My name is Johnny Mantell I was born on June 6th in the year 1997, and this is the story of how my brother died. I was born in a small town called Caripen, which is right the right on the Canadian-Alaskan border. I don’t remember much from my early childhood, just that my parents took care of me and that my brother was born. My parents named him Freddie, due to their love for Freddie Mercury. Which I can see why they liked him, he was a good singer and… sorry im getting off topic. Anyway when my little brother was born my mom suffered a lot of hemorrhaging and was taken into intensive care. My parents didn’t know it at the time, but Freddie was born with autism.
Sadly about 20 minutes after his birth my mother passed away due to her injuries. My dad never really did get over her death, and continued to mourn her even through our teenaged years. Later in life we moved to Los Angeles and our father had to go to work most days into the late night to support us. So I was left to take care of Freddie while dad was away. It wasn’t actually that bad, he kept me company and I really learned alot about him. I eventually gave him the nickname “Mask Boy” because he often put his hands over his face like a mask. He actually seemed to respond to it, which seemed odd.
It continued on like this probably until my 14th birthday when dad came home and told us that he wanted to spend more time with us so he would get a part time job. Even though he promised us this he still was gone quite a lot most days. I never really bothered to wonder where he was going considering I had school and my brother to attend to. Somedays he would bring a woman over or he would get home in the early morning around dawn. But as I said before, I had more important things to deal with.
One night though completely changed what I need to worry about. Around 1am there was a loud crash at the front door. I went to investigate and as I opened the door my father stumbled into the living room reeking of boozes. I figured he was drunk and as I tried to help him, I felt a sharp pain pierce my stomach. As I looked down I noticed the infuriated look in his eyes, and also the knife that had been plunged into my abdomen. He pushed me to the ground, and pulled the knife from my stomach. He leaned over me as if ready to stab me again, and I knew it was the end. But before the knife touched my flesh once more, he stopped and got up. My brother was standing in one the hall staring at me lying on the ground. He didn't seem to notice our father standing over me and he made his way to where I was on the ground. He was nearly a couple of feet away when dad threw a punch right across his face. He knocked Freddie to the ground and repeatedly threw punches at him, hitting Freddie with all his fury. Out of the wailing and sounds of my dad beating him, I felt my heart drop thinking that this was the end for the both of us. I could feel myself slipping away and eventually I fell unconscious.
The next thing I remember was waking up on the floor. I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was Freddie lying across the room in a pool of blood. I was weak and still bleeding, but I managed to work up enough strength to crawl over to him. I nudged him to see if he was alive. There was no response…
I grasped his hands and they felt cold. I called to him saying, “Mask Boy wake up….” But still he did not respond. I cried for a while nudging and calling him over and over in a final effort to wake him up, but I knew he was gone. As a sign of respect for him, I took his hands and put them over his face the same way he use to. I told him that I loved him as a brother and as a best friend.
Seeing as I was going to die if I didn't get help I crawled to the kitchen. With what was left of my strength I pulled myself up to the counter and turned on the kitchen stove. I picked a knife out of the knife drawer and held it over the open flame. The metal turned a low tone red and I could feel the heat through the handle. My vision began to blur again so I had to act quickly. I took the glowing knife and pushed it into the open wound. A fiery pain filled my body and I screamed at the top of my lungs. I pulled the knife out and looked down at wound. The flesh had cauterized over and stopped the bleeding. Even though my bleeding problem was over I still needed help, and seeing as I was scared that dad was lurking around somewhere. I grabbed the house phone and dialed 911. I told them as much as I could remember and they arrived about ten minutes later.
They searched the house and finally found where dad was at. He was lying dead in his bedroom, a 45 colt in hand. They didn’t let me go in and see him, but instead had an officer describe it to me. I told them to leave Freddies hands over his face when they put him in the body bag, and they did. Seeing as I was all alone I was sent to my uncle’s house to be taken care of. We held a funeral for them about a week after it happened.
Now my dad and Freddie are buried next to mom’s grave in the graveyard on the east side of town. I still go see them ever thursday. My dad and brother are buried a couple graves apart, and even though he almost killed me I forgive my father. When Freddie was buried my uncle gave me the task of carving the letters. I wrote his name, date of birth, and death like gravestones usually have. Then underneath it all I carved, “The kindest person you could have ever met, Mask Boy.”