Three months later...

Olek Neigeson did not want this day to come. He did not want to see the day when he had to lay his own brother to rest. Olek lay on top of his bed, staring at the ceiling with dead blue eyes. Since they were born, they have been inseparable.

Now separated by death, he had overheard Marilyn Pyro saying to Akaljot Bjorndottir. She was not wrong, either.

A knock came from the front door. He could not bring himself to answer it.

He heard the door open and close, footsteps approaching.

"Still not ready?" asked Akaljot, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe.

Olek said nothing.

"I miss him, too, Olek. We must lay him to rest. It is the least we owe Volodomyr."

Olek flinched at his brother's name.

Volodomyr. Funny, handsome, light-hearted Volodomyr Neigeson. Dead. Killed months ago, by a witch and her puppet soldiers. Shot in the chest three times. He could still feel his twin brother's blood on his hands---feel the body slowly getting colder.

Olek's breathing became ragged as he sat up and braced his elbows on his knees. His head in his hands. His whole body shook as the memory of his brother's death took him---of the rage that followed taking the lives of innocent, enslaved men.

He could see it all as clear as day. He could see the blood blooming on Volodomyr's chest like flowers, the near constant smile fading---Olek might as well have watched himself die.

"Look at me," Akaljot said, closer this time.

Olek shuddered as he saw one of the innocent men he had impaled. The man screamed in agony as Olek had twisted the spear before turning three different guards into human kabobs.

Akaljot gently pulled Olek's hands away, forcing him to look into Akaljot's green eyes.

"Breathe in," he said. "Hold it. Slowly exhale."

Olek did as he was told. After repeating the process a few more times, he felt calmer, his breathing more stable.

"So, the student becomes the master," Olek muttered.

Akaljot laughed. "I would not be 'the student' if it were not for you."

A smile ghosted across Olek's face.

Akaljot had been on the verge of death for he had refused to light a fire to keep warm. When Olek had lit a fire for him, Akaljot screamed and cowered away from it. It took him hours to break Akaljot out of the flashback, and then days to get him to speak.

"That's another thing we can thank my cousin for," Akaljot had said for the first time in days. "Pyrophobia, and the image of soldiers being burned alive."

"It was either that or let you freeze to death," Olek muttered. "Besides, you outlived your insane cousin."

Akaljot stood up and pulled Olek to his feet. "Get dressed, Neigeson. We have a funeral to attend."

***

Olek lifted the large, pale blue coffin that contained his brother's corpse onto his shoulder. Akaljot put his hand on his shoulder. Olek did the same.

They marched forward slowly, their black boots crunching in the snow. They marched into the cemetery, their breath fogging up in front of them.

A small crowd of people dressed in black gathered around a plot.

They set the coffin down beside a freshly dug hole that was six feet deep and was the same length and width. Olek stepped back, letting the priest start the ceremony.

A scratching sound reached Olek's ears, distracting him. He looked around for the source of it. Then his eyes landed on the coffin.

The scratching stopped.

Olek sighed.

The muffled scream of a madman came from the coffin---fists pounding on the lid.

"Olek!" his younger brother screamed from within the coffin. "Olek, help me! I am not dead! I am not dead!"

Olek clamped his hands over his ears. He could not bear the sound of Volodomyr's insane, inhuman screams.

"Olek!" he pleaded, his fists still hammering on the coffin. "Olek, please, help me! Olek, get me out! Olek, I am not dead! I am not dead!"

They started lowering Volodomyr's coffin into the hole and covered it with dirt. Volodomyr's racket grew more desperate as he clawed, banged, and screamed

Olek could not take it anymore. He had to free his brother. Olek sprang from his seat towards the coffin. He felt hands grab him by the shoulders and yank him back. Olek's hair fell in front of his eyes.

"Olek. Olek, stop!" Akaljot shouted, pulling Olek back.

