Dark clouds rolled over the Rosenberg estate, making the morning seem the same as it was the night before.
Wilfried entered the house and hurried up the stairs, heading straight into his room. Locking the door and setting a chair in front of it was routine now, another habit for the lineup. Lighting up a cigarette from one of the fresh packs he bought, he opened up his computer and clicked to call. Once the face of his girlfriend appeared, he felt like he could breath again. Their voices were muffled in the other room, but enough to hear something coming from the other side of the wall.
Günther jumped awake, sweat pouring down his face. The room was dim and empty, white sheets covering everything that his sister had once owned. It was unnaturally cold in the room. Looking up, he could see that the lightbulb on the ceiling was removed at some time prior. He stayed in the bed, shivering — but it wasn’t because of the cold.
“So how’s your mother doing?” Ada asked as she rubbed her wet hair with a towel. She was already clothed, but the call came when she had just got out of the bathroom.
“Good. She’s doing good.”
Ada sighed, crossing her arms. “Okay, what gives? There’s something bugging you.”
Wilfried looked away from the screen. “Nothing’s bugging me. It’s nothing, honest. I’m just freaking out over nothing. You know me.”
“Yeah and I know you like to lie too.”
Blowing out a stream of smoke from his cigarette, Wilfried looked up at the laptop; Ada’s eyes filled with concern. “It’s just the house. It’s getting to me. All of the fond memories.”
Ada leaning in closer, her wet hair dangling over her chest. “Look, I don’t know what it was like when you were growing up. Just the things you told me about is enough to make me worry about you being there with your brother. I don’t know why you don’t just leave the place and come back to the dorm.”
Wilfried huffed irritably. “Because I made my mother a promise. I told her I’ll take care of the house while she is gone and I’m sticking to it.”
“It’s the inheritance, isn’t it?”
Looking down, he tried to hide the guilt on his face to no avail. “Listen, my family is loaded. My mother is the only one who would care for me in the entire house. She was the only one who was nice to me, at all. The only thing I want is to make sure is that she doesn’t die thinking that I didn’t care for her. I want to make sure that out of all of her children, I appreciated her the most.”
Ada smirked with a huff. “How noble. It’s practically unlike you. Especially for one of your family members.”
“Can’t you give me some credit? You wouldn’t be saying that if you lived with this people, believe me.”
“Have you even seen your mother’s will?”
“Actually, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen it since my sister was the sole heiress to the estate. Now that that kind of thing can’t happen, I’m sure mother crossed off her name and scribbled on another one.”
“Why don’t you go check then? Maybe then, you can see if all of this is worth the trouble.”
Wilfried put his cigarette out in the ashtray by the laptop, getting out of his chair. “You know what? I think I’ll do that. I’ll let you know once I find out. Then if it’s all good, you and me can go for a night out on the town. I pay, you play.”
She chuckled with delight. “I like that sound of that. See you later then.”
He coughed, pointing a finger at her. “And don’t forget to study today. You can go out with your girlfriends, but make sure to study right after. You’re going to be all rusty when you return if you don’t.”
Ada rolled her eyes, smiling. “I know.”
“You know, but you don’t do it if I don’t tell you.”
“I know,” Ada said, softly. “Later, dork.”
“Goodbye, darling.”
Turning the computer off, Wilfried unlocked the door and took the chair away, keeping it close by for later. Sticking his head out into the hallway, he saw that both of the other doors next to his were closed. Seeing he wouldn’t be bothered, he made his way to the end of the hall, to his mother’s room. Once he opened the door, he stopped, nearly closing it back up. What he saw made his legs stay where they were and a lump caught in his throat.
The figure of a woman in a dress, standing there in the darkness. His hand swung up on the light switch, revealing what it really was. The bust of a dress form mannequin was in the middle of the bedroom, its three wooden feet planted on the elegant carpet. Chuckling to himself for being foolish, he began searching through the room and rummaging through the drawers in search of any kind of document.
