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I hated my brother. And sure, that sounds like motive right there. But I didn't kill him, I swear.

Maybe I was jealous, fine. Hard pressed to get me to disagree with that. I suppose it began when he arrived. He wasn't born, see. He just kind of suddenly was one night.

The son I never had my father remarked.

And he just loves his mother. Such a sweet child my mother seemed to agree.

"What exactly… is he?" I wondered. I hated the way his features shifted, his smile stretched too wide, and how chunks of his skin and other gooey stuff melted off his bones and sizzled on the carpet. Something about him just didn't sit right with me.

For shame! Your brother loves you dearly. Now look what you've done, you've ruined a perfectly good evening. Perhaps some time in the attic will correct your attitude, young man.

The attic was a pretty bad time, it was really cold up there. They still brought food up to me, but it was mostly bread and water. Just enough to survive on, I reckoned. He gurgled his way up through the floorboards one evening, my brother, I mean.

"What do you want?" I sighed, trying to make myself comfortable on a pile of cardboard. He didn't say anything, just kept smiling in that oddly unhappy way.

"I… I hate you," I told him, that hot feeling surging through me finally manifesting itself into spoken words, "Things were a lot better before you were here."

But were they?

I'm not sure if he cared, or even understood what I said. He simply slurped himself back through the wood. That part was kind of neat, I had to admit. I spent the next few nights with my ear to the floor, eavesdropping on my parents doting on him in ways that felt nauseatingly contrived.

When they finally let me back down, things were different. Grimier, dingier. More ash trays and crumpled bits of rubbish and aluminum cans than I remembered there being. It was like seeing everything with a new pair of eyes, I guess.

"Where is he?" I wondered.

Who?

They didn't know what I was talking about.

"But I… I was just starting to not hate him," I insisted. Something about his disappearance just didn't sit right with me.

He's not learned his lesson. You can tell by the way he makes up these stories they told each other Must need more time in the attic

Only I didn't. Just needed that steak knife, really. It felt good to run it through their throats, so I kept doing that for a while. And there he was, oozing around and whatnot. Still smiling.

"You've come back," I noted. But then he was gone, and I was still twirling a knife through arteries.

But, like I said, I didn't kill my brother. I killed them, that part I can guarantee. So, I guess my question is-

Was he ever here?