The Laughing Board

In the autumn of 1998, the small town of Oakhaven was quiet, save for the rustling leaves that gathered in the corners of the elementary school playground. Five-year-old twins, Mia and Leo, were inseparable. When Leo started kindergarten, Mia was enrolled with him, at her mother’s insistence, to keep him company. It was a crisp October day when their teacher, Mrs. Albright, led the class into the school’s auditorium for a rehearsal of the upcoming harvest festival. The children were to practice on the old wooden stage, whose faded red curtains hung heavy and still.

As they filed in, the room smelled of dust and old wood. The stage lights were off, but the morning sun streamed through the high windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Some kids were already climbing the steps, giggling, while others lingered near the back, peeking through the gap between the black velvet curtains and the wall. It was there that Mia, with her twin brother beside her, saw it: a figure, not quite human, with skin the color of burnt umber and eyes like molten gold. It was perched on a large, dark board that seemed to hover just above the floor, and it was laughing—a low, guttural sound that vibrated through the soles of their shoes. It then began to rise, slowly, as if ascending an invisible staircase, its laughter growing louder, more manic.

Every child who saw it screamed. They scrambled over each other, pushing and shoving to escape the auditorium. Mia and Leo ran hand in hand, their small hearts pounding. The chaos drew teachers, but by the time any adult reached the stage, the apparition was gone. The children were herded back to their classroom, where Mrs. Albright tried to calm them, but many were inconsolable. When questioned, they all described the same thing: a laughing creature on a rising board behind the curtains. The school counselor dismissed it as a collective hallucination, perhaps triggered by the excitement of the upcoming festival. But Mia knew what she saw, and she knew Leo saw it too.

Years passed. The twins grew up, moved away, and drifted into their own lives. Mia went to college, Leo into the army. It wasn’t until they were both in their twenties, sitting at a family reunion, that Mia brought it up. ‘Remember that thing in the auditorium?’ she asked, laughing nervously. Leo looked at her blankly. ‘What thing?’ he said. Mia’s smile faded. ‘The. . .the laughing board, in the curtains. We all screamed. You were holding my hand.’ Leo shook his head. ‘I don’t remember any of that. You must have dreamed it.’ Mia felt a cold pit in her stomach. They had always shared memories, finishing each other’s sentences. How could he forget something so vivid?

Determined to find answers, Mia returned to Oakhaven years later. The school had been renovated, the old auditorium converted into a computer lab. She spoke to former classmates, but none of them remembered the incident either. Some even accused her of making it up. She visited the town library, searching old newspapers, but found nothing. Her mother, now in her sixties, offered no help. ‘You were such an imaginative child,’ she said, patting Mia’s hand. ‘Maybe you saw a shadow, or a trick of the light.’ But Mia knew better. She began to have nightmares: a shadowy figure on a board, laughing as it rose, only now it was reaching for her.

One night, Mia woke to find herself in her apartment, but something was wrong. The air was cold, and there was a smell of dust and old wood. She was standing in the backstage area of the old auditorium. In front of her, the black curtains rustled, and she heard that laugh again. It was soft at first, then grew. She tried to run, but her feet were glued to the floor. The curtains parted, and there it was—the same creature, with the same golden eyes, now staring directly at her. It pointed a long finger at her, and its mouth widened into a grin that was too wide. ‘You remember,’ it said, its voice a whisper that seemed to come from inside her head. ‘That is why you must join me.’

Mia screamed and woke up, drenched in sweat. She was in her bed, safe. But later that day, she received a call from her mother. Leo had been found in his apartment, unresponsive, staring at the ceiling. The doctors said he was in a catatonic state, his brain activity normal but his eyes unfocused, as if watching something far away. Mia rushed to the hospital, but nothing she did could rouse him. She sat by his bedside, holding his hand, and whispered, ‘Leo, what did you see?’ For a moment, his eyes flickered, and he mouthed the words, ‘It wants you too.’

Mia is now obsessively researching, trying to find a way to reach her brother, but she fears it’s only a matter of time before the laughing board calls her back. She has begun to wonder if their mother’s decision to keep them together was a mistake, or if perhaps the creature had been waiting all along. And in the quiet moments, when she closes her eyes, she can still hear that laughter, rising in the darkness, waiting for her to take Leo’s place.