Not long after, Sam walked back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel, fresh from the shower. The white underwear he wore below was tented prominently.
I smiled faintly and shook my head. He must have been thinking about his girlfriend while showering.
"Sam, I have a question," I stood up and handed him the hairdryer from the desk.
Earlier, lying in bed, I had felt Sam was toweringly tall. But now, standing at nearly 1.75 meters myself, I realized we were about the same height. Still, his physique was undeniably more robust, which probably made him appear taller in my eyes.
"What is it, Zihan?" Sam continued drying his hair, facing me.
His muscles gleamed dark and sleek under the light, and the prominent tent in his underwear, pointed right at me, made me feel oddly awkward.
"Um... about that horror movie we just watched, how come you weren't scared at all?" I asked, recalling how unfazed he had been throughout the film.
"Well... Zihan, in Africa, we don't have things like 'ghosts'..." Sam spread his hands, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at me like I was an idiot, then picked up the hairdryer.
Ugh, damn it, he's showing off again.
"Right... I guess you're right. Africa probably doesn't have ghosts..." I nodded, regretting asking such a foolish question.
Africa doesn't have ghosts—with skin that dark, you guys are practically the "ghosts" yourselves. I wanted to say it, but I knew better than to voice that thought.
"Heh, but it was still thrilling. The visuals were pretty gory," Sam nodded at me.
"Yeah," That at least seemed like a normal reaction.
"Alright, Sam. Tomorrow's Sunday. How about we do our homework in the morning and play basketball in the afternoon?" I looked at him expectantly.
"Sure, whatever you say, Zihan," Sam grinned at me, his expression so honest and sincere it was almost endearing.
And Sam truly was sincere. After spending so much time together, he had never once deceived me. I trusted him completely.
"Okay, I'm going to sleep now. I'm dead tired today," I climbed back into bed and closed my eyes.
"Goodnight, my Zihan," Sam said.
After drying his hair, he turned off the bedroom light.
"Goodnight, Sam," I replied, and soon drifted off to sleep.
"...Boom... Thud... Rumble..."
I don't know how long I slept, but a loud noise jolted me awake from a "nightmare." In my dream, Li Xiaojun had become Sam's girlfriend.
Fortunately, a clap of thunder jolted me awake from the dream. That was truly unsettling. But just like in the dream, if Li Xiaojun really liked Sam, there was nothing I could do. I could only wish them well, because I already considered Sam my brother, just as my parents saw him as their own child.
But dreams are just dreams. Once summer vacation arrived, Sam would return to South Africa. There was no way something like that could happen. This dream was just too strange.
"Boom... crack..."
Another flash of lightning lit up the bedroom, startling me, who had just woken from the dream.
"Pitter-patter... pitter-patter..."
I looked out the window and realized it had been raining heavily for a while.
"Whew..." I let out a deep sigh and turned to look down at the bed.
In the darkness, I saw a blanket covering Sam's bed, but I couldn't see his head or feet sticking out.
Was Sam sleeping with the blanket over his head?
Puzzled, I got up and walked over to his bed, slowly lifting the blanket. Sam wasn't there.
"Sam's not here? Did he go to the bathroom?"
I picked up my phone and checked the time. It was 2 a.m. on Sunday.
In the middle of the night, Sam must have gone to the bathroom.
Without giving it much thought, I lay back down, but now I was wide awake. After waiting for a while, Sam still hadn't returned to the bedroom. Outside, the rain grew heavier, and thunder rumbled from time to time.
"What's going on? How long does it take to use the bathroom?" I got up, barefoot, and walked out of the bedroom.
At the doorway, I glanced toward the bathroom. The living room and hallway were pitch black, with no lights on.
Was Sam using the bathroom without turning on the lights?
I made my way through the dark living room to the bathroom door, pushed it open, and turned on the light. Sam wasn't inside.
That's strange. Where did Sam go? Could he have gone upstairs to use the bathroom?
I thought about going upstairs but was afraid of disturbing my mom, so I returned to the bedroom and lay down. Sam was probably using the bathroom upstairs. Where else could he go in the middle of the night, with thunder and heavy rain outside?
