My Dead Brother Possessed a Dog to Steal My Life

It was the third day after my younger brother, Cochran Ceberano, died in a car crash.

Mom's eyes were swollen from crying as she placed the brown toy poodle in my arms.

"Erika, this is Teddy. Your brother is gone, and this toy poodle is the only thing he left behind for us to remember him by. You have to take good care of him for Cochran's sake."

Dad stood right beside her, his eyes also glistening with tears.

"This dog was closest to your brother. Cochran loved Teddy more than anything when he was still alive. If you can't even handle such a simple thing for him, you don't deserve to have called yourself his sister for the past 20-odd years."

I looked down at the dog. He was nothing like the sweet, obedient pup I'd seen at Cochran's place before. Curled up in my arms, he kept baring his teeth at me.

Before I could say a word, he opened his mouth and bit down hard on the back of my hand. I sucked in a sharp breath from the pain.

Mom didn't seem concerned at all.

"Teddy's just a bit stressed out from being in a new environment," she explained flatly. "Don't take it personally."

"Just spend more time with him. He'll warm up to you eventually," Dad chimed in.

I stared at the bleeding puncture marks on the back of my hand, saying nothing. I knew this wasn't stress.

It had been exactly the same in my previous life. He bit me on the first day, scratched me on the second, and peed in my food on the third.

Back then, I'd thought he was just an unruly dog. Not wanting to upset my parents, I did everything I could to win him over.

I bought him the best dog food, took him downstairs for walks, and even let him sleep next to me in bed so he wouldn't get cold at night.

None of it worked. He continued biting me without hesitation.

Yet, whenever Dad petted him, he'd roll over and ask for belly rubs. When Mom held him, he'd lick her hands. He'd even wag his tail when the delivery guy showed up.

I was the only person he bit whenever he laid eyes on me. He bit my hands, my ankles, and my calves. There was no escaping him.

Whenever I suggested rehoming him, Dad would fly into a rage. "He's the only piece of your brother left in this world, and you can't even tolerate him? How can you be so cruel and heartless?"

Mom didn't say a word. She just held Teddy in her arms and cried. And the dog, nestled in her arms, would tilt his head at me and look at me with eyes full of smug satisfaction.

And so I endured it all. I endured it for 49 days.

During the day, I kept having auditory hallucinations, constantly imagining I could hear a dog barking. At night, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I dreamed of him chasing me down and mauling me, and I'd startle awake, drenched in cold sweat.

I went to the hospital, but the doctor said there was nothing physically wrong with me. It was psychological, and I needed to relax.

Mom and Dad grew increasingly impatient with me.

"Why are you being so petty over a dog?"