Final Present

Here's the short story I submitted for a contest but I didn't win.  So I thought I would finally share it for the everyone else to read...

Final Present

It's been about three years since my older brother, Scott, died.  It was two weeks before Christmas, and I still cringe at any brief whisper of a carol.  As a family we avoid the stores, and try to stay away from where any people gather for the month of December.   Its especially hard on my parents this time of the year.  We haven't celebrated the last three years.  It just didn't feel right my parents told me.  They couldn't bare seeing less presents under the tree, or hanging up one less stocking on the fireplace, but they promised me this year we would try.
It was only my brother and I when we died playing on the ice.  It was a typical day on the coldest day of winter, and we were stuck inside staying warm.  Doing what brothers do fight, and our mother doing what mother's do, keeping their sons from killing each other.  My mother's last words to my brother were here screaming at him to get his coat on, and go play outside.  We knew mom was mad because we watched a vein her head boil to a burst during her tirade.  Scott and I got dressed faster than we ever had in our lives, as if our lives depended on it, and went out to play in the snow.
The ground was covered with a blanket of freshly fallen snow, and the snowflakes hit our cheek and our tounges while we were out playing.  So innocent.  We ran down to the duck pond and saw it was frozen over.  Our father had always warned us not to play on the ice, but we were kids then, and we did what kids always do.  Disobeyed.  We both ran out on the ice laughing, and shoving each other.  Having such a good time, but not noticing the crack that was starting in the ice.  Then the shoving got harder and harder, and the playing quickly turned violent.  Our yelling at each other kept the cracking of the pond a mystery to both of us.
Growing up as the little brother there was no place colder than my big brother's shadow.  He was always stronger, smarter, faster, and got the best toys out of either of us.   Not that day though.  I was stronger for some reason, and I pushed him filled with jealous rage.  I first pushed him, and the ice took over sliding him into the hole that no one saw, until it was too late.
I watched in horror as my brother fell into the water.  Panicking not knowing how to get out of his icy death.  I didn't know what to do either I just froze.  Unable to scream, and unable to move.  Time moved in slow motion, but my brother's death was fast.  Adrenaline finally woke me out of my daze and I ran home to get my parents, but it was too late.
Around October I begged my parents to have Christmas again.  I wanted our lives to go back to somewhat normal, and it was a fight.  But being the only son now, I won.  They put me in charge of getting all the decorations up, and the tree down.  All of the Christmas stuff was kept in the attic next to Scott's boxes.  Boxes that contained everything that was in Scott's room.  It only took a year to clean out his room, and as soon as it was, Scott's room was locked, forever.  I have heard of families keeping a child's room exactly the way it was when they  run away or worse.  When they can't find the body and there is still that tiny shred of hope that they are still okay, but  we all saw Scott's body.  We all knew there was no hope he was coming back.  
I walked around the attic and found the Christmas boxes.  Filled with tangled lights, broken ornaments, our dead plastic tree, and the tub of wrapping paper.  All being guarded by our old rocking horse that Scott and I played on for hours.  Silently guarding Scott's belongings and the Christmas boxes, rocking back and forth.  Even there was no wind or no where for a draft to come in.  Creaking back and forth on the deadening wood floor making an awful sound that makes me second guess my decision.  I hold my hand out and touch the rocking horse softly as if I'm afraid it will come to life and bite me.  It stops dead in its tracks.  No more rocking.  No more creaking.
I grab the horse and move him out of the way so it is easier to get to the Christmas collection.  I sneeze from the dust as I throw the bag of tree parts out of the way.  I listen as I hear a few glass ornaments break as I throw the box marked fragile, trying desperately to be quick as possible, and leave this creepy area where time has stood still the last three years.  An attic that has not seen a single soul for years.  I turn to see if there is anymore containers I need to grab when I spot a very strange thing.  A Christmas present still wrapped.  A wrapped box with a bright green paper with Christmas trees plastered all over it and with a big red bow on top.  With the the gift tag, To William, Love Scott.  With the from crossed out and Scott writing love over the top of the word.
