The paint chips flaking off of the walls in the bedroom were still making William’s skin crawl. He hoped trying to sleep it off would help, but it was just as bothersome as it was the night before. Of all the little things falling apart in the old house, the dust-stained windows, the groaning plumbing, the faulty wiring, the overgrown lawn and the broken shingles and the musty carpet… the peeling paint in this one room was bugging him the most.

He found some painting supplies in the basement, and had piled them into a storage container to take upstairs. Walking up the creaking wooden steps, he froze, seeing his brother Wade loom in the doorway at the top. His dark hair was soaking wet and plastered to his forehead.

“Whoa,” Will said, trying to hide his surprise. “I thought you left.”

“I didn’t get far,” Wade replied, sloughing off his rain jacket. “The storm washed out the road to the highway last night. We’re stuck here until they fix it.”

“Oh…” he said, trailing off. Wade noticed the container in Will’s hands and his gaze became sharp through his rain-speckled glasses. The paint cans and brushes started to feel heavy in his arms.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I was just… going to go fix up some things in my old room.”

Wade heaved a deep, irritated sigh. Will avoided eye contact with him.

“It’s just that-” Will started.

“No. What part of ‘the house will be jointly owned between William and Wade Gardner until further notice’ did you not understand yesterday?” Wade angrily cut him off.

“I don’t see why I can’t fix the paint.”

“You should have at least asked.”

“You already left! It’s not like you would have even noticed!”

“That’s not the point!” he snapped.

They stared each other down in the stairwell. It was silent, save for the remnants of the storm pattering against the upstairs windows. The stillness in the air made Will’s face feel warm and his heartbeat thump in his neck. The bitterness seethed in the space between the two of them, the air growing stale and suffocating.

“Put it back. If you need something to do, go clean out the attic or something,” Wade huffed, the tension releasing like an aggravated sigh. He stormed off, Will standing on the steps as he heard him stomp all the way up to the master bedroom and shut the door. Will’s body felt warm, almost sweltering as his anger simmered into resentment.

“Asshole,” he muttered.

Slumped at the edge of the bed, Will stared at the peeling paint and felt the itch return. It crawled along his shoulders like little insect legs, the urge to scratch overwhelming. He reached for the top of the wall, peeling away the chips with his hands, relief washing over him as the feeling of insect legs on his shoulders faded away. He couldn’t stop himself after that, it was like raking his fingers over a rash. Will knew he shouldn’t be doing it…but god, it felt so damn good.

Tiny flakes of decrepit paint collected on the floor in the cracks as he sloughed the rest of it off. He grabbed a putty knife from the bin and scraped at the edges to smooth them out, lead-laden dust building up on the sharp edge like snow. As he carved away the last of the flakes, he stood back and admired his work. The walls looked worse now, but he felt a whole lot better knowing that step was taken care of. The sight of the bare walls peeking through the off-white paint in wide blotches left him feeling satisfied.

Throwing the putty knife back into the bin, he slid the whole thing into the closet. Crouching down, he pushed against the door to the attic and felt it swing open. A burst of cold, damp air wafted over him as he pulled the crate of painting supplies into the attached attic. He pulled the chain for the light and discovered it didn’t work.

In the darkness, he could hear the sounds of the house’s aging structure clearly. Ancient plumbing groaned and antique wiring buzzed nervously, the beams creaked like fragile bones as the house settled. Will thought about how he’d hear it at night as a little kid and hide under his covers, fearful of the monstrous noises. He would only stop being afraid when his father would explain it to him, showing him how to fix whatever blown fuse or leaking pipe caused it. The house shuddered around him, as if telling him there was work to do.

“YOU REALLY SHOULDN’T LEAVE THE JOB UNFINISHED,” he heard. It was something indistinct in the midst of the creaking beams and electrical buzzing, but he felt the meaning of it strongly in his mind. The work wasn’t done.

“No, I can’t. Not right now,” Will said to himself.

But he couldn’t deny that the once satisfying swatches of freshly peeled paint now felt like fresh scrapes on his shoulders. The walls felt open, bleeding, raw. He turned around and opened up the crate of painting supplies, feeling the icy air cling to his skin as he pulled out a paint can and brush. The strokes of pale paint over the skinned walls were like a salve. He dragged the brush across the walls evenly and slowly, tenderly dressing the wounds on the wall until the sun started to rise. The air rushed through the vents like a sigh of relief.

