The Things We Do for Family
My parents died in a car crash on their way home from dropping me off my freshman year at Stanford. I never got the chance to call and tell them I was all settled in. They lay bleeding out in the street, while I was decorating my room in crimson. It is only because of my roommate Joseph, that I survived. Obviously I was devastated, and spent days straight, hiding under the covers, and alternating between utter rage and abysmal sadness. The only person willing to console me was Joseph, a perfect stranger, who had every right to mind his own business. We would sit, and he would listen while I played Jekyll and Hyde through the five stages of grief. The only things that I ate were prepared by him, and the only human interaction I had revolved around my feelings and his deep brown eyes. He saved me with kindness, compassion, and perfect loyalty. During our talks, he had convinced me to stay and continue school, as I had no home to go back to. I was an only child and my parents were my only relatives, as they were orphaned at a young age and bonded over their struggle in foster care. I had nowhere else to be, so why not stay here and make something of myself, instead of crawling away to a hole to die. “There is honor in sadness, but not cowardice,” he would say. As old fashioned as that sounds, it made sense to me. Joseph was like that, a man out of time. Even now, long after I had climbed out of that hole of destruction, I marvel at the grace he showed in those moments, and contemplated whether or not I would have acted as gallantly. I knew Joseph was my family now. We are brothers, and I owe him my life. On top of babysitting me, he was also able to maintain his grades, and had advocated to the dean on my behalf, delaying the start to my academic year. I’m pretty proud of myself for successfully completing my degree. There is no way I would have finished without Joseph. I used to joke that mine needed both our names on it. After college, we both pursued writing, though in entirely different styles. I used a weak attempt at capturing a voice in nonfiction as distinct as Anthony Bourdain or Hunter S. Thompson, and it allowed me to live hand to mouth. My brother took it upon himself to expose environmental corruption wherever it may hide. He was no doubt blacklisted by numerous big names in the field of carbon emitting fuels, and I was definitely blacklisted from certain restaurants in NYC. The only issue I ever had with Joseph was how little he would tell me of his own family history. We had literally never spoken of it. The only thing he would say was that they lived in Rural Northern California, and that he had left them all behind. After many tries to crack the shell, his insistence on myth overcame. The day he called and asked me to join him in attending his sister’s funeral came as a complete shock. And of course, I readily agreed to support him however he needed. We met in San Francisco from different parts of the globe, and rented a car to drive the remaining six hours north, to the farthest reaches of the state. As we passed farmland, forested mountain lakes and into the volcanic plains, we didn’t talk much. I knew the drill with him, he would speak when he wanted to talk. “It’s funny how rocks don’t change, huh”, he said with a grin at the absurdity of the statement. “They were always the only landmarks to look for. My childhood had no street names, only geolocational descriptions in accordance to big rocks. ” It was the first thing he’d said to me since he stopped in Weed, a tiny town with a funny name off the 5. I still have that lighter he insisted I buy. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised Joe, there are more telephone poles than trees.” Eventually, we turned off the interstate somewhere past a place called Yreka, onto a dirt road and as we did so, Joe’s demeanor began to change. “My family is different than anything you could imagine, Chuck. The land is different up here. I’m sure you’ve heard of Lemurians?” “Ya, the people who supposedly live in Mt. Shasta. No fucking way, you’re a Lemurian,” I joked, with widened, fantastical eyes. “Of course not, but there are people who believe. There are some people who are not wrong to believe there is something different about this place.’ My eyebrows began to retreat into a more concerned furrow. I’d never known my brother to be irrational. “There aren’t people that live “in” the mountain, as far as I know. My parents, and their parents have searched. A community was built out here long ago, searching for the meaning to the mountain, searching to understand the power it can bestow on those that are willing to accept it. Their entire life has been, along with my ancestors, spent looking for the truth that lies out here on these plains at the foot of the volcano. I grew up completely disconnected from society, instead, my family and many others. lived a nomadic lifestyle, out here away from everyone else, looking for the truth to life.” I had decided to support my brother, in whatever way that I could, as a much younger man after many nights thinking back on our quiet talks, remembering his kindness. I had promised myself I would repay him however I could. I would be there for him, and it was with this in mind that I said: “Joe that’s fucking crazy.” He just smiled grimly. “Now you know why we never talked about it.” We spent the next hour jostling down a dirt road that traveled into the horizon unhindered, all the while I asked questions of which he did not answer. It wasn’t until he stopped the car on the side of the road that he finally said anything. We sat for a moment in silence, and Joe’s eyes began to well up and he spoke. “Chuck, I’m sorry it has to be this way. There is no way that I could have