Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / And He's Still So Creative (Analysis)
My brother died about 3 months ago. Michael. Michael died about 3 months ago. Mom always says that the way I talk about him is so detached, that I should say his name more often when I speak of him so that's what I'll do though I don't see much point. He's dead but anyway, Michael died 3 months ago. He was 16. I'm 16. We were twins. Identical actually but I always felt that he was better looking. I was smarter, but he...he had the looks. The charm. He was artistic, a photographer. He got the girls, all the attention. I didn't mind though. I always took comfort in the fact that I was born 6 minutes before him technically making me older. Right, so my twin died about 3 months ago. I found his body in his room when I returned from school. He had obviously been stabbed repeatedly. I found myself just standing there. I couldn't cry, I couldn't gasp. I just stood there. Dumbfounded, not scared or anything but just dumbfounded. What was I to do? Throw myself upon him and cry tears that would hopefully resurrect him like that scene between Ash and Pikachu from the first Pokémon movie me and Michael saw together. That wouldn't make any sense. I'd get all bloody and I might be interfering with a crime scene. I walked out of his room to the hall where mom had put the house phone so that everybody could hear it if it rang. I dialed 911, told them that I had found a dead body in my house, told them the address and then hung up. I went into my room and wrote in my journal. November 30th, 2006. I found my brother dead today. This totally messes up my week. I drew a little sad face next to that and put my journal in the back of my closet where it always remained. When the police arrived they searched the house for I suppose the murderer they expected to still be there taking a shower or fixing himself a sandwich with our thanksgiving leftovers. I spoke to one of the detectives that asked me a whole bunch of questions. He seemed annoyed that I didn't know much but I didn't really care. Yeah, it sucked that I couldn't help out more but...that's just the way it was. My mom and dad both got home at the same time and were both overwhelmed with a mixture of grief, rage and confusion as to who got into the house and would do such a thing to "their beloved son". I couldn't help but think if I was the one to be found dead they would be less concerned with the fact that I was dead but more worried on how devastated my brother, how devastated Michael would be. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want to trade places with him or anything to test this idea out but it was just a thought. Going back to seeing how frantic my parents were I could only thank God, Allah and Buddha that they weren't the ones to find him in that bloody state, mother especially. She would have slit her wrists and laid right next to Michael, waiting for the angel of death to deliver her straight to her son. My parents cried for weeks. The police investigated. My parents continued crying. The police had given up, apparently a little girl had gone missing earlier that week. I guess nobody was looking for Mickey's murderer anymore. We had a nice funeral and a nice burial and then I continued living my life.
A month or so after my brother's death, my best friend Angela suggested we do a spirit conjuring session to get in contact with my brother. She was one of those wiccans and though I didn't see the point, I loved Angie and figured it would be something fun and we'd laugh about how useless it was soon after. Later that night, a couple of our friends and I gathered at her house. We set up the dining room table with candles, a few cups of water and some crystals she claimed would keep evil spirits at bay. We all closed our eyes and joined hands, followed Angela in a chant, calling out my late brothers name and then waited. A door creaked. A picture frame fell. And the wind picked up speed knocking the trees outside against the window. I could tell Jamie was scared. She tightened her grip on my hand. I squeezed back. Another door creaked.
"Michael. Is that you?" Angie called out, her voice cracked but she held up strong. Nobody really noticed but David moved back a bit from the table. One of the cups of water overturned.
"Mickey, it's me. Angie. Me and Jamie and your brother Matthew's here. David's here too. We're all here. We miss you Mickey and we want to find out who took you from us. We won't make you stay long but please, stay and try and communicate with us." Another cup of water spilled. I laughed to myself and wondered, "We won't make you stay long." What was that supposed to mean? Do ghost have lives to get back to. Ha, I laughed again.
"I want to ask you one question. And if its yes, wipe out one of the candles. Whoever did this to you...were they close?" She asked.
