Chapter 7

I didn't act in the most graceful way, which is understandable, because it wasn't everyday that your little brother attacks you with a knife.

As soon as Isaac charged towards me with a knife, my reflexes acted faster than my brain. I clumsily rolled over as fast as I could away from Isaac and landed on the floor with a large thump, knocking the air out of me. The knife was stuck in the bed, hitting exactly where I was a few seconds ago.

Before I knew it, Isaac was wrenching the blade out of the bed. No, this wasn't Isaac. This wasn't my little brother. It was an imposter. My brother would never attack me.

I had no time to think about what was going on. I just knew that I had to move or die. Quickly, I stood up. I didn't care that I was making an easier target of myself; I couldn't operate properly while laying down.

Imposter-Isaac made another attempt to kill me, this time throwing the knife straight towards my chest with stunning accuracy and speed that I've only seen Minho master. I barely had enough time to dodge, and the knife still managed to slice a gash on my arm. The knife lodged itself into the wall, hilt quivering from the impact. I felt blood gushing down my arm. Fortunately, the cut was so clean, I didn't even feel any pain.

By taking one look at Imposter-Isaac's stance, I knew that he wasn't done yet. He leapt over the bed and jerked the knife out of the wall. Trying to strike at me again, Not-Isaac surged at me, this time keeping the knife firm in his hands. I saw air wind milling around the sharp blade. Ducking to avoid contact with the knife, I skirted around the bed.

"Isaac!" I whisper-shouted, not wanting to create too much unwanted noise that would surely be questioned later by Mom and Dad. "What are you doing?"

Imposter-Isaac completely ignored me. Instead, he sent the blade whirling towards me with intense power. I didn't have enough time to duck properly, so I had to wrench my body back like I was doing the limbo to avoid getting stabbed by the knife. Too late, I realized my mistake. I did manage to not get hit, yes, but I lost my balance from the sudden rupture that rocked my center of gravity. And guess what was on this side of the bed. Shattered pieces of glass.

My unbalanced body weight sent me sprawling into the broken glass. More fragments of the glass broke under the burden of my weight, but even more stabbed me in the back, leaving oozing puncture wounds behind. I resisted the urge to scream.

Swiftly, I got back up, unwilling to lie there on a bed of jagged glass. Some shards that had dug deeper into my skin than others jutted out of my back. Blood was soaking into my shirt. The pain was almost unbearable.

Never in my entire life did I regret my laziness as much as I did now.

I hunched over and put my elbows on my knees, panting desperately. Panic was overwhelming me. I didn't understand why this was all happening. Why did Isaac have those chilling blank eyes? Why is my 10-year-old brother who has the skills and reflexes of someone much older attacking me?

I wanted to assume that this was all a hallucination. I would rather go insane than have this actually happening. But the metallic scent of blood hung in the air, and my wounds were screaming in agony. This was no delusion.

Suddenly, I felt something sharp tickling my neck. My stomach sank in dread. I was stupid to get caught up in my thoughts. Imposter-Isaac held his knife at my neck, the blade barely scraping my skin. He yanked my hair back, making my head buck backwards as well. I was on my knees, at the mercy of my brother. My breaths were coming out unevenly. Fear swallowed me whole. Was he seriously going to kill me?

As if Imposter-Isaac could read my thoughts, he replied, "You killed me. It's only fair if I kill you." He smiled broadly, a maniacal grin on his face.

I took advantage of the moment that he had let his guard down. Not-Isaac was in a good position for me to execute my move; he was to my right side and his legs were spread shoulder-width apart. Thankfully, he was only 10 and was a head taller than me when I was kneeling down. My little brother was short enough for me to strike where I wanted as well. All I had to do was lift my right knee to the side with a bit more strength than usual without moving my upper body. Because if I did shift my neck slightly, it would be enough action for the knife to sink into my flesh. It wasn't exactly the most graceful move of all time, but it worked incredibly well against boys. Yup. You got it.

