✧

Flashback

In the dimly lit living room of the murder house, Constance lay sprawled out on the couch, lost in a drunken stupor. Meanwhile, two young boys, seven-year-old Tate and Elliot, took refuge in playing with a bright yellow toy truck. Tate's house had become a haven for Elliot, as he sought solace from his troubled home life and found camaraderie with his friend Tate. Both boys knew the pain of having parents who struggled with their own demons.

Laughter and giggles filled the air as the friends played, their innocent joy a stark contrast to the dark surroundings. Tate's carefree demeanor shifted suddenly as he recognized the risk of waking his intoxicated mother. "Shh. We can't wake up my mom," Tate cautioned, his laughter fading into seriousness.

Elliot, apologetic for accidentally knocking the toy down the basement stairs, felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry, Tate. I didn't mean to."

Tate peaked around the corner at his sleeping mother and confirmed that they were safe to continue their game. "We're good," he reassured.

"I'm going to get it," Elliot nodded determinedly, though his unease about the basement was palpable.

Tate acknowledged Elliot's fear, his willingness to help overpowering his own discomfort. "I'll go with you."

"Okay, let's go," Elliot agreed, their bond providing comfort as they embarked on their mission. Together, the young boys descended the basement stairs, the darkness of the basement looming ahead.

Tate's courage led the way, with Elliot trailing close behind, his apprehension evident. Suddenly, a box fell seemingly out of nowhere, startling both boys. The unexpected noise jolted them, and their eyes darted around nervously.

"What was that?" Panic tinged Elliot's voice as he scanned the shadows, the basement's eerie atmosphere intensifying his anxiety.

Tate, however, remained undeterred, his determination to retrieve the toy unwavering. Ignoring the unsettling incident, he continued his search through the basement. Elliot, his unease growing, hesitated. "Maybe we should go back upstairs," he suggested, the fear evident in his voice.

Tate's focus remained on his goal, his determination blinding him to the lurking danger. "I found it," he declared triumphantly, crouching down and crawling beneath a table to retrieve the toy.

Unbeknownst to them, the creature responsible for the earlier disturbance was lying in wait. As Tate reached for the toy, the creature's grasp snaked out and pulled him underneath the table. Elliot's scream joined Tate's as he watched his friend vanish.

"Tate! Tate!" Elliot's voice trembled with terror as he realized his friend was in danger. Driven by instinct to help, he crawled beneath the table, intending to rescue Tate. However, the creature seized him as well, yanking both boys out from their hiding place.

Panic escalated as the creature's intentions grew darker, threatening to harm the boys. Just as it was about to strike, a blonde woman materialized, her presence casting a protective shield around them. She intervened, her arms enveloping the boys and pulling them away from the danger.

"No, Thaddeaus. Go away!" Nora's voice was firm, her command compelling the creature to retreat. As Tate and Elliot trembled, the woman lowered herself to their level, her touch a soothing balm against their fear.

Nora shushed Elliot, tenderly wiping away his tears. Her hand cupped Tate's cheek, radiating warmth and comfort. "Shh, tell me, what's your name?"

"T—Tate," he managed to stammer, finding solace in her gaze.

"Elliot," he sniffled, his nerves slowly subsiding as he felt the genuine care in Nora's presence.

The woman's eyes shifted between the two young boys, her voice gentle but resolute. "If Thaddeaus ever returns to scare you, just shut your eyes and say 'Go away!' He'll mind you... because I am here to protect you."

Tate's gratitude overflowed, his admission revealing a longing for the security Nora provided. "I wish you were my mommy."

As Elliot began to calm, the woman's soothing demeanor reached him. Though he cherished his own mother, he couldn't deny the ease and comfort Nora's presence brought him. In this shared moment of vulnerability and protection, the two boys found a glimmer of hope amid the darkness that surrounded them.

"Now dry your tears, life is too short for so much sorrow."

✧

Ophelia, freshly showered and dressed in anticipation of yet another doctor's appointment, was awash with anxiety as she moved about her kitchen. Her mind buzzed with the memories of her last visit, particularly the unsettling incident involving her previous doctor's reaction. She took solace in the routine of brewing a pot of coffee, the rhythmic gurgling of the machine offering a small semblance of normalcy in the midst of her inner turmoil.

