u/Amrican_finder7889

Today we went to our granny’s house. She always said my uncle’s son died years ago, but wouldn’t tell us how.

After dinner, my brother and I slept in the same room.

In the middle of the night, something scratched my foot. I laughed, thinking it was him messing with me.

Then I turned over.

He was still asleep beside me.

When I looked back at the foot of the bed, the thing was still there—crawling, staring at me… smiling like it knew me.

In the morning, the police came.

They said my brother had confessed.

He kept repeating that he didn’t mean to kill me.

kept my brother’s ashes in my room.

People told me not to—but I couldn’t let him go.

At first, nothing happened. No sounds. No shadows. Just silence.

Then the dreams started.

Every night, he’d stand there… looking at me.

Not smiling. Not speaking at first. Just staring.

One night, I moved the urn to the hallway.

That night, he came closer in my dream.

His voice sounded wrong—too hollow.

“Why did you leave me?”

I froze.

Because it didn’t feel like him.

My brother was never… like that.

His face stayed the same—but something behind it wasn’t.

Something restless.

Something that didn’t belong to him.

I brought the ashes back to my room.

The dreams stopped for a while.

But I don’t sleep peacefully anymore.

Because now I know—

that thing wasn’t my brother.

And keeping those ashes here…

was my worst mistake.