A Big Brother's Duty

Chapter 6
Surprise

Len had a feeling he was being watched.

This feeling had started over a week ago, really. He had just been watching TV, his lips curling in amusement over stand-up comedy, when the fine hairs at the back of his neck stood and a chill spread down his back. It had felt like a pair of eyes were boring into the back of his skull.

It had been an unsettling feeling, especially since the couch he had been sitting on at the time was pushed up against the living room wall.

From then on the chills and raised hairs had prevailed. Take Monday, for example: He had been in the bathroom, taking his early morning leak, when the cold wash of being watched prickled the area between his shirt-covered shoulder blades and ruined the steady stream of urine splashing into the toilet bowl. Indeed, it had been as if someone had taken a stopper to his urinary tract. Len had never been so dissatisfied so quickly and so early in the morning, as it had always been his morning routine to successfully excrete his morning waste without interruption.

(That too gross? Nah. Natural bodily functions are perfectly normal topics of everyday conversation.)

Another instance had happened on Tuesday, when Len was enjoying his afternoon snack. The boy had a secret appreciation for strawberry shortcake, and always ate the strawberry topping last. He had been about to fork the fleshy, juicy fruit into his waiting mouth when he felt unease blanket his back. It had been so sudden, so intense, that his body gave an involuntary jolt. It had been unfortunate that the action sent his precious fresh strawberry flying out the open kitchen window to the streets below. Len had never been the same since.

Len's confidence steadily dwindled with every day that passed that, when Sunday came, he was reduced to a raw bundle of nerves It was such a severe difference that his sister likened him to a rain-soaked, mangy alley cat with a fear of sudden noises.

"It's not funny," Len grumbled, gripping the television remote control with a vise fist.

They were once again in the living room; Len was attempting to watch TV. His sister was, as per becoming increasingly usual, picking on his 'scaredy-cat sensibilities' as she so lightly put it.

"Of course it is," his sister burbled with mirth at the expense of his ego. "You've never been afraid of anything until now."

"But these feelings," he scowled at her altogether too-cheerful expression. "I feel like I stepped into a murder thriller—like everyone else but me sees the killer stalking me."

"And because you're the dorky Asian, you'll get killed first?" her sister teased, and squealed as she ducked a thrown cushion. "Are your days numbered, Niichan?" Giggles!

"No, the youngest always gets killed first," Len growled, leaning back against the couch to throw more cushions at his crazy sister. "That's how most plots go."

"Sure, sure," were his sister's last gleeful words before she ducked out of the living room to avoid his projectiles.

—(screw the transitional paragraph)

Len was jolted out of the couch by a loud bang from somewhere within the house. He landed ungainly on the floor, bruising his left elbow in the most painful manner possible. Had he fallen asleep for this long? What time was it? He slowly sat up, only just then realizing that the entire house was dark. Faux evening light streamed in from the curtained windows, casting everything into sharp, threatening shadows. His heart lurched uncomfortably. It wasn't an ideal situation to wake up to.

He called for his sister, gingerly getting up, heading towards the dark rectangle that was the way leading to the hall. As he reached the threshold, his hand absently reached up to the light switch on the other side of the wall.

The dim orange of the overhead light did little to ease his creeping nerves, especially when it immediately started blinking and fluttering. Len vaguely remembered his sister mentioning the other day that the hall bulb needed replacing, and inwardly cursed himself for not getting around to it. Sparing one wary glance at the flickering bulb, he continued down the hallway, his ears straining for any kind of sound that proved he wasn't alone. It came after a few more steps in the direction of the bedrooms.

A faint strain of music drifted from within his sister's room; an eerie and seemingly discordant waltz, its melody haunting in the solitariness of the piano from which it was produced. It was off—it would play a few seconds, then it would skip and repeat itself again. It was as if the track was defective, or disturbed.

Why wasn't his sister fixing it?

Len cautiously closed his hand around the doorknob, calling out for his sister again before twisting it open and pushing his way inside the room. He immediately stopped, his heart rate speeding up at the sight that greeted him. His sister's room was in shambles. His hand immediately rose to the light switch by the doorway, flicking it on. But no light came. Her bedside table was overturned; her bedsheets were in disarray, her pillows carelessly strewn across the floor to nestle among her other toppled belongings. Her lamp was on its side and on the floor and, lying upside down beside it, was the multifunction music player drunkenly playing the same four, five measures of the waltz again and again. It looked like there had been a struggle—his eyes immediately locked on a sick-looking puddle coming from under the misaligned bed. The puddle was dark in the dim light; he was afraid to find out what it was.

But he needed to. His sister was gone, and he was alone in the house. It was his responsibility.

Len slowly eased forward, crouching down close to the puddle. He felt a sick sort of apprehension as he started to bend down and see what was under the bed.

Just then, the light in the hallway sputtered and finally guttered out, sending everything into darkness. Len gasped at the change in lighting, his eyes widening uselessly in an attempt to absorb any available photons to decipher his surroundings. His sister's room had no windows, something Len was mentally cursing up and down as he stayed crouched by the bed, his body frozen with fear. He was unable to move.

The haunting waltz, skipping and endlessly repeating, was starting to get to him. Sweat started breaking out over his brow, his heart pumping adrenaline throughout his body as the familiar and eerie chill started sliding down his unguarded back. It was behind him, whatever it was. He was sure. He was going to die.

—

"And then," his sister continued breathlessly, her giggles so high-pitched that they were inaudible. "And then, I jumped on him"—"Screaming like a banshee," Len added piteously.—"and knocked him into the warm syrup. He was screaming like this strangled little castrato, 'Idon'twannadiepleasedon'tkillmeIdon'twannadieyoukilledmysister!' I think," she gasped, trying to regain breath enough to continue, "I think he even cried a little."

They were sitting at the bar, surrounded by giggling friends. The guys laughed openly at Len's expense while the girls halfheartedly cooed their sympathies amid crookedly smothered smiles and delicate coughs.

"Rinrin, you make one heck of a stalker," Gumi praised. "Please teach me."

"Sure," his sister grinned.

"I can't believe she even stalked you to the bathroom," Kaito said, smacking his lips in distaste.

"Well, she's dedicated," Len grumbled grudgingly, closing his hand around his drink.

"And that was only for your birthday," the blue-haired man continued. ("YEAH, THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR SCARING THE CRAP OUT OF ME WITH YOUR REAL FAKE GIRLFRIEND, LEN!" cried his sister from somewhere down the bar.) "What would she do for your bachelor party?"

"Dude, that's a hundred years too soon to be talking about that."