The Third Twin: A Dark Psychological Thriller

by Darren Speegle

  Tomorrow we live again

  —was another phrase repeated multiple times as I moved among the room’s

  mysteries. As was the startling—

  It is her hour

  —with the pronoun emphatically underscored.

  Other one-liners, less liberally represented, included, Entropy does not know

  nobility and Self-deceit shall rule no more. Another rhyme, seemingly a continuation of the one over the bed, demanded particular attention—

  Tick-tock, tick-tock, comes the third twin

  Dehumanizing God, demystifying men

  —especially when considered alongside the isolated line, Obliterating God, anonymizing men, scrawled across the floor below its precedent.

  But the lines that finally inspired the emotion the scraps were perhaps meant to inspire were:

  Tick-tock, tick-tock, enchanting the stock

  Charming the jingle from m’ Daddy-O’s clock

  It read as a senseless play on words except when you looked at it from the right, or the left, or the top or bottom. No matter what angle I looked at it from, I saw my daughter with a flute in her hand, and me: exposed. When taken into context with the time theme, there could be only one answer to the question of who that daughter was. A quote from her very lips was on the wall opposite the bed. Until now its particular relevance hadn’t emerged out of the line’s less conspicuous position amid the barrage. The dead are not slaves to time as the living are. She had spoken those words to me in the last dream, followed by the explanation that For us, past, present, and future stream by in the same instant. But they are many streams, overlapping each other. Now, apparently, she was speaking to me again. Could it be, I asked myself without any real conception of the meaning or implications of the question, that it was her hour? Meanings and implications notwithstanding, the idea was like a charge of electricity.

  Bringing with it a real-time voice, occurring not to my ears, but in my mind.

  Do you begin to understand now? Do you begin to gather what I meant by that statement?

  I looked at Dianna, who mirrored my dark wonderment as she looked back at me. The words were not occurring to me alone.

  The thing was accomplished the moment I was conceived. I’d to develop first, of course. I had no awareness of myself. The neurological processes had to come into play before I could grasp the dynamics of the two conditions involved. It was because of these dynamics that all the physical thresholds had to be crossed in order to accomplish the thing. Every act, every drop of blood spilt, every stimulus, real or wrought, every sensation between one sibling and its third . . . all to the purpose of creating seams in the veil, opening lines of communication between living and dead. Why such violent means? Because pain, fear, horror, suffering, loss, and yes, love, which hones its fellow emotions to their keenest edge, are—or were, to you—the most intense elements of the human experience; just as disorder, confusion, doubt were the conditions most conducive to facilitating the strongest possible link with the third twin, which is, after all, the whole of its siblings.

  As the freshest occurrence of rumbling penetrated the laboratory walls, lingering for a protracted moment before tapering away again, my lips trembled but could not utter her name.

  Yes, the thing was accomplished with the first sparks of electrochemical activity, when I achieved as an entity what I envisioned for the race of man—a state of physical awareness without self-deception. The previous post-mortal condition, while possessing a great deal to recommend it, was more of the nature of endurance than existence. A preoccupation with God, which concept was far more accessible on that side of the veil, consumed the dead, who felt it was their work, their special purpose in the continuum, to locate Him or disprove His existence trying. Don’t mistake me, there is much to be said for endurance, but it only has value when associated with the flesh. What does not have value is self-deception, with which man, in both his corporeal and incorporeal conditions, was bloated before his transcendence. Only when those rare moments found him—when he looked upon the mountains, the seas, the cosmos and felt dwarfed by it all, realizing that he was a mere gnat about the business of nature rather than a candidate for some invented exaltation—only then was he in touch with himself. Only then did he remember who he really was. There are no callings. There is only the engine of the universe. If we serve anything, it is chaos. Entropy does not know nobility. Randomness does not know endeavor. There is no room in our evolução, in the universe in general, for ‘identity’. Which surely you understand by now, father.

  The name now found its way out, and with it, the only challenge I could muster in the face of it all. “Except in your case, right, Kimberly?”

  Ha! As though you were not standing there reaping the benefits of being directly connected to me genetically. I am going to make you the god of hypocrisy, blood of my blood. At least my mother is decent enough to come around to it. You, though . . . one would think you hadn’t enjoyed wielding the knife. But ‘Kimberly’? Must it be Kimberly? That mass of afterbirth? When we were role-playing it was fine. You were the dad; I was the miscarriage. But we are not role-playing anymore. And who you think you’re communicating with at this moment is not at all who you are communicating with. Let us refrain from pretending that we know me, shall we? There are none like me. While Dianna is the only third to have survived in a fleshly sense, and as such is responsible for having opened certain doors, she still only represents part of the equation. I and I alone move freely between all states. How else could I be so attuned to the mechanics of it all, or the mechanics of it all to me? Kimberly indeed. You are like Maya, with all her ‘you and he, Dianna!’ garbage. I think I will make you the god of assumptions as well. Your signature one, the one they etch into the temple walls, naturally being that fundamental error in thinking I made reference to during our telephone chat. The one that assumes it is Iwho have exploited the design rather than the other way around? Know this, Daddy-O: I AM CHAOS! I AM MY OWN INTERNAL LOGIC. Have I not proven as much to you? Will I not prove to God Himself that He is not immune? Step outside, the two of you, and behold the object of your assumptions.

