Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Lost My Brother Years Ago. I Think It's Because Of Magic | Scary Stories

Episode Date: April 1, 2024

I know what took him...   Story from Head of Spectre Make sure to check out more of their work at u/HeadOfSpectre Cover Art from Ninerio                   Original Post: Fishing At The End of the Dock : r/HeadOfSpectre  Original YouTube link: I Lost My Brother Years Ago. I Think It's Because Of Magic           For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech  Darren Curtis Music - YouTube Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

His secretary had asked him if he'd had time for an interview today. Some small-time reporter looking to earn a few clicks out of a chat with an old businessman. He declined, of course, told her to reschedule for next week, although even if he was alive by then, he'd still find a way to dodge the little bastard. Thirty or so years back, he'd absolutely relished in this sort of thing. The attention, the acknowledgement of his success. It was what fueled him. Every dream he'd ever had ended in this recognition, praise, good job.

Nowadays. It was just an annoyance. An irritating speed bump in his otherwise busy day, and any part of him that still wanted to illuminate the life of whatever little reporter begged for an interview from him was long dead. He was a busy man with bigger fish to fry. As he drove through the heavy fog down the quiet dirt road. Past old cottages and run-down stores, he couldn't help but scoff internally.

It just how Tweed this place was. Twee. That was really the only word he could think to use. He'd heard a business partner use it once, and the word had grown on him. Once upon a time, these encompassing forests and run-down marinas had been the greatest thing in the world to him. But now that he'd seen even greater things, they held none of the lustre they had when he was a boy. Well, perhaps not all of that luster. He did catch himself slowing down slightly,

as he passed the most familiar of the old bait and tackle stores that dotted the roads along the lakeside. The sign was old and faded. The colors long since worn away by time, but he could still faintly read the name of the store. Beck's bait? Surprisingly, the place still looked to be open. How unusual! It had been about fifty years. years since last he'd stepped through the doors of Bex, with his little brother Adam right on his heels. Adam had been a good kid. He could have gone far in life. They'd almost religiously pick themselves out a chocolate bar and a soda each, along with a tin of worms, before walking back to their parents' cottage along that dirt road. Usually, they'd head right back out out of the dock

and enjoy the sun for a little while, before getting to fishing. Usually, they didn't catch much more than minnows. But once, maybe twice a year, one of them would catch something that would have a place on the dinner table. The memory of it brought the ghost of a smile to his face, before he moved on, leaving Bex behind. The cottage wasn't far now, and time was short, and he knew better than to doodle. Up ahead through the fog, he spotted the faded sign that told him where to turn. The Dawson's cottage. He and Adam had painted that sign themselves, and he had in their father's workshop. They'd both been grinning from ear to ear when they'd watched him nail it up. Time hadn't been kind to it. The text was only barely legible, and the fog didn't help.

But the ghost of the words on the sign was more than enough to let him know that after all this time, he'd found his way home again. Exhaling heavily, he'd turned the car down the overgrown dirt road to the cottage where he'd spent the best years of his life. He kept a tight grip on the steering wheel, before looking at the clock. He still had a few hours. He was sure of that much. His car was not made to handle the rough dirt road, and it rocked and jolted on the uneven terrain.

If he'd had a little more foresight, he might have rented something more suited to coming out here. But now was not the time to think about what he could have done better. That time had passed long ago. The cottage loomed up ahead of him, secluded and cut off from the rest of the world. It had been a good 15 years or so since he'd been back. Although, despite that, the cottage did not by any means look bad. He'd at least had the foresight to pay someone to maintain it, and they'd done a decent

enough job. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't collapsing in on itself. It would do. For now. The cottage had ended up in his name after his father had died, and he'd visited a handful of times since then. But eventually, his schedule grew too busy. His interest led him elsewhere, and he found himself with less use for the property.