At the dinner table, Wade sat across from William, deeply absorbed in a crossword as he ate the leftover casserole that Aunt Doreen had brought to the will reading a couple days ago. William stared out of the window at the overgrown backyard, his fork tracing idle circles on the paper plate in front of him. The rain clouds had finally dissipated, giving way to a vibrant sunset that painted the distant lake and swaying pine trees in orange hues. The sight conjured a childhood memory in William.

“Hey,” he said to Wade, “you remember when dad taught us how to fish at the lake?”

“No,” Wade replied, looking up from the crossword and peering over his glasses, “he taught you how to fish.”

“He didn’t ever take you out to the lake?” Will asked, confused.

“Oh no, he did, once. He just yelled at me when I tangled the line and then called me a crybaby when I got upset.”

“Oh…” Will trailed off.

The same uncomfortable, simmering silence fell across the table. Wade returned to his crossword, hoping the conversation was now over. William frowned, staring him down. Wade wouldn’t shut him down this time.

“Wade, I get it. Dad was kind of an asshole sometimes, but it’s not my fault-”

“When did I ever say it was your fault Will?” Wade interrupted, exasperated.

“Then why are you being such a jerk to me?” Will demanded.

“I just don’t wanna hear about all the great times you had with dad,” he said, voice laced with sarcasm. “Frankly, I don’t remember most things with dad the same way that you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The golden boy Will never did anything wrong, did he? Never messed anything up. Always did it perfect the first time.”

William remembered Wade sitting on the ground in the backyard, wiping away his tears as dad came into the dining room with two poles and a tacklebox. Dad hardly looked at Wade when they walked out to the lake. Will’s line got tangled too, but he remembered his dad carefully pulling the nest of monofilament apart without a single harsh word.

“That’s not true, I’ve messed things up before,” Will mumbled.

“Not according to dad. That was my job apparently,” Wade said, scowling at Will.

“It’s not my fault he was still upset that your mom di-”

“That wasn’t my fault either!” Wade snapped, slamming his pen on the table. “You have some serious nerve you know that? You act like I have no place or voice in this family when you know damn well I have equal claim to the house-”

“That’s another thing,” Will interjected, deflecting the accusation. “If you hate dad so much, why do you care about getting his house?”

“The will said ‘to my son’! Am I not his fucking son?” Wade yelled.

The electricity buzzed through the house nervously. He felt the house creak under its own weight, its own disrepair.

“HE WOULDN’T TAKE CARE OF ME. HE WOULDN’T TAKE CARE OF THIS OLD HOUSE,” the voice came rumbling into William’s head again, deep and low like water through the house’s pipes.

“At least I’m actually taking care of the place now that he’s gone,” Will said.

Wade’s face was flushed and a blood vessel in his temple pounded rapidly. His eyes burned with rage, boring into Will’s forehead. Something itched at the tip of his bitten tongue, something that he knew would hurt William just as badly.

“At least I have a fucking job!”

“Goodnight,” Will said through gritted teeth. Wade’s chair screeched against the old wood floor as he stood up. He didn’t look at Will even once on his way out of the dining room, but Will could see furious tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. The front door opened and slammed shut.

Will sat with his arms crossed at the dinner table, cold casserole starting to make the paper plate in front of him soggy. Through the gaps in the doorframe, he could hear a barely stifled sob.

“HE REALLY IS SUCH A CRYBABY, ISN’T HE?” the house said. William agreed.

Curled up under the covers, William stared at the freshly painted walls of his bedroom. It was midnight, and he couldn’t sleep at all. The argument replayed itself in his head over and over, feeling pangs of regret cut across his chest every time he got to the end and said what he said and watched Wade get up from the table and leave. Despite how deep the resentment ran between the two of them… they were still brothers.

“WILLIAM,” the house said. “WHY ARE YOU STILL AWAKE?”

“I… I feel bad about what I said to Wade. I think I should apologize.”

“DON’T.”

“What? Why not?”

“WADE HATES ME. HE WON’T BOTHER TO FIX ME. HE REFUSES TO INDULGE IN ANY FOND MEMORY. HE JUST PACES IN HIS ROOM LIKE A CAGED ANIMAL, WAITING FOR THE CHANCE TO LEAVE… DON’T YOU SEE WHAT HE’S TRYING TO DO?” the house creaked impatiently. “HE WANTS THE HOUSE SO HE CAN GET RID OF IT.”

Will turned onto his other side. His brother was so keen on clearing the place out and leaving it empty until the will could be sorted out. He told their relatives about the land’s value, about contractors and lakefront property.