explained this to you that would have made sense, but you have to trust me. I will never let anything happen to you. I’m going to need your help here, just do what I ask, and everything will be ok.” With that, he opened his door, and beckoned me to do the same. A I slammed my door, gunshots ripped through my ears. Joseph fired a handgun that I was unaware existed into the air three times and I screamed out of shock. “We need to start walking brother, we can’t miss the funeral,” he said, with brown eyes I had never seen contain so much sadness. My mind was made up a long time ago. I drew strength in my choice. “Sounds good, brother.” It took only twenty minutes for the sun to set after we left the car, and I was completely blind; though, I had a good hold on the back of Joe’s coat to help me keep track of him. Joe was locked in on something I couldn’t see and was sure footed in his march to our unknown destination. For an endless amount of time I huffed and puffed and wondered what the hell was happening. Never once did I feel afraid to die, because I trusted Joe, I knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. For some reason, I felt afraid for Joe. Eventually, a large structure loomed out of the darkness, almost as if by magic. A large yurt made of animal hides was standing prominently, with smaller versions scattered around it. There were torches outside the large yurt, illuminating a towering pillar of smoke emanating from the center of the tent. Two men stood outside the main flap, and it was obvious we were expected. Joe saluted the men with his chest in a fashion I’d never seen, and they allowed us to enter. Inside it was tortuously hot, and filled with people, all of whom would look more at home as an extra in a Conan movie than in the state of California. Little naked children ran about, squealing and playing amongst mothers. Bearded men with braided hair and ornamental beads all stopped talking at once when our presence became aware. All of them had weapons, though none looked intent on their use. In the middle of the tent, sat two chairs, a pit of coals glowing white, and a large tarped object. This is where all eyes merged as the silence of our arrival rippled through the tent. For a long moment, the fantastically dressed couple seated on the thrones gazed upon Joseph in loving contempt. “I am pleased to see you still honor our traditions, we weren’t sure you would come,” the king said. “Of course, father, she was my sister,” he said in measured respect. “Choosing to move on from the mountain does not change my respect for it… for what it has given us. I am here to honor my sibling. I chose to walk another path, not forget who I am. ” The throned man accepted this, and turned to me. “Do you speak English?” “Er, yeah. I do,” I finally choked through my astonishment at the whole situation. “Very well, no time to waste,” he said and clapped his hands together. Immediately a whirl of motion began, as drums beat in earnest. We were pulled bodily, made to move around the center pit. The entire tent groaned throatally together in unison as they undulated together. Next to me, I could hear Joe doing the same, a sound emitting from his chest rather than his mouth, it infected the room and vibrated the yurt in an orchestra of humanity. Strongly, he grabbed my hand and led me to the pit, the mass parting for us, hurrying us toward his mother and father and the shrouded shape. All the while the heat grew as we moved closer to the pit, descending down into the fires, the thrones and coals. Now that I could see, I realized they were not coals, but rocks being super heated by the earth. The volcano, tangible to those who dare. We stood in front of the thrones, holding hands, as Joe’s father began to speak in a deep tone that captured the energy of the junilation and as the beating of the drums crescendoed, he boomed. “Finally, the lost son has returned. We are glad to have him, are we not?” The entire tent chanted YES. The King continued: “Joseph, tell of your sister. Tell of her glory.” After a moment, Joseph, in an equally stunning voice, rejoined. “Marian understood the circle. She understood family. She gave all for me, so that I may try and make a more direct change for our home, for our forgotten brothers and sisters. She is beautiful and wise. She is a worthy voice returned to the many.” Seemingly satisfied, Joseph’s father said: “You accepted the gift, Joseph. It is because of your sister that you are allowed to lead the life you do. She took up your burden. Have you made yourself worthy of this gift?” “That is not for me to decide.” The King was surprised, and proud of this. “Then it is only right that you complete her cycle. From the fires, to the fires, again. “Yes,” Joseph said, looking at the shrouded figure, tears flowing down his face. The king turned and whipped the shroud away to reveal the crucified remains of Joseph’s sister, mottled green and black from days of decomposition. She looked just like Joe, the resemblance would not be betrayed by the rot. Ornately, she had been sliced at the naval and her entrails lay draped amongst a small bouquet of flowers at her feet. The heat, the smells and the sight all culminated in the most intense case of nausea imaginable, and I released it into the pit adding the aroma. I felt like I was going to suffocate, until I felt Joe’s calming touch on my back. I wiped my mouth and stood up straight, remembering that this was a funeral. The king, looking directly at me, continued his speech: “Upon the backs of your brothers, Upon the backs of your sisters, is carried the future of our people. When we become one in that belief, then are we granted the strength of our ancestors. Marian understood this, she sacrificed greatly for Joe in his steed. Her