My brother is afraid of the dark, but it isn't an irrational phobia. I've seen it too.

My brother is afraid of the dark, but it isn't an irrational phobia. I've seen it too. <br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>He calls it the figure in the rain.<br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>\*\*\*\*\*<br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>Because of the way our house is situated, none of our rooms have been graced with the blessing of a window. We have no choice but to keep our bedroom lights on through the night. <br><br>I wasn’t so bothered about it. In fact, I sometimes even thought it was romantic having a warm light to snuggle up to. I also didn’t believe that it wasted too much energy, but I think my parents kept the lights on to make me feel better, to give me a sense of safety. <br><br>Then there was my younger brother. He had no problem with the lights, but he had an unusual fear of the rain. As soon as thunder echoed through our quiet little suburban street, and the sound of rain hitting the windows couldn’t be ignored, he would begin to panic. <br><br>He would cry about it, and I felt terrible, but I couldn’t help him. My parents tried to talk some sense into him as well, but nothing worked. His phobia was too strong. He wouldn’t go to sleep until the rain has gone, and only then would he shut his light off. <br><br>I wasn’t too sure why it was bothering him so much, but maybe the sound of the rain touching the window made him feel uneasy. Maybe the light was comforting him. <br><br>At first, I thought that was the case, but as the storm raged on, I couldn’t help but feel like he was getting more and more paranoid. Not only that, but he was getting more and more terrified as well. <br><br>We were sitting in his room. It was almost midnight. The rain was coming in heavy sheets, and the sound of thunder was deafening. He was sitting on the bed, and I was sitting on the floor at his feet with my back against the bed. I didn’t feel like sleeping in my own room that night. <br><br>I think he was starting to feel a little better. He was getting used to it, and the night wasn’t so scary anymore. <br><br>It was raining really hard when I heard it. It was like nothing I had ever heard before. It sounded like a hand running down the window. It was slow, and it was deliberate. My brother heard it too. I think he almost leaped out of the bed, and believe it or not, I was about to do the same. <br><br>The fear in his eyes was unmistakable. I think I probably had the same look in mine. I asked him if he heard it, and he said yes. I asked him what it meant, and he said that it was the figure in the rain, the figure that comes once every month during thunderstorms. <br><br>He went on to tell me that it started happening a year ago. He said that he woke up to a knock on the window one night. It was really loud, and he thought that it was a branch that had broken off and was knocking against it. <br><br>But then the knocking stopped. He thought that the branch had fallen. But then, he heard the knocking again. It was slow, and it was deliberate. <br><br>The knocking went on, and my brother was about to go to sleep when he heard it. It was a scratch. It sounded like someone was scratching the window. <br><br>My brother finally found the courage to go to the window. He looked through it, and that’s when he saw it. He said that it was a figure measuring around six feet tall. Its back was to him, and it was looking at the ground as it walked away. <br><br>“I know it heard me,” he said. “I know it felt my presence. But I don’t know why it didn’t turn around. Maybe it didn’t care. Maybe it was fed up. But whatever it was, I feel like it was going to come back. I feel like it will always come back until it catches me.” <br><br>As he finished his story, the scratching began. It was exactly as he described it. It was slow, and it was deliberate. My brother’s eyes were wide with terror. He was panting, and he was almost trembling. <br><br>The scratching went on, and my brother looked like he was going to explode. He was going to explode if it didn’t stop. <br><br>I tried to go to the window, but he stopped me. He looked me dead in the eye and warned me not to go. <br><br>“I don’t want to die,” he said. “Please don’t make me die.” <br><br>I hesitated, and while I was hesitating, the scratching stopped. <br><br>We both went silent, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the scratching to start again. But nothing happened. The storm raged on, and my brother and I waited. <br><br>He looked almost relieved. Maybe it was gone. Maybe it had left. <br><br>And then it rained even more. I felt like I was floating through the rain. It was that heavy. And as I sat there, I heard something. I heard a loud and deafening sound that I couldn’t quite make out. <br><br>And then it stopped. It was almost as if the rain was covering it up. <br><br>I heard it again, and that’s when I realized that it was the sound of footsteps, footsteps outside the house, heavy and deliberate footsteps. <br><br>The next morning, my brother and I ran outside together. We ran through the front door and into the backyard, and that’s when we saw it. There were footprints leaving the house. They were huge, and they were unmistakable. <br><br>As we looked at the footprints, a cold shiver ran down my spine. It was the figure in the rain, and it was coming back. I just knew it.