My brother was always a weird one.
You would think that being stuck under mother’s skirt would have made him a kind dude—gentler, at least. But this asshole never changed. In fact, he used Mother’s love multiple times to get away with his. Shy and reserved my ass. The guy was a psychopath, even when he was little. He was always a bastard son of a bitch. I saw it. When mother first brought him home, I saw it. Father probably knew it, too. Or maybe he didn’t. I couldn’t tell with him. But I did.
Mother was probably at fault, but I believe she didn’t know any better. Later, I found that she went through the same shit. She even promised that when she had children, she would be different. I witnessed this commitment she made to God. And she tried. She really did. But the rest of the family was just messed up, man. Father was an alcoholic, always away or passed out on the kitchen floor. When he was conscious, he was drunk—Most of the time doing things to Mother as she prayed on her knees. She always took those punches without flinching. Not even when Father used the hammer she moved. A real one, she was.
Priest John once joked that I was blessed for being the first child. I didn’t take it as a joke then. It was real to me, and I believed it. Much to my surprise, Mother’s love was scarce. I’m not complaining, really. Because when I saw how much she protected my crazy little brother, I knew I had dodged a bullet. Still, she did right with both of us. She taught us well the ways of the Lord, having us see the world for what it is. She showed us that men are always men—disgusting drunks, useless, and abusive. Women aren’t any different. Just a bunch of promiscuous sinners, always satisfying their greed by using their crotches.
They would all get what they deserved. One day.
Father died. I have no regrets saying that one of our cows dying would have made me sadder. Others would have seen this as an opportunity to escape and start a new life, fulfill their dreams and create a future. I wanted to escape, but not because of any of that. I just grew bored of the farm. I wanted to escape even though there was nothing for me. I knew shit. Or, I should say that I knew how to pick up shit, but that’s it. Not that this would be any useful.
I wanted to escape so badly, that I went as far as telling my psychopathic brother about this. I thought I could maybe sell him off and get some money. I don’t know. I don’t know why I told him. Maybe deep down I didn’t want to be alone. And, when I finally decided to ignore his weird fucking ass to tell him to escape together, the fucking bastard just stood there and laughed at me. “This home,” he said. You bet your ass it is. No one would fucking stand you anywhere else. Bastard.
Eventually my desires to leave settled down. I found pleasure with the farm animals, which is probably the reason I wanted to escape in the first place. Hearing about the sinners will do that to you, I guess. Mother didn’t know about this, and that’s for the better. After Father died, she was better. Closer to my little brother but kinder to me as well. Things were good.
I had forgotten about him and his malicious ways. This is why it was kind of a surprise when my damned little brother went completely insane and bashed my head with a hammer. To be fair, this was mostly my fault, and not his. I should’ve done the same thing to him that one time Mother left him to me when we were little. I bet it wouldn’t have taken much effort to crush his baby skull and spill his brains out.
I gotta hand it to him, he really outdid himself. I thought he was idiotic but he planned it well. A day later, a fire broke out in the barn, drawing the attention of the whole town—police included. Apparently, he wanted to cover my death by claiming I died breathing smoke.
Brilliant plan, you fucking idiot.
He went as far as leading one of the search parties and took them directly to my dead body. You would think that the police would see that my head was fucking smashed in, or that they would at least be suspicious of the guy that knew where the body was. They weren’t. They said that my heart gave out after breathing smoke and that I only had a bruise, probably originated when I fell unconscious. Yet, there I was, practically with skull bones so deep down into my head that some went through my mouth. I could feel them in my throat, actually. A nasty business.
The fire was put out. Just like that, things were normal again. At least until Mother died, that is.
I never saw much of my lunatic brother after Mother passed away. He spent days inside the farm and only left the house during the night. I didn’t give a shit for years, but eventually gave in when boredom grew.
Turns out, his night hobby involved trips to the cemetery. The crazy bastard would jump the walls to sneak in and dig out the bodies. At times he used the shovel, but other times he would dig up the graves with his bare hands.
There was his psychotic, crazy-eyed look again. I should’ve used the hammer. God wanted me to do it. I heard him command me this.
Didn’t care about what he did with the bodies at home. Didn’t care about those assholes, anyway. I saw the state of the bodies once, and I was startled. Not for them, but for Mother. To think she was in that state, too. Rotten, or worst. It sent shivers down my spine. It just felt wrong, y’know? She didn’t deserve the same fate as them.
Anyway, they would soon find out what I knew decades ago. The only surprise was that it took them this long. Getting to this point was also shitshow. A real mess. You wouldn’t believe it.
The first time he did it was alright. Not good, but not bad either. He took that woman from the street at the perfect time, at the perfect moment. It’s like he had planned it, but he didn’t. It was just luck. The woman disappeared into thin air. No one had more to say about the disappearance after a week. See? Bunch of hypocrites.
If only they knew the fate of that woman. I mean, they found out eventually, but not before my insane brother did it for a second time.
This time—this time was actually funny. He went into that store after stalking this woman for months. The idiot just walked in there and said hi and asked to check out some guns. The woman handed him a shotgun. “This is the only gun in stock,” she said. She turned her back, and in one second my brother loaded the gun and shot her on the back of the neck. Blood was everywhere. The idiot panicked and grabbed the woman to load her on Father’s truck. He managed to get home, but not unseen.
The woman’s lover got to the store and found the bloodied scene. Someone else had seen my brother on the road driving with his eyes wide open, face covered in blood. Weird, they thought. They put two and two together. Quickly, they had come home. That was a sight to see. Never had there been as many people at home like then.
They raised their voices and yelled. He wouldn’t come out. They were getting ready to get in when my brother bursts out the front door. Hands raised high and no pants. Seems he had time to put on a shirt but no pants or underwear. Embarrassing. It also seemed like he wanted to escape because of the way he was running. Only that he was running to them, not from them. Shit was hilarious. I knew he was a lunatic, but now he actually behaved like one.
They gunned him down. Rifles, shotguns, and almost anything they had was used to put him out. By the time he hit the floor, his fucking guts were spilling. At least he didn’t have the crazy eyes anymore. Half of his upper head was gone—must’ve been the shotguns. They didn’t stop there either. Ripping him to pieces, almost nothing was left once they finished.
Can’t blame them. He had it coming.
As for what they found in the house? Well, they found the two women alright. They found them all over the house, in fact. Chairs, tables, beds, you name it. If there was large furniture, chances are they covered parts of those, too. The larger portions were still together—hacked and raw, but together. “I thought—I thought it was a dead deer on the hooks.” Look again, pal. The smaller bits became part of the decoration. That one dude fainted when he saw the makeshift coffee mug. Another one grabbed the belt and realized a little too late what the soft, squishy accessories were made of. And this was just minutes inside the house! They had a long way to go. They hadn’t even discovered where the faces were.
Now, that was gonna be a trip.