What holds our hearts together? We like to think it is a sinewy wire of strength, or the cold steel forged from a thousand bruised memories. So? The heart isn't tied to the mind. It shatters, and somehow what mends it is the shivery, vein of a dream.
--from the diary of the witch Amarantha "Amma" Ogier Beraude Solstice
He was considered the most handsome man in the county. With his tall, beefy frame, cleft chin, slick brown hair, and glossy brown eyes, every woman's heart fluttered and every man's fist clenched. He was so handsome, in fact, that nobody batted an eyelash at the dark-plum cloak draped over his stomach. Everyone assumed he was eccentric, yet the eccentricity translated into dark, heavy clothes that made him resemble a solid shadow. If this was long sleeves, this was long sleeves. If this was a big straw hat, it was a big straw hat. If this was a cloak— even in summer heat— this was a cloak. Nobody dare ask if he was "sweating up a soup" or if his clothes "stuck to your skin". He always strut down the craggy stone path like he had somewhere to go— and let no one forget it.
Today was a work day. For years, he'd been able to swing a pickax and crush stone without disturbing his "twin." It also didn't hurt that the ladies blushed at the combination of firm, muscular arms and a soft, rounded belly. Now he could bask in the glow of his labors-- now, he was the foreman.
He shuddered. He felt like he could hear the twin's thoughts. It was easy to see the face and limbs half-absorbed into his plump belly and assume he was hardly conscious-- but he swore his brother's words thundered in his head, things like, "I'm hungry," and "I'm thirsty" and "I wonder what it's like to be him." He grit his teeth, trying not to let the tears that stung his eyes fall down his cheeks.
"Nobody must ever find out," he whispered, draping the cloak over his stomach, "Keep your voice down, Rubens."
The parasitic twin moaned as his pale, shriveled head dangled in a permanent upside-down position.
As he walked, a neighbor squatted to trim her hedges. Maybe she was like-minded, he told himself, Or at least more accepting, with her skintight black clothes and sickly pale face-- best described as a "sex kitten Grim Reaper." When she saw him, she dropped the clippers and rushed forward.
"Good morning, Miss Putnam," he greeted.
She smiled, but a high reddish color rose in her hollow cheeks, and her eyes bulged in shock.
"Mr. von Trotta, Mr. von Trotta, what's with the cloak?"
His brows shot up.
"Huh?"
The woman leaned forward and brushed a hand across the soft plum velvet.
"Your tummy is hard and bulgy.Have you seen a doctor?"
He twisted his mouth.
"Yes. Everything's normal."
She didn't seem satisfied by this, running her hand along the jagged flesh-and-bone contours of what lurked beneath the heavy cloak.
"Don't tell me," she chuckled, "You're two kids stacked atop each other!"
His heart pounded as he pulled away.
"What?!"
"It felt funny under there," she said, squinting, "Like a big hole, not like a belly button-- but lined with something hard and sharp-- like teeth!"
Mr. von Trotta jerked away, clutching his twin's head.
"You must be feeling things, ma'am. Now, I gotta get to work...."
YOU ARE READING
Leeches
Horror***The main characters are loosely based on Lazarus and Joannes Baptista Colloredo, conjoined You might (or might not) recognize Amma, Professor Solstice, and/or Ida from some of my other stories. Rembrandt von Trotta has lived his entire life with...
