It was a freezing evening. I was walking my dog, Max, in the woods near my house. Just as I was about to turn back, Max froze, his ears pricked. Then, out of nowhere, he darted into the bushes.
I followed him, and what I saw made my heart stop.
Two twin girls, no older than nine, were sitting on a fallen log. They looked identical — wide, frightened eyes, and thin clothes despite the cold. My stomach dropped.
“Are you okay?” I asked. One of them shook her head.
“We live in a shed nearby… Mama left us there… a long time ago.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just took them home, fed them, and set them up in the guest room.
It was late, and my 10-year-old daughter Emma was already asleep. I planned to call social services the next day.
But the next morning, I woke up to strange noises coming from Emma’s room — SOFT THUDS and cries. Panic shot through me like ice. My stomach churned as I realized the twins must have gone in there, as they were missing from their bed.
My heart raced. I ran to the room and opened the door.
“What are you doing?! Don’t touch her!” I screamed.
The door slammed against the wall as I burst into Emma’s room, my breath hitching at the sight before me. My daughter was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. The twin girls were standing on either side of her, their small hands clutching hers, whispering something too soft to make out.
“Get away from her!” I yelled, rushing into the room. The twins turned to me, their expressions blank, almost eerie in their calmness. Emma’s lip trembled, her voice barely audible.
“Mom, they weren’t hurting me,” she said quickly, though her voice quavered. “They were… talking to me.”
I stopped short, my racing heart slowing just enough for me to take a breath. The twins stepped back, their identical faces unreadable.
“What’s going on here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
One of the twins—the slightly taller one—spoke, her voice so soft it was like the rustle of leaves. “We just wanted to say thank you… for letting us stay here. Emma is nice.”
Her words didn’t soothe me. There was something unsettling about their presence. The way they moved, the way they looked at me—like they were seeing something I couldn’t.
“Okay,” I said, swallowing hard. “Let’s go back to your room. Emma needs her rest.”
The twins nodded in unison and followed me out of the room without protest. I tucked them back into the guest bed, pulling the blanket up to their chins. They lay there, still and silent, their wide eyes fixed on me.
“Goodnight,” I said, though my voice was hoarse. They didn’t reply.
As I closed the door, I lingered for a moment, listening. Nothing. Just the creak of the old floorboards under my feet as I walked away. Back in my room, I tried to calm my thoughts, but sleep wouldn’t come. Something about those girls didn’t feel right.
At dawn, I woke up to the sound of whispering. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but when I opened my eyes, Emma was standing at the foot of my bed, her hair a tangled mess, her face pale as a ghost.
“Mom,” she whispered. “I think they’re scared.”
I sat up, my heart pounding. “What do you mean?”
“They were crying. I heard them through the wall. They said… something about ‘the shed.'”
Her words sent a chill down my spine. The shed. They had mentioned it last night, hadn’t they? A place their mother had left them. My hands shook as I pulled a sweater over my shoulders.
“Stay here,” I told Emma. “Lock the door.”
“But—”
“Do as I say, Emma,” I snapped, then softened my tone. “Please.”
She nodded reluctantly, her small hand turning the lock as I stepped into the hallway. The house was silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. I tiptoed to the guest room and peeked inside. The bed was empty. The twins were gone.
Panic surged through me. I grabbed my coat and Max’s leash, calling for him. He came running, sensing my urgency. Together, we headed into the woods, retracing the path we’d taken the night before.
It didn’t take long to find the shed. It stood in a small clearing, its roof sagging, its door hanging off its hinges. The air around it felt colder, heavier, as though the place held onto the despair of those who had been there.
I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Then, taking a deep breath, I pushed it open.
The smell hit me first—musty and damp, with an underlying sweetness that made my stomach turn. Inside, the light filtered through cracks in the wood, revealing a small, cramped space. Old blankets were piled in one corner, and scattered around were broken toys, a rusted tin can, and a single, tattered book.
Then I saw them.
The twins were sitting in the corner, their arms wrapped around each other. Their identical faces were streaked with tears.
“Why are you here?” I asked, my voice trembling.
The smaller twin looked up at me, her eyes glistening. “We were waiting,” she said.
“For what?”
“For Mama.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I crouched down, keeping my distance but softening my tone. “Where is she?”
The taller twin shook her head. “She left us. She said she’d come back, but she didn’t.”
My heart ached for them, but I needed to understand. “How long ago?”
They exchanged a glance, as though trying to decide whether to trust me. Finally, the smaller one spoke. “A long time. We don’t know.”
I clenched my fists, trying to push back the anger rising in me. How could someone abandon their children like this?
“You don’t have to wait anymore,” I said gently. “Come back with me. We’ll figure this out together.”
They hesitated, but then, as if making a silent decision, they stood and took my hands. Their fingers were ice-cold, their grip surprisingly strong. As we walked back to the house, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.
Back home, I called social services. As I waited for them to arrive, I tried to coax more information out of the twins. They didn’t know their last name. They didn’t know where they were from. Every question led to the same response: “Mama didn’t tell us.”
Emma stayed close by, her curiosity outweighing her fear. She offered the twins her favorite blanket and some of her toys, trying to make them feel at home. For a moment, I thought things might be okay.
Then, as the sun began to set, the twins spoke again.
“We can’t stay,” the taller one said, her voice trembling.
“Why not?” I asked, confused.
The smaller one’s eyes filled with tears. “Because she’ll find us.”
I frowned. “Who?”
Their answer sent chills down my spine.
“Mama.”