As the rich aroma of coffee filled the air, Ophelia's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of the back door swinging open, heralding Constance's entrance into the kitchen. The encounters with her neighbor were no longer surprising, but Ophelia's guard remained up, unsure of the intentions behind these visits.

"Constance," Ophelia greeted, her tone a mixture of acknowledgment and curiosity. She observed the older woman's entrance, her posture poised and her demeanor collected.

"Ophelia," Constance replied with a nod, moving to shut the door behind her.

Ophelia's gaze remained fixed on Constance; her curiosity piqued as she sought to understand the purpose of this unexpected encounter. "I'm actually on my way to a doctor's appointment," Ophelia mentioned, hoping to prompt an explanation for Constance's presence.

Constance seemed unfazed, her tone carrying an air of nonchalance. "Oh, I won't be long. Just passing through."

Slightly frustrated by the lack of clarity, Ophelia couldn't help but prod further. "Passing through for what?"

Constance's steps carried her closer to Ophelia, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "I'm meeting with Billie Dean later next week. She's requested that I extend an invitation to you."

Ophelia's eyebrows quirked in surprise; her interest piqued by the mention of Billie Dean. The renowned medium had crossed her mind before, and her involvement brought a new layer of intrigue to the situation. "Why does she want to meet with me?"

Constance's chuckle held a hint of mystery. "Who knows what that woman has on her mind? But she's quite persuasive."

The older woman's gaze drifted down to Ophelia's stomach, and her next words sent a jolt of surprise through Ophelia. "You're with child."

Ophelia's eyes widened as she turned to face Constance, her hand stilling in the process of reaching for a cup. The directness of the statement caught her off guard, and she felt a mix of emotions rush to the surface. "What? How...?"

Constance's grin was cryptic, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. "I have the nose of a truffle pig. I could smell that little angel the second I walked in the door." Her grin widened, and she leaned in conspiratorially. "Pheromones."

Ophelia's shock transitioned to a mixture of disbelief and amusement as she absorbed Constance's revelation. "Please, don't mention it to my dad," she implored, a touch of panic lacing her voice.

Constance mimed locking her lips with a gesture, her expression playful as if to assure Ophelia that her secret was safe.

With a sigh of relief, Ophelia considered the intriguing prospect of meeting with Billie Dean. She had a multitude of questions about her situation, questions that perhaps only someone with a deeper understanding of the supernatural could answer. "Let Billie know that I'll be there."

Constance's smile held a touch of enigmatic satisfaction as she turned, preparing to depart. The door creaked open, and before she stepped through, she cast a final glance at Ophelia. "Don't drink too much caffeine. It's bad for the baby."

✧

Ophelia sat on the examination table; her fingers nervously interlocked as she awaited her newly assigned doctor. Her emotions were a whirlwind, a storm of uncertainty and conflicting thoughts raging within her. The sterile atmosphere of the room only amplified her unease as she grappled with the weight of her circumstances.

As her mind raced, Ophelia couldn't shake the ache of loneliness that settled in her chest. She wished that Tate and Elliot could be by her side, providing the support and reassurance she so desperately needed. Yet, she knew that their absence was a reality she had to face on her own. The silence of the room allowed her thoughts to spiral, from contemplating her options for the pregnancy to wrestling with the notion of facing it all alone.

The doctor's entrance brought a shift in the room's energy, and Ophelia's nervous fingers stilled as she looked up to meet the doctor's gaze. The professional smile on the doctor's face was meant to offer comfort, but Ophelia's guarded demeanor remained evident.

"Miss Bishop," Doctor Garret greeted warmly, her eyes reflecting a genuine concern for Ophelia's well-being. She held a clipboard in her hand, a stack of papers ready to address the matters at hand.

Ophelia managed a small smile, though it held a tinge of awkwardness. "Hi," she replied, her voice wavering slightly.

The doctor's perceptive eyes caught the underlying tension, prompting her to address it. "Are we having another tough day?" Doctor Garret asked gently, her tone infused with empathy.

Ophelia's shoulders tensed for a moment before she forced herself to relax. "No, I'm okay," she reassured, her smile taking on a more determined quality. "Just eager for the results."

The doctor's understanding demeanor helped to alleviate some of Ophelia's anxiety. She took a seat across from Ophelia, her gaze compassionate as she assessed the young woman before her. "It's natural to be anxious," she began, her tone soft. "Especially in your situation."

