I was born with an identical twin brother but nobody knows he exist except for my family. My parents have always been a bit superstitious, so when he born with this devilish birthmark my parents took it as a sign that he was cursed. According to my parents, we were born during a blizzard and our mother had to give birth at home with no doctor. So, when it was time to give me a name and get my birth certificate, they never reported my brother.
They locked in him up in a basement, in a mini apartment that my dad had secretly constructed. Some real horror shit. I always thought it was unfair how they treated him, but their “evil twin” theory always seemed correct as he always assaulted us whenever we got near him. But he was my brother, so I asked him he wanted to switch for a day.
It turned out badly: he ended up getting me suspended for attacking some kids at my elementary school and then brought home due to public vandalism. Our parents were so mad at me when they found out I had let my brother out and I was grounded indefinitely and dad changed the locks to my brother’s secret apartment. I was mad too, people were scared of me and always giving me dirty looks like I was insane.
I had refused to talk to my brother for months, until I realized that one of the kids he hurt was a bully I was struggling with at school. They stayed away from me, for good. But that didn’t stop others from messing with me or making me mad. I quickly wanted revenge and made an offer to my brother:
Once a year I let him out, switching spots, but with some ground rules: the only people he can hurt were the ones I wrote down. He could do whatever he wanted to them, as long he didn’t kill them or do anything illegal. He agreed and I began teaching him some of my mannerism so that he doesn’t get found out again. On my end, I found out how to unlock his room and kept track whenever my parents changed the security.
This had gone one for years, well into my mid twenties. Our parents never found out, though they became worried of my yearly outbursts. We found a way to hide his birthmark if they decided to check so they always assumed it was me. I went through therapy, anger management, etc. I didn’t care, I got the outcomes I and the people I wanted revenge on got what they deserved.
Then my wife. I fell in love, hard. When I knew I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life, I knew I couldn’t switch places with my brother anymore. I couldn’t stand if that one day a year he tried to hurt her or attempted to have sex with her in my place. So I cut him off, not a word to him.
My parents started telling me my brother kept demanding where I was and I asked him not to tell them. They were very understanding, especially so after my brother confessed our annual switch. They were furious, scared, but agreed to help when I told them I would never be doing that again.
After two years, I married that woman. During our first year of marriage we even got pregnant. We had moved into a nice apartment in a small city where I working steadily at a local factory.
Then one night, I got a text from my mother: “It’s my turn.” I felt a lump in my stomach and my anxiety rising once I realized who it was from. I called the police and had them check on my parents. After waiting for a few hours, they reported that my parents had been murdered and the house ransacked. It seems the killer had taken their car.
I bought plane tickets across the country immediately, thankfully our anniversary was this week so I could have treated it like a surprise trip. When I got back from printing the tickets at the library, I was jumped in the parking lot. When I came to, I was staring at the angry face of my brother.
He had tied me up in the bedroom, left me in the cornering before he started monologuing about “breaking my promise” and that “it was my turn to be the evil twin.” I was force to watch as he assaulted my wife: beating her pregnant belly before raping her right in front of me. His eyes never breaking mine, laughing the whole time. Then, as his “grand finale,” he brutally chopped up wife.
He knocked me out again, apparently taking the time to frame me. He carefully put my wife’s blood on me, making sure that my finger prints were on the knife he used, the doorknob, my parent’s car keys, etc. When I awoke, I was in the hospital, apparently fed a large amount of pills as if I was trying to kill myself.
He had thought of everything.
I was accused and found guilty of murder of my wife and my parents. Due to my past actions (or rather my brother’s.), I was deemed mentally unstable and put in a criminal asylum. It didn’t help that I tried convincing them of a brother that never existed. I tried leading them to his miniature apartment in the basement it was cleared out: filled with storage boxes apparently.
So, I write for some help: if anyone believes please help me. I need a good detective, a lawyer, or anyone who prove that I’m not crazy. But I also write this as a warning, because my brother is still out there.