, we climb the porch. Snow blankets everything. I find the key under the mat and unlock the door.

Inside, it’s silent. Sister shuts the door behind us. I fumble for the light switch. The chandelier flickers on. "At least the power’s on," I say. "Let’s hope the gas is too."

She clutches my arm as we shuffle to the thermostat. I turn the dial. Nothing. Just silence.

Then, a low groan. The furnace rumbles to life. I exhale a visible breath.

"Welcome home," she whispers.

We drop our bags in the only usable bedroom. I suggest dinner in town.

Driving through the tunnel of trees again, I flash the high beams—just as a deer leaps across the road. I slam the brakes, my arm flying across Sister’s chest.

"Jesus! You okay?"

"Maybe I should drive back," she laughs.

Main Street glows with holiday cheer. Carolers sing. A father lifts his son onto his shoulders. Dad used to do that. My heart aches. I park in front of an Italian spot. We trudge inside.

The owner, Sally Ann, greets us. "Well I’ll be damned! Haven’t seen you two since you were knee-high!"

"It’s good to see you," Sister says warmly.

"What brings you home?"

I step in. "Just here to collect some of our dad’s things. New owners move in soon."

Her face falls. "Oh dear. I’m so sorry. I assumed... Well. Let me give you a minute."

The menu hasn’t changed. Neither has the food. After dinner, I ask Sally Ann for two kamikaze shots.

"Not sure Jerry remembers how to make those," she says.

"Mind if I step behind the bar? I bartend weekends."

"Go for it," she smiles.

I mix the shots. Sister and I raise our glasses. "To Dad."

As we drink, the door jingles. A flood of families pour in. Sally Ann is overwhelmed. Sister jumps into action. "You stay back there. I’ll help her out."

An hour later, I’ve got the dads at the bar. Sister plays with kids, giving moms a break. I glance toward the end of the bar.

And see him. Dad.

He raises his glass. Winks.

I drop mine. Shatter. Jerry grumbles. I blink—Dad's gone.

Back at the house, I pull over before we reach the driveway.

"What’s wrong?" Sister asks.

"I saw Dad. At the bar."

"No, you didn’t," she says gently. "He’s gone."

She drives us home.

I wake cocooned in blankets by the fire. Sister brings coffee. "Driveway’s snowed in," she says.

"Guess we’re stuck."

She raises an eyebrow. "Wanna talk about it? Last night?"

"I thought I saw him. I know I didn’t. But it felt real."

"I get it," she says. Then smirks. "Wanna have a snowball fight?"

Bundled in old clothes, we waddle outside. I slip on the steps and fall hard. Sister laughs until she nearly topples over.

We dive into the snow. Make ammo. She strikes first. I run. Dodge. Miss her by a mile. I trip behind the house. Cold slices my skin.

I look up—and see Dad in the second-floor window. Wearing my coat. Smiling.

A snowball smacks me in the face.

"Gotcha!" Sister cackles.

I look back. He’s gone.

Inside, I wait until she showers. I grab my coat. Dig into the left pocket.

A note: December 17, 2:48 PM.

Dad's time of death.

A knock at the door. A woman waves. I open it slightly.

"Hi, I'm Olivia Van Hope. The new owner."

"You’re not due for weeks."

"Just passing through. Wanted to see it before heading to the Maldives."

She steps in. I hear a whisper behind me: Watch her.

Olivia drifts through the house. "So much more character in person."

"Coffee?" I offer.

"Black. With three sugars, half and half, and chocolate shavings—if you have any."

"We don’t."

She explores. Sister walks in. "Who the hell are you?"

"Olivia Van Hope," she replies. I hand her coffee. Sister gives me the trust me look.

Olivia studies the grandfather clock. "It’s beautiful, but it stopped."

2:48 PM.

The time on Dad’s note.

"The house has been empty two years," I say.

Sister steps up. "Why are you really here? How did you know we’d be here?"

Olivia smiles. "Just looking around. I should go."

She leaves the door open. Dad’s voice again: Watch her.

Sister spins on me. "What the hell is going on?"

"I don’t know. Something’s off."

She storms upstairs. I wander back to the clock. The cabinet is ajar. Empty.

Except for the clean square in the dust—something had been there.

Did Olivia take it? And how did she know where to look?

I close the door gently.

I know what I have to do.