Ophelia nodded, her fingers finding solace in each other's touch as she listened to the doctor's comforting words. She looked up, meeting the doctor's gaze as she ventured a question. "You didn't see anything unusual, did you? Like hooves or anything?"

The doctor's chuckle held a reassuring quality, easing the tension in the room. "Not at all," she responded warmly, her expression genuine. "But you know, that's not a ridiculous fear. Every pregnant woman worries about what little devil they might be carrying."

Ophelia managed a small laugh, the doctor's words offering a sense of camaraderie in the face of her fears. However, her laughter slowly transformed into disbelief as the doctor's demeanor turned more serious.

"I don't want to get you all worked up, Ophelia," the doctor continued, her tone measured. "But I have some important news. You're having twins."

Ophelia's laughter died in her throat as she stared at the doctor, her initial disbelief gradually replaced by shock. "Oh, shit," she muttered, a mixture of astonishment and realization coloring her words. "You're not joking."

The doctor's expression remained steady, her gaze holding Ophelia's. "I'm not," she confirmed with a gentle smile.

The weight of the revelation settled upon Ophelia, leaving her speechless for a moment. Twins. It was an idea that seemed so foreign and overwhelming, yet it also held a glimmer of possibility.

"And they're both perfectly healthy," the doctor reassured, her words breaking the silence. Her gaze held a sense of understanding, recognizing the monumental nature of the news she had just delivered.

Doctor Garret's tone shifted, transitioning to a more serious note as she broached a crucial topic. "Ophelia, have you made any decisions about what you want to do with your pregnancy?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. Ophelia's mind raced, her thoughts a tempest of uncertainty and conflicting emotions. She took a moment, allowing herself to process the news of her pregnancy and the surprising revelation of twins. The room seemed to hold its breath as she grappled with her thoughts.

Finally, a determined smile spread across Ophelia's face, her eyes reflecting newfound resolve. "It's going to be absolutely bat-shit insane," she began, her voice steady. "But... let's do this."

✧

The sun was setting, casting a warm and golden hue over the surroundings as Tate stepped outside onto the porch, his heart weighed down by the weight of unspoken thoughts. He had been avoiding Elliot after the awkward tension that had settled between them since their unexpected kiss. It was a kiss that had sparked something new, something he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to confront. Though, his talk with Ophelia built him up with enough courage to reach out.

Tate's gaze swept over the yard until he spotted Elliot sitting on the porch steps, his fingers guiding a cigarette to his lips. Elliot looked up as Tate approached, his expression a mix of uncertainty and longing.

"Hey," Tate greeted, his voice carrying a tentative quality.

Elliot's lips curved into a small smile as he patted the spot beside him on the steps. "Hey."

Tate settled down next to him, the silence between them stretching as both of them seemed unsure of how to proceed. The quietude felt heavy, pregnant with the unspoken tension that had been building ever since that moment they had shared.

After a few moments of awkward stillness, Tate finally found the courage to address the elephant in the room. "About that night..."

Elliot's gaze shifted to meet Tate's, his eyes a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "Yeah?"

Tate took a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his jeans as he searched for the right words. "I've been thinking about it a lot."

Elliot nodded, his expression softening as he seemed to understand the weight of Tate's words. "Me too."

The admission hung in the air, a bridge between them waiting to be crossed. Tate's gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers stilling as he gathered his thoughts. "I don't regret it," he began, his voice a quiet murmur. "But it's been eating at me, you know? I never thought... I mean, we're best friends."

Elliot turned to him, his eyes filled with a mixture of empathy and vulnerability. "I get it, Tate. I do. It took me by surprise too."

Tate sighed, a mixture of relief and frustration mingling within him. "I just don't want things to be weird between us."

Elliot's hand found its way to Tate's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Tate, whatever we're feeling, it doesn't change the fact that you're my best friend. I don't want that to change."

Tate looked up at him, his gaze searching Elliot's eyes for any sign of uncertainty. "You're not mad?"

Elliot's smile was gentle and genuine. "No, I'm not mad. Confused, maybe. But not mad."

Tate let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Okay."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation lifting the tension that had hung between them. Tate's gaze drifted back to the horizon, the colors of the sunset casting a warm glow on his features.

"I just... I needed you to know," Tate admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Elliot's fingers brushed against Tate's, their touch a subtle reassurance. "I'm glad you told me."

Tate turned to him, their eyes locking in a moment of shared understanding. "So, what now?"