After waiting for a while longer, Sam still hadn't returned to the bedroom, which made me feel uneasy. Could Sam have fainted in the upstairs bathroom?
The thought startled me, and I got up to head upstairs.
At the corner of the second floor, everything was pitch black, with no light at all. The upstairs bathroom was at the far end, its door closed. Was Sam inside?
I passed my mom's bedroom and walked toward the bathroom. I opened the door and looked inside, but there was no sign of Sam.
"What the hell? Where did Sam go?" I instantly got goosebumps. Could Sam have sleepwalked and run away in the middle of the night? But in the half year he'd been staying with us, I'd never seen him sleepwalk.
I gently closed the door and started walking back. In a daze, I seemed to hear a strange sound coming from somewhere.
To make sure I wasn't dreaming, I pinched my thigh hard. The pain instantly cleared my head.
I wasn't dreaming, and I wasn't hallucinating. There really was a faint sound coming from somewhere on the second floor.
"Could it be a ghost?" The thought, combined with the pitch darkness, made my hair stand on end and sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't help trembling. I had just watched a horror movie last night—could there really be something like that?
I felt the urge to turn and run, to go back downstairs to the bedroom, close the door, and hide under the covers.
"There's no such thing as something so elusive in this world... If there were, then there would be gods."
I can't recall where I heard this saying, but thinking of it made me feel a lot better. After all, I'm still a kind-hearted, optimistic sixteen-year-old boy.
Just as I was wondering what was making that faint sound, it suddenly stopped. With heavy rain pouring outside, I began to doubt whether I had imagined it—maybe there was no sound at all.
I focused intently as I slowly moved along the wall of my mother's bedroom, thinking that if something really tried to grab me, I'd scream my lungs out to get my mother to come save me.
"Mmm... mmm..." Suddenly, the sound returned. As I approached my mother's bedroom door, it grew slightly louder than before.
Could it be coming from the balcony? I reached the doorway, and the sound abruptly stopped again.
Are you messing with me? I frowned, wanting to open the balcony door to see what was making the noise.
"Boom... crack..." A clap of thunder struck, making me jump.
"Ah... mmm... ha..." A slightly louder sound reached my ears again. This time, it didn't seem to come from the balcony but from inside my mother's bedroom.
I turned and stared at the bedroom door in front of me, my brow furrowed.
"Mmm... ah... mmm... no..." The sound from the bedroom was clearer now, though still faint, as if someone was unconsciously making it rather than deliberately calling out.
The sound of the rain outside disrupted my ability to discern, making it hard to tell if the voice was my mother's.
But my mother's bedroom was definitely only occupied by her, so it had to be her making the sound.
Is she having a nightmare? I thought about knocking, but how would I explain why I came upstairs?
Right, I came upstairs to look for Sam. He wasn't on the first floor, and he wasn't in the second-floor bathroom either. Could Sam be in my mother's bedroom?
At this thought, I felt my heart skip a beat.
Yes, Sam must be in my mother's bedroom. Where else could he go in the middle of the night?
Should I knock? But why would Sam be in my mother's bedroom?
"Ah... hmm... Sam..." I heard my mother's voice intermittently from the bedroom. I couldn't make out exactly what she was saying, but I distinctly heard her say "Sam."
So Sam really is in my mother's bedroom. But why?
"Mom... thunder..." Sam's frightened voice came from the bedroom.
Thunder? What thunder? Could Sam have been startled awake by the thunder and come upstairs to find my mother?
"Mmm... Sam... but... you... mmm..." My mother was whispering something.
"Mom... I'm scared..." Sam's pitiful voice sounded as if he were terrified.
"Crack... boom... rumble..."
"Ah... Mom... scared..."
"Ah... mmm... Sam..."
Sam's deep voice.
It seems Sam was frightened by the spring thunder in China? Indeed, the thunder was incredibly loud—it even woke me up.
But why does my mother's voice sound a bit strange?
"Mmm... Sam... Mom... knows... but... you... move... mmm..." My mother was saying something, but the heavy rain outside made it hard to hear clearly.
The bedroom light wasn't on, nor was the bedside lamp. The space under the door was pitch black.
"Mom, scared..." Sam said something.
