I don't have a little brother, but I'm starting to worry that something may have happened to him. You know, they say the human brain isn't so much an information processor as it is an information ignorer. Think about it: At this moment you're not thinking about the skin on the top of your left foot are you? Or at least, you weren't until I said that. The same way you're not thinking about how that wall looks behind your screen, even though your eyes are transferring data about it constantly, am I right? Everyone's been through the experience of being unable to find a toy or shirt in their room until their mom walks in and picks it up off the ground even if it was hiding in plain view. Your brain and body are constantly, continually, effectively, causing you to ignore the vast majority of the sensory information that you receive so you can better focus on what's "important." At least, that's my current best theory as to why it took me falling face-first into a notebook for me to notice it. I picked the notebook up and flipped it open, scanning the stained red cover. My eyes slid across it as if the material were slippery, my mind seemingly attempting to get me to ignore it. I fought, gripping the page and opening the cover. A child had written on the inside with a pencil. *Ben Christiansen, Fourth Grade Enlgish Mrs. Richards.* My mouth felt dry. Just below the scrawled writing was my own handwriting. "Love ya Benny Bro! Mrs. Richards was my English teacher too, so I'll tell her to take it easy on you." I'd apparently written below one of the smiling hearts that I like to draw. I had absolutely no memory of writing that message. My last name is Christiansen, but I have no relatives named Ben, and I'm an only child. A child sharing my last name and some phantom writing typically wouldn't have been enough to freak me out like this, but the notebook felt so profoundly *wrong.* It felt like I was staring into one of the floodlights at the high school football stadium. My mind rebelled, telling me to throw it away, to forget, to stop looking. My arm itched, and I brushed it away absent-mindedly as I shot to my feet. My mom was in her study working on the computer. "Mom," I called out. "Take a look at this." "Hmmm?" She said, still staring at the computer with a politely disinterested expression. "Have you seen this notebook before?" I asked, laying it out on the desk. "What notebook?" she asked. "This one." I pointed to the open page where the child's writing laid beside my own. My mom gave the barest of glances before looking back at the computer. "No Honey, and I don't have time for whatever this game is." "What do you mean?" I said, pointing down at the page. "It's right--" Something bumped my finger. I pulled my hand back, startled to discover that new writing had appeared. *How many doors are there on the second floor?* "How many doors are there on the second floor?" I read aloud. How had new writing... Something caught my sweatshirt as I stepped back, snatching up the notebook. I pulled myself free and headed for the stairs. I ran up the stairs and began counting. There were three doors, of course. A bathroom, my parent's room, my room, and... I stared at the fourth door, my eyes gliding across a pair of Minecraft and Fortnite posters the way they had the notebook. I'd never noticed those posters before, though the room faced directly opposite the room I'd lived in for fifteen years. I opened this new door, my hand and mind rebelling as I stepped into a toy-and-clothes strewn eight-year-old-boys room. I stepped forward feeling lightheaded, unsure of what to do. "Mom?" I called out weakly. Then the lights turned off on their own. I stared at the single switch as it moved back to lit, trying to process what I was seeing. The switch was somehow blocked, covered by a pink fleshy... My eyes widened, following the obstruction and focusing, fighting against my every instinct. A young boy stood in the room with me, eyes red with tears and nose dripping with snot. "Julie?" he called out between sobs. "Can you finally see me?" /r/WorchesterStreet