My name is Martin Degurii. I am 18 years old and I and the brother of Jackson Degurii.
This is my story:
I was born on May 29th, three years before my brother, to the day. I loved my brother. We always played Uno and catch and watching the new Flash Gordon episodes. He helped me with my paper route and I helped him with his lemonade stand.
The day he died was the worst day of my life. We were walking home from school like we did everyday. I never even heard the van coming. Before I knew it, we’d been hogtied and heads covered with hot, clothe bags, lying in the back of an old 72 Ford. I can still smell the smoke, choking and burning; still feel the singe of the cigarette on the back of my neck. I can remember Jack trembling and crying. He may have been fifteen, but he was still pretty sensitive. Always crying at mushy movies and writing poetry to impress the girls.
But me, I was a rock, always have been. I just laid there. Hoping it would end soon. Once the van stopped, they pulled us out, it was dark by then, and carried us into some building near the woods. I knew that because I could hear the cicadas that only ever stayed at the preserve. I could hear them, but their voices have faded into dark, demonic shrieks and chortles by now.
They tied us to chairs and took off our burlap hoods. I could see Jack before me. His face pale as paper, drenched in sweat, his streaming eyes filled with more fear than in all of Hell. I watched, shakily, as they ripped his pale blue shirt off and brought out a gleaming medical knife, a scalpel.
First, they placed it between his collarbones. As a thin line of scarlet trickled down his blanched, heaving chest, we both screamed out. Me in furious desperation and him in sheer agony. After a millennia of shouts and wails, they reached past his rib cage and the blade plunged in deep. A quick, sharp yelp left my brother’s lips he collapsed. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or just past out from the pain. Either way, I was screaming at the top of my lungs every curse and swear I could muster at the sick, disgusting freaks that were doing this.
They continued slicing down and opened up his gut. They pulled out his steaming intestines, sliding it between their grinning, grimy lips. His kidney was thrown onto the cold, cement floor, breaking in to bloody chunks and bits. One squashed his stomach between his hands; sending crimsoned bile splattering all over the wall and on me. They played hacky-sack with his heart.
They reached his face. As they placed the soulless metal upon his check, to slice off his fragile eyelids, he gasped awake and screeched in anguish. They all jumped back with a start, as did I. Then they began laughing, nearly drowning out his pleas for a savior.
I looked away as they continued to slice away at his eyes. Clenching my eyes and fists tight. Finally, he screamed out my name and went silent, still as a doll. I glimpsed over and there he was staring at me. Only, not with eyes, there were no eyes. Only, two black craters. Like when you’re a kid, staring into the darkness of your open closet as you wait for something to slither out.
His head bent at a sharp angle, his face destroyed. His nose caved in, his once ruby lips ripped away, his skin nightmarishly blue from lack of blood. I stare at once was my brother as they all turn on me, smiling with nothing but sinister glee in their cold eyes. I don’t even feel it as they carve down my chest. All I feel are his cold, lurid eyes biting into me. That thing across from me is no longer my brother. My little Jacky is now in Heaven with baby Jesus and our Lord. That thing is something else.
I sever my gaze with the thing and pray.
“As I walk through the shadow of the valley of Death, I fear nothing. For, I know that my Lord is watching over me.”
I didn’t actually remember the real line, but it just felt right. Then, it dawned on me, as they ther ripped the flesh off of my rib cage, that I wasn’t crying. I didn’t cry as they killed my baby brother, I didn’t cry as they were killing me, and I didn’t cry as the police stormed in and rescued me.
But, sitting here, I’m telling you, I am crying. I am no longer a strong rock. I’m crying, out of fear and sadness and contempt for the thing behind me. My brother was a good kid. But, this thing, this heartless, soulless, eyeless Jack is not my brother.
Momma and Pop, I love you!
[This letter was found by the mangled body of Martin Degurii after his parents found him one day after he was rescued from the crime scene. The body of Jackson Degurii was discovered missing three hours after his brother was found murdered with all of his organs removed and partially eaten]
Credit To – Idraco2510