Opening the middle drawer to his father’s nightstand, he saw a writing booklet with a pen in the spiral. Taking it out and reading through a few lines, he realized it was a journal his father would write in every night. The booklet’s pages were filled with entries, several years worth. As time went on, his writing became more abrupt and hurried. Only a quarter into the journal and he could tell there was a significant difference in the amount of time put into the writing.
Greta and Günther seem to be inseparable. The two of them seem to disappear together right when they come back from school. I’m just glad they get along nicely, unlike Wilfried.
He flipped through a few more pages.
Wilfried went to the hospital again. This time for a broken leg. The doctor said part of his kneecap is missing, but he will be healed in no time. I swear, Greta is absolutely absent minded when it comes to babysitting. I just hope he doesn’t get addicted to painkillers with all of these mishaps.
The pages fluttered as he skipped near the end, with an entry catching his eye.
I’ve lived in countless houses and this very one is the last one I would want to spend eternity in. I must not attach myself to this place in any way. I just hope the children don’t become rotten brats because I am inattentive. Their mother is used to it, but I don’t know if they are. If I die, I wish for it to be away from this house. At least that way I won’t have my emotions keep me trapped in this place for good.
Too many memories and none of them worth remembering. How I wish I could forget. How I wish it wasn’t true. It’s too much to admit. Wilfried has been gone for nearly a year and still his words burn a ring to my own circle of hell.
That was the last entry. Casually putting the booklet away, Wilfried looked under the bed to find a folder. Opening it up, he tried to stifle his urge to laugh at the pictures inside. Murder scene photos of his sister’s body, taken where she was found in her room. Killed in her sleep, in what was once a white night gown.
Blood covered what little remained of her freckled skin from multiple stab wounds, enough of them to make her look more like a shredded slab of meat that fell from a butcher’s hook than a human being. Her bed was heavily drenched and stained, droplets splattered upwards along the headrest and wall. Parts of her fingers were severed as if during an attempt to blindly stop whoever was attacking her. It didn’t take a forensics expert to tell that the killer continued to stab her long after she was dead.
Grinning, Wilfried flipped through the pile of pictures and files. The picture of the murder weapon was between the reports. A military dress dagger from the old days, the one that Wilfried’s grandfather wore with his uniform in all of the photos of him scattered around the house. Seeing that the folder was only Greta related, he put it away and reached under the bed for more folders. The bed’s skirt made it impossible to see under there, his fingers patting aimlessly in the darkness.
“Come on, where is that stupid will?”
Getting up, he circled the bed and went under for another go. Lying on his stomach, he couldn’t seem to find anything light enough to be documents, everything his fingers touched being too bulky or soft to be useful in finding it. Grabbing for his lighter, he decided to flick it on, keeping it low so it wouldn’t light the bed’s underside on fire. He could hear a quiet dripping sound, hoping it wasn’t coming from the lighter’s fuel casing; it was old and beaten and on it’s last leg. Once the flame stayed, Wilfried jolted back, his breathing making a sharp stop.
Blood shined in the dim light, wet red hair clinging to the sides of what could barely be a face. Its pink stained teeth were bared wide, severed strands of its lips dangling off of tiny sinews from the side. Pure blue eyes stared at him, the eyelids torn into shreds and still bleeding — along with the rest of its crimson stained body. A low gurgling bubbled out of its throat as it opened its mouth weakly, blood and teeth pouring out of the sides. With torn-apart fingers, it crawled at him, reaching its arm out close enough to swat the flame out.
Backing out of the bed as fast as he could, he got to his feet and doubled back. Bumping into the wall, Wilfried pressed himself into it, keeping his eyes on the bed’s skirt. Nothing came out of it. Closing his eyes, he got the chance to breath again, panting heavily. The shaking started again; his heart going all out.
