Haunted

The house I grew up in was always creepy. Even having lived in it for my entire life, it still was unsettling. The classic Victorian architecture mixed with the dark academia decor always seemed wrong like two puzzle pieces fit together making the wrong image. As children, we thought nothing of it, but when we started to realize how unsettling it was then we began to laugh at our own mind-made fears.

My brother and I would always joke about the zombies in the basement or the ghosts upstairs. Sometimes we would even swear we had heard screaming. At first, we thought it was childish banter that would fade as we realized what really was happening, but an explanation never came, so even as teenagers, we were hesitant to go anywhere without each other. It didn't help that the lights flickered as if it were a bad rave, or that the walls had a tendency to be too weak to hold paintings, causing them to fall randomly, but the worst was the groans and creaks of the house sounding like the gates of hell opening up to swallow us whole.

I first thought that it was the house settling, after all, it was ancient. Though the pieces never fit firmly, because a setting house doesn't equate to long claw-like tears in the wallpaper, of pictures torn from the frame while it still hangs on the wall.

Though we felt invincible, two teens back to back while fighting against the world. Even as children w stayed back to back, eyes wide open at every flicker, noise, or shudder. We were prepared to fight and win, but we never were ready to lose.

We played games while we would sit on his bed, telling stories about how we would defend ourselves from the big bad monsters. Always swearing to stay together and use teamwork to defeat the evil that lurked below.

We never liked being alone, but now I had to be.

It was sudden, his death, an accident causing another, causing another, causing another. I never knew that humans had that much blood inside of them, but now I wish I didn't. Even though the floors had long since been cleaned from the blood splatters, the smell of iron and the sticky warm fluid still seemed to be stained in my mind.

Being alone in the house felt terribly surreal, I always tricked myself into believing I was still safe because he was right in front of me, his form clear and flickering, but I knew it was wrong. I knew my mind was tricking me into feeling comfortable so I don't have to face the truth.

I couldn't not be alone in the house, because he was all I had. The fact that I was nor totally and completely alone seemed terrifying. Sometimes I swear I can still hear him screaming while the garbage disposal runs, clunking with every failed attempt to slice the bones of his hand. Sometimes I feel happy with the hallucinations because he was alive, and could be saved now that I know the outcome, but his screams always make me realize it will end the same.

The house only seemed worse after it. Every flicker of light caused my heart to stop, and with them happening more, it was a miracle my heart hadn't exploded. The falling paintings seemed more violent as they shattered and flew across the room in their downward tumble, and the creaking didn't sound like wood anymore. It sounded like deep gurgling moans of my brother.

I tried and convince myself it wasn't real, and that t was a trick of the light, or my mind playing games, but his screams were real, and the terror I felt never subsided when I tried to check to see if it was wrong.

I could barely move from his bed, remembering how he told me "if you ever are scared, imagine a circle of light protecting you from all the bad things."

I sat and I imagined, and I hoped and I prayed. Nothing got better. There was a symphony of screams and shattered glass and the imaginary circle did nothing tease my worries. My heart rate spiked as another shattered picture frame hits the floor, and I try to remember his voice, his smile, and the comfort he always gave me. Strength in numbers, he swore. Now there's barely strength in me.

The jokes we made as kids seemed terrifyingly real as another photo slammed to the ground, thoughts of Zombies, ghosts, and aliens clouding my mind.

I didn't even notice when the hellish symphony finally quieted, as if the entire house was taking a deep breath. Someone was there, in front of me, hiding from my sight.

"I'm sorry!" I cry to the unknown object, begging for forgiveness and mercy. "I don't want to die!" Memories of my brother's death flashed in my mind, his screams, the blood, and the demonic laugh that echoed throughout the empty room. My body rocked back and forth while I clutched my hair, almost trying to tear it from its roots.

"Silly," My brother's voice echoed out, and I froze in terror at the familiar voice I had last heard screaming, "Your safe as long as you stay in the circle." he laughed lightly, but his normally happy voice deepened to a demonic level, before snapping back to the normal boyish chuckled, "Besides, I could never hurt you." he raises his left hand, and I noticed how horribly mutilated his left arm was. His palm gently pressed against a dome that surrounded me from the imaginary surface and he smiled. "We used to joke about all the bad things here, but don't worry. They can't hurt you as long as I'm around." he smiled gently, and I knew that I was going to be alright. It was some twisted story of an angel, but I knew that I would be safe as long as my twisted guardian angel was watching over me.