Not My Brother

It was a typical Saturday afternoon when Ethan wandered into the woods. Our parents had warned us not to stray too far, but Ethan loved to explore. “I’ll be back before dinner,” he promised, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of adventure. When the sun began to set, I started to worry. Dinner came and went, and still, there was no sign of him.

Panic settled in my stomach like a stone. I searched the yard, calling his name until my throat was raw. It wasn’t until my parents got involved that I truly understood the gravity of the situation. They called the police, and soon the woods were swarming with flashlights and search parties. As night fell, I clung to the porch railing, my heart racing with fear.

Hours passed, but Ethan didn’t return. The darkness felt suffocating, and whispers of worry filled the air. Eventually, they found him—deep in the woods, near an old abandoned cabin. But the Ethan who returned wasn’t the same. He looked different. His eyes, once filled with mischief, were now dull, and his laughter had vanished.

“Ethan?” I called out when I saw him stepping out of the woods. He paused, a strange look crossing his face, as if he was trying to remember something. “Where were you?”

“Just… exploring,” he said, but there was a flatness in his voice that sent shivers down my spine.

He was back, but something felt off. The next few days were a blur of unease. Ethan rarely spoke about what happened in the woods, and the joy he once radiated faded to a mere flicker. He became distant, often staring blankly at the walls, as if something were lurking just beyond his vision.

I tried to draw him out of this shell, but every time I touched him, a coldness emanated from his skin, a chill that made me withdraw. I convinced myself it was just my imagination, but the more time passed, the more my gut twisted with fear.

One night, I woke up to strange noises coming from his room. It was a low, guttural sound that sent me bolting upright in bed. Heart pounding, I crept out of my room, tiptoeing down the hallway toward his door. I peered inside.

Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, staring into the darkness, the faint light from the moon casting eerie shadows across his face. His hair fell across his forehead, but the way he moved—slowly, almost deliberately—was unsettling. I opened the door a crack.

“Ethan?” I whispered.

He turned his head slowly, almost too slowly, and the way his eyes locked onto mine made my breath hitch. “I’m not your brother,” he said, his voice hollow and echoing.

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. I stepped back, fear paralyzing me. “What do you mean?”

He stood up, his movements jerky, unnatural. “I’m not the one you think I am,” he said, his smile stretching wider than it should, revealing too many teeth.

That’s when I saw it—the shadow behind him, flickering like a flame. It twisted and writhed, almost sentient, as if it were a part of him. I stumbled backward, heart racing. “Get away from me!”

I turned and ran down the hallway, the sound of his laughter following me, a cruel mockery that echoed through the night. I dove into my parents’ room, shaking them awake, but when I turned to point back toward Ethan’s room, he was gone.

“Mom! Dad! Ethan’s not right!” I cried, my voice cracking with fear.

My parents exchanged worried glances but dismissed my fears, attributing it to the trauma of the search. They reassured me that everything was fine, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was losing him to something dark and malevolent.

Days turned into weeks, and my dread only grew. I watched Ethan as he wandered through our house, his movements erratic, and sometimes he would stare blankly at nothing for long periods. At school, he became withdrawn, and his friends began to avoid him. I was terrified he might disappear again, consumed by whatever darkness had taken hold of him.

One night, as I lay in bed, I heard a soft tapping at my window. My heart raced. I sat up, peering through the darkness. Outside, I saw Ethan standing beneath the streetlamp, his silhouette eerily illuminated. He looked almost normal, but his eyes gleamed with something unnatural, something hungry.

“Come out,” he whispered, the sound barely reaching my ears but cutting through the silence. “I want to show you something.”

“Ethan!” I hissed, but part of me felt drawn to him, as if the shadows behind him were calling my name. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, a strange smile creeping across his face. “Just come out, sis. It’ll be fun.”

The air felt thick, and the moonlight cast long shadows that danced across my room. I gripped the edge of my bed, torn between my instinct to protect myself and the love I felt for my brother. I had to see what was happening.

As I crept outside, the cool night air wrapped around me like a shroud. I approached him cautiously, and he held out his hand. “Let’s go to the woods.”

I hesitated, fear clawing at my throat. “Why? What’s out there?”

“Just… come with me,” he urged, the shadow behind him swirling and pulsing like a heartbeat.

Against my better judgment, I took his hand. It felt cold and clammy, like a dead fish, and a wave of revulsion washed over me. “Ethan, you’re not acting like yourself.”

“Who am I then?” he asked, tilting his head as if considering the question.

I wanted to scream, to run back inside, but something in his gaze held me captive. Together, we walked toward the edge of the woods, the trees looming like sentinels, whispering secrets I didn’t want to hear.

“Are you ready to play?” Ethan asked, his voice echoing through the stillness.

Suddenly, the world around us warped, and I felt a pressure building in my chest, as if the forest itself were pushing me away. “Ethan, please! We need to go back!”

He turned, his smile wide but his eyes void of warmth. “Why don’t you want to play?”

The ground trembled beneath my feet as I realized I was standing on the threshold of something I couldn’t comprehend—a darkness that wanted to swallow me whole. I yanked my hand away, stumbling backward. “You’re not my brother!”

His expression shifted, confusion flickering across his face before it hardened into something cold and unrecognizable. “What do you mean?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

With that, I turned and ran. I sprinted back toward the house, heart pounding, hearing his laughter behind me—haunting and echoing in the night. The woods seemed to reach for me as I fled, branches clawing at my skin. I burst through the front door and slammed it shut, leaning against it, gasping for breath.

“Mom! Dad! Help!” I cried, but the house felt empty, silent as the grave.

I could still hear him outside, soft murmurs and laughter. “Let me in, sis. I’m still your brother.”

But I knew the truth. Ethan was gone, replaced by something far more sinister, and I was alone in this nightmare. I could feel the weight of the darkness pressing against the walls, eager to seep inside.

As I collapsed on the floor, tears streaming down my face, I realized I would do anything to protect myself from what he had become. My brother was lost, and in his place was something that would never be satisfied until it consumed me too.