The Horla’s Big Brother

by Sarah-Maria Khoueiry

Today, I went for a walk. The same route as yesterday, at the same time. I stopped by my

grandmother’s bench and sniffed the roses my father had planted. Their smell was fading for

some reason, and I thought to tell the gardener. I’ve always been alone for my walk. Never

wanted anyone to bother me. But today, he was following me. I could see him behind me, his

steps falling where mine had been a few seconds prior. His nose touching the rose I had picked. I had seen him before, from my window, walking around the garden. Never during my walk.

Never when I was there. Never getting close to my bench or my roses.

Today, three ships sailed across the river outside my window. The sun was bright, today, and I

shielded my eyes while their green and yellow masts continue their journey. This house—my

house—has stood here, overlooking the Seine, for centuries. Everyday I watch the world, but the world never sees me.

Today, three ships sailed and he watched them from the window—my window. I’d seen him

before, never in front of my window, though. Today, He stood right in front of me, and I barely

caught a glimpse of the colours they flew before they were gone. He never saw me, and I never

expected him to. But still.

Today he went too far, don’t you think? I usually tolerated him, you know. I really did. I usually

left him alone. But he crossed a line today. I won’t stand by as he takes what is mine—what’s

always been mine. I would remind him who this house really belonged to. Not to him, or the

relative who bought it. Not to his staff or the zoo he brought with him. I thought he knew, I

assumed he knew. This house was there before him and will still be long after he is gone.

He never saw me, but he will now.

Tonight, my eyes followed him everywhere. Not from a distance, though. Tonight, I walked to

steps behind him, dined with him, slept next to him. I reached for the carafe when I woke up

thirsty. He looked over his shoulder quite a lot. You should’ve seen him, how he kept worrying

that a stranger was following him. It was honestly quite offending how he didn’t recognize me.

You live with someone for over 10 years, and you’d think they’d know what your presence feels

like.

I walked behind him, past him, through him. I emptied the water and the milk juga. I cut the rose

he deigned to reach for, I threw it at his feet. If he would not see me, he would feel me. He could

no longer ignore me. I looked at him through the bushes in the forest, he locked eyes with mine,

he still would not see me.

I saw his distress over the next few months. He felt my eye following him. He left, once, that

July, and I thought I was done with him. For a few days, the house to myself, I stood by my

window again, I opened it wide and felt transported by the light breeze. The roses’ scent was

fainter, but he who had tarnished them was punished.

He came back though, visibly more distressed. Maybe he had insulted another of his hosts and

they were haunting him too. Good. He spent hours in the library trying to understand what was

happening to him. He never did, though. It was fun to watch. Though until he struck the match

that burned my house down. The staff. The animals. The furniture. The ashes grew until the gray mound looked nothing like the majestic house my ancestors had built. I don’t know what he saw in those books. I don’t know if he knew how to read, honestly, because none of them said he

should burn down a house after disrespecting the landlord. Maybe he thought he was getting rid

of me. My spirit is eternal, though. My rage, too.

I guided his steps to the hotel, I put the knife on the vanity in front of him. I whispered in his ear.

He could not see me where he was. He would soon, though.

_______

He wrote his story down, though, before he did it. Fun read if it weren’t for me being casted as

the villain, though. Anyway, I moved to another of my estates soon after. No one has bothered

me in a while, here. Not since I switched to short term rentals. Less messy this way.