I just passed out because I'm sick. I woke an hour later, having had a most terrible dream.
In the dream, my youngest brother had gone missing. He had gone to a place where a friend had once died, and was hanging out with one of his friends. When he didn't go home, my father and I went to investigate. It turned into a missing person's case. The home was found abandoned. We thought he was missing.
So my father and I went looking. In the home, I kept randomly hearing him on my headset (my father and I wore one each), where he'd say, "Chris? Chris. I can't. I. I can't. I just." Or I'd hear it in the darkened halls of the place. My father never heard. I kept looking, scouting the rooms of this massive home until it grew dark. We decided to sleep there, but since I kept hearing Lucas, I kept assuming he was somewhere nearby.
Then I'd see him. Randomly. Like I was watching television, and he'd stand in the doorway. I'd look and see him and he'd be wide-eyed-open and smiling and do his hand wave-that-wasn't-a-wave. "Hey." But he'd never say anything back. He'd just stand there, as if waiting for me to go give him a hug or something.
I'd move to go to him and he'd disappear when I looked away, or glanced, or whatever. I'd see him at the end of hallways. And I'd still hear his voice. I eventually went to dad and told him I thought he was dead, because he kept running away from me. Dad frowned and looked at me a long while. "No he's here," he said.
So we'd continue looking. It was a huge home, and outside was an industrial neighborhood with junk-heaps everywhere and discarded stuff throughout the property. Couldn't find him.
So we looked farther, investigated harder. The place had two dogs, both of which seemed wild but kind. They'd let you pet them but never pant or bark, as if keeping watch of the place. Then Brian said he'd come help.
The three of us looked. It never became day again. Dad and I tried to sleep in the place, backpacks on one side of a room, meticulously polished and clean I might add. The whole place had a birch-inlaid-cherry look to it, with varying forms of lighter wood framing whole walls.
We were in a bedroom, then, Dad and I, and we were talking, when we heard a sound. Like people talking. We looked up, and dad stared. He said, "it's happening over there, but then, it's happening over there instantly, and then it's behind us." He kept listening to his recorder as if he were a paranormal investigator. Then we saw, the two of us, a crowd of people, no more than five, but they were dead. They looked dead, their skin looked dead, and they talked to themselves. One of them was the dead friend of mine. I won't use his name because I don't want to upset anyone reading this who might know him.
Then Brian started saying the strange things on the headset. "Dad. I found him. I just." And that's it. We tore out of the house together, running along the industrial road. But something happened nearby, and a dam broke or something. Water flooded down the road as if rushing to a river. It wasn't deep, but it moved quickly. Alongside the road I saw a bench, and Brian sat on it in his sweatshirt, looking really sad.
I saw Lucas's body dragged under a rock with debris from the water. I looked away.
"He's dead. They both are." Dad looked at Brian and frowned. "I just lost both of my brothers in the same day."
"No, Chris," Brian said. "We're still here. We can talk to you."
Then I woke up and fuh-reaked out.
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