The Sunday Scaries
Volume 1, Number 40
Microfiction by Pat Harrigan
Content Warning: Language and Horror

Drop By Any Time

The doorbell rang. It was my evil twin. Come in, I said. Long time, long time.
          He sat down. He seemed troubled. I made us coffee.
          It’s awkward—, he began.
          Take your time.
          He drank his coffee for a minute. I feel I should apologize—
          It’s really good to see you, I interrupted, but we’ve been over all that.
          Wait, let me finish. When I met you you had a wife, some great kids, a good job, the house…
          My heart sank. This again.
          After the obligatory guilty pause he went on: And I took it all away, I made everybody think I was you, so Marcia took the kids and you were out on the street, and the police wouldn’t believe you, and I’d taken all your money and gone to Aruba.
          The insurance company paid me some of that back, I said.
          Still, he said. You can’t unbreak an egg really.
          It wasn’t your fault, I assured him.
          Whose fault was it then? Dad’s?
          Well yeah: Dad’s, I said. I didn’t even know you existed until I was twenty-one, and I didn’t know he was keeping you in the cellar under the east wing. I’m sorry, I know you don’t like talking about it but anybody would have resented me in those circumstances. When you escaped and killed him, of course I was mad at first, but then I thought, this is marvelous, I’ve always wanted a brother. We have so much lost time to catch up on. Oh come on, don’t get all weepy.
          I moved over to sit next to him on the couch and put my arm around him. Are the police still after you for that one thing? I asked.
          No, he said, I framed another guy for that.
          Anybody I know? I asked.
          Noooooo… I don’t think so. Name was Fred Bonachek, goes by Gizmo?
          They call him Gizmo?
          Yeah.
          Bad kind of guy, is he?
          Well…
          My twin made that little back-and-forth head motion like he likes to do.
          It’s kind of relative, he finished. Not like us, that sort of relative, but you know you and me have a special kind of thing.
          We both sat there kind of awkwardly.
          Listen, do you need a place to stay? I asked. There’s not a lot of room but we can figure something out.
          Honestly I was embarrassed by the state of the place, and I hoped he wasn’t judging me too harshly. But he let me off the hook.
          No, I just wanted to— It’s been a while and I just wanted to see your face.
          Our face, I said.
          Yeah, our face again. I’m doing okay, you know they can never keep me down for long.
          I know, I said.
          After he left I cleaned up the coffee cups, decided I didn’t have time for a shower, and walked to work.
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