Elliot's smile held a hint of mischief, his eyes sparkling with a newfound lightness. "I say we take things one step at a time, see where this path leads us."

Tate's heart felt a little lighter, his worries gradually melting away as he looked at his best friend with a renewed sense of hope. "Yeah," he agreed, his smile mirroring Elliot's. "One step at a time."

✧

"Look what I found!" Tate's excitement echoed in the dimly lit basement as he proudly displayed the weathered yellow toy truck they had encountered on their first foray into this eerie place. Elliot cast a contemplative look at the toy, a silent acknowledgment of the significance it held for both of them. That toy had marked their initiation into the mysteries of this house, forever linking them to its enigmatic history.

"Yeah, that's a blast from the past," Elliot mused, his gaze fixed on the toy truck resting in Tate's hand. Its worn appearance stirred memories of that unforgettable day, igniting a sense of nostalgia within him.

"I totally forgot about this thing," Tate chuckled, gently placing the toy back down where he had found it.

Elliot's expression darkened momentarily. "I didn't forget. That shit traumatized me."

Tate's laughter lightened the somber mood. "You and me both, buddy." But their recollections were interrupted by Nora's sorrowful cries that resonated throughout the basement, drawing them toward her presence.

"Speak of the devil," Elliot grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He and Tate moved toward the sound, guided by the echo of Nora's weeping. As they entered the room, their gazes locked onto her tear-stained face.

"Who are you?" Nora's voice quivered as she looked up, her tearful eyes focusing on the two figures before her.

"It's me, Tate," he began, introducing himself. He gestured toward Elliot. "And this is Elliot. Don't you remember?"

"Life's too short for so much sorrow," Elliot interjected, his voice carrying a hint of reverence, hoping that echoing her words might trigger a memory.

"You're wrong," Nora countered, shaking her head before succumbing to tears once more. "It's an eternity. Just endless days and nights of longing... Where's my baby?"

The weight of her pain hung heavily in the air, a palpable reminder of the agony that bound her spirit. Tate and Elliot exchanged glances, sharing a silent understanding of the mission that had brought them here.

"That's actually what we want to talk about," Tate continued, drawing Nora's attention as she wiped away her tears.

Recognition flickered in Nora's eyes as she rose from her seat, her anticipation growing. "You—You two promised me. You made one with her—the lady of the house."

"Ophelia," Tate corrected firmly, a note of exasperation entering his tone.

"We can't give you the baby anymore," Elliot stated with resolute conviction. "Everything's changed, Nora."

"She's changed everything," Tate added, his frustration echoing his friend's sentiments.

Nora's demeanor darkened as she grasped the implications of their words. "I see."

"We can't take her baby away," Tate affirmed, his voice imbued with unwavering determination. The bond they had forged with Ophelia, and the life they were now entwined in, was paramount.

"But I can," Nora's voice dropped to a chilling whisper, her tear-streaked face growing resolute. Their refusal had unveiled her desperation, and her desire to regain what she had lost had grown insistent. "And I will."

Tate's patience waned, his emotions surging to the forefront. He acted on impulse, snatching her wrist to prevent her invasive touch. "You won't."

"We will personally make this place a living nightmare if you go near Ophelia or the baby," Elliot's voice resonated with an icy edge, his towering presence imposing an unspoken threat. "Do you understand?"

Nora's resolve faltered under their united stance, realizing that they would fiercely protect the new life that had entered their realm. She nodded, releasing her wrist from Tate's grip and acknowledging their unyielding resolve. The stakes had been laid bare, a tense equilibrium established between the living and the spirits of the murder house.

✧

Ophelia's frustration was palpable as she sat at the kitchen island, her voice tense as she navigated the phone call in search of her original doctor. Moira was tidying up the kitchen, her ears attuned to the conversation. Moira had been privy to Ophelia's situation long before Ophelia had confided in her about it.

"She's a doctor in your department," Ophelia explained, her patience wearing thin as she tried to recall the name. The frustration in her voice was evident as she recounted the incident. "I think her name is Angie or something... She fainted during my ultrasound. Right. So, she quit? Would you ask her to call me then? Ophelia Bishop. Thank you." She finished the call, ending it with a sigh of exasperation. Constance entered the kitchen from the back door, a plate in her hands. Ophelia noticed her presence, trying to summon a genuine smile despite her frustration.

"Hi, Constance," Ophelia greeted, setting her phone down on the island.

