Insanity Was A Man

1. Imposters

I had never really had much friends at school.

I was the quiet, unapproachable kid that no one really took the time to get to know. No matter what my actual mood was, my face was always naturally straight and angry looking. It was something I couldn't help.

We moved around a lot because of my dad's work, so I had to deal with being the new kid a lot. It didn't make it much easier to talk to people, and just made me anxious and uncomfortable. But at home I was safe, at home I had a room I could run to and read comic books and manga, where I could draw and write, do what I wanted to. Grandma was always willing to look at my work when no one else really seemed to care. The impressiveness in her eyes wasn't fake when she told me it was good, it was the most genuine thing I had ever seen. Something real, that gave me confidence. 

My dad had rarely even seen my work. He was rarely very much involved in any of our lives, so caught up in his own. So he left my mother to look after us at home. Me, my three older brothers, and my little sister.

Mom was extremely stressed as a result.

She had bad anger issues, from constantly running around and doing things for everyone else. Whenever she looked at my drawings, she would tell me it was good. But I could tell she always had other things to worry about. It wasn't her fault. I wanted to help her, but there was just nothing I could do. Then were my brothers, three sport obsessed triplets who loved to push each other around, but not as much as they enjoyed pushing around their younger siblings. But then there was my grandmother. Old, innocent, caring granny. Caring granny who had no anger issues and all the time on her hands to do whatever she wanted.

***

My grandmother had been living with us for almost two years when it happened. I'd been really close to her for pretty much as long as I can remember, so it came as a shock to me. It hurt me.

I think it hurt all of us.

I remember hearing my mother yelling at her that it wasn't true, that we were her family and we loved her. That she was her daughter, and she had given birth to her.

Grandma didn't believe her. She didn't believe any of us. She just went upstairs to her room, and locked the door, even though she never did that.

She used to feel safe here. Now, she thinks we're impostors.

****

It started as a normal enough night.

We had been eating dinner. My little sister was at her friend's house for a sleepover, so without a six-year-old there, it was quieter than usual. It was pretty much the typical dinner talk, mom asking me how my day was and me giving a short positive reply, dad complaining about work. Grandma was quiet, even though she normally joined in on the conversation.

She'd been acting like this for a few days, and I'd been confused. I had a good relationship with her, closer than either of my parents or siblings. I loved them all the same, but me and my grandmother had always had a special kind of bond. We were always doing things together, going to the movies at least once a week and watching old cartoons at home, feeding ducks at the pond in our neighborhood. If I had something I wasn't comfortable telling my parents, I knew she'd be there for me, and she wouldn't just blurt it out to anyone.

Deep down, I new I would lose her eventually. She was in her mid seventies, and not doing the greatest, health wise. That's why she started living with us in the first place.  My mother didn't think it was safe for her to live far away from us, alone. Yet she was still alive, holding on with everything she had.

When she randomly began being quiet, I knew something was very wrong. She didn't care about my short stories or drawings, she didn't want to watch TV. She even glared at us from time to time, every word she said carrying a negative tone. She had become private, locked up in her room, as if she didn't trust us.

Soon enough, I found out that was exactly the problem.

We were sitting at the dinner table that night. That normal night, that quiet dinner.

But the silence was shattered when grandma banged her plastic cup against the wooden table, causing it to shake and diet coke to come flying onto it.

My mom asked her what the hell was wrong. Everyone else just stared at her.

She told us she wasn't comfortable here anymore. She told us something was wrong with us. She ran out of the kitchen and into her bedroom, locking the door. Something she had only recently started doing.

My bedroom was right across from her's. That night, when I came out to brush my teeth and get ready for bed, she was standing outside her bedroom door. She was staring at me, for the first ever time scaring me as the darkness of the hall clashed with her ominous glare.

"You aren't Gregory," she whispered, looking as if she was near tears.

"Yes I am, Grandma! This is Greg. Are you ok?"

She looked down and shook her head, taking a deep breath like she was trying to hold it all in. She pointed a trembling finger at me and began walking towards me. I backed into the wall.

"You don't belong here."

That's when I knew something was even more wrong than I had ever thought. That's when I knew something horrible was about to happen.