  Our legs were their own agents as we did as bade, Dianna and I no longer looking at each other for fear of remembering the place we had come from, which would have been more to endure than the condition of endurance itself—which was exactly what this was, no matter how she whose hour it was chose to spin it. And yet as I stood on the porch near the chanting Maya scanning the hollow’s horizon for its still hidden haunt, I found my mind reaching out to Kristin and Kathy in spite of itself, reaching out and wondering what had become of my mission, and whether forgiveness was a virtue my daughters could even grasp in their evolved states.

  Fixing on a point, any point, along the hollow’s rim, I let out the question that had been asked, in one form or fashion, more times than flesh had been kissed by a knife’s edge.

  “If not Kimberly, then who?”

  You tell me, father. You sired me and my siblings a mere wink ago in that blood-soaked room behind you.

  Now came the shadow. Upon me. Upon Dianna who looked down at her belly in wonder-terror. Upon the entire hollow as the mammoth’s trunk arched inconceivably high into the sky, as though to smite the presumer from the throne.

  The end?

  Not quite . . .

  Dive into more Tales from the Darkest Depths:

  Embers: A Collection of Dark Fiction by Kenneth W. Cain—These short speculative stories are the smoldering remains of a fire, the fiery bits meant to ignite the mind with slow-burning imagery and haunting details. These are the slow burning embers of Cain’s soul.

  Aletheia: A Supernatural Thriller by J.S. Breukelaar—A tale of that most human of monsters—memory—Aletheia is part ghost story, part love story, a novel about the damage done, and the damage yet to come. About terror itself. Not only for what lies ahead, but also for what we think we have left behind.

  Beatrice Beecham’s Cryptic Cr
ypt by Dave Jeffery—The fate of the world rests in the hands of four dysfunctional teenagers and a bunch of oddball adults. What could possibly go wrong?

  Visions of the Mutant Rain Forest—the solo and collaborative stories and poems of Robert Frazier and Bruce Boston’s exploration of the Mutant Rain Forest.

  The Final Reconciliation by Todd Keisling—Thirty years ago, a progressive rock band called The Yellow Kings began recording what would become their first and final album. Titled “The Final Reconciliation,” the album was expected to usher in a new renaissance of heavy metal, but it was shelved following a tragic concert that left all but one dead. It’s the survivor shares the shocking truth.

  Where the Dead Go to Die by Mark Allan Gunnells and Aaron Dries—Post-infection Chicago. Christmas. There are monsters in this world. And they used to be us. Now it’s time to euthanize to survive in a hospice where Emily, a woman haunted by her past, only wants to do her job and be the best mother possible. But it won’t be long before that snow-speckled ground will be salted by blood.

  Tales from The Lake Vol.3—Dive into the deep end of the lake with 19 tales of terror, selected by Monique Snyman. Including short stories by Mark Allan Gunnells, Kate Jonez, Kenneth W. Cain, and many more.

  Sarah Killian: Serial Killer (For Hire!) by Mark Sheldon—Follow foul-mouthed and mean-spirited Sarah Killian on an assignment from T.H.E.M. (Trusted Hierarchy of Everyday Murderers), a secret organization using serial killers to do the dirty work for their clients. Sarah’s twisted sense of humor alone makes this Crime Fiction/Horror/Thriller a worthy read.

  Gutted: Beautiful Horror Stories—an anthology of dark fiction that explores the beauty at the very heart of darkness. Featuring horror’s most celebrated voices: Clive Barker, Neil Gaiman, Ramsey Campbell, Paul Tremblay, John F.D. Taff, Lisa Mannetti, Damien Angelica Walters, Josh Malerman, Christopher Coake, Mercedes M. Yardley, Brian Kirk, Stephanie M. Wytovich, Amanda Gowin, Richard Thomas, Maria Alexander, and Kevin Lucia.

  Run to Ground by Jasper Bark—Jim Mcleod is running from his responsibilities as a father, hiding out from his pregnant girlfriend and working as a groundskeeper in a rural graveyard. Throw in some ancient monsters and folklore, and you’ll have Jim running for live through this folk horror graveyard.

