And No One Stopped Them | Part 6
My Sociopath Brother’s Relentless Reign of Terror Reaches New Lows
I was five when he became a master in the art of torment
I was five.
Crouching down behind my bed in my undershirt and panties, I prayed that my parents had forgotten it was the first day of school. I’d been dreading it for as long as I could remember.
“Just wait’ll you get to school,” my older brother, Paul, had said. “They have a dungeon there, and a torture chamber. It’s horrible and dark, cold and smelly. They’ll hang you by chains from the walls and you won’t be allowed to eat. They’ll whip you and beat you!”
His eyes twinkled and danced. “Your teacher will look like a nice little old lady with grey hair. She will say she is called Miss Sparling. The room will look really cheerful with lots of colours and toys and little desks. But as soon as all the parents are gone, Miss Sparling will turn into a huge, scary monster with really big teeth and claws. And there will be a big trap door in the floor that opens up and you’ll fall into the dungeon.”
