“And where in God’s name were you?” my mother snapped at my little brother as he tried to creep in through the front door. It was half-past twelve on a school night, and just mere moments before he had walked in, she assumed he was fast asleep upstairs.

She stood with her hands on her hips, eyeing him. My brother, Daniel, had been on a bad streak as of late. So, admittedly I took some pleasure in seeing him finally get what he needed as I watched this unfold from atop the staircase.

My mom was rapidly tapping her foot, waiting for a response. But before my brother could defend himself, she blurted out, “Have you been drinking? I can smell it on you! Daniel! Jesus, you’re fifteen! You’re flunking your classes, you come home late, you’re getting suspended, and now this? I’m sick of it!”

A smile crept across my face watching her dig into him, and I had to stifle a laugh at a couple of her remarks. It must’ve been a solid ten minutes of her yelling, and by the end of it, he looked pretty dejected. Daniel’s eyes were glued to the floor, and his lips were glued together, likely afraid that anything he said would’ve dug the grave deeper.

When she implored him to say something, all he could do was squeak out, “I’m sorry, ma’am.” In his heart, I’m sure he thought showing that he was genuinely sorry would’ve gotten him off. His biggest fear was getting shipped off to military school or staying with our grandparents in Nebraska, where the only things he could do all day was read and shuck corn.

But that wasn’t good enough for my mom. She sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Daniel, we’ve had this conversation too many times over the past year. And every time I threaten you with something, you shape up for a week and then go back to your old ways. Maybe it’s time we tried something else.” She paused to look back up the dark staircase, and I quickly had to duck behind the corner so she wouldn’t see me before popping my head out again. “Do you remember the story your father and I told you and your brother as a kid? The one about the man who stayed in the room next to yours?”

He seemed caught off guard by this question and answered cautiously. “Um, yeah? I suppose? I think you said he doesn’t like naughty kids and that we need to be good or…”

“Or you’d have to explain to him what you did wrong, and he’d fix it.” She finished. “When you both were young, just the mere mention of his name got you to shape up. But as you got older, we dropped it. We hoped that less… extreme methods would help.” She stopped again to glance back up the staircase. “But maybe we’re coming full circle. Daniel, I think you need to go see him.”

Now completely confused, he laughed. “Wait, are you serious, mom? I’m not a kid. I know there’s no guy up there.”

I almost wanted to come down and ask what she was talking about myself. Our house had always had an extra room across the hall from ours. As kids, our parents would always make comments about how if we misbehaved too much, we’d have to see the man inside and that he’d make sure we’d never act up again. That statement alone always got us to act right. You know how it is. As kids, you make up stuff. For the longest time, my brother and I assumed a monster was in there that ate up bad kids and spit out good copies, but as we grew older, we became less and less concerned with the empty room. It had remained locked all my life, and we mostly left it alone and barring a few unsuccessful times to try and get in. So it was extremely odd to see her bring it up.

“My mom held herself and dipped her head a bit as she nodded in response to Daniel’s question. “I am serious.” She said in a quiet, somber tone. “You need to see him before this gets any worse.”

My brother looked back up the stairs, and we made eye contact before shrugging and agreeing to my mom’s strange request. When they turned to come up the stairs, I scrambled to my room and creaked the door open just enough to watch the two make it in front of the mysterious door across the hall.

Before opening the door, my mom pulled Daniel into a tight hug and told him how much she loved him. Obviously uncomfortable and visibly nervous, he softly patted her on the back and gave her a very unsure, “I… love you too?”

When she finally released, she turned to the door and fished in her pocket for a moment before taking out a strange-looking key. It looked incredibly old. Very much like your typical cartoonish treasure chest key you’d see in a kid’s movie. When she unlocked the door and pushed it open, I jumped back from the door at the mere sight of what lay before me.

An extremely large, gangly, decrepit man sat in a chair facing the door. His beak-like nose curved down to his chin, and he tapped his inhumanely long fingers on the arms of his chair. His eyes appeared as if they were empty sockets at first glance, but I could see his actual eyeballs were set deep into his skull as I examined him further. Overall, he was probably about eight feet tall, but his head had to be twice the size of normal human beings.

My mom held tightly to Daniel’s wrist in what I can only assume was an attempt to stop him from running, but I knew he wouldn’t be going frozen to his spot in fear and shock. I think she had whispered something to him because, in response, he slowly stood up, towering above the both of them. He slowly pointed for her to leave with those grotesque fingers. She slowly nodded, and as she turned away, I could see the tears in her eyes.

She ran down the staircase and wailed because she knew something horrible was about to happen to her son. I sprinted out of my room towards the door. I tried everything I could to get it open, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. All the while, I could hear the horrific conversation taking place in the room.

A deep voice spoke slowly from the other side. “Your mother tells me you were naughty again, boy. You should know how much I dislike naughty children.”

I could hear Daniel pleading, “Please! I promise I made a mistake, and I’m sorry!”

A loud crash came from the room. “Quiet, boy!” The man yelled. “I don’t like naughty boys! And now it’s time for your punishment.”

Daniel screamed a bloodcurdling cry and a struggle followed soon after. I banged on the door, yelling for help. I saw my dad rush up the stairs, but instead of him helping me, I felt myself being lifted from the ground and dragged away from the door. Soon, my mom was helping him restrain me so that they could take me downstairs.

“He needs to learn!” I heard my dad say as I struggled against him. “This is for his own good!”

From the other side, my mom commented, “This was his only hope. He’ll be fixed now. But you can’t interfere. What’s done is done!”

They let go from a brief moment, and I tried to run upstairs, screaming for help, but within seconds, they pulled me away again. Eventually, my parents managed to throw me into the car and set the child locks. We drove for hours as I begged for my parents to explain what was going on, but all they’d ever say was that it needed to happen and that I’d understand once it was over.

By the time we made it back home, the sun was starting to come back up, and I found myself waking up from a nap with my dad knocked out next to me.

For a moment, I thought it was all a dream. I wanted so badly to believe that what I saw was some fucked up creation of my own imagination. As soon as I made it inside, I sprinted towards Daniel’s room and found him tucked away safe in bed. Relief washed over me when I hugged him as this all but confirmed that my brother hadn’t been taken by some “thing.”

My parents called our school and told them we were sick for the day. All I wanted to do was spend time with my brother. But as soon as he woke up, I noticed he was different. Reserved, timid, quiet, and polite are only some of the adjectives I’d use to describe how he was or… Is.

Ultimately, he was the complete opposite of what I’ve come to know and love. If there was a rule, no matter how small, he’d do his best to make sure it was followed to a T. He was respectful, got perfect grades, and only spoke when spoken to. The ideal child, right? No.

Daniel no longer had a personality. The spark he had was gone. His passions for life and doing things beyond what was expected of him wasn’t there anymore.

He used to be an artist. A damn good one! I used to love seeing his chaotic paintings, and he’d even make his own beats that he’d paint to. As you’d expect, as an artist, his room was always a mess because he was still in the middle of some crazy project. After that day, his room was spotless, and I never saw another painting.

Even though I never lost my brother, it’s hard to feel like he didn’t die that day. I used to see my parents crying late at night. I’ve overheard them asking what they’ve done and if it was worth it. After I moved out, it was hard to keep in contact with them. I don’t think I’ve ever quite forgiven them for what happened, and I don’t know that I ever will.

From what I’ve heard, Daniel has a full-ride college scholarship. I think he wants to be an Accountant or something, but I never felt that my parents were too happy about it.

I don’t know what to do. I’ve been thinking about that night a lot recently, and part of me thinks it’s time I confront my parents about just what the fuck is in that room.