The Horrible Night My Brother was Attacked by an Intruder

Our parents had gone out that night, something they seldom did, and left me and my two older sisters in the care of our oldest sibling, my brother. He was fourteen years old, my sisters eleven and eight, and I was four. We were not used to being at home after dark without our parents present. Frankly, it unnerved me.

As it grew darker, I felt the tension growing, feeling that something bad was about to happen. My brother kept pulling the curtains back and looking out the kitchen window. Suddenly he panicked and in a hoarse whisper, demanded that we girls get in the bedroom adjacent to the kitchen, lock the door, and not come out till he told us to. He said he had seen a "big, mean-looking guy with a big knife going around the house."

We knew all the doors were locked, but didn't feel they were totally secure. So we rushed into the bedroom, bolted the door, and huddled in the dark, trembling with fear. Suddenly we heard a loud commotion in the kitchen, a terrified scream, a thud on the floor, feet rushing across the room, and then the slam of the kitchen door.

All was quiet. Too quiet. For a long time. Finally, one of us cautiously opened the door and peeked into the kitchen. Our brother was on the floor. All three of us rushed into the kitchen. On the floor beside our brother was a knife--and a pool of blood. There was blood on his throat, and on his clothes.

I don't remember much that happened in the next few minutes. My brother was my idol. I depended on him for everything. I couldn't even imagine life without him.

In my mind, we three girls must have been running around in circles screaming. We had no phone. No 911. And we weren't about to leave the house to find help, for fear the murderer was still lurking about.

After what seemed like an eternity, my brother suddenly sat upright and started laughing as I had never heard him laugh. He got up from the floor, went to the cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of catsup. "Blood!" he said, in a creepy voice.

I don't remember what happened when our parents got home. Probably nothing, as we afraid to tell. My brother was the world's biggest prankster, and we knew this wouldn't be his last prank. I vowed to myself that one day I would come up with something so creative, so far out, that he would never know what hit him. Eventually, I would get him for this.

Today he is 77 years old, but still capable of pulling an occasional prank. He'd better be very afraid. One of these days, when he least expects it, I'm still gonna get him.