Friday Fiction: The Society of Lost Twins (Part I)

In this weekly series called ‘Friday Fiction’, I challenge myself to write 500 words every Friday, using a ‘fictional story’ prompt and publish my work (whether it is good or not!). I hope this will work the writing muscle and also reduce the fear of putting my writing out into the world.

Today’s prompt: Write a scene or story that includes a character receiving an invitation, or showing up to an event that they were invited to.

Another deep growl shot from stomach to gullet, and Tilly groaned and sat up on the side of the bed. Each stomach growl spurred a new stilted action, until she reached the empty kitchen cupboard. She poured herself a bowl of dry cereal, which she ate on the couch with her hand, glaring at the mantlepiece of turned down photo frames. She would force down the food until the grumble stopped, and she could go back to bed. Tilly promised herself she’d go to the shop tomorrow, she’d be no good on her first day back at work with no sustenance the day before. She supposed that her colleagues were accustomed to a tired, undernourished Tilly on a Monday morning, and nearly smiled as she recalled wild weekends with her sister. ‘The Wild Watson’s’ at it again?’ they would say affectionately as she arrived at work with a sheepish expression, bag full of energy drinks and pain killers. Pain killers. Squeaky hospital floors, sanitised hands, thick double doors, yellow-lit lifts, IV drips, bruised arms, laughing when it’s not funny at all, crying in secret, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, bad news, good news, and bad news again. Squeaky floors, sanitiser, repeat. Tilly registered her laboured breath and ordered her brain to stop.

Tilly left the half-eaten bowl of cereal on the coffee table and was making her way back to bed. Her brain repeated ‘I told you so’ to her needy body. A clack-flop stopped her in her tracks, and she looked down to see a small cream envelope proudly presented at the lip of the letterbox. A late sympathy card, she supposed. She had placed them all face-down on the mantlepiece too, alongside all photos of herself and Billie. Bill and Till, The Wild Watsons. When they wrote cards together, which they often did for friends, they would bicker over whose name came first. Bill and Till? Till and Bill? Tilly Watson didn’t have quite the same whimsical quality, she realised. Shuddering at the thought, she resigned to throw out the card, unopened. She couldn’t face another “Dear Tilly” alone. As she walked towards the bin, a stamp on the high-quality envelope caught her eye. It read: The Society of Lost Twins. Without a pause, Tilly ripped open the letter.

“Dear Miss Tilly Watson,

Our deepest condolences on the loss of your twin sister, Billie.

You are cordially invited to our Autumn soiree on Saturday 23rd October. Our driver will pick you up at 6.30pm. We look forward to seeing you then.

Kindest regards,

The Society of Lost Twins”

Today was Saturday 23rd October. Tilly scoffed aloud, put the letter in the bin, and started walking to the bedroom. She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone – her brain whirred up again. She looked back quickly and the white corner of the envelope fluttered victoriously, pulling the plug on her spiralling. What harm could it do?

The driver pulled up outside her and Billie’s flat at 6.30pm on the dot. Tilly realised halfway through the journey that she had not paid attention at all to the route. What on earth was she doing? If she was murdered by a gang, her parents would be childless and it would be all her fault. They would think of them as the sick twin and the stupid twin. What a pair. Tilly shook her head and flattened out her dress. Unsure what one wears to a “soiree”, she had on a sleek black dress of Billie’s, and her own worn leather jacket and boots. That, a washed face and a swipe of lipstick, was all she could muster. They parked up at an industrial estate, full of adjoining warehouses. “That’s it, I’m dead.” she thought “See ya soon, sis.” The driver opened the doors and gave her a hand out into the eerily hushed street. He opened a metal warehouse door for her and gestured that she walk in alone, closing the door behind her.

Tilly stepped across a dimly lit hallway, and opened another heavy door, a din of music and voices slamming into the silence. Like a ’20’s speakeasy, small round tables with lamps and lush seating were scattered around the outside. A jazz band played on a stage adorned with thick velvet curtains. A throng of people in elegant dresses and tailored suits swept across the centre floor. A coldness rushed down her spine as Tilly realised she did not see any twins at all. An arm snaked around her shoulder and gave her a tight squeeze.