"He's still alive!" Olek shouted, struggling against his friend. "Volodomyr is still alive! You are burying him alive!"

Akaljot moved in front of him and began to push him back. "He is dead, Olek! Volodomyr is dead! Volodomyr has been dead for three months, Olek!"

Olek stopped struggling and leaned on Akaljot.

He painstakingly watched the coffin disappear under the soil. His brother's screaming did not stop.

"Olek!" Volodomyr sobbed. "Olek, get me out! Please, get me out of here!"

Olek cried as they finished piling the soil on top. Volodomyr's ruckus ceased as over a hundred cubic feet of coil was piled on top.

Akaljot looked Olek in the eyes.

"Let's go get a drink or two," he said, looping his arm around Olek's shoulders. "We need to get some colour into you---I can barely tell where your forehead ends, and your hair begins."

***

A light snow had begun to fall by the time Olek had gotten home. His cheeks were rosy from both the cold and the drinks Akaljot had bought them. He wanted to go to sleep.

Olek flopped down onto his bed, letting sleep take him.

When he woke, it was still dark. The light snow from earlier was still falling.

Someone was crying. It was quiet, but he could still hear it. Olek got up from his bed. He walked around his flat, the streetlamps outside guiding him.

"Hello?" he called out.

The person wailed. Olek made his way to the sitting room. Olek saw a man on his knees, his back to him.

He was dressed in all white. His skin was as pale as his snowy white hair. Olek crouched down beside the man, his hand on his shoulder.

"Volodomyr?" he asked.

Volodomyr whirled on Olek, his hands on his brother's throat. Olek tried to get up, tried to shove his brother off him, but Volodomyr was too heavy.

"You killed me," he snarled. "You buried me alive, Olek Neigeson. Now you will pay!"

Volodomyr's grip on Olek's throat tightened. Olek grabbed Volodomyr's wrists.

"Please," he mouthed. "Volodomyr, please."

The corners of his vision darkened, black spots swimming. He could not breathe, could not breathe, could not breathe.

Frost crept up Volodomyr's arms, but he did not seem bothered by it. Olek started gasping for air, clawing Volodomyr's wrists and arms. Volodomyr pinned Olek with his knees.

Olek's eyes started watering, and he ceased struggling.

Kill me, he thought. Kill me, brother. Let me see you, our parents, and Aunt Aneira again. Kill me, Volodomyr, because I deserve it for not saving you.

Volodomyr's eyes softened. "Save me, Olek. Bring me to life. Bring me somewhere where no one can hurt us again."

Olek shrieked, sitting up and kicking away the covers. His hair hung limp and sweaty. He slowed his breathing.

"Save me, Olek," he had said.

Olek got up. He stumbled to the bathroom and splashed icy water onto his face. He took off his black vest, leaving him in his white tunic. He stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He was pale as a sheet, his eyes wide in terror.

His reflection smirked. "Save me, Olek," it said.

Olek started backing away. The pressure in the room started to drop.

His reflection put a fist on the mirror, the smirk turning into a madman's grin. "Save me, Olek Neigeson. Save me. You know where to find me. Save me!"

Ice spread across the mirror, concealing his reflection from him. It did not stop his reflection from speaking to him.

"Save me, Olek!" it shouted. "You know where to find me, so save the person you love!"

Olek clamped his hands over his ears, sinking to his knees. "Shut up. Shut up! Shut up!"

The voice became a chorus---slowly becoming louder and louder. Wind started to pick up. Did he leave the window open? Olek screamed. The wind howled in his ears, and he heard glass shattering from a distance. Olek screamed until his lungs gave out. The wind stopped; the voices had ceased.

He looked around him. Glass shards from the mirror were scattered everywhere, ice crawled up the walls.

If I save him, all of this will stop, he thought.

Olek got up and started looking for a pen and paper. Once he found them, he wrote a note. He set the note on the counter in the kitchen. He grabbed a shovel and some rope from the front closet, took his navy-blue cloak, and ran out into the streets.