“HE’LL TEAR ME DOWN, WILLIAM. HE’LL KILL ME.”

“I won’t let him do that, I’ll talk to him-”

“HE DOESN’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK.”

“...he doesn’t?” Will said, his voice cracking.

“OF COURSE HE DOESN’T.”

William curled up tighter in bed. His heart ached inside his chest at the thought of his brother caring so little about what he thought, but he gripped the covers in anger when the argument played in his head again.

“He keeps acting like it’s all my fault. All he does is blame me for what dad did to him, and whenever I try to argue he just-” he mumbled.

“SHUTS YOU DOWN. HE DOESN’T CARE ABOUT HOW YOU FEEL.”

“He doesn’t! He doesn’t care!” Will hissed, pushing the covers off of him. The room felt like an oven.

“BUT I CARE ABOUT YOU WILLIAM.”

“...I care about you too.”

“I KNOW YOU DO.”

There were more repairs to do, and it kept William busy. He was far from a handyman, but with the house to guide him where he needed to go and a garage full of tools and parts, the jobs became easier. The attic lightbulb was quickly replaced, and the light revealed the bare beams arching over the storage boxes. He gripped a truss as he stepped over the clutter.

“AH- DON’T TOUCH THOSE,” the house winced. “THEY’RE OLD, THEY NEED TO BE REPLACED.”

“That's gonna be hard to fix,” William said, letting go. He wiped the sweat from his brow. The sun had returned, and the attic was starting to get stuffy.

“WE’LL GET THERE. FOCUS ON THAT LEAK FOR NOW.”

Hours passed as William bounced from repair to repair across the whole house. Patch the leak in the attic. Re-attach the kitchen cabinet handle. Grease up the hinges on the basement door. Tighten the dripping faucet. Spackle over the holes in the living room wall. Each finished job came with a wave of relief, followed by a surge of anxiety when he remembered just how much there was left to do. As he kept chasing the relief with each new job, the dread of the looming attic repair kept growing. Will was halfway through replacing the weather stripping on the front door when Wade came to talk to him.

“Hey Will,” he said sheepishly. Will wasn’t used to that tone coming from him.

“Hey,” he replied, not looking up from his work.

“Can we talk?” he asked. That was even more unlike Wade to say. He vastly preferred getting straight to the point.

“I’m a little busy,” Will replied.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry about last night.”

“NO YOU AREN’T,” the house spat from the vents.

“It’s fine,” William replied. An apology of his own itched at the back of his throat, wanting to come out, but he pushed it away. Wade stood there, scratching the back of his head and looking off in the distance. William tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, feeling how it was slick with sweat. He kept working diligently on the weather stripping as his neck started to itch.

“Is that it?” Wade said, the blunt tone creeping back into his voice. “‘It’s fine?’”

“THAT’S MORE THAN YOU’RE OWED.”

“Yeah. It’s fine,” William mumbled.

“Seriously? You’re not going to apologize?”

“SEE? HE ONLY SAID SORRY BECAUSE HE EXPECTED IT IN RETURN. ALWAYS BEEN THAT WAY, ONLY BEING KIND WHEN IT STANDS TO BENEFIT HIM.”

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Wade snapped, waving his hand in front of Will’s face. He stared at it for a second before slowly pushing it away, annoyed.

“I’m in the middle of something,” Will replied tersely. “Do you mind?”

Wade’s arms fell to his sides and his face twisted into a scowl. He sucked in a deep, long breath of late afternoon air.

“Alright,” Wade huffed. “I’m heading out.”

He left, and Will heard the sound of his car engine firing up. He didn’t really care where he was going, in fact he was almost relieved he’d finally left. He finished the weather stripping and moved on to the next job. Dissonant thoughts crashed into each other in his head. The apology he wanted to say was still stuck somewhere in him, but it slowly withered away as the sun set and Wade never came back. He didn’t see the point in waiting for him. He didn’t even see the point in making himself dinner. There was work to do.

The days blurred together as Will labored at the encouragement of the house. A dull ache spread across his ribs like damaged attic trusses. The exhaustion weighed him down, but he couldn’t stop. When he fixed one thing, three more repairs would pop up in its wake.

As the time passed, William became deeply familiar with the house’s internal structures. Shimmying into tight spaces between the walls, he could see the wires twist and wind like nerves through the insulation packed in between the beams. He could close his eyes and feel the pulse of electricity beating throughout the house, deft hands working their way into the fiberglass to find the circuitry. Pins and needles prickled at his legs as he grabbed hold of them in his fingers.