Of course, he could never, ever bring himself to sell it. Heavens, no. That would be next to absolute madness. He could never sell this land, not for any price. It wasn't just sentimental value that made this place important. He'd learned long ago that there was no room for sentimentality in a man. But this place had a value to him that no choice. check could match.

Over the past fifty years, all of the good things that had come to him came from here. Every business partnership, every wise investment, every decision that had brought him to the top had come from this place. His car rolled to a stop in front of the old cottage, and he got out, breathing in the deep fog and smelling the foul scent of decay on it. He huffed before trudging towards the front door. and trying his keys. The door opened with a creek, and he stepped into the darkness that awaited him inside. With a bit of fumbling, he was able to find the light switch, and with a stern

look on his face, he surveyed the old cottage. It had changed little since last he'd been here. It was clean and tidy, yes, but it was also clearly abandoned. Somehow, that brought him some comfort. He closed and locked the door behind him, before reaching into his suit jacket, and taking out the revolver he carried with him. Methodically, he checked over the gun to ensure that it looked good before he set it down onto the counter. He'd never been one for firearms, but he'd made a point to learn in his youth. As a boy, he thought it'd be cool to own a gun, like the old-fashioned cowboys who'd been his heroes. Nowadays, he only ever carried it when it was practical, and he'd never actually fired it outside of a shooting range. But that was to be expected,

He made his way over to the rear of the cottage and lifted the blinds to look out over the lake. Thick fog covered most of it, and rolled up the hill leading down to the dock. But the dock itself was visible. It waited for him against the pale, glassy surface of the lake, the tip of it only barely visible. No boats were moored, and he could see none on the water. As far as he could tell, he was well enough alone. studied the water, looking for any trace of movement. A ripple? A sign of life? But there was nothing.

Satisfied, he turned away and reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. He'd started smoking when he was 13. Naturally, as soon as Adam caught him with a cigarette, he'd wanted to try one too. Adam really had idolized him. In hindsight, he probably should have been more touched than he was. But back then his little brother's admiration had gotten on his nerves more often than not. When he'd started smoking, Adam had wanted to smoke. When he was mowing the lawn, Adam wanted to mow the lawn too. When he was with his friends, Adam wanted to be with his friends too. It had started to grate on him.

But that is simply what brothers do and have done since the beginning of time. Looking back at all of it, he felt a little shaky, had to be. having been so frustrated by all of it. But no matter what he thought now, he wouldn't have changed a thing that happened. Not one little thing. When he was fourteen and Adam was nine, a friend of his had told him about a book he'd found. Now at a glance, the book was full of nothing but nonsense. A cult, mumbo jumbo that was bound to scare some dumb boys.

None of them actually took any of it seriously, but he'd let him say. himself get drawn into the weird incantations and rituals depicted in the book, and Adam had done so as well. It had been Adam's suggestion that they actually try some of those rituals. He'd never actually believed it would work, but Adam had been persistent, and so to shut him up, he'd agreed to try just one spell. The spell they'd chosen was supposedly supposed to bring rain, and it involved a simple ceremony. One of them would draw a sigil, and the other would place a bell inside of it.

Then one would pour water upon that bell, and strike it three times, then three times more. He and Adam had drawn the sigil exactly as outlined in the book, and performed the ceremony as specified, and then they had waited. Once they'd rung the bell for the last time, Adam had immediately run to the window in the the hope that it would suddenly be pouring rain, but the sun still shone outside, much to his disappointment. He remembered that he'd said,

It's all right, maybe it'll rain tomorrow, in the hope that it might cheer Adam up. Adam had just looked glumly at him and said, Yeah, maybe tomorrow. They hadn't needed to wait that long, though. The rain had come on suddenly before mid-afternoon, and it came down hard. it. He couldn't remember seeing a downpour so bad before or since, and he couldn't forget the ear-to-ear grin that Adam had worn as he realized that their little spell had worked, and that they just tapped into something that only a handful of people ever truly understood.