“Tilly, darling!” A large woman with rosy cheeks, dark red lips to match her silk dress, and dyed red curls bouncing behind her said. “I’m Anna-Rose Jenkins-Jones. A pleasure to finally meet you. I trust you got our letter? Well of course you did. You’re here! And look at you, poor thing.” A tall man with grey hair and a pin-striped suit stood next to her, alongside a small meek-looking lady with a dark bob and glasses. All three eyed her with pity. “Your sister said you’d be like this. She’ll be shocked you even came, but thank God you did.”

“My sister?” Tilly was confused. “My sister is dead.”

“Oh yes of course she is” the red lady said “…in a way.”

“Listen, I’m not really into spiritual voodoo stuff, so whatever this is you’re selling, I’m not interested.” Tilly stated, with more confidence than she felt.

“Oh, darling, we’re not selling.” Anna-Rose said. “Here, let’s have a seat and Billie can explain.”

Too shocked now to speak, Tilly followed them to the plush seats. The small lady, who first introduced herself as Laura-Lisa, handed her a letter. Immediately recognising her sister’s handwriting, Billie burst into tears.

“Till,

If you’re reading this, I’m dead, and you’re probably a bit confused right now, wondering why I’m writing you a letter from beyond the grave. Let me explain. I don’t know when you’ll be reading this, but as I write, the cancer is taking over my body. I know that you, Mum, Dad won’t mention it, but the treatment stopped working months ago, I know I’m going to die. I was contacted by the Society around a month ago, asking if I would be interested in healing services for dying twins. I assumed it was a genetic thing, or more likely, total bullshit, but I was intrigued. I met with them a few times, and they explained and even showed me the process they call ‘melting’, and talked through their own experiences. It really does work, Till. I know you think that I’m crazy, and you hate my reiki and sound baths, and astrology. But believe me on this one. By now you’ll know that I had a “death doula” for my last few days. I told you they were there to support me and ensure I was listened to in my final moments. Whilst that is not a lie, they also had a very important job at the last moment, so to speak. They are going to, or sorry, did (all going well) collect my spirit as my body finally gave in.

Now for the part you DO NOT have to agree to. I repeat, DO NOT. The Society of Lost Twins have found a way to melt a spirit into their twin’s body. Basically, the spirit can recognise a genetically identical body as their own host, so if the spirit is preserved and enters the body of the twin, the twin spirits can share a body. It only works if the alive twin fully accepts the melting, which is only fair I think! So if you choose (and I really mean that), you could bring me back. But only as part of you. I know how much you’re going to struggle with my death, and the thought of leaving you to navigate life alone killed me. That, and the cancer, of course! Sorry, not funny. I’m willing to live in your body, live in your life, but just be there in your head if you need someone to talk to. Then we die together in old age, just like we always said. No twin leaves the other behind. I made a promise to you, and I’ve found a way to honour that. However, I want to make it clear that I have made peace with either option. Take your time with the decision (not too much time, my spirit will go where it needs to go after a year, I’m told), but know that I’m here if you need me.

I love you.

Bill”

The tears flowed in fat strokes down her cheeks. Tilly put the letter down to avoid the ink smudging her sister’s precious words. For the first time in 6 weeks, Tilly felt the pain in her chest slowly lift. Melting, final moments, same host, live in your life, promise, here if you need me. She swallowed the new words gratefully like cough syrup.

“Yes. Let’s do it.” Tilly said. “How do we do it? Can we do it now?”

“Darling, darling, stop. You need some time to think.” Anna-Rose smiled at her.

Logistics began to cross her mind. “Does it cost money?”

“Not a penny my dear” Anna-Rose said, the others nodding “We are a charitable organisation. With many many wealthy donors.”

“Really? Why?”

