The next thing I remember is waking up in my bed at home. I had a moment of calm wakefulness before I remembered. Gulping panicked lungfuls of air, I felt my face. Everything felt normal. I rushed to the bathroom, and at first glance, my face, my eyes, they looked just the same.

Or almost just the same.

Because in the depths of the black, when I looked closely at my eyes, I could see something back there that wasn’t there before. I could feel it faintly moving and shifting in my head as it took in the world I was showing it. Rubbing my shoulder, I stumbled back to the bedroom and found my phone. It was the very next morning and I didn’t know what to do or who to call.

In the days and weeks since, I’ve grown somewhat used to whatever it is they put in me. I’ve started to move further away from the ideas of killing myself or cutting my eyes out again. I don’t know if that means I’m going further insane or they are just controlling me more.

I also don’t know which I’m more afraid of.

My childhood monster has been trapped in a basement for twenty years.

Part One

Last week I found out through social media that my brother Rusty’s girlfriend, I think her name was Alicia, had suddenly died over the weekend. I hadn’t spoken with him in months, but I felt like I should say something, so I texted him with how sorry I was. I almost added a platitude about “if he needed anything”, but I was afraid he might take me up on it, and the idea of interacting with him further made my stomach clench nervously.

The sad thing is that me and Rusty used to be best friends when we were young. He was four years older than me, so he automatically had that “big brother” thing going for him, but beyond that, we just really enjoyed spending time with each other. We got each other’s jokes, had similar interests, and had each other’s back. All that changed the last time we stayed at Aunt Karen’s house.