Andy By Gwen Tyrie
I unlock my front door to be greeted by my little brother.
“Lace!” Andy said with his Tonka truck in hand racing towards me.
“Hi Andy,” I say picking him up and giving him a hug.
“Alice,” my mom calls from the kitchen. “Can you watch your brother and the dog so I can go take a bath?”
“Sure.” I walk over to the couch and get out my work. I look down at my little brother sitting up against my mastiff, Mandy, and smile to myself. I got Mandy when we first moved here 5 years ago, before I had a little brother and I didn’t know anyone. My parents thought it would be nice for me to have a friend. I take out my homework and start to work until my mom comes down and relieves me from babysitting up to my room.
hall.
The next morning I don’t wake up to my alarm; I wake up to my mothers scream. I jump out of bed and run to the
“What’s wrong?” I ask running to my brother’s open door. My mother doesn’t respond. “Mom?” I say with fear consuming my voice. Then I see what she is looking at… there is blood everywhere. I feel the presence of my dad behind me, and he freezes too. Andy’s bed, floor, walls, everything is covered in blood. Bits and pieces of Andy are scattered around the room. The worst part is not all of Andy is there. His bones all seem to be there but not all of… him, not all his flesh. I tear my eyes away from the mess to look at my mom still frozen on her knees. The shock hasn’t even sunk in enough for her to start crying. I turn from the room and run to the bathroom. I can feel it coming, that it’s finally registering. I make it to the bathroom just in time to throw up. I lie down on the cool bathroom tile and close my eyes. I try to escape how I feel to escape what I had seen, but even when my eyes are closed I see it. My head hits the toilet when I role over and pulls me out of my thoughts. I slowly stand up and head out of the bathroom. Andy’s door has been closed and I can hear my mom and dad talking. Well, my dad is talking and my mom is crying. I stop at the door and listen for a second before I open it. As I am opening the door, I feel something wet on my hand; it is blood.
I look at my hand and feel the nausea come over me again and I head for the bathroom. Only this time I couldn’t make it to the toilet so I open the shower curtain just in time to puke again. As I look into the bathtub, I find my dog. She lay in bits and pieces, dyed red with her own blood. And, in my throw up, I see half digested pieces of fur, and my little brother’s eye frozen with an eternal look of terror.
Gwen Tyrie ‘14 54