A Family of Five
I grew up in what many would call a blessed home. We weren’t rich, but we were happy. My parents, my younger brother, my little sister, and I... the eldest. We laughed often, shared meals together, and carried one another’s burdens. People admired us, and sometimes, I felt proud to be the first child of such a family. My brother was playful and stubborn, my sister was innocent and sweet, and I loved being their guide.
But what seemed perfect began to crack. Slowly, something dark crept in. It wasn’t visible to outsiders, but I felt it first. My place in the family shifted from cherished firstborn to something else entirely. It began quietly, just before my future was supposed to unfold.
The night before my first university entrance exam, I couldn’t sleep. My father stood silently at the base of my bed. I thought he was worried about me, but when it happened again before every exam, I realized it wasn’t ordinary. I would wake restless, drained, and fail. For three years, the cycle continued. By day, he was kind. By night, he was different... cold, almost possessed. Sometimes, I believed he was unaware; other times, I was certain he knew. That double face haunted me.