I hate it when my brother Lucas has to go away. My parents always try to explain how unwell he is, how his mind doesn't work like mine. They tell me I'm lucky—my thoughts flow smoothly, like clear streams running along their courses. When I complain about being bored without my little brother to hang out with, they guilt-trip me by saying that his boredom must be far worse, trapped in a dim room in that institution.
I always plead for them to bring him back, to give him one more chance. And they did, in the beginning. Lucas has come home several times, but each visit gets shorter than the last. Every time he returns, things start going wrong again. The neighbor's dogs show up on our porch with patches of fur missing, Dad's sharp kitchen knives are found stuck in the sandbox at the local playground, and Mom's face cream gets swapped with toothpaste. My parents are more cautious now, doling out "last chances" like rare treasures.
They say Lucas's disorder makes him charming, makes it easy for him to act normal and deceive the doctors into thinking he's ready for the outside world. They tell me I'll have to endure the boredom, that it's a small price to pay for safety.
I hate it when Lucas has to go away. It means I have to pretend to be good until he comes back.
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Collection of Horror Stories
Horror📖 Step into the realm of fear and the supernatural as you delve into this captivating compilation of chilling short horror stories. Within the pages of this bone-chilling anthology, darkness takes hold, each tale presenting its own unique nightmare...