“One person with two brains comes with very high earning potential. Of course, we can’t tell anyone that we are two. So either, melted twins go mad, or they lead a highly productive life.” pin-striped suit man replied, a robotic quality to his voice.

Tilly gulped “And you…?”

Anna-Rose assumed the question was for her “I’m a twin, darling yes. I was Anna, but my twin Rose died around 30 years ago. Heart problems from birth, so my parents got in touch with the society. We’ve shared a brain space ever since. Many hyphenate like we do, especially if melted as children, like we were. Now I’m Anna-Rose.”

Tilly’s mind whirred. “And how do you navigate sharing?”

Anna-Rose let out a thunderous laugh. “I mean, like all twins do, melted or otherwise.”

“Who is speaking when I talk to you, Anna or Rose?”

“Well, dearest, we both are, mostly. Sometimes it’s more one or the other, but these days we rarely disagree. The twin who originally hosts the body takes the reigns on controlling the body’s movements. However, God forbid Rose isn’t listened to! Anyway, the melting only works of course if the twins are spirit-bonded.”

“What does that mean?” Tilly asked, eyes wide.

“It means you feel incomplete without the other, you could spend every waking minute together. Your twin is more than a sibling, they are part of you.”

“Check, check and check” Tilly thought.

“And of course you have to be identical.” The man added, matter-of-factly. “Which you are.”

“I want to do it tonight.” Tilly said, the possibility of “were identical” reverting back to “are identical”, giving her the courage to sit up straighter, even smile.

“Miss Watson, we normally wouldn’t recommend…” the man started.

“…we do it tonight or I walk away.” Tilly said.

“Why don’t you think about it?” Anna-Rose said “Here is my card. I think you should have a think, and then phone us when you are ready. We recommend at least a week to mull it over”

Tilly’s voice cracked, and she was shocked she said this aloud, having not confessed to anyone “I don’t know if I can make it another week.”

Her three hosts looked around at one another, then nodded. It was the smaller lady who spoke.

“We would need to carry out a series of tests and questionnaires, and keep you here until tomorrow evening to help you adjust.”

Absurdly, Tilly said “Will I make it to work on Monday morning? It’s my first day back.”

“We normally wouldn’t recommend…” the man started again, and trailed off when he saw Tilly’s glare. He had assumed, on meeting her, that Billie was the strong-willed twin. He might have been wrong. Now, this melting would be interesting indeed.

After an exhausting series of psychological and medical tests – The Society of Lost Twins were, reassuringly, very thorough – Tilly found herself lying on a hospital-style bed somewhere in the warehouse. Having been in a series of small rooms, and walked through many long corridors, Tilly struggled to remember that she was, in fact, in a warehouse. The opulent party, she now realised, was hosted in one of a network of warehouses that belonged to the society. She understood, of course, that the procedure she was about to undergo would not be considered ethical under current medical standards, so secrecy was the only option. She tried to banish ethics from her head as she asked the doctor (he looked doctor-like anyway) if the process would hurt, would she be put to sleep, would she have any after-effects. The answer to all three questions was no, but Tilly hardly listened, asking only to appear less mad than she felt.

“One thing.” the doctor said “is that you must do it yourself.”

Tilly nodded, they could not be held liable for the consequences. If there were any consequences. Tilly still did not fully believe that her sister would return, only the soothing sensation of her sister’s letter kept her going.

“Please be right on this one, Bill.” she prayed quietly, before taking a vial of translucent liquid from the doctor’s serious, still hand, and swallowing it whole. She thought she might throw it back up, and wished now that she’d eaten properly earlier. The liquid gargled of its own volition, snaking down her gullet in a way that she felt every movement. She put a hand to her stomach and could feel it gargling there too, and she suddenly felt like she could burst like a firework. Heat surged from toes to head. Vision blurred. Black.

Tilly woke up in a plush reclining chair, blankets piled on top of her, and a full meal on a tray on the coffee table below. She was alone.

Writer’s note: This story grew arms and legs, so I will publish a Part II next week!