My emotions get the best of me.  This was the last present my late brother will ever give me.  A part of me wants to throw it away, but the tears that start flowing from my eyes would never allow that to happen.  I rip open the wrapping paper revealing a box, this is my last chance to put this away, and forget this has ever happened.  I don't listen to my gut, and open the box revealing a jack in the box.
One final joke from my brother from his grave.  I wasn't that young when he died, but Scott always treated me like a baby.  He always got me baby toys for my birthday and Christmas just to show that he was, and will always be the big brother to me.  I take it out and swallow every little painful detail.  The bright red colored box with yellow alphabet letters painted on the side.  The rusted crank on the side from being forgotten for so many years.  Never played with.  Warped from the coldness in the attic.  The dead cold.
I turn the crank, but no music is playing.  Leave it to my brother to give me a broken toy for Christmas.  I hum the words to "Pop Goes The Weasel" in my head, just so it feels right to even playing with a jack in the box at my age.   Slowly turning the crank, my hums barely covering the turning of the rusty gears, and the grinding of the metal on metal.  I had to know what was inside. What was trapped in there to scare me, because jack in the boxes always scared me, and Scott knew that.  I turn the crank waiting for it to explode.  Nothing jumps out at the end.  No music.  Nothing but a broken toy.  I put it down and start to walk away.
First I hear the familiar scraping of the metal from the toy while being cranked.  Then the music kicks in.  The slowest rendition of "Pop Goes The Weasel" starts to haunt my ears.  Chilling me to the bone.  I swear when I turned the crank there was no music, and there was no other soul up here with me.  I turn around and see the jack in the box has been given a life of its own.  The crank slowly turning, and I pray that my eyes are deceiving me.  I back slowly away towards the attic door.  The door slams violently in front of me.  Trapping me.
The rocking horse comes back to life.  The mixture of the jack in the box music and the vicious galloping of the wooden horse on the creaking wooden floors brings me tears.  Then the single light bulb that dares to bring its brightness to the attic bursts.  Throwing glass in every direction, cutting me on the cheek, and proving that this nightmare was my reality.  The attic is now swallowed into darkness with no speck of light given access in.  I close my eyes praying it for it to stop.  Then the music stops.  The galloping stops.  Then I head the lid pop open.
All of a sudden I felt snow falling on my skin.  Gone was the creepy cold of the attic, and was replaced with the sheer winter winds, and then I realize I'm back at the day.  The day where I killed my brother and no one found out.  Back out on that same ice watching myself kill my brother again.  Watched myself push my brother to his icy grave hoping it was half as cold as the shadow I was so tired of living in.  Not fighting the smile that escaped my lips.  A smile that meant I finally beat him at something.  Life.
"Took you long enough", Scott says behind me.  I turn around and see his blue stained skin.  Ice permanently frozen to his lips, and his dead lifeless eyes.  I am frozen from fear once again.  How is this happening.  Scott pushes me harder than I pushed him, and once again the ice takes over.  Taking me to my own icy grave.  A grave that is much colder than his shadow ever was.  The cold hits me instantly taking my breath away.  I go under the water completely forgetting every instinct to stay calm, and survive.  I go under the water and the ice freezes my throat instantly.  Choking out any amount of breath I had left in my lungs.  Using my last amount of life I have in me to bang on the ice.  Trying to break away from my icy death sentence, while my brother just looks at me and smiles.
I am no longer in the snow.  I am back home.  I look down and see my lifeless body looking the same as Scott's did three years ago.  The same blue stained skin.  The icy lips.  Dead lifeless eyes.  I watch as my parents come screaming up the stairs.  My mother cradling me in her arms. crying over me.  Praying that her tears will warm my body some how and bring me back to life.  She has already lost one son she can't handle the loss of another.  I look up and see my brother staring down at me and our parents.  Without saying a word.  Emotionless.  He knows what he had to do, and he fells bad about it, but he believed it had to be done if he ever wanted to rest in peace.  With me living with a lie Scott knew he would never rest until he got his revenge.
I look up at my brother and watch as he disappears back into the darkness of the attic.  His own prison and safe haven at the same time.  He had no place in heaven now, and would forever be a spirit lost amongst the world of the living.  Watching over our parents because he knew I no longer could.  I tried to scream at him sorry, but he wouldn't hear it.  I screamed so loud I didn't hear what came up behind me.  I felt them though.  The claws of the devil.  Taking me finally to Hell.  A gift from my brother.  His final present to me.