[FULL STORY] What’s the worst part about being the “responsible” sibling?

A Ghost in the Hallway

My brother, Mikey, found our dead little sister, Alice, on the side of the road. She had gotten into a car accident.

He held her on the highway for 20 minutes before paramedics arrived.

“Wake up, Lala, please wake up.” he kept saying.

When we got home, Mikey walked around like a ghost for weeks. He left her bedroom door open, her music still paused mid-song on her laptop.

“Mark, could you make her mac and cheese tonight? The way she liked it with extra butter.” he asked me.

While I cooked, Mikey scrolled through her Instagram on repeat in the living room. At first, it felt healing to keep her memory alive.

Chills Down My Spine

Mom and Dad moved across the state to get away from it all, so it felt like my responsibility to keep him sane. But as summer turned to fall, Mikey’s grief shifted into something unsettling.

He started sleeping on her bedroom floor.

“I can’t leave her alone, Mark. What if she gets scared?” he was telling me.

At 2:00 in the morning, I’d find him reading to her stuffed animals. I suggested grief counseling, and he actually went three times, but then I found the therapist’s business card torn up in the trash.

One October night when I came downstairs, he called me Alice in the dark kitchen.

“Sorry, Mark, you just moved like her for a second.” he immediately corrected himself.

His correction sent chills down my spine because something in his voice had changed.

“Mikey, I’m Mark, your brother.” I reminded him.

He nodded without blinking, but he started slipping more. I tried convincing myself it was just his way of coping.

Then he started buying me her favorite snacks. Pink nail polish kept appearing on my dresser.

“Thought you might like it.” he’d say.

When I said it was Alice’s color, he’d whisper, “Exactly,” with this distant smile.

The Halloween Recital

One morning I woke up to find him organizing Alice’s schedule on my calendar.

“She has dance at 3, Mark. We can’t let her miss it.” he said through tears when I asked what he was doing.

That was the last time he used my real name. I knew something terrible was building, but nothing prepared me for Halloween morning.

I woke up to him sitting on my bed with Alice’s princess costume laid out, her favorite tiara polished, and her ballet shoes cleaned.

“Time to get ready, princess. The recital is today.” he smiled and said.

I sat up fast. “Mikey, what the hell is this?”

Suddenly I felt dizzy when I tried to stand.

“You’ve been so tired lately, Alice, so I put something in your orange juice to help you rest.” he smiled.

I sat there helpless as he pulled out her diary.

“Remember when you wrote about wanting to be a ballerina? Today’s your big day.” he opened it, saying.

I shook my head hard. “Mikey, please, you’re scaring me. I’m Mark.”

But his eyes looked through me. When I knocked the costume away, he grabbed my shoulders hard.

“Why are you being difficult, Alice?” he said.

I yelled, “Alice is dead! I’m Mark! I’m your brother!”

His face contorted, and he screamed, “Stop lying! You’re my sister! You’ve always been my sister!”

He tried forcing the tiara on my head.

“You promised you’d dance for Mom and Dad. You promised.” he was saying.

I shoved him, yelled, “Get off me!” and ran for the door.

As I stumbled down the hall, he called, “Alice, come back! The recital starts soon!”

I barely locked myself in the bathroom before he caught up.

“I spent weeks planning this. You can’t miss your recital. Please, Alice. I know you’re scared, but I’ll be there.” he pounded on the door.

When I didn’t respond, his tone turned desperate.

“Alice, open up. Big brothers protect their sisters. Let me protect you.”

I wanted to call for help, but my phone was in my room. When I heard him getting tools, I screamed, “Help! Somebody help me!”

The Intervention

Thank God our neighbor, Mrs. T, heard. Mikey had just removed the doorknob when she started knocking.

“Mikey, is everything all right?” she called out.

“Everything’s fine, Mrs. T. Alice is just nervous about her recital.” he called out sweetly.

But Mrs. T yelled back, “Mikey, honey, Alice is gone. I’m calling for help.”

I sobbed, “I’m not Alice! I’m Mark!”

Mrs. T must have called 911 because soon there was pounding.

“Police! Open up!”

They found him trying to put the tutu on me.

“Officers, she needs to get dressed. The recital is in an hour.” he was telling them.

Even in handcuffs, he cried, “Alice, tell them about your dance.”

One officer asked, “Son, what’s your name?”

I choked out, “Mark, his brother.”

Mikey started thrashing.

“He’s confused. That’s Alice, my baby sister.”

As they led him away, he kept yelling, “Alice, I’ll film your recital! I promise!”

The Cemetery Call

He was placed in psychiatric hold. I thought that was the end until two months later the call came at 3:00 a.m.

Mikey had escaped the facility and was arrested at the cemetery. They found him with a shovel, her grave half excavated.

“She’s been calling me. She wants to come home.” he was telling police.

The facility administrator’s voice cracked through the phone. Dr. Brennan explained how Mikey had spent weeks befriending Sarah Peen, an orderly who’d lost her own sister five years ago.

He’d convinced her that I was the one who needed help, that I was holding Alice captive in my grief. Sarah had given him her key card, thinking she was helping reunite siblings.

I drove to the county hospital in a daze. The waiting room fluorescent lights buzzed overhead while I filled out paperwork for his 72-hour psychiatric hold.

My hands shook as I wrote his information, still processing how he’d manipulated his way out. The nurse behind the desk kept glancing at me with sympathy.

My phone rang from an unknown number. Against my better judgment, I answered.

Mikey’s whisper made my blood freeze. He was calling from the nurse’s station phone, speaking so quietly I had to strain to hear.

He told me Alice was cold underground, that she needed her favorite blanket. The nurse caught him and took the phone away, but not before I realized he’d memorized my number from staff records.

A Web of Deception

Dr. Brennan met me in the hospital cafeteria the next morning. She spread out incident reports across the sticky table.

Three different facility workers had filed complaints about feeling manipulated, but only after his escape. Mikey had shown them videos on a smuggled phone—edited clips of me yelling.

What they didn’t know was that I’d been yelling at Mikey, not Alice. He’d cropped the footage to make it look like abuse.

Sarah Peen found me in the parking lot after her shift. She looked exhausted, guilt written across her face.

She handed me photocopies of journal entries she’d found in Mikey’s room. Page after page detailed his plans to rescue Alice from Mark’s prison.

The entries dated back months, showing careful observation of staff schedules and security protocols.

The insurance coordinator pulled me aside that afternoon. Extended psychiatric care required family consent and would only cover 30 days without additional authorization.