I’d do anything for my brother, but you don’t kill people just because you’ve already buried their underwear.

He’s twisted. Sick. At least that’s what they say. My brother has problems, sure. He’s not all there, but he’s my brother. Family is family, and you protect them. No matter what. His problems started when he was young. Just a child really. I remember he had an imaginary friend named Tanya. She’d sit with him and eat all of his veggies. All of his food. I don’t know why, but he couldn’t stand food. We’d have to force him to eat or he’d starve. Tanya helped with that, until one day she didn’t. She went missing. Disappeared. He searched high and low, ripped his room apart, and even went so far as to dig up our backyard. He was a mess. I remember the fights he had with mom and pop. He accused them of all sorts of terrible things, and then, just as suddenly as she had disappeared, Tanya was back. Or so he claimed. He was happy, and in that moment, we were happy for him, but the backyard remained a problem. See, initially, he had just dug a little hole, one he could fit into, but over time, he expanded it. Night after night, he dug, until he had a little hideaway. A spot to sleep. A spot to bury things. Bacon for one. My brother’s always hated pork. The smell. The taste. He’ll do anything to avoid it. Even eat glass. He found the first shard in the playground sand. It had cut him good, but he never noticed. He just quietly picked it out and put it aside. Later, when we were home, he put it in his mouth. I told you he’s twisted. Regardless, this was the summer after Tanya disappeared, and the year our mom decided to start cooking pork chops. She’d sizzle them in a pan and he’d run off in tears. He couldn’t stand the smell. So he’d bury them. Dig them up and bury them in the backyard. Raw. Cooked. Canned. If it had pork, he’d bury it. Then there was the underwear. He’d bury those too, but only if they were dirty, smelly, or otherwise disgusting. Just like the pork, he’d dig them up later and move them around the yard, hiding them in all sorts of new spots. Bacon and dirty underwear weren’t all he’d bury though. He’d play cemetery with all of the neighborhood animals. Dead birds. Roadkill. Raccoons. Mice. Whatever he found, he’d bury it in the backyard. Eventually, when he got bored, he’d dig it up. He’d smell it. He’d eat it. He’d move it around. I remember one time I had to miss school because of a fever, and while I slept, he decided to dig up the entire yard. Every last bone. I woke up to him working, his hands covered in dirt, his eyes covered in flies. There was a smile on his face and a skeleton in his arms. Around that same time, Tanya started to go missing again. He couldn’t find her anywhere, and it was like his eyes went dead. Like his eyes have always been dead. I just remember that he kept digging, and eventually, the police showed up. They weren’t looking for my brother, although they should have been. No, they were looking for a little girl. A six year old who’d gone missing. She lived just four houses down. They started looking in cars. Under bushes. Up trees. In our house. My brother answered the door. You could smell him from the street. I was in my room. I remember hearing them enter and shitting myself. Mom and pop were out of town for the weekend, and I was supposed to be watching him. I knew better. He wasn’t to be trusted. That’s why they’d locked him up. Literally. His room had been padlocked. The windows had been barred. I’d never seen him move so quickly. I was in shock. The police were in shock. He just grabbed his shovel and took off running. He ran out the back. I could hear him digging. My heart was pounding. I knew exactly what he was doing, and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. The police searched his room while I tried to figure out a way to warn them. I didn’t. I was too scared. Too shocked. Too in awe of how fast he was moving. I knew what he was doing. I knew why, and I knew it wouldn’t end well. Ultimately, I stayed inside. I stayed hidden. I stayed safe. The police stayed outside. They searched every inch of our yard. Eventually, they found her. Her name was Tanya. She was exactly what you’d expect. A rotting corpse. Half eaten. Half buried. They placed her in a bag, but that wasn’t the end of it. They kept searching. My brother was still missing, and eventually, they found him. They found him in the next yard over. Just past the fence. The little girl’s neighbors had a pond, and my brother was up to his waist in it. He had Tanya over his shoulder, and when he saw the police, he just smiled and sank beneath the water. They dragged him out. They locked him up. He’s been twisted since birth. Sick. Troubled. But I’d do anything for my brother. I’d kill for him. I’ll starve for him. I’ll even bury him. That’s why I’m writing this. Right now. See, I was in his cell fifteen minutes ago. He looked good. He smelled good. He was happy. Tanya was happy. I left, and now the guards are shouting. The cells are opening. The prisoners are running. I don’t know what my brother has done this time. I don’t know what he’s killed. I don’t know what he’ll do next. But I know this; I’ll stand by him. I’ll bury him if I have to. Hell, I’ll bury myself for him. Family is everything. Family is forever.

I’d do anything for my brother, but you don’t kill people just because you’ve already buried their underwear.

Comments (6) 11447 👁️