Shorts

14. Evil sister?

Patrick sat on his bed, the late afternoon sun streaming through his window, casting a warm glow over his cluttered room. Posters of video games and rock bands covered the walls, but his attention was elsewhere. He could hear the faint hum of music drifting from somewhere in the house—an oddly repetitive tune he couldn't quite place.

"Hey, Patrick! Have you seen my headphones?" his sister, Lily, called out from the hallway. Her voice was sweet, but there was a mischief in her tone that always made him wary.

"Nope!" he shouted back, trying to focus on his game. But the music persisted, weaving through his thoughts like a soft, insistent whisper.

A few days passed, and Patrick began to notice something strange. During a particularly intense gaming session, he caught himself sucking his thumb, a habit he thought he had long outgrown. He pulled his hand away, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Ew, Patrick! Are you five?" Lily's voice echoed in his mind, a teasing laugh that made him cringe. He glanced at the door, half-expecting her to burst in, but it remained shut.

"Must be tired," he muttered to himself, shaking off the oddity. But that night, as he lay in bed, the music seeped into his dreams. He found himself wandering through a pastel-colored world, where everything was soft and fluffy, and he felt an inexplicable urge to giggle.

The next morning, he woke up with a strange sense of lightness. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and frowned. "What's wrong with me?" he mumbled, shaking his head.

Downstairs, Lily was already eating breakfast, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sleep well, baby brother?" she teased, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Shut up, Lily. I'm not a baby!" he shot back, though the words felt weaker than he intended.

"Sure you're not," she replied, her smile widening. "But I know a little secret... you might want to keep an eye on your thumb."

Patrick rolled his eyes, determined to brush off her jabs. But as the days went on, the thumb-sucking became more frequent, and he found himself drawn to bright colors and soft fabrics. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting within him, like pieces of himself were being rearranged without his consent.

One evening, as he lay in bed, he whispered to himself, "I'm not a baby. I'm Patrick." But the words felt hollow, echoing back to him in the quiet of his room.

Lily peeked in, her face a mask of faux innocence. "What's the matter, Pat? Can't sleep?"

"Go away, Lily!" he groaned, but there was a part of him that felt vulnerable, exposed under her gaze.

"What if I told you I could help you?" she said, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Just a little music, and you'll sleep like a baby."

"I sleep just fine!" Patrick snapped, but the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him.

"Sure, sure," she said, a conspiratorial grin spreading across her face.

As she left, Patrick stared at the ceiling, heart racing. What was happening to him? Desperately, he tried to block out the music in his mind, but it lingered, like a catchy tune that refused to fade away.

A few days later, the thumb-sucking had become almost habitual. Patrick tried to hide it, but during family dinners, he'd catch his mom's concerned gaze lingering on him.

"Patrick, honey, are you feeling okay?" his mom asked one evening, her voice laced with worry as she set down a plate of spaghetti in front of him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, pulling his hand away from his mouth. "Just a little tired, I guess."