#scary things

Nobody gives you a medal for going to do a crowded thing when you do not like crowds but someone SHOULD.

They should send it in the mail. Quietly. So as to not make it worse.

"maturing is realizing this" and "maturing is realizing that" and "maturing is [hobby lobby sign quote blah blah blah"

Okay, before anyone comes for me with pitchforks and a “uH aCtUaLlY”, let me just say:

I love my sister. I love Tanya. I always have.

But also: I have never wanted to crawl inside a pumpkin and die more than I do right now.

So. Story time.

My twin sister Tanya and I? We were that pair.

Not the creepy Shining twins, not the psychic “I have a headache—WAIT you do too??” twins, and definitely not the witchy “we sense each other across timelines” twins.

Just… regular, boring, absolutely identical twins.

Like, IDENTICAL identical.

Carbon copies. Copy and paste. Control-C, Control-V.

Except she has a tiny mole under her eye.

That microscopic dot was the only thing separating:

• me (Sasha)

and

• her (Tanya, chaos in human form)

And of course, as children, we exploited that like the morally gray gremlins we were.

Swapped places at school? ✔️

One of us going to the dentist for the other? ✔️

Taking each other’s exams? DOUBLE ✔️

Gaslighting teachers? Absolutely ✔️

Being tiny con artists? Thriving ✔️

Our entire brand could be summed up as:

“haha let’s play a game”

(which, in hindsight, should’ve been the first red flag the universe mailed us)

Anyway fast forward:

I grow up, meet Henry — the man, the myth, the jawline.

He’s adorable, sweet, hot enough to fry an egg on, whatever.

Tanya meets… no one important. Because men were her hobby, not her end goal.

And THEN — Halloween.

Ten years ago.

Cottage in the Cotswolds, spooky vibes, family outing, red wine, spider-shaped cakes. Like, picture a Pinterest board designed by Tim Burton on a sugar high.

We’re tipsy, we’re messy, we’re feral.

Tanya and I make dinner, we’re having fun, we’re teasing.

She winks at me across the table:

“Happy Halloween, sis.”

And like the dumbest bitch in the United Kingdom, I whisper:

“Let’s play a game.”

Spoiler: I should’ve shut the hell up.

Second spoiler: This was the last time I ever said that sentence without wanting to projectile vomit.

Plan was simple:

Switch places.

Mess with Henry a little.

Let him get flustered.

Laugh about it in an hour.

Cute. Harmless. Sisterly mischief.

Except Tanya went method acting with it.

Like, Broadway.

Like, Oscar-worthy.

Like, calm down girl, he’s my boyfriend, not your scene partner.

She started nibbling his neck — HIS NECK — and I was like “okay haha too far Tanya what are you DOING?”

And then she says:

“Come on big boy, time for bed.”

Excuse me???? BED????

We do pranks, not primal mating rituals????

Henry gets up, all shy and red, following her like a confused baby deer.

I’m frozen. I’m horrified. I’m about to write a complaint letter to God.

I’m waiting for her to break character, for him to come out mortified, for the joke to end—

But instead?

I hear moaning.

AND BANGING.

Like a basketball practice level of banging.

I storm the room, fling the door open and—

Not sex.

Not kissing.

Not even something I can emotionally categorize.

Henry is STRANGLING her.

His hands around her throat.

Her lips blue.

Furniture everywhere.

A lamp on the floor.

Henry looking up at me like a golden retriever who successfully fetched the ball for the first time.

“I did it!” he says.

HAPPILY.

And proceeds to monologue — MONOLOGUE — like a Bond villain about how:

• He and Tanya have been having an affair

• They’ve been planning to kill me

• He couldn’t wait anymore

• “It’s what we wanted”

• We can “finally be together properly”

• And oh yeah he wanted to fake a skydiving accident as my future death, so that’s cute

Anyway long story short:

I helped him bury my sister in the woods because self-preservation > ethics.

And then…

We got married.

Had kids.

Twins, ironically.

(Yes, universe, I get the joke. You can stop now.)

Ten years pass.

I pretend to be Tanya forever.

Fake FaceTimes.

Mole tattoo.

Green screen.

Snipping loose ends like a suburban mafia wife.

I am thriving in my morally ambiguous era.

UNTIL TODAY.

My twin daughters are staring at the woods like two tiny Victorian ghosts and one goes:

“Mommy… Tanya wants to talk to you.”

And I’m like — haha WHAT? :)

She points at the woods.

THE SAME.

DAMN.

WOODS.

And I swear I hear footsteps.

Like someone running.

So.

Hi.

If you’re reading this, just know:

I’m not the monster.

I’m not.

She was planning to kill me.

I did what I had to do.

Henry was just influenced by her poisonous—

Hold on.

Henry?

I looked up to admire him a second ago but—

Where did he go?

I didn’t hear him stand up.

Why is it cold?

Why can I feel breath on my neck?

Why—

Why can I see someone’s eyes

Scary things.