The scene before me was chilling. Emma was sitting on her bed, her face pale, and tears streaming down her cheeks. The twins were standing on either side of her, their small hands gripping her wrists. They turned to face me simultaneously, their wide eyes empty and emotionless, as though they were looking right through me.
Emma whimpered, her voice trembling. “Mom, they… they said they just wanted to play, but I don’t like this game.”
The twins didn’t let go. One of them tilted her head and spoke in a flat, almost robotic tone. “We just want to stay. We’re not bad. We promise.”
My instincts kicked in. “Let her go. Now,” I said, my voice shaking but firm.
The twins released Emma instantly and stepped back, their movements unnervingly synchronized. Emma scrambled into my arms, burying her face in my chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
I glared at the twins, my heart pounding. “Go back to the guest room. Now.”
Without a word, they turned and walked out, their footsteps eerily quiet. I held Emma tightly, my mind racing. Who were these children? Why had they been abandoned? And what on earth had just happened?
Once Emma calmed down, I tucked her back into bed and promised her I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Then, I locked her door and went to check on the twins.
They were sitting on the bed in the guest room, holding hands. Their expressions were blank, but their eyes followed me as I entered.
“What were you doing in Emma’s room?” I demanded, trying to keep my fear from showing.
“We wanted her to play with us,” one of them said. Her voice was soft but chilling in its monotony.
“It’s late. You can’t go into her room without asking,” I said, struggling to maintain composure. “Do you understand?”
They nodded in unison, but something about their calmness made my skin crawl. I left the room, locking the door behind me. I needed answers—and fast.
The next morning, I called social services as planned. While waiting for them to arrive, I tried to get more information from the twins. I sat across from them at the kitchen table, offering them warm oatmeal, which they barely touched.
“Can you tell me about your mom?” I asked gently.
They exchanged a glance before one of them spoke. “She didn’t want us anymore. She said we were too much trouble.”
“How long have you been in the shed?” I pressed, my heart breaking at the thought.
“A long time,” the other twin replied. “We waited for her, but she never came back.”
Before I could ask anything else, there was a knock at the door. Social services had arrived. Relief washed over me as I opened the door to greet the caseworker, a kind-looking woman named Karen.
Karen spoke to the twins privately while I gave her all the details I could. After about an hour, she came back to me, her face pale.
“I’m not sure what’s going on here,” she admitted, “but something feels… off. The girls are refusing to say their last name or where exactly the shed is. They seem… strange.”
I nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. “They’re not like other kids. There’s something about them that’s unsettling.”
Karen assured me they would take the girls into care and investigate their background. When the twins were told they were leaving, they didn’t cry or protest. They simply stared at me with those haunting eyes and said in unison, “Thank you for letting us stay.”
As they walked out the door, I felt a mixture of relief and guilt. I hoped they would get the help they needed, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
That night, I tucked Emma in extra tightly and double-checked the locks on every door and window. Just as I was about to go to bed, Max started growling at the front door. My blood ran cold.
When I opened the door, there was nothing there—just the icy wind blowing through the trees. But on the porch, lying neatly in the center, was a small, hand-carved wooden doll.