At the doorway, Günther stood. Crossing his massive arms, he leaned against the doorframe. “What are you doing in here?”
Wilfried kept his face blank, something he had plenty of experience in. If the room wasn’t so cold, he would have been covered in sweat — only feeling flushed instead. “Nothing. I was just seeing if mother had any recent keepsakes. You know, to see if she had done anything nice after I have been gone for so long.”
Günther hummed, nodding. Walking up to Wilfried, he stood next to him. There was a dimness in his eyes, hiding any color it had behind a shadow. Looking down at his hand, he pulled up a text book and offered it to his little brother. Wilfried took it, sighing in relief.
“I didn’t think you would actually get it,” Wilfried said with a nervous chuckle.
“It’s like you said: I always repeat myself when I do something wrong.”
Wilfried held the book against his side, hiding his quivering fingers. “Thanks. It was rather unexpected.”
Günther looked down, raising his face back up quickly. “So, are you making anything for dinner today?”
Wilfried nodded his head. “Sure, I can make something. Maybe like in an hour or so.”
“Good.” Günther headed out of the room, his feet pounding hard against the floorboards. “I’ll be taking a bath then.”
“What would you like to eat?” Wilfried called out to him.
Günther held onto the doorframe, twisting his head to the side. “I’m not hungry. I just wanted to know where I can find you.”
Wilfried scratched his collar subconsciously, the dent in it itching. “Oh… okay. Just let me know if you’d like for me to make anything.”
The tub’s faucet squeaked closed, the water ending its downpour. Günther sat in the tub, his head down towards the water. It was quiet enough to hear the water coursing through the pipes behind the walls and the steady drips from the faucet. Steam rose off of the water’s surface, the cold air in the room making his face freezing while his body was blessed by a soothing warm. With his eyes closed, he didn’t even notice the lights went off.
Humming back to life, the lights resumed to buzz. A gentle movement in the water got his attention, a foot coming out of the water by his shoulder. It was a girl’s leg, slim and pale. He saw who was in the tub with him, sitting across from him. Seeing that she got his attention, she giggled with a lustful sigh.
“We spent so much time in this tub together. Remember? This is the same place you promised me you would get me all of the inheritance. That was so nice of you. I never had anyone do anything nice for me. Only you.”
Günther held his knees close to his chest, trying to curl up into a ball.
She rubbed his skin with her toe, the feeling making him shudder softly.“Aww, what’s the matter, big guy? You look troubled.”
Putting his cheek against his knees, he fought back the tears that tried to come out. “... I miss you.”
Greta stood up, water dripping off of her body. Bending over, she pulled Günther’s arms away from his knees, pushing him back into the tub’s rim. Sitting down on his lap, she touched his chest, moving her fingers up and around his shoulders. Water dripped from her hair as she kissed his lips, bringing her arms around his neck. He felt every part of her under the water, Greta reacting from the tingle she got when he brushed his fingers over her chest.
“You’re my only brother,” she mumbled next to his cheek. “Especially after what the other one did.”
The words got Günther’s attention, having him ease Greta’s head back to look her in the eyes. Those baleful blue eyes. “What did he do?”
Greta held her brother’s chin, her own face dropping into an emotionless glare. “He killed me. He’s the one that did it. He’s the one that took me away from you.”
“No…”
“You know what you have to do. Make him feel the pain that I had to feel. Make him suffer the way he’s made you suffer. With him gone…” She gave him a kiss, making it last; her voice turning sweet again after. “... we can be together again… forever.”
Günther close his eyes, holding her tightly. The only noise coming from the bathroom was the sound of Greta humming, the same tune she always had.
Wilfried closed the refrigerator, putting a head of lettuce on the cutting board. Grabbing a kitchen knife from the holder, he chopped up some lettuce to put in the large bowel waiting on the side. Günther’s feet pounded down the steps, slowly and uneven. After a while, he entered the kitchen, holding a bottle of whiskey. Wilfried glanced over his shoulder, continuing to cut the lineup of vegetables.