  The Final Cut by Jasper Bark—Follow the misfortunes of two indie filmmakers in their quest to fund their breakthrough movie by borrowing money from one dangerous underground figure in order to buy a large quantity of cocaine from a different but equally dangerous underground figure. They will learn that while some stories capture the imagination, others will be the death of you.

  Blackwater Val by William Gorman—a Supernatural Suspense Thriller/Horror/Coming of age novel: A widower, traveling with his dead wife’s ashes and his six-year-old psychic daughter Katie in tow, returns to his haunted birthplace to execute his dead wife’s final wish. But something isn’t quite right in the Val.

  Tribulations by Richard Thomas—In the third short story collection by Richard Thomas, Tribulations, these stories cover a wide range of dark fiction—from fantasy, science fiction and horror, to magical realism, neo-noir, and transgressive fiction. The common thread that weaves these tragic tales together is suffering and sorrow, and the ways we emerge from such heartbreak stronger, more appreciative of what we have left—a spark of hope enough to guide us though the valley of death.

  Devourer of Souls by Kevin Lucia—In Kevin Lucia’s latest installment of his growing Clifton Heights mythos, Sheriff Chris Baker and Father Ward meet for a Saturday morning breakfast at The Skylark Dinner to once again commiserate over the weird and terrifying secrets surrounding their town.

  Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love by Mercedes M. Yardley—Montessa Tovar is walking home alone when she is abducted by Lu, a serial killer with unusual talents and a grudge against the world. But in time, the victim becomes the executioner as ‘Aplocalyptic’ Montessa and her doomed ‘Nuclear’ Lulu crisscross the country in a bloody firestorm of revenge. HER MAMA ALWAYS SAID SHE WAS SPECIAL. HIS DADDY CALLED HIM A DEMON. BUT EVEN MONSTERS CAN FALL IN LOVE.

  Wind Chill by Patrick Rutigliano—What if you were held captive by your own family? Emma Rawlins has spent the last year a prisoner. The months following her mother’s death dragged her father into a paranoid spiral of conspiracy theories and doomsday premonitions. But there is a force far colder than the freezing drifts. Ancient, ravenous, it knows no mercy. And it’s already had a taste . . .

  If you ever thought of becoming an author, I’d also like to recommend these non-fiction titles:

  Horror 101: The Way Forward—a comprehensive overview of the Horror fiction genre and career opportunities available to established and aspiring authors, including Jack Ketchum, Graham Masterton, Edward Lee, Lisa Morton, Ellen Datlow, Ramsey Campbell, and many more.

  Horror 201: The Silver Scream Vol.1 and Vol.2—A must read for anyone interested in the horror film industry. Includes interviews and essays by Wes Craven, John Carpenter, George A. Romero, Mick Garris, and dozens more. Now available in a special paperback edition.

  Modern Mythmakers: 35 interviews with Horror and Science Fiction Writers and Filmmakers by Michael McCarty—Ever wanted to hang out with legends like Ray Bradbury, Richard Matheson, and Dean Koontz? Modern Mythmakers is your chance to hear fun anecdotes and career advice from authors and filmmakers like Forrest J. Ackerman, Ray Bradbury, Ramsey Campbell, John Carpenter, Dan Curtis, Elvira, Neil Gaiman, Mick Garris, Laurell K. Hamilton, Jack Ketchum, Dean Koontz, Graham Masterton, Richard Matheson, John Russo, William F. Nolan, John Saul, Peter Straub, and many more.

  Writers On Writing: An Author’s Guide—Your favorite authors share their secrets in the ultimate guide to becoming and being and author. Writers On Writing is an eBook series with original ‘On Writing’ essays by writing professionals.

  Or check out other Crystal Lake Publishing books for more Tales from the Darkest Depths.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Darren Speegle is the author of six books, including his debut novel The Third Twin. His second novel, Artifacts, is due in 2018, while a third, The World Is my Oyster, has recently been completed. The latest of his five short story collections, A Haunting in Germany and Other Stories, was released in 2016 by PS Publishing. His short fiction has appeared in numerous venues, including Clarkesworld, Subterranean, Cemetery Dance, Postscripts, ChiZine, Crimewave, The Third Alternative (now Black Static), Fantasy, Dark Discoveries, and Subterranean: Tales of Dark Fantasy. He has recently become interested in editing, and his human-evolution-themed anthology Adam’s Ladder (co-edited with Michael Bailey) will be a fall 2017 Dark Regions Press title. A widely traveled American, Darren often sets his stories in interesting or exotic places where he has lived (Germany, Alaska, Southeast Asia) or otherwise explored (broader Europe). Between gigs as a federal contractor in the Middle East, Darren resides in Thailand.

  CONNECT WITH THE AUTHOR

  https://darrenspeegle.wordpress.com

  https://www.facebook.com/DarrenSpeegle

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