Constance exchanged a look with Moira, then turned her attention back to Ophelia. "Moira tells me that you've been suffering terribly. That every time you leave the house, you're wrecked with violent morning sickness?"

Ophelia let out a weary sigh, confirming Constance's observation. "Yup."

Constance placed the plate down on the island, her tone carrying a mix of formality and care. "Well, you know my mother always recommended a big platter of offal during the first trimester of pregnancy." As she unwrapped the plate, Moira shot a curious glance toward her. "She preferred pork."

Ophelia watched Constance's actions, genuinely touched by her thoughtfulness even with her emotions from Addy's passing. "Oh, how nice of you to think of me during this—"

"I believe life is for the living, don't you?" Constance interrupted, offering a forced smile as she looked up at Ophelia. She unveiled the meat after removing the wrapping. "Sweetbreads." Constance pointed to the peculiar-looking meat pieces. "These two are thymus glands, one from the heart, one from the throat. And this is the pancreas. It's so good for mother and child. Full of protein, vitamin C, all the B vitamins and iron... and..." Constance's tone softened as she began to reminisce. "I wanted to tell you how much of a comfort you were to me when Addy passed."

Ophelia's gaze shifted from the meat to Constance, her discomfort and uncertainty momentarily pushed aside by the older woman's unusually kind words. She offered a grateful smile, her own voice gentle. "Of course, no problem at all."

Constance picked up the plate and walked over to Moira. "Moira, why don't you sauté these for Ophelia's lunch." Moira turned her attention toward Constance as she accepted the plate. "Make 'em the way you used to do for me, remember? With sweet butter."

Turning back to face Ophelia, Moira assured her, "I'd be happy to do that for you, Miss Bishop."

As Constance moved toward the back door, Ophelia's discomfort with the unfamiliar meat began to resurface. She was torn between her desire to ease her nausea and her reluctance to consume something so unfamiliar. Constance paused at the door, glancing back at Ophelia. "We need that baby. We need another sweet child around here."

"Babies," Ophelia corrected with a smile, the gravity of Constance's words taking a moment to sink in.

Constance's sad expression transformed into a genuine smile. "The more the merrier," she declared before stepping through the back door.

While Moira skillfully cooked the unusual meat, Ophelia's gaze remained fixed on the woman. A sudden realization struck Ophelia like a bolt of lightning—Moira must be just like Tate and Elliot. The consistent presence of the housekeeper across different owners of the house was a telling sign. Gathering her thoughts, Ophelia decided to confirm her suspicion.

"Moira?" Ophelia's voice carried a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

Moira glanced back at Ophelia as she continued cooking. "Yes, Miss Bishop?"

"You're like Tate and Elliot, aren't you?" Ophelia's words were a mix of wonder and curiosity, her head tilting slightly in question.

Moira paused momentarily before resuming her cooking. She turned her head slightly to look at Ophelia, her tone matter-of-fact. "I'm nothing like them." Moira's words held a touch of bitterness, her gaze meeting Ophelia's as she acknowledged the truth. "If by that, you mean being deceased... then yes, you are correct."

Ophelia's heart ached with a newfound understanding of the loneliness that Moira must have felt for all these years. "I'm so sorry," she whispered sincerely, realizing the weight of that isolation.

The kitchen was filled with an awkward silence until Moira broke it with a request. "May I speak my mind, even if it's quite forward, but genuinely heartfelt?"

Ophelia nodded, her gaze never leaving Moira as she continued her cooking.

"Those boys are no good for you," Moira stated firmly, her back turned to Ophelia. "And let me tell you this, if I know anything at all, they would not hesitate to do terrible things again if given the chance."

A heavy silence hung in the air, Ophelia's heart sinking as the truth of Moira's words settled in. She wanted to defend Tate and Elliot, to believe in their goodness, but she couldn't ignore the reality of their actions. She struggled with the complexity of her emotions, wrestling with her love for them and the darkness they were capable of.

"I hope my honesty hasn't upset you," Moira added, her voice softer now, as she transferred the cooked meat onto a plate and served it to Ophelia. Ophelia stared at the food before her, a mix of uncertainty and curiosity.

Moira grabbed a pinch of salt from the island, adding it to the plate. "Just a touch of sea salt, and a small squeeze of lemon if you prefer, although I personally find it better without... and ma'am, I've left the pancreas uncooked." Moira's suggestion sounded peculiar, causing Ophelia to look at her as if she were out of her mind. "They say it's the most tender organ, especially when eaten raw."

