brothers

I was in the family home that we built, where I lived as a teenager. I was taking care of two children, one only a toddler, the other - his brother - in his early teens. I heard a noise and sensed that something was amiss. I went to where the ghost of my grandmother was standing next to the older boy, looking out the window, and saw the younger boy hanging precariously off an aerial that jutted out from the wall under the window, at right angles to the house. The older boy, upon seeing me, risked his own safety by hanging out the window, balancing his weight on the aerial and pulling his brother back inside. I took the baby from him and cradled him in my arms. The older boy looked sulky and went upstairs into his bedroom. The ghost of my grandmother turned to me and told me that she had seen what happened, that the older boy had pushed the toddler out the window, trying to harm him. She disappeared. I went upstairs, the younger boy now asleep, curled up against my body, and went into the bedroom of his brother. I asked him why he wanted to hurt his brother. He didn't answer for a while and then flatly denied it. I lectured him about it until, finally, he confessed and said he was sorry. I told him he was a good boy. The little one woke up and, seeing his brother, began to cry. He was scared. The older boy leaned over and hugged him, quietening him, however, from my vantage above, I could see by the way that the way he touched his baby brother, the way he looked at him, he was insincere.