William Marvel: Ghost Words

An only child often conjures up siblings. At the age of four or five, during our brief sojourn in a bungalow near Norfolk, Va., I told neighborhood children about my brother. They had never seen him, I explained, because my parents kept him in the attic. That brother vanished when a woman came to our front door to inquire about him.

By the time we returned permanently to South Conway, I had come to appreciate not having to share my room, or toys. My mother used to arrange play days for me with kids from nearby, but after about three attempts she thought better of it, and let me entertain myself.