As I Watch My Brother Die

My eyes spring open and darkness quickly closes in on them. It's still night time.

Sleepily sitting myself upright, I strain my ears to hear anything that could potentially have woken me. It's probably only the bin-men or something, but you never know; the house down the road got robbed just the other week.

I'm soon greeted by a low pitched sound echoing through from the next room. It sounds remotely like a lawnmower, and I just pass it off for Dad's snoring. He always has had the weirdest snore.

Feeling much more safe knowing the sound was just Dad, I settle back down under the covers, facing the door, and wait for sleep to crash over me once again. My eyelids droop over my eyes, blinking longer than usual. And when I open them, all breath is caught in my throat.

Staring back at me is a pair of black orbs, glinting in the half light of the moon pouring through the hallway window. The face they're so sunken into is half hidden by a plain white mask, only there to reveal a crooked grin, widening in sync with my eyes.

I leap out of my skin as the low rumbling from next door suddenly erupts into a high pitched whirr. The unmistakable sound of a chainsaw.

It's followed swiftly after by a woman's wavering scream piercing the air. The mild clunking of the motor slowing down as it passes through a solid object. The scream getting louder and louder, filling with more and more terror. The sound of thick liquid spattering against the bedroom walls. The sound of my dad being fought off: a roar of Mum's name, a strangled yelp of pain.

I sit frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but stare into the cold eyes facing me, listening to the dying cries of my mother, screaming out my dad's name as her final words. The cold eyes slowly fill with glee, and it's not long before they can't help but sink behind a pair of cheeks and laugh. He steps forward over the threshold to my room, shoulders moving up and down with the manic laugh echoing through his lips.

A resounding thud suddenly explodes through the house and the whirring of the chainsaw stops. The masked man's face drops and he stops moving towards me. Lolling his head to the side questioningly, he listens out for any further sounds of torture. When none comes, he growls and starts running down the corridor to my parents' bedroom, leaving me alone with my heart pounding furiously against my chest, and the door wide open.

Without thinking, my legs bolt me towards the door, racing me round the banisters and down the stairs, ignoring the pile of crimson objects my eyes glimpsed upon on the way down.

It wasn't Dad. It wasn't Dad. It wasn't Dad.

My head throbs with the sound of my blood pumping furiously through it, blocking out the sounds of my parents' blood slowly escaping theirs. Vibrations through the hollow stairs tell me someone's following close behind me but I don't stop to look. I keep running towards the front door. It's not that far -

My heart leaps into my mouth. It's been blocked. One of the couches from the living room has been torn apart and thrown in front of it, stopping any quick escape. I run at it, pulling and clawing desperately at the pieces, it needs to move. I can't die here. I can't.

I turn around and sprawl myself across it, looking frantically for a place to hide, breaths coming in short. I see my brother standing panicked on the bottom stair and I look wild eyed at the shadow slowly forming at the top of the stairs.

Sprinting for my life, I head towards the cupboard under the stairs, quickly submerging myself in the small, dark space. I try to close the door fully but my leg just keeps getting in the way. I wiggle around in an attempt to move things out the way, but freeze as I hear my brother's scream resonate through the small hallway.

They're downstairs.

I scrunch my eyes shut and try not to look at the scene unravelling in the crack of the doorway, but I just can't help it.

I watch as three people, dressed fully in black, face away from me and towards the hallway wall. My brother soon comes into sight as he's raised by a pair of hands around his neck, pinning him against the wall high above their heads. He kicks and struggles against the hands but it's useless, and the fear in his eyes radiate throughout the room.

One hand is removed from the boy's neck and moved down to the owner's belt, where it slowly reveals a long knife. I can almost picture the grin on the half covered face as it drives the knife into my brother's shoulder. He screams out in agony, writhing about as best he can against the grip around his neck, and the cold blade lodged within his flesh.

I start to cry as I watch my brother's face contort with fear, tears streaming down his face as new worlds of pain are opened up before him. But I know I can't help him. I'm useless against these madmen.

Two of the three split from the scene and start rifling through the drawers and cupboards of the other rooms, but I don't care about them. I just stare, unable to wrench my eyes away... I stare, as I watch my own brother die.

The man holding him up switches hands casually and reaches down for another knife. Bringing it up again he slowly moves the metal blade in front of his eyes, examining it. That small tinkling of flesh carefully being split can be heard from where I'm sitting as the man strokes the edge of the knife across my brother's face, just under the eye, threatening to take the dilated orb with it.

He screams out again and pounds on the hand holding him up, only to be answered by a more vice-like grip and a gargled yelp. The man pulls his arm backwards, knife balanced perfectly on the palm, and strikes it through the other shoulder blade, pushing and digging, driving it in further until it finally makes contact with the wall. But he's still not satisfied and he pushes harder, cracking the brick, twisting the handle in an attempt to deepen the blow. More agonised wails from my brother resonate through the cold house as he kicks out, crying and pleading for the man to stop. For it to stop.

I watch in horror as the man moves backwards and lets go of the boy's neck, only to have him hover in mid air by the metal objects. The pressure put on them is shown in his face, as his muscles cling desperately to each other, blood unceremoniously spilling out of the wounds and flowing down his torso. It's evident he can't move his arms, and he tries to stay perfectly still. But the blades are facing up and gravity starts pulling him down, and it slowly pulls the flesh apart, making their way to the bones.

A loud, manic laugh erupts from the man's throat, infecting my ears and reverberating in my skull, looping forever to mock me as he pulls out another knife. This one appears more jagged than the others, large teeth protruding from the metal surface, threatening to cut even the air as it moves so elegantly through it. He swiftly bends down and lowers the blade to my brother's ankle, tilting his head up to watch the boy's reaction. The low buzz of serrated metal running across skin starts to drift across the dimly lit room, ripping and tearing as the bonds are sliced, sinking deeper into the red flesh hidden beneath the porcelain coat.

He moves his arm back and forth dramatically, causing him to lift the knife off the skin when it's reached its final height, stopping him from hitting the same spot twice accurately. Causing a much messier wound.

Quickening his pace, the man gets deeper and deeper with each cut, tendons ripping, cartilidge being shoved out of place, blood squirting out in short spurts. My brothers foot is slowly beginning to hang from the smallest of threads. And the screams pierce the air, over and over, each one more filled with terror than the last. They'll forever haunt my memory, the high pitched sound never ceasing, only there to slowly corrupt my mind and turn me insane, along with the eyes. The eyes so scared and tortured they have their own cries of pain.

Suddenly I needn't worry about my future. I needn't worry about tearing my eyes out with the stress of seeing my brother being turned into a mangled pile of unidentifiable flesh. I needn't worry about suffering mad hullecenations about mad men in masks staring at me either. Why? Because one is staring at me right now. His face slid so quietly past the tiny doorframe to meet mine I didn't notice until those dark orbs looked into my eyes, and filled with the utmost of glee. His hand reaches out to me. Coated in a black leather it covers my face, taking a grip on the extra flesh and pulling me towards him. But when he moves the hand away, the darkness stays, blinding me, and I feel my heart beat slow. The last thing I feel is a sharp pain in my ribs, and the sensation of a warm substance flowing down my spine. I needn't worry now.