They had grown up at the end of a dead-end street, in an ordinary house bordered by woods. A childhood that looked peaceful on the surface: hide-and-seek with their older brothers, chocolate cake on Sundays, swimming in the lake in summer, stories read aloud before bed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to suggest what was coming.
They were identical. Black hair, pale skin, heart-shaped mouths. Only their eyes gave them away.
Allia's were always slightly wet, as if the world hurt her just by existing. She rescued ladybugs, cried when a bird flew into the window, hugged stray cats too tightly.
Elia's never cried. They watched. Weighed. Dissected. It felt as though she were searching everyone for the weak spot, the tiny crack where everything could collapse.
They almost never fought. When they did, it ended in laughter, as if even anger had no right to linger between them.
Childhood smelled of Sunday chocolate cake, stories read aloud, lake water splashing in summer, the sound of Dad's hammer fixing whatever broke. A childhood that seemed perfect.
Yet something was already circling.
The neighbour.
Fifteen years old. Always alone. A father who disappeared for days at a time. The boy watched them walk past, Allia and Elia, on their way home from school. Stares that lasted too long. Sometimes he spoke to them sentences that made no sense. Sometimes he copied their movements a few seconds late, like a broken mirror. Sometimes he laughed to himself, then stopped dead the moment anyone looked.
Allia squeezed her sister's hand tighter when they passed his house.
Elia never squeezed back. She stared straight ahead. But her fingers were ice-cold.
One spring evening, the air was warm and heavy at once, thick with the scent of lilacs and freshly turned earth.
The brothers were at football practice. Their parents were in the kitchen knives on the chopping board, radio murmuring in the background.
Allia went outside to find Elia. The swing was still moving, empty, slowing gently.
An emptiness too perfect.
"Elia?"
Silence answered, thick as cotton.
Allia felt the fear before she understood it. An ancient, animal fear. The kind you carry inside you forever without knowing why.
The shed door stood ajar. A blade of yellow light leaked out, trembling.
She stepped inside.
The bare bulb buzzed overhead.
Elia stood in the middle of the room, perfectly straight, perfectly still.
In front of her: the boy.
Lying on the floor. Too big for the space.
Arms twisted like snapped branches. Neck bent at an angle the human body usually refuses.
And in Elia's right hand: a shovel. The metal still warm.
Allia swayed. The world tilted.
"Elia… what did you do?"
Elia's voice was calm. Too calm. An adult's voice coming from a ten-year-old's throat.
"He grabbed my wrist. Hard. He said, 'Come to my place, just for a minute.' So I made him stop."
As if it were simple.
As if "stop" could explain the dull crack Allia suddenly imagined the sickening thud of skull against concrete.
Allia should have screamed. Run. Called for help.
Instead, something inside her shattered and fused at the same time.
A click. A pact older than words.
She stepped forward. Calmly.
Placed her hand on her sister's arm. The arm that barely trembled.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll help you."
They worked in silence.
Two little girls with movements already too precise.
They dragged the body behind the shed, where the earth was soft.
They dug. Not deep they were small but deep enough.
They wiped the shovel, the footprints, the drops on the floor.
They washed their hands at the garden tap. The water ran pink, then clear.
When their father called them in for dinner, they walked inside smiling.
Arms still caked with dirt.
"Been playing in the garden?" he asked gently.
"Yes, Daddy," they answered together.
He kissed their foreheads.
That night, no one noticed the neighbour was missing.
Not yet.
But something had moved into the house.
A new presence.
A cold breath that sometimes passed between the twins when their eyes met too long.
Allia stared at the ceiling every night, heart pounding hard enough to choke her.
She kept seeing Elia's eyes at the exact moment the shovel rose.
Empty eyes.
No anger. No fear.
Just… a decision.
And every night the same question gnawed at her throat:
What had just woken up inside her sister?
And above all…
What would wake up next?
Somewhere in the woods, the freshly turned earth waited for rain.
And beneath it, something was already dreaming of coming back.