brother chose to lead a path away from the mountain, and her love for him burned brightly while he was wayward; because of this, her life energy collapsed prematurely. Now Joseph, you are here to pay that debt. Are you here to carry your sister, as she has carried you?” Joe looked at me, braced himself, and nodded, his father approaching us.. “And, this,” he pointed at me.”Who is this?” “This is my brother. He is us. He has stared at death and overcome, a warrior unto his own right.” The King looked upon me, unmoved. “I see.” “He is,” Joseph said with force, and it gave me strength. “Very well, Prepare them then.” I was immediately seized, as the drums beat again. Joe and I were moved on a wave of men, as they tore at our clothes, ripping everything away from me. I fought and screamed for Joe, who merely repeated: “Trust me brother, trust me.” Naked, we both were placed in front of the pit, the king booming as the drums beat rhythmically, the masses groaning in unison. “Bound by flesh, these brothers. As those of us are before. A debt paid in flesh deserves return, honor, again restored..” With this, the king reached into the gut pile and began feeding the innards onto the rocks, the sizzle proving what I already knew. Calmly, with his bare hands, this father feeds his daughter into the fire. Stone is the face of the king as he says goodbye to his daughter. “Now, Joseph, kneel before your sister.” Joseph does what he is told, and kneels naked into the fire in front of what is left of his sister; not a sound escapes his lips as he surrenders his tender flesh to the mountain. “Lie with your sister, son,” the king yells over the cacophony. And without hesitation Joe falls face first into the pit, lying there motionless. After an eternity, he rolls aways, steaming and silent. The burns were indescribable, and as the smoke cleared it reveals that his sister and he had become one in the inferno. I ran to his side, looking to embrace where I could, not knowing where he began or the burns ended. My heart ached for him as he lay there smoldering in the dirt, looking up to his father’s approving eyes. His son was an honorable man, and had proved so again. “Your brother needs you now, take him upon your back; as he has no doubt done for you.” “Yes,” I said, turning to look at his face, tears evaporating from my cheeks. I picked up my brother’s naked and mutilated body and draped him over myself, knowing what my purpose in the funeral was. I walked from the yurt, through the pitch black night, unclothed, as our skin, charred and soft, combined through the rigor. Somehow, I marched us back to the car, though the strength by which I achieved this feat did not come from me, but rather through me. I spoke with Joseph about everything we knew, keeping us company in the cold still, moonless prairie, but only his gusting breath in my ear proved his vitality. It was daybreak when I finally made it to the car, and had to peel myself away from my brother. Joseph made me promise not to take him to the hospital, as he lay mushing into the seat of our rental car. Obviously, I thought that was insane, but at the moment, insanity wasn’t a definable concept to me, so I plowed through the night back to Weed and found a motel. Through crackling, ragged breaths, he instructed me to fill the tub with ice, to lay him down upon it, and leave him until his call. I’m still not sure how he was able to convince me, but I did what he asked, I felt like I had to, even though I was almost certain that I was laying him down to die an agonizing death. For three days, I sat in the room next to his tub, absolutely driving myself insane. I tried to write down everything that I had experienced, if only to prove to myself it couldn’t have happened. Writing and rewriting, trying to find words to put to the experience, trying to put a voice to ideas that only seemed to live in a feverish nightmare I had imagined. Finally, after I had lost all hope, my brother spoke to me; an urgency flashed through my being and I knew it was time. I flew through the door of our motel room to find him unburned, though aged markedly. His joy at my sight thronged vibrantly in my soul, this newly felt connection exciting and terrifying. Though we were alone in the room, I now felt the presence of many others. “Upon the backs of your brothers, Upon the backs of your sisters, is carried the future of our people.” It took a few more days for us to leave, and before we did we drove out to the mountain so we could say goodbye. There was no sign of the family. We returned the rental car, and paid a horrific cleaning fee for what became of the backseat. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was blacklisted there as well. That was the last time I had actually heard from Joe. Ten years without a spoken word, yet our bond informs me of him. We are connected through family, through voices in the aether. Which is why, a couple days ago, I could feel the news hit him, and then me. His call a few minutes later confirmed what I had already known. My life’s goal was to explain how I felt about my parents death to the world– I wanted to show through sarcastic wit and charm that I was not affected by the loss of my family. Stupidly, I tried to forget my past and start anew, instead of accepting and growing with who I now carried with me. After the funeral of my half-sister, a new chapter opened in my life, one that has led to a sense of inner peace and acceptance. A few days ago Joseph’s father died, and it is time for another funeral. It’s time to help my brother prove his worth again. “Upon the backs of our brothers, Upon the backs of our sisters, is carried the future of our people.” Credit: EdGeinEtsy Official Site Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.