I kneed him in the crotch. Call it playing dirty or whatever. Let me just say something: IT WORKS. DEAL WITH IT.

It immediately caused Imposter-Isaac to drop the knife and let go of my hair to clutch his lower pelvis area. I snatched the knife before he could recover. I was tempted to twirl the shiny blade around triumphantly like I've seen Minho do, but I didn't want to accidentally cut my hand off or further damage my body. Imposter-Isaac looked up at me with his sunken, blank eyes riveted on me. I realized that he was waiting, not even trying to get his only weapon back.

Cold fear crept through me. What was I going to do? I couldn't…I couldn't kill him, could I? I had his knife. He couldn't threaten me anymore. But…I couldn't just stand here either. Shakily, I pointed the knife at him, trying to force myself to grow an intimidating aura. Maybe he would back down. Imposter-Isaac looked unaffected.

My door burst open. It was Charlie. He started to blabber as soon as he set foot in the room. "Terry! You're awake! Can you play-" his childish voice faltered as his eyes washed over the scene. I was frozen with horror. What could Charlie be thinking right now? His sister was pointing a knife at his brother. There's nothing normal about that.

"Terry, Isaac…what are you doin-" the five-year-old boy started when Not-Isaac interrupted him by lunging at me. I was caught completely off guard. He knocked me down to the ground, sending the knife clattering across the wooden floor. In a desperate scrabble, we both thrust our bodies forward to grab the knife. Charlie squealed in terror, hopping away from our sliding forms.

As my fingers grasped around the hilt of the knife a fraction of a second faster than Imposter-Isaac, I heard the sound of footsteps making their way up the stairs. Oh no. If Mom or Dad came in now…

My dreaded thoughts were disrupted by Charlie's screaming. I whipped around to see Imposter-Isaac attempting to strangle the poor boy, knees straddled Charlie's torso, hands finding purchase on his neck. A shriek erupted from me. Not-Isaac was attacking Charlie too? Charlie was such an innocent boy, he couldn't die because of me -this guy was a monster.

I acted purely on instinct. I couldn't say I didn't mean to, but I couldn't say I wanted to either. Seeing my little baby brother being choked by this…this intruder was too much. It unleashed a fierce rage inside of me.

Without thinking, I sent the knife that I had held so tightly inside my fist hurling at Not-Isaac's back. It was a perfect strike. The knife buried itself into his back. Not-Isaac made a slight choking sound before falling forward. I grabbed Charlie's hand and pulled him out of Not-Isaac's collapsing path before he could get crushed. Not-Isaac's body fell, torso hitting the floor with a thud. Blood blossomed from his wound. His breathing had ceased to a stop. Dead.

Just at that moment, Dad pushed the door open and stared with shocked eyes at the scene before his eyes. I screamed. Not at Dad, but at the milky white cloud that was slowly peeling off of Isaac's form, floating up into the air and arranging itself into a very familiar figure. Gally.

I was paralyzed with terror when he spoke. "You killed me. In the most brutal way, you killed me. It was only fair if I tried to return the favor. Your little brother was a wonderful human host for my ghost. It was perfect. But then you had to fight your way out of it. Look what happened now, you murderer," Gally said in a bitter voice. His body looked worn out, his clothes were torn and filthy. All in all, he looked real except for the edges of his figure, where his body faded out slightly. His skin was exceptionally pale. Then he vanished, washed away without leaving a single trace behind.

My hands were shaking extremely hard. At the back of my foggy mind, I processed that Dad was speaking to me, probably asking what happened. I ignored him, trapped in my own trance of grief. I crawled over to Isaac's body, a sob building up in my throat. Vaguely, I could hear Charlie crying from trauma of what he saw.

When I reached out and took Isaac's wrist, I didn't feel a pulse. His body was already starting to get cold. Isaac was dead. My little brother was dead. And I killed him.

I cupped his face in my hands and looked into his dead eyes that were still wide open, a flash of fear forever engraved into his irises. His eyes were shards of sky blue again. I started crying.