Gone. My brother is gone. It’s been weeks, and still no sign of him. I think back to when we went running a few months ago. He was paranoid. Every few seconds stopping to look behind us and pushing me away from whatever or whoever he thought was there. I thought he was losing his mind.

Now, as I’m walking home from school, I’m starting to believe maybe he wasn’t. Where we lived was a small, quiet neighborhood. Nobody was really out walking at this time besides me and my brother, since we were the only high schoolers that lived here. The neighborhood was old money. We could only afford it because of the inheritance our great grandfather left us.

So when I hear footsteps following me, I’m not sure what to think when I turn around and find nothing there. I quicken my pace, passing by the mansion houses with perfect lawns. The sky was clear, but hot and humid, like it was going to rain. I was beginning to sweat.

The searing, sharp feel of someone breathing down the back of my shirt. I blamed it on the nonexistent wind. Shadows around me, cast by the small trees in people’s yards were transforming. Stretching out and growing limbs, reaching towards me.

I was running, legs straining, lungs unable to breathe in oxygen. Home. I only had to make it home. It was the one place my brother felt safe. A soft, dark cackle in my ear. I forced myself to go faster, run harder, push my body to the edge. Home was right there, a few feet ahead of me.

Darkness. Home disappeared and I was consumed by black.