“Hey, I know you’re not hungry, but I’m making a salad.” He chuckled as he poured the cut lettuce into the bowel. “Everything is fresh, so you know nothing’s poisoned.”
Günther sat at the table and kept his head down, only bringing it up to drink more from the whiskey bottle. Emptying it out with a long swig, he slammed the bottle down, almost hard enough to have it shatter in his hand. Wilfried could smell the alcohol sweating out of him from across the kitchen, as if the bath he took was in a tub of gin. Putting a plate of salad in front of his brother, he returning to the stove. Keeping his hand on the bottle, Günther kept his eyes on the plate, but didn’t budge to touch it.
“I’m making a roast tonight, so it’ll be another thirty minutes. That salad should keep you occupied while you wait. I hope mom doesn’t mind us eating it.” Turning around, Wilfried saw his brother wasn’t eating. “What’s the matter? Is it not your thing? I know you didn’t eat the entire day and starving won’t do any good. Especially when you fill yourself with booze like that.”
“You know…” Günther’s breathing got louder. “... You know everything, don’t you? You’re not the only one here that knows things.” He got up from the chair, stumbling along the table and using each chair as a crutch. “I know things too, little brother.”
Wilfried rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. What is now?”
Günther pointed a finger up at him, his eyes shaded by his furrowed brow. “I hurt you when we were kids. You had to have kept a grudge for that. Anyone would. But you hurt me for the rest of my life. I know that you killed Greta. All this time it was you!”
“That’s impossible and you know that. I was in the university when she died. How could I kill her when I am several cities away? Can you tell me that?”
Günther shook his head, unfazed by his reasoning. “I don’t know how you did it, but you killed her. It’s the only explanation. You were the only one who hated her. You were the only one who had any reason to kill her. Nobody else, only you.”
Wilfried crossed his arms. “It wasn’t me. It was father. I know because…” he sighed deeply, closing his eyes, “... because I told him about what she did. With you.”
Günther’s hand lowered, his mouth hanging open.
“I was ten years old. Mother told me to get the two of you for dinner. I opened the door, thinking the two of you were reading since I heard whispering. When I opened the door, there you two were, in bed and too occupied to notice you were being watched. On my last day in the house, I told him what I saw, thinking that I would never have to deal with this family ever again. When I heard he killed Greta, I wasn’t surprised… and I was glad he did it for me.”
Günther’s grip tightened on the bottle’s neck. With a quick swing downward, he broke it against the table and charged towards his brother. The jagged end of the glass stabbed into the wall, missing Wilfried as he dodged to the side. Catching himself on the refrigerator’s edge, Wilfried saw the knife he was just using, still covered in bits of carrot and lettuce. Grabbing it, he held it up in defense, the blade shaking violently.
Günther took the broken bottle out of the wall with a powerful swing, drywall flying through the air from the long gash he created. Moving back, Wilfried was sliced by the longest end along his forearm, the blood taking its time to appear. Taking a swing of his own, Wilfried got his brother in the hand, right on the webbing between his middle fingers, knocking the bottle onto the counter. Ignoring the pain, he went for a punch with his other hand. Wilfried held the knife outward, Günther’s fist going straight into the blade.
Reeling his hand back, Günther looked at his wound, the blade having gone through his index finger and into the base of his thumb, stopping at the bone in his wrist. Without saying any cry of pain, he pried the bloody knife out and slowly glanced upwards, any hint of humanity gone from his face. Panicking, Wilfried bolted out of the kitchen, holding his wounded arm. As he turned his back, Günther threw the knife at him, the blade missing its mark and skittering along the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind it. Going through the hall, he entered the living room, the front door on the far end of it.
