suddenly someone was knocking at the door. he tightened his grip more. the man got up and slowly moved out. someone knocked once, then twice and stopped. there was no sound for a moment and then it started to pound on the door with a clenched fist. harder with each blow. the door was vibrating in his frame. he was reminded of something. it was the same way he had knocked. a certain kind of sensation that he should not be here anymore struck him. he began to think of ways to exit this house. his eyes stopped at the window. he pushed the window and was surprised that is was already open. he pushed his fainted sister out and them himself. and there he was running on the streets piggybacking his sister every midnight or so the legend says.
his parents were home in the morning and were sorry for everything but he could not believe. he was sure that they were not his parents because he was dead now and that his only family was the old man across the street. his parents tried to tell him that it was a prank call from their friend but he still couldn’t believe. how dare they he would think to pull such kind of pranks on a young child like me.
he tried his best to tell them that he had a sister. a sister they would always prefer. a sister bold and straightforward. a sister he was taught to protect. she would be there, he told them, every midnight when he would escape from the old man’s house when there would be someone, he would suspect, like him knocking on the door again. he tried to tell them how she looked but they never had a daughter is what they said. he tried his best to prove her existence but her room was gone, tents were gone and nothing was recorded in the camera.
the old man, they said that lived across the street had Conrad’s syndrome but he did not listen. even the old man's wife visited him apologizing for the mental trauma but he was not convinced. and even after so many years of treatments and constantly changing psychiatrists he wasn’t able to forget what he experienced at the age of twelve. even after so many medications and drugs that made his brain feel like a sack of sand he was not convinced that he never had a sister or that he is not dead.
every midnight, someone would knock on the door and his sister would suddenly appear. he would be morphed to a twelve-year-old boy and again the dilemma would kindle his subconscious. he would be 20 or so steps from the door holding a baseball bat. he would look back to see his sister right there smiling mischievously at him. he would smile back brighter every time.
the old man died but a new old man was born slowly, gradually hauling a new old man at his door.
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