A couple of days later during school, he'd snuck the book out of his friend's backpack. He'd played dumb when his friend later couldn't find it, and made sure to hide it well inside his room. He didn't want to lose the power that they'd found after all. The rituals continued after that. Always just small things. Summoning snow. On the winter days when they didn't feel like going to school, that year had just so happened to have a record snowfall, conjuring little illusions for their own entertainment. Like children with a loaded gun, they'd played with a power beyond their comprehension. Well, Adam's comprehension. Adam had no interest in the deeper secrets of the book, but he did.

In that ancient text, he read about worlds beyond the one he knew, about impossible beasts with an insatiable hunger, and about rituals that could plot the course of a man's life, in directions he could only have fantasized about, if, of course, one had the stomach stomach to perform them. It seemed worth it. A little sacrifice, in exchange for a life of success. Sure, he would miss Adam. But Adam wouldn't really be dead now, would he?

They'd get plenty of chances to speak again, and when they did, his little brother would be so much more useful to him. He'd performed the ritual one afternoon, while their parents had been out on the boat, and they'd been alone in the cottage. They'd walked down to Bex, as they had so many times before to get their chocolate, soda, and worms. Then they'd walked back. Adam had been smiling, unaware of what was waiting for him. He drank his soda, eaten his chocolate, and run down to the dock so they could start fishing. He didn't see it when he took out the knife. He didn't have a chance to react until the blade was sinking into his flesh, carving the binding ruins into him.

And even then, all he could do was vainly struggle and scream, before he was thrown off the edge of the dock. Adam had tried to resurface, of course, but he'd never make it to land. He'd placed his hands on Adam's shoulders and forced him back under. He'd held him beneath the water, looking into his brother's eyes until he knew that he'd gotten what he wanted. Life seemed to fade from them. But he could still see the ghost of something still there. A hint of lingering consciousness. The body was mostly dead, but the soul lived on, in between the realm of life and death. Adam's eyes, and remained fixed on his and after After taking a deep breath and stealing himself, he asked the first of many questions,

Where should I hide you? It had been almost fifty years to the day since then. He'd asked countless more questions since, questions that Adam had answered, questions about business, about investments, about love, and about the future. For almost fifty years, his oracle had remained bound, but its time was almost up. Many years ago, the book had warned him that this day would come. The ruins would keep Adam bound, but not forever.

There was a time limit. Fifty years was all he could manage. Fifty years, with a body stashed beneath a dock, invisible to all but him. Adam had served him well. He'd been a good little brother. and a better oracle, even if he hadn't been exactly the most willing of servants. But the time had come to cut him loose. He took a drag on his dying cigarette and checked his watch.

He had little over an hour left. Best not to leave this until the last minute. With a stoic expression, he took his gun off the counter and checked it again. Six rounds in the chamber. He imagined he'd only need one to finish this. He took a deep breath as he headed for the door, his pistol in his hand. He descended down the hill towards the dock. The fog seemed to part in front of him, as if allowing him to pass.

The air felt cold and cut through his suit, and the only sound he could hear was the faint but gentle crash of waves across the rocks. The dock creaked under his shoes as he set foot upon it and made his way to the very end. The water around him did not seem to move as he walked. The lake was impossibly still, and its surface reflected everything like a mirror. Yet he knew that as soon as he reached the end, he would see Adam's face clearly beneath the surface, and some primal part of him almost dreaded what he'd see. He reached the end of the dock and forced himself to look down. At first, all he could see was his own reflection. But soon, he could see his own features warping and contorting.

The skin of his reflection turned the sickly green of algae, and the eyes seemed to bulge. He could see the ridges of bone around the sockets, and noticed that the nose and part of the cheek was gone. It was hard to tell where the tattered flesh of the cheek ended, and the moss from the lake began. The sight of it made him cover his mouth and disgust, but the gentle yet knowing smile on Adam's face was enough to make him want to vomit. The reflection had changed from the rotten visage of his own face to the horrible remains of Adam. The Adam he remembered. Just a month shy of ten years old and having been left to rot for the past fifty years. Unable to die, but robbed of his life.

