Ben dropped the journal. It fell open to the final entry.
“December 24, 1974. I learned the truth. Our Kuya didn’t die in the war. He was never born. He was the first dream this house ever had—and a dream, if you feed it enough family, becomes real. Tonight, I will feed it nothing. Tonight, I lock myself in the library. If you’re reading this, apo… run. The house has already chosen its next Kuya.”
The lock turned with a sound like a knuckle cracking.
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“June 3, 1974. They say the firstborn son carries the family’s shame. But what if the shame is hungry? What if it has teeth?”
(original work)
Then the walls began to whisper.
Ben’s blood went cold. He’d never known Lola had a brother. A Kuya .
Ben looked up. The rocking chair was no longer empty.
That night, Ben didn’t go home. He stayed in the library, reading by flashlight. Around 11:47 PM, the rocking chair moved. Not much—just a single, deliberate rock forward. Ben dropped the journal
“Why you?” his older brother, Kuya Eric, sneered, wiping sweat from his brow after hauling another box of Lola’s rosaries to the curb. “You barely visited.”
“Come, Ben. You’re the eldest now. Let me show you what lives in the walls.”
He called out, “Kuya Eric?”
No answer from his brother. But something else answered.
Not words. Names. All male. All firstborns. “Ramon… Ricardo… Emmanuel…” —Eric. His brother’s name hissed from the cracks between the wooden panels.