Gemini

  She sat quietly, looking out the window as she did every night. The children would be home soon, and she would have to decide what she should tell them about the dead man upstairs. She thought about lying, but knew she could never get away with it. They always knew when she was lying. Once they found out the truth, that may be the end of her, and she knew it. How had she gotten herself into this mess? She thought about the gun upstairs and wondered if she could use it. But what about the children? Who would take care of them? Who would understand them as she did? Of course, they were 16 now and could probably take care of themselves, if they were normal children. But she knew that there was nothing normal about her twins. They were often referred to by the neighborhood biddies as immoral. She knew the truth, they were not immoral: they were far worse than that. That was why she had to kill the man. It was his fault they had turned out the way they were. If not for his own inherent sinfulness, they may have been able to pass off as normal children. But his wickedness had infected them early in life.

  At first she thought they only possessed a sort of twin sense between them. Even as babies, they seemed to know what the other was thinking and feeling. She had read that this was often the case with twins, more frequent in identical but also occurred in fraternal twins like hers. As they began walking and eventually talking, she noticed that they often seemed to know things they should not. Things that no normal children could even conceive of. Details of people’s lives they had no business knowing. That was how he had infected them, turned them. They had seen inside him too many times over the years, had seen his sin. They had begun to think like him, they grew cold and heartless with no regard for others. Just like he had always been. To them it didn’t matter who they hurt, it only mattered that they got what they wanted. She had tried to control them, but it was no use. They had grown stronger every year, and were drawn closer to evil, just as he had been. Damn him, if only she had gotten rid of him 16 years ago the children might have had a chance. Now it was getting late, too late, and she had to decide what to do about the dead man in her bed.
Once again, she considered getting the gun from her nightstand, but that would mean leaving the window. If she did that, they could sneak up on her, she thought they already knew something was wrong. She was afraid; she had seen what they were capable of. Mr. Jones next door still had not recovered from going up against them. You could see it in his empty eyes and hear it in his voice, once strong and deep, now weak and broken. Sometimes late at night you could hear him screaming, tearing through his house in search of some unseen demon. She knew that the only demons around here lived in her house. She felt bad for Mr. Jones. It wasn’t really his fault; the dog had fallen asleep under his car. The old man had no way of knowing when he went out for his nightly pack of smokes that the dog was under his front tire, fast asleep. Poor Mr. Jones had suffered far more than that damn dog whose broken leg had healed nicely.

  Mr. Jones wasn’t their only victim; there were others in town that had made the sometimes-fatal mistake of crossing the twins. Ms. Leary suddenly went blind after she told the market owner that she had seen them pocketing some goods when he wasn’t looking.  Tabitha Simpson had incurred their rage when she started spreading some nasty rumors around school. She was paralyzed after mysteriously falling out of the bleachers during a football game. And then there was the little girl. What was her name? Christie something or other, she had been only eight when she met her awful fate. She was killed by a semi when the driver fell asleep at the wheel and drove straight into her bedroom as she slept one night. What was it she had done? Oh, that’s right, little Christie wouldn’t give them her Halloween candy. That sweet little girl had no idea what kind of trouble she was causing for herself, all because she wanted that damn candy.

  She jerked with a start at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Had she fallen asleep sitting here at the window? Had the children come in without her hearing them? She thought that must be whom she heard on the stairs, just the children going up to their rooms. Then she remembered the dead man on her bed. What if they saw him? She heard whispering, they were trying not to wake her, and did they know? She rose from her chair and started to the stairs. The sight of the man coming down stopped her. But he was dead, she had shot him herself, his clothes still bore the bloodstains to prove it. He advanced toward her with uncanny speed and grace. She backed all the way to the chair and sank into it with fright. Then she saw the children behind him. The whispering grew louder and more distorted. It sounded as if there were at least a hundred children whispering. He came closer and she tried to scream, but no sound would come. The whispering continued to grow and as he wrapped his cold, dead hands around her throat, her desperate eyes sought out for help, but only landed on the smiling faces of her children.