"Absolutely not," Ophelia exclaimed, a stifled laugh escaping her.

"Think of the babies," Moira urged gently, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

Caught between curiosity and the strange advice, Ophelia found herself relenting. "Fuck, okay."

With a forced smile, Ophelia poked a piece of the cooked meat with her fork, hesitating before bringing it to her mouth. Bracing for the worst, she was surprised to find that the taste wasn't as bad as she had anticipated. She nodded approvingly at Moira, acknowledging that the unusual meal wasn't as unpleasant as she had imagined.

✧

The music blared in Ophelia's ears, momentarily drowning out her thoughts as she scrolled through pregnancy forums on her laptop. She was lost in her own world, grappling with the overwhelming uncertainty of her situation. Suddenly, a knock at her door shattered her focus, causing her to close her laptop and pause the music. Ophelia's heart quickened as she heard her father's voice through the door.

"Ophelia, we need to talk," Joey's voice was serious and determined.

Ophelia let out a sigh, her apprehension growing. She slowly rose from the floor, her fingers nervously fidgeting. Reluctantly, she walked towards the door and opened it, revealing her father on the other side. Joey offered a forced smile as his worried eyes met his daughter's.

Ophelia instinctively looked away, walking towards her bed. "Is this about school?"

"Yes," Joey replied, following her into the room. "It's about school."

Ophelia slumped onto her bed, her guard up. "If you're going to lecture me about it to make yourself feel better—"

"Why would it make me feel better?" Joey's voice held a touch of hurt as he took a seat in front of her.

Ophelia shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Because I know you want to be a good father. And I know I've made it tough for you."

Joey's expression shifted, his lips forming a thin line. "I owe you an apology."

Ophelia's eyes widened in surprise at his unexpected admission. She regarded her father with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. "Is this some kind of reverse psychology or...?"

Joey shook his head, his expression earnest. "I can't imagine how hard this year has been for you. Moving, starting college, and all the chaos here at home." Ophelia's gaze softened as she listened to his words. "Hey, remember last year when you said you were going to Harvard?"

"I only said that to make you happy," Ophelia admitted with a small smile. "I ended up at a shitty community college anyways."

Joey nodded, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "I knew that. I also knew you were smart enough to go wherever you wanted. You still can... What's going on, Ophelia? This isn't like you."

Ophelia's resolve wavered, and she felt a lump forming in her throat. She looked away, her eyes welling up with tears. "I'm pregnant."

The revelation hung in the air, and shock registered on Joey's face. "What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

Ophelia fought back tears, her voice shaking as she repeated herself. "I'm pregnant. I went to the doctor. It's twins, Dad." A tear escaped her eye, rolling down her cheek. Joey's shock gave way to his own tears as he processed the news.

Seeing his daughter so distraught, Joey decided to comfort her and embraced her tightly. "Oh, honey..."

Amidst her tears, Ophelia managed a shaky smile, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid."

Joey pulled away slightly to look at her, his eyes filled with empathy. "I thought you were on birth control?"

"I am... I was." Ophelia's voice cracked. "I don't know what happened."

A surge of anger mixed with concern flowed through Joey's veins. "Who's the father?" he asked, his tone shifting from curiosity to a hint of rage.

Ophelia's tears intensified at the question, and she struggled to find the words. She managed to meet her father's gaze, her vulnerability laid bare. "I don't know."

Joey's anger flared momentarily before he regained his composure. Standing up, he paced the room, his mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. "I knew I should have never let those two near you."

Ophelia shook her head, her voice filled with urgency as she rose to face him. "No, it's not just them. It's me too. I didn't exactly follow your advice to stay away from them. I'm sorry, Dad. Please don't stop seeing them. They need you... you're doing so much good for them."

Joey let out a sigh, his anger gradually subsiding. He pushed his hair out of his face, grappling with the magnitude of the situation. "Do you have any idea how serious this is?"

Ophelia's frustration was evident as she responded, "Of course I do. Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I planned for any of this?"

"How are you going to raise two babies when you can't even get through your first year of college? Have you thought about any of this at all?" Joey's concern mixed with frustration as he confronted his daughter's difficult reality.