In limbo. All for one man's success. Hello again, Rick. Adam's voice was as he remembered it, but there was a slight wet sound to it that sent a chill through him. The tone was not the same as the one. one he remembered either. Adam had never spoken quite so formally, not until after he'd become an oracle at least. What questions do you bring for me today? No questions this time. He said quietly. No more questions. Oh, have you finally come to set me free? After 50 years, here at the end,

he couldn't bring himself to give an answer. I see. see, waiting until the last moment I see, even when you've left me for so long. He didn't try to justify that. He just quietly raised the gun and aimed it down towards the visage of his brother. Adam stared up at him, waiting patiently. Are you sure you're ready for this? He asked. I killed you 50 years ago. It's still. time, Adam. And you've got nothing to say for yourself, even after all this time. That gave him pause. The gun trembled in his hand before he lowered it. He was silent for a moment, before he finally started. To laugh, you're really asking me for an apology, he asked. You really think I'm going to look back on

everything and regret it all now. No, no, I made my choices. I made them a long time ago. I may not have enjoyed all of it, but I made my choices. I lived my life. So you did. Adam said thoughtfully, as his brother raised the gun again, he looked up into the barrel Before Rick pulled the trigger, the gunshot echoed through the silent lake, and Rick stared down into the rippling water, feeling a way to ease off his shoulders. He'd done it. He'd dealt with his oracle. The circle was closed.

He sighed and lowered the gun before turning around. Perhaps you've lived too much. Adam's voice continued, and he froze. Time is fickle. It gets away from us. Memories fade in old age. It's a natural part of aging. It gets harder and harder to keep track of time over five decades.

You bound me here fifty years ago. As of three days ago. No. No. Oh. Rick turned around to see something moving at the end of the dock. A shape reached out of the water. The hand of a nine-year-old boy, pale as death with sagging skin and algae growing off

of it. Flesh had been nibbled away from the fingertips, revealing bone. But the hand still moved. hand reached up onto the wood of the dock, and Rick took aim at the sickening visage that emerged from the water. The arms, torso, and head resembled Adam, or at least what was left of Adam. But what came out after he lifted his torso onto the dock did not resemble his little brother at all.

It trailed on behind him. A slimy mess of debris and scum from the depths of the lake, trailing weeds, driftwood, and the twitching, rotting fins from countless dead fish. Bits of broken garbage jutted out of his new body, bicycles, tangled fishing wire and fishing lures, and the smell was overpowering. His heart started to race. Rick fired the gun, taking off a chunk of Adam's head. But the thing that Adam had forged himself into was not slowed.

Using his arms to move itself forward, it rushed for him, moving faster than he could have expected. He fired again, but the bullet was lost in the mess of debris that consisted of its body, and he did not get the opportunity to fire a fourth shot. His pale hands grabbed at him, clawing at his throat as he threw his weight onto him, knocking Rick off his feet and pinning him onto the dock. It's okay. I'm ready to move on.

I'm ready to let go. But I want us to go together. You and me. Let's go, Rick. Let's go. His pale hands gripped Rick's shoulders. As he began to sink back into the water of the lake, Rick screamed. He thrashed and sobbed.

He fought, but he could not break free. He desperately tried to grab the planks of the dock to keep himself away from the water, but his fingernails tore from his hands as he was dragged inch by inch to the end of the dock. him only smiled at him, letting him fight, letting him struggle. Rick looked at the cottage, where he'd spent the best days of his life, and desperately reached for it, as if somehow if he only tried long enough, he could grab hold of the door and pull himself to safety. But he'd sealed his own fate long ago.

With a final scream, he was pulled beneath him. He was pulled beneath the surface of the lake and locked within Adam's embrace. The two of them vanished beneath the placid surface, and when the ripple stopped, it sat unbroken amongst the fog as silence set in again.