The Monster They Made Me

I killed Grandma.

I killed my little brother.

I am a monster.

They were right all along.

I pried the fruit knife from Anthony's cold fingers. I didn't want the bug in my wrist anymore, either. I had to dig it out.

"Tony!"

The scream shattered the air. Before the blade could even touch my skin, Mom barreled in from the yard. She slammed into me, sending me sprawling into the dirt, and scooped my brother's lifeless body into her arms.

"My Tony... You killed him! You killed my Tony!" Her wails turned into hoarse, broken sobs. "You monster! Why didn't you just die on the mountain? Why did you have to come back and destroy him?"

She cried until her voice gave out, her screams fading to a low, keening whimper.

"Tony said he was going up the mountain to bring you apples... He even begged me to buy you new clothes. Are you worthy?"

Only then did I notice what she clutched in her other hand. A pink, cotton-padded jacket. Identical to the one the river had swallowed years ago.

Mom snatched the fruit knife from my grip. With a feral scream, she slashed the jacket—the one I had dreamed of for so long—into ribbons.

Then she stood, her eyes burning with murderous light.

"You pay with your life! You die for my Tony!"

She raised the blade and lunged for my chest.

I didn't flinch. Good. If I die, I can catch up to Anthony.

A shadow blurred in my periphery. Dad slammed into Mom, knocking her off course. The blade missed my heart, slicing a jagged line down my arm instead.

Pity. Still alive. Wait for me, little brother. Just a little longer.

For the first time in my life, Dad stood between us, shielding me.

"Are you crazy, Isabel? How could Cathy possibly hurt Tony?"

"It was her! Have you forgotten? She taught him that sick game! She told him to pick the bug out of his wrist!"

"Tony promised me he wouldn't play that game anymore! He wouldn't kill himself!"

"Didn't you see her holding the knife just now? This bitch killed him!"

Mom charged again, blade flashing. Dad kicked her back. He stood his ground, desperate to deflect the narrative.

"I saw Dylan Finch!" Dad shouted, voice cutting through the chaos. "I just saw him running out of the house in a panic. It must have been him!"

A cold laugh escaped me. I looked up at the man protecting me—the man lying through his teeth.

"Dad." My voice came out hollow. "How long are you going to keep pretending?"

I met his eyes. "You killed Tony."