“THANK YOU WILLIAM,” the house would say as he would work, twisting wires together and sealing up the drywall cuts like he was suturing up a surgical wound. “YOU ARE SO WONDERFUL. SO MUCH LIKE YOUR OLD MAN. HARDWORKING, SKILLED, FAITHFUL.”

“Of course,” William always replied, then he would slip into a fond memory of him and his father in the home together. It kept him going.

He was back in the attic, armed with half the garage in tools and spare wooden boards. It would be the most difficult operation he’d have to perform, fixing the trusses. The fix wouldn’t be permanent, but it would buy some time. He started to saw away at the damaged sections of the truss.

“Will,” Wade’s voice filtered through the door to the closet. “What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, he just kept sawing. It felt like he was cutting into his own ribcage, the teeth of the saw grinding through the wood like it was bone. All along his back, he started to feel the crawling of insect legs.

“Will!” Wade yelled, grabbing his shoulder. His hand felt cold. And itchy. Will stopped sawing and stared at him.

“I’m fixing it,” he said flatly.

“No, you’re going to make the fucking house collapse! Stop it!”

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice. The lawyers settled the will. The house goes to me.”

William’s guts turned to ice, and the attic suddenly felt 10 degrees colder. The saw clattered to the ground and he looked at Wade through the wet strands of hair hanging in his eyes.

“I’m the eldest son, so I’m considered the next of kin,” Wade continued.

“NO!” the house roared. “HE’S NOTHING TO ME! HE’LL TEAR ME APART LIKE I’M WORTHLESS. HE’LL KILL ME. DON’T LET HIM KILL ME!”

William clutched his head, feeling himself spiraling. He grabbed the hammer by his feet and started pulling the nails out of the truss, continuing the repair. Wade heaved a frustrated sigh, and the words he wanted to say at the dinner table bubbled to the surface.

“Of course you’re gonna throw a fit about this. You know what Will? You can’t change the fact that you weren’t there,” Wade snarled. The words stuck like venomous barbs in William’s back.

“You weren’t fucking there when dad was sick. You weren’t there when he was getting worse,” his voice was a roar, years of rage getting dredged up in a single moment, “you didn’t even show up for the funeral! You just rolled up to the will reading hoping, no– expecting that dad left you the good stuff. The house. The car. The money. I helped take care of him for years, Will. Where the hell were you?”

“HE WAS ONLY THERE BECAUSE HE WANTED IT TOO. HE THOUGHT HE COULD EARN IT. TRYING TO INSERT HIMSELF WHEREVER HE COULD AT THE END, FLOATING UNWANTED AROUND THE HOUSE LIKE THE MISERABLE VIRUS HE IS.”

Virus. That was it. That was the source of the terrible sensation crawling up Will’s back. There was a virus here. A disease. Inside him, inside the house. His grip tightened around the hammer as he ripped another nail from the wood.

“DESTROY HIM. BEFORE HE KILLS US.”

“Go ahead, fix the place up all you like! It will NEVER make up for the FACT THAT YOU WEREN’T TH-”

The hammer slammed into Wade’s temple with a sickening crack. He fell to the ground and clutched his head, blood flowing between his fingers from the perfect circular indent it left in his skull. William brought the hammer down again and again, each blow driven by a blind, feverish rage. Wade cried out with each strike, helpless against the onslaught of his brother’s wrath, until all Will could hear was the sound of Wade’s bones breaking.

“WILLIAM, STOP. THAT’S ENOUGH.”

William complied, dropping to his knees next to Wade’s body, breathing heavily. Wade didn’t move. His battered arms limply covered his lifeless face, painted in rivulets of blood that flowed out of his broken nose and mouth. Will watched it drip onto the wooden floor next to Wade’s shattered glasses, his own arms and chest splattered with red.

“YOU HAVE FELT HIS BLOOD. IT’S NOT THE SAME THAT RUNS THROUGH YOU, OR THROUGH ME. YOU ALONE KNOW ME. WE ARE THE SAME.”

Every opening in the home felt like an open wound on his body. He grabbed the nails and boards and rushed to fasten them to the windows. His brother’s blood was smeared on the planks he carried. The virus was gone, but they were not safe. He drove nails into the wood with the bloodied hammer.

“ALL OTHERS ARE PATHOGEN.”

"KEEP THEM OUT.”