Stop Looking for Him—He Is in My Stomach
MY BROTHER'S VARSITY ROOM MATE TOOK HIS LIFE AND ATE HIM. THIS HAPPENED IN 2008 AND HERE'S A VIDEO OF HOW HE DID IT BUT I'LL ALSO TRY TO SUMMARIZE.
I am a broken sister. My heart is shattered, and my soul carries a weight too heavy to bear. My brother went missing in June 2008, and what we later discovered still haunts me to this day.
My brother was full of life, full of dreams. He left home in 2008 to start university, excited for a new beginning. He was assigned a room with a foreign roommate, a man who would later turn out to be a nightmare. From the very first day, my brother told us that something was off about him.
At first, it was little things—his roommate was quiet, withdrawn, and barely spoke. My brother tried to be friendly, greeting him every day, but the man would just stare at him blankly, as if he wasn’t even there. Then, the strange behaviors began.
My brother told us that in the middle of the night, he would wake up to find his roommate lighting black candles around the room. Sometimes, in his sleep, the man would mutter chilling words—“Yes, demon, I will make it happen. Just give me more time.” My brother was terrified, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Maybe the man had a strange way of practicing his religion, he thought.
Then there was the issue of food. His roommate hated the smell of cooked meat. He only ate raw, bloody meat. My brother would come back to the room and find him sitting in the dark, chewing on pieces of raw meat like an animal. The sight disturbed him, but he still tried to avoid conflict.
But the scariest part? The man had sudden mood swings. Some days, he acted almost normal. Other days, he wouldn’t speak at all. His eyes would go dark, filled with something my brother couldn’t describe—something evil.
Then, one day, my brother went missing.
We searched for him everywhere. The police investigated, but nothing turned up. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Our family was drowning in grief, desperate for answers. Where was he? Who took him? Was he still alive?
Then, one day, the police called us. They had found something.
The roommate’s father had contacted them after breaking into his son’s locked bedroom at home. He had always been suspicious of his son’s behavior. The room was always locked, and the hallway outside smelled foul. There was chili pepper sprinkled under the door, and when he finally forced his way in, what he saw made him sick to his stomach.
Blood. Blood on the walls, on the sheets, on the floor. The stench of death filled the air. And in the deep freezer, he found them—a human head and a severed hand.
The father called the police immediately, and they went straight to the university to arrest his son. When they brought him in for questioning, he sat there, cold and unbothered. And then, in the most chilling voice, he said something that will haunt me forever.
"Stop looking for him. He is in my stomach."
My brother was gone. Killed. Eaten. His organs were devoured, his body parts used for dark rituals. The nightmare we had feared had become real.
Even now, I struggle to accept the truth. How does a person do something like this? How did my brother end up with such a monster? Every night, I close my eyes and see his face. I wonder if he was scared. If he knew what was coming. If he fought for his life.
I am a broken sister, and I will never heal.
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