Some seconds passed and then one of the candles went out. I looked over at Jamie and she was crying. I could tell she was trying not to but she was and I was jealous. I wanted to be able to show emotion like that. This was my brother, he was murdered and I couldn't even make my eyes water.
The table shook, all the cups of water flew off the surface making a mess of the floor, the crystals flew into different corners of the room, David's chair was pulled out from under him. Something was going wrong. Angela yelled at us to join hands and we prayed, we prayed and prayed. Things calmed down and for awhile we all just stood there. Angie explained to us that either Mickey was mad or another spirit had interrupted our session. Nobody really answered Angie but it was ok. We all understood. David stayed with Angela until her parents got home and I walked with Jamie home. As I hugged her goodnight, I could tell she didn't want to let go. It was ok though, I appreciated the affection. We probably hugged for 5 minutes straight, just standing there under the dim porch light..then she went inside and I went home.
My parents were sitting on the couch pretending to be interested in whatever program was on at the moment. I passed by them saying nothing but "Good night." I went upstairs, did my nightly routine and went to sleep. When I woke up the next morning I found a black and white photo next to my bed. It was a picture of me and two of my friends at Angie's Halloween party. I had no idea how it got their but it was a nice picture. We were all drinking something. We were drinking and laughing. David was in the picture too just standing there, being awkward as usual. I remember that night. I remember getting home feeling really sick and then really paranoid. I had nightmares for the first time in years that night. I wrote them down in my journal. I wrote down what I remembered at least. All visions of blood but I blamed it on the drinking. I put the picture on my dresser and went off to school. I told David about the picture, he laughed and said he wanted to see it. He didn't remember anyone taking pictures so I told him after school I'd go home, get the pic and meet him at the park. School went by quickly as usual and I went home to get the picture. As I stepped inside I saw another black and white photo on the floor. This one was of an empty overturned bottle of PCP on a table next to a punch bowl. Okaaay.. Probably one of Michaels "inventive" photos for the portfolio he had been preparing. I picked it up, put on the table of table and went upstairs. As I walking up the stairs I saw another picture. This one of a knife, bloody and half wrapped in a pair of jeans. Now I was scared. I didn't even touch this picture, instead I called Angela and told her what was just going on. Seconds passed and then she asked "Mickey was a photographer, wasn't he?" Silence. "Matthew? Hello? Matthew, what happened? Are you still there? Matt! Matt!" I heard her but I wasn't listening. I had to go to my room. I had to write. I hung up the phone and Angela called me back moments later. I ignored the call and the calls after that. I rummaged through my closet, throwing my clothes out on the floor and getting my journal. I went back a few pages.
October 31st, 2006. My hand writing was sloppy. I came home tonight stumbling and feeling sick. We had been drinking so I knew I was under the influence. It was a horrible feeling but I tried to sleep through it.
November 2nd, 2006. Things have been changing between me and Mickey. I don't know what it is but something's different.
November 10th, 2006. He's jealous. He's jealous that I'm older. He's jealous that I'm smarter. I know he is and I don't blame him.
November 16th, 2006. He's after me. That bastard is after me. He's out to get me. I know he is. I can see it in his eyes. I see it in my dreams. He's after me.
November 21st, 2006 I've got to get him before he gets me.
I didn't need to read anymore. I looked around my room and saw it. Saw it just like how it was in the picture. It gleamed even with the dried blood, it shined. I went over to my oldest pair of Levi's and took the blade out that laid inside half wrapped in the left leg. I laughed out loud and said. "Good job Mickey. You always were the artistic one, oh so clever." I put the knife on my bed and picked up my journal, uncapped the pen attached to it and wrote in my neatest handwriting...
January 16th, 2007 I found out who killed my brother today. It was me. This totally messes up my week. :-( ...
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
This 69 word review has not been unlocked.
This 530 word review has not been unlocked.
Showing 1 - 2 of 2
Review item
Add to faves
Ratings & Rankings
