Dark Menace

Remembering

I slowly walked into the empty bathroom, consuming the debris of new paint that covered the walls, secretly hiding its secrets by adding another thick layer of paint. Hearing the door silently creak until it closed after letting the door handle slip through my fingers, I swallowed lightly, hoping to feel the tiniest bit relaxed now that I was alone and finally away from all the accusations. I still had the water bottle in my possession which carefully dandled from my right index finger through the small opening from the top of the bottle. As I made my way over to the bright white sinks, the cool wind blew softly from the opened window, slightly brushing my face. I turned towards the window, watching the branches that swung calmly back and forth, dropping some of the few leaves that are left of the exposed tree. That's what I felt like to the world right about now.

Exposed.

I sat my water bottle down on the side of the sink and looked cautiously in the mirror. Something that I haven't mustered enough courage to do so since the night of the incident that still haunts freshly made in the front of my mind over and over. Like a new song that you randomly hear on the radio that sweetly catches the ring of your ears, begging you to come in touch with that song moments later just to listen to again.....and again. Except this song is much more terrifying, a continuous nightmare that's on repeat.

I shut my eyes tight.

"Mason!" I screamed, gasping as I dropped down on my knees. Letting the tears fall dramatically slow, in sync with the rest of the earth. Everything in this moment had felt like time decided to stop on its own, take a break from reality. To just...breathe.

As traumatized as I've been in my childhood, this will ice the center of the cake. Not with colorful and deliciously tasting flavor icing, but with blood. Not the red that you've probably seen on a horror movie or a television show, but a darker one. Severe, thicker. Drenched in nothing but cold debris.

"Mason.." I whispered underneath my shaky breath.

I swallowed air and bit my lip hard, hoping to break enough layers of skin for it to bleed. I inhaled deeply, replaying just enough for my emotions to scream out of anger. I opened my eyes quickly, snatching the water bottle off the sink and launching it across the bathroom. The impact made a loud noise which I'm sure will cause immediate attention to anyone that is walking by.

"You know I always told mom you'd be a great pitcher, somewhere in the softball league one day."

I snapped my head in the other direction, revealing Mason leaning against the bathroom wall right next to the opened window, glaring at me in the same outfit he'd worn on the day that he died.

He was punishing me.

"Haven't you made enough entrances already?" I glared. He smirked in response, folding his arms at me before removing himself from the wall.

"Oh come on. You don't like my entrances?"
"I feel like each entrance adds more suspense into the atmosphere. Like eating mother's chicken for dinner on a Sunday night with an overly-stressed father coming home from work to do nothing but stir up buried drama back into the surface, due to the unsatisfactory taste of closure."

"You're crazier than I thought." I eyed him, studying his presence. Would you even call it a presence since he's not actually here? I don't know.

"You needed help. You've always needed help, and no one in that household dared to listen to me."

"Help?" He furrowed his eyebrows, justifying his confusion onto what I meant.
"What do you mean by help?"
"Doesn't matter. It isn't like none of it would be put to use now." I shrugged silently, taking a small deep breath as I searched the floor for something to gaze at while he talked. Perhaps on the idea of coming to the obvious term that I was able to communicate with my dead brother, many questions are in mind, although I know that only such few will be answered.