He could not see anything in the whiteout. Not the streetlamps as he passed or even his own feet. He heard his brother screaming out to him---screaming for Olek to save him. Olek followed Volodomyr's screams like a starving man finding food.

The wind tore and nipped at Olek's exposed skin. Snowflakes felt like tiny shards of glass on his face.

He stumbled into the cemetery, his brother's screams getting louder. Olek stumbled, row after row of gravestones passing him by. He turned down the tenth row, running to his brother. He stopped in front of the stone that read Volodomyr Neigeson---Son of Fannar, respected soldier.

"Save me, Olek!" his brother screamed. How it was not muffled from the dirt and coffin was beyond him. Volodomyr must be screaming at the top of his lungs. "Olek, please. I cannot breathe, I cannot breathe---"

Olek set the rope down in the snow and started hacking away at the earth below him. He dug even as his fingers and toes became numb. Olek dug until he could see the lid of

Volodomyr's coffin. He got down onto his hands and knees, brushing the excess dirt off the lid. Volodomyr had ceased screaming.

"I'm here, brother," said Olek.

Olek summoned all his magic, pressed his hands onto the lid, and turned it into ice. The wind picked up, snow blowing everywhere. He cried out and the frozen lid broke like glass, the shards cutting his hands.

Olek peered down into the coffin. Volodomyr Neigeson lay within, his eyes closed. His hands were folded over his chest, the grey pallor of his skin looked like stone. His hair was wiry from decomposition.

Olek carefully took his brother out of the coffin. The dirt stained the white tunic and pants he wore when they buried him there. He carefully hauled Volodomyr out of the hole and set him down in the snow. With a wave of his hand, snow flew into the coffin.

Olek picked up his shovel and began piling dirt back into the hole he dug. He packed the soil, making it look like Volodomyr's corpse was still in the coffin.

He hefted the length of rope onto his shoulder and picked up his brother's corpse. "Let us go, brother. We are going to a place where no one can hurt us."

***

The sun was shining, and Akaljot's breath fogged up in front of him. He stood on the stoop to Olek's flat, trying to get him to open the door for him.

"Don't leave him alone," Marilyn Pyro had told him. "Gods know what he'll do without his brother to keep him in check."

"Olek! Open the door!" he shouted, knocking again.

He waited another couple of minutes. Akaljot shook his head and opened the door, muttering curses his father would smite him for. The minute he stepped inside, a chill snaked up his spine.

"Olek?" he asked, his voice echoing throughout the flat.

Akaljot strode to the back of the flat. He assumed Olek was having another day where he felt like he could not get out of bed. Akaljot stopped inside the doorway to Olek's bedroom. His bed was empty.

"Olek?"

Akaljot ran to the bathroom, praying to his father and the gods that Olek was nursing a hangover.

Akaljot's eyes ballooned to dinner plates. The bathroom looked like a tornado blew through it---the glass from the mirror in shards on the floor.

Akaljot ran through the house, tearing open closets and any other hiding places where the God of Winter's son could hide. He stopped in the kitchen, his hands in his hair, his mind going several miles a minute.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a note. He scrambled to pick up the piece of paper. Akaljot took several minutes to make out what Olek had messily written.

Do not come looking for me.

Akaljot sank to his knees and cried.

_____________________

Hey, peoples! It's Alexis here! I don't normally put Author's Notes in my stories, so forgive me for this (very crappy) one. I originally wrote The Grieving Man as a short story for English class, but then decided to make the contents of it canon for my Light-Bringer series. I do hope that you've enjoyed this short horror story (originally inspired by Edgar Allen Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart), and I would love to hear any theories that you may have down in comments' section of the story—be warned though, I will neither confirm nor deny your theory. 

Without further adieu, I hope that the rest of your day is amazing and that you all keep on being the amazing human beings I know you can be ^^