There was never a hotter time on the planet like the sweltering summer of ’71, and it had me and my best friends, Mark and Danny, in its merciless chokehold. The air was a thick and tangible thing, a sweaty palm pressed against your face until you gasped for breath. The sheer boredom was as heavy as the heat, and as any teenager worth their salt knew, a bored mind led to trouble because it usually hatched the dumbest plans.

“The old Blackwood place,” Danny said in his signature conspiratorial whisper. “We should spend the night there.”

The instant mischief in Mark’s eyes let me know this was no longer just an idea. “Yeah! Maybe we’ll get to see the ghosts of Ava and Aiden, sisters joined in death as they were in life.”

I tried to suppress a shudder. The tragic story of the cursed conjoined Blackwood twins was a local urban legend. Maybe there was some truth to it, but it had become a cautionary tale that parents used to warn their children about the dangers of being disobedient.

So, we did what teens do best, we took full advantage of the trust our parents placed in us and lied directly to their faces, telling them we’d be spending the night at the other’s house. No one bothered verifying with the other families because, well, it was a small town, the 70’s, all our folks were friends and we’d regularly take turns spending the night at each other’s houses. To them, it was business as usual.

We pooled our money, stopped by the gas station on the way for junk food provisions, and arrived at the dilapidated mansion just as the sun bled into the horizon. I couldn’t tell you what was going on in either Danny or Mark’s head, but to me, the mansion’s broken windows stared at us like soulless eyes.

Inside, the shadows were thick and cloying, clinging to every corner. The air was stale, heavy with decades of dust. We set up camp in what might have once been a grand ballroom but was now a mausoleum of moldering drapes and moth-eaten furniture.

After we laid out our sleeping bags, we huddled around the flashlight, devoured the last of the chips and soda, and I drew the short straw, which meant the honor of telling the story of the Blackwood Twins fell on me.

“Listen close and heed this tale well. For the story of the Blackwood twins is not for the faint of heart, but a grim reminder of the perils that await those who stray from the path of obedience.

“Born in the depths of a moonless night, Ava and Aiden Blackwood were a twisted miracle—two souls trapped in one flesh, forever bound by the cruel whimsy of fate. Their mother, a woman of sin and vice, looked upon her aberrant offspring with loathing, cursing the gods for her misfortune.

“As the twins grew, so too did their reputation for mischief. They whispered to each other in a language only they could understand, plotting wicked deeds under the cover of darkness. The townsfolk crossed themselves as the twins passed, muttering prayers to ward off the evil that clung to them like a second skin.

“One fateful summer, as the sun beat down mercilessly upon the parched earth, the twins’ mother fell ill with a fever that set her mind ablaze. In her delirium, she raved about the abominations she had borne, cursing them as demons sent to torment her.

“Ava and Aiden, their young hearts twisted with resentment, saw their chance for revenge. They slipped into their mother’s room on feet as silent as the grave, standing over her sweat-soaked form with eyes that glittered like beetles.

“Dear mother,” they crooned in unison, their voices a discordant harmony. “Let us ease your suffering.”

“Their hands, as pale as bone, reached out to caress their mother’s face. And then, with a strength belied by their small frames, they pressed down, down, down, until the life fled from her body and her eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

“The twins fled into the night, their laughter a macabre symphony that echoed through the streets. Many years later, they returned to the abandoned Blackwood mansion, a crumbling monument to their family’s dark legacy.

“There, in the moldering depths of the house, they gave themselves over to their darkest impulses. They say the walls ran red with blood, that the screams of the countless victims they liberated from life could be heard for miles. And when the townsfolk finally mustered the courage to confront the evil that had taken root in their midst, they found a sight that would haunt their nightmares for years to come.

“The twins, their bodies entwined in a grotesque embrace, had turned their wicked appetites upon each other. What remained could hardly be called human—a tangle of flesh and bone, fused together in a final, macabre consummation.

“But death, it seems, was not the end for Ava and Aiden Blackwood. For they say their spirits linger still in that decrepit mansion, waiting for foolish children who dare to trespass upon their domain.

“So mind your parents, my child, and never stray from the path of righteousness. For if you do… the Blackwood twins will be waiting, their hungry hands outstretched to welcome you into their eternal, nightmarish dance,” I concluded and if I was being honest, I managed to frighten myself slightly.

“Did you hear that?” Danny said in a quavering whisper.

A soft scrape, like bare feet on aged wood. A child’s giggle, echoing from somewhere deep within the bowels of the house.

“It’s just the wind,” I said, my bravado as thin as paper.

Mark huddled close, his shoulder pressed against mine. “Or the Gemini.”

“The what?”

“The Gemini. That’s what they called the twins. Two bodies, one soul. They’re still here, waiting for some unlucky soul to join their eternal dance.”

The night wore on, minutes stretching into hours. We talked in hushed tones, jumping at every creak and groan of the settling house. Sleep was a distant dream, our nerves wound too tight for rest.

It was Danny who saw them first.

“There!” he hissed, pointing with a trembling finger.

In the doorway, two figures stood hand in hand. They were small, child-sized, their pale skin glowing in the moonlight that filtered through the grimy windows.

As they stepped forward, a scream lodged in my throat. They weren’t two figures at all, but one—a grotesque fusion of two bodies, skin melted together in a twisted embrace.

“Come play with us,” they spoke in unison, voices like rusted nails dragging down my spine.

We ran. Blind with terror, stumbling over debris and each other in our haste to escape. The Gemini’s laughter followed us, a mocking symphony that echoed through the halls.

We burst from the house like drowning men breaking the surface, gulping down the muggy night air like sweet nectar. We ran until our lungs burned and our legs gave out, collapsing in a tangled heap on the edge of town.

We never spoke of that night. Not to each other, not to anyone. But sometimes, in the deepest recesses of my dreams, I still hear that laughter. I still see those twinned faces, smiling at me from the darkness.

And I wonder, with a creeping dread… did we ever truly escape the Blackwood house? Or are we still there, trapped in an endless night, playthings for the Gemini for all eternity?