In the summer of 2005, when I was 9 years old, I was playing on the beach in Oregon with my brother, Thomas. He was almost 7 years old at the time. I was building sand castles and he was trying to find sea-shells. He ran up to me, showing me the cool shells. He wanted me to know if they were good enough. I asked him what they had to be good enough for. He said he was going to do something with them later. I told him they were really cool. And with that, he walked back to where he was finding shells and kept looking. And I went back to building sand castles.
Later that day, our mom and dad had told us that it was time for us to get back in the car to go to the motel we were going to be staying at. Once we got in the car, I looked over at my brother, who was having a hard time getting his car seat belt buckled. I told him I would help, but he just made this growling sound and told me he could do it himself. I told him fine; be that way. He finally got his belt buckled and we were on our way.
I kept looking over at him, and I kept catching him smiling in an evil way. I told him to stop, that it was making me nervous. He finally stopped, and he started to take out his shells. He asked me if they were sharp enough. I asked him what they had to be sharp enough for. He said he needed nice, sharp shells for what he was going to do later. I told him he can’t be using sharp things, but all he said was, “Whatever.”
When we got back to the motel, my brother asked me if his shells could hurt someone. I told him I would take those shells away if he kept asking me stupid questions like this. I was beginning to feel a whole lot nervous when my brother pretended to be stabbing something or someone and made stabbing noises like a knife plunging into someone’s heart or throat. I told him to stop or I was telling mom and dad. He stopped for awhile.
Then, a few hours later, he made those slashing sounds again. I told mom and dad what he was doing, and they told me that if he does it again, to tell them and they would do something about it. He did it even more than before, and I told mom and dad. They stomped into the room where my brother was, and told him to stop what he was doing. He then, growled, like nothing I’ve ever heard from a 7-year-old. It sounded like a demon to me. He marched over to my mom and dad and slashed a very sharp shell at them. I screamed, and my dad caught the hurling shell in his palm – creating a few cuts – right before the shell hit my mother. She was so horrified, that she told the family (except my brother) that we were going to take Thomas in to Father Hodge for an exorcism. We sprinkled the house with Holy Water for that night, and let things be.
The next day, we went to visit Father Hodge and he gave the exorcism. After that, my brother was fine. I don’t ever think I will get those “pretending-to-slash-you” moments. It was scarier than ever. All I wanted was my old brother back, and he is. And that is all I can ask for from the Lord.
Sent in by Breanna Hall, Copyright 2009