The piano played over the pounding of his frantic steps, in a tune he knew too well. Greta’s tune. He gasped as he heard someone crawling over the banister from above, his legs frozen in fear. Blood dripped from the body as it leaned over the front entrance and fell onto the bottom floor, it’s limbs breaking and its bones poping through its skin. Cracking and snapping in and out of place, its arms pulled it forward towards Wilfried.
He stepped back as it got closer, the low gurgling sending chills all over his body, his breathing so sharp that it hurt his lungs. Distracted, he didn’t see Günther come in from the side, tackling him into a slide across the wooden floor. The fireplace burned near them as they struggled, Wilfried trying his hardest to keep his brother’s fists in place. The blood covering the both of them allowed him to slip out of Wilfried’s grip, his fists raising high to come down over and over again. At first, the blood covering Wilfried ’s face was from his brother, but soon it became his own.
Every punch sent blood into the air, spraying across the brick of the fire place and the curtains of the window near them. Teeth lay beside Wilfried’s head, cracked and shattered. His eye dangled off to the side by the nerve keeping it connected to its socket. Another punch bursted the eyeball with a dull pop, vitreous humor mixing with blood. Panting, Günther gave one last punch before finishing, holding himself over his brother’s motionless body.
Slowly getting up, he could feel his hands again, the blood still pouring out of them to no end. The drops followed him as he walked away from the living room, stumbling more than before. Holding himself on the wall, he stopped to catch his breath. Over the pounding of his own heart, he couldn’t hear the soft scrap of metal behind him. A pain shot through his lower back, hitting him so hard he took a step forward.
Looking down, he felt the strong push going through his insides. Blood formed around his shirt as it moved outward, the fire poker’s tip coming out of his stomach and tearing through the fabric. Wilfried yelled furiously behind him, twisting the poker and jerking it around as much as he could. Twisting around violently, the fire poker tore further across his torso, ripping out of Wilfried’s weakened grip. With the last bit of his strength, Günther took him by the shoulders and threw him towards the fireplace.
Wilfried tried to catch himself, but only stumbled around blindly. Landing face first on the brick, his head entered the roaring fire, spreading down his neck and onto the rest of his body. He was too weak to scream and too weak to move, but not too weak to feel the scorching flames engulf him. Pulling out the fire poker, Günther tossed it to the side, having it roll along the living room. Falling back against the heavily stained curtain, he sat back and watched his brother burn alive, a faint smile lifting his lips.
As he held his intestines back from pouring out of him, he heard a soft sound coming down the stairs. Greta stepped into the living room, wearing her white night gown. As she walked up to him, the piano began to play for him, the tune that she was known for. The pain was gone. The only thing Günther felt was the joy of seeing Greta again after she was gone for so long.
Kneeling down in front of him, she held his head in her arms, bringing his face gently to her chest. Her soft whispering voice sent pleasant chills through his body, a sensation he’d longed for ever since she left. “Don’t worry, little brother. Everything will be all right. I’m here. I’m here now. You have nothing to worry about.” Holding the sides of his face, she kissed him, the feeling more real than ever, just like the first time they kissed.
He coughed as soon as she pulled back, blood spraying the floor at his side and dangling off his mouth. Finally, the damage caught up to him, the smoldering hiss of his brother’s body being the only sound in the house. Staring up at Greta, his body went limp, his eyes staying open. The sound of the fireplace continued, as well as the oven cooking in the kitchen. Greta slowly headed back up the stairs, the door to her room closing behind her.
A day’s worth of fighting, and soon after it was over, the clouds arrived. Inside of the several story house, little life was expressed as it once had. The antique clock ticked away, being the only thing making sound for the next three hours before the fire department arrives. Günther’s organs poured out of his body from the side, his hand falling lifeless. Wilfried’s skin was blackened and cracked, just like the book that was tossed into the very same fire.
It rained over the Rosenberg Estate.
Submitted April 04, 2016 at 04:09AM by Erwinblackthorn http://ift.tt/1VnTwI6 creepypasta
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