"Mmm..." I couldn't tell if that was my mother's voice.
Then, silence fell inside. Standing outside the door, my heart was pounding wildly.
What was happening in the bedroom? What were Mom and Sam doing? I really wanted to kick the door open and rush in.
Wait—I had an idea.
I took a few steps down the hallway and looked up. On the white wall outside Mom's bedroom, almost near the ceiling, there was a small rectangular vent. I remembered it was for ventilation. If I looked through it, I should be able to see inside the bedroom.
But how could I reach it? I was burning with anxiety, wishing I were three meters tall.
Just as I was growing frantic, I spotted a wooden storage box by the laundry room door. It looked about one and a half meters tall. If I stood on it, plus my own height, I should definitely be able to see into Mom's bedroom.
Thinking this, I walked over barefoot to move it. Mom probably hadn't stored anything heavy inside, but the box itself had some weight. Luckily, I could shift it gently.
Slowly, I carried it beneath the vent. Suddenly, a thought struck me—what if Mom or Sam opened the door and saw me behaving so strangely? How would I explain myself?
But that worry lasted only a moment. Right now, I was desperate to see what Mom and Sam were doing in the bedroom.
I carefully climbed onto the box. Fortunately, I wasn't very heavy, and the box could support my weight.
Ever since I'd heard the last sound from the bedroom—whether it was Sam or Mom—the room had fallen silent. I slowly stood up, just high enough to reach the vent.
The white pendant light on the ceiling of Mom's bedroom, the white wardrobe, and the window across the room with its curtains drawn—all gradually came into view.
But that was all I could see. I had to rise onto my tiptoes. Then, Mom's vanity table, the stool in front of it, and the wide Simmons bed beside it appeared before my eyes.
What puzzled me was that the quilt on the bed was arched high, as if someone was hunched beneath it. Yet, I couldn't see Mom or Sam.
"Mmm… no… be good…" Suddenly, Mom's voice came from under the quilt. Then, in the dim light, Mom's long-haired head tilted sideways as she emerged from beneath the covers, but Sam was nowhere in sight.
Without bright lighting, I couldn't make out Mom's expression clearly. I saw her bury her face into the pillow at the head of the bed, her dark hair covering her pale face in the shadows.
Mom didn't speak. The arched quilt slowly sank down. Soon, a dark head emerged from under the covers, facing Mom. It was Sam.
What was Sam doing? Was he holding Mom while sleeping?
Back in middle school, I used to sleep while holding Mom too, but that was in seventh grade when I was still very young. Sam, however, was already sixteen—the same age as me. It seemed inappropriate for him to do this.
Neither Mom nor Sam spoke. They just lay facing each other on the bed, sleeping. It seemed Sam was afraid of thunder and had come to Mom, sleeping with her.
Those strange sounds I'd heard earlier must have been Mom refusing Sam. After all, Sam was sixteen now—practically a young adult.
But later, Mom must have compromised and agreed to let Sam sleep with her.
I looked over. Mom and Sam on the bed were motionless, as if asleep. My tiptoed stance was already so numb and sore that I could barely hold on without collapsing. I had no choice but to slowly crouch down, giving my feet a moment of relief.
"Hmm..." Just as I was considering whether to climb off the crate, move it back to its original spot, and go downstairs to sleep—waiting to see how Sam would explain himself tomorrow—another strange sound, mingling with the rain outside, reached my ears from Mom's bedroom.
It was too strange. I slowly rose again, then slowly stood on tiptoe. The Simmons mattress came back into view. Mom and Sam were still facing each other, only their heads visible, no different from before.
Strange. What was that sound just now?
I scanned the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Mom's clothes, pants, and flesh-toned stockings were neatly hanging on the clothes rack. Her pink slippers were placed under her bed. Sam must have been too scared—he had come to Mom barefoot, as I didn't see his slippers.
My gaze returned to Mom's bed. The blanket was tightly covering both Mom and Sam. That blanket... Huh? Wait. That blanket... why did it seem to be swaying?
To confirm whether it was really moving, I rubbed my eyes and stared at the blanket again. Yes, the blanket covering Mom and Sam was gently swaying.
Strange. Too strange. What were Mom and Sam doing?
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