"That's all I've been thinking about," Ophelia snapped, her tears falling freely now. "Every single day, I think about the fact that I have to fight just to get out of bed in the morning. That my babies could inherit the same darkness that their father has, whosever they are... it doesn't even matter. There's no logical reason for me to want these babies, except that I can't help but love them. For the first time in my life I feel like I'm doing what I'm supposed to and as much as I hate this, I want them. I just... need some light at the end of this tunnel."

As Ophelia's emotions poured out, her father's gaze softened. He sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into a comforting embrace. A moment of silence passed before Joey decided to lighten the mood. "So, I'm going to be a grandpa?"

Ophelia laughed amidst her tears, wiping her face with her sleeve and sniffing. "Yeah."

✧

Ophelia set her book aside, preparing to change the song on her iPod. Just as she turned around, a sudden appearance by Tate and Elliot right behind her caused her to jump in surprise, followed by a fit of laughter of the two young men as she playfully hit them both.

"Fuck you guys," Ophelia chuckled, still catching her breath from the scare. "Who scares pregnant women like that?"

"It was just too easy, Opie," Tate chuckled, exchanging a knowing grin with Elliot. Ophelia's smile grew wider, noticing how at ease the two of them were with each other. They couldn't help but playfully roll their eyes at her as she let out an exuberant squeal.

"You guys are talking again?" Ophelia beamed, wrapping them both in a tight hug that they readily embraced.

"With your expert intervention, of course," Tate replied, his smile shining.

"Wait, you actually talked to him about it?" Elliot asked, genuinely surprised.

Ophelia simply shrugged with nonchalance, her hands innocently tucked behind her back. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Traitor," Elliot playfully teased.

"Hey, I didn't spill any secrets. Tate did most of the talking anyway," Ophelia retorted, tilting her head with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Hey!" Tate protested, pretending to be hurt by her revealing his role in their reconciliation.

"Whatever. I knew it would work out," Ophelia said, her sweet smile belying her mischievous tone.

Realizing she hadn't yet shared the news, Ophelia decided to drop the bomb. "So... I'm having twins. And they're healthy."

"Twins?" Elliot's eyes widened, and he exchanged a surprised look with Tate.

"I know, right? Crazy," Ophelia sighed. "But there's three of us to take care of them, so it should be manageable. Hopefully." She couldn't help but notice the sudden silence that filled the air, causing her curiosity to stir. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Tate quickly responded, his smile genuine as he pulled her into a warm hug. "It's going to be a full house."

As Ophelia stepped back from Tate, Elliot enveloped her in his own embrace. "That's incredible, Phi."

"Thank you, guys," Ophelia murmured, hugging Elliot back before they separated. She sensed a momentary unease in their expressions but dismissed it, focused on her gratitude. "For being here, for going through all this with me, and for always being there when I need you."

The atmosphere seemed to shift as Ophelia expressed her appreciation. The two boys exchanged glances, their faces reflecting a deep bond with her. They both understood the weight of her words, especially considering their complicated history.

"Even if I manage to convince my dad to keep the house, I don't think it's safe to raise them here," Ophelia said, her gaze sincere but uncertain.

Tate and Elliot shared a brief look of panic. The thought of Ophelia leaving the house and leaving the two of them behind was too much to bear. They couldn't fathom a world without her presence, especially in their lives. Or lack thereof.

"I promise you, Ophelia, nothing will happen to you or those babies as long as we're around. I promise," Elliot reassured, his tone firm and comforting.

Tate nodded, his expression resolute. "Exactly. You don't have to worry. We're here."

Ophelia's gratitude deepened as she took in their words. The uncertainty that had clouded her thoughts seemed to ease, replaced by a sense of security she hadn't felt in a while. She nodded, feeling the warmth of their embrace as they wrapped their arms around her.

"I told my dad," Ophelia confessed, pulling away from the group hug.

"Oh shit." Tate let out a resigned sigh, well aware of his somewhat strained relationship with her father. "How did he take it?"

Elliot, genuinely curious, joined the conversation. "Yeah, what was his reaction?"

"It wasn't great at first, but I think he's slowly coming around to the idea," Ophelia responded, a hint of optimism in her voice. "Although, I'd advise you both to avoid him for now."

"He's pissed, isn't he?" Tate asked with a knowing grin.

Ophelia chuckled, nodding. "You could say that."

Tate and Elliot exchanged amused glances, well aware of the potential stormy encounter that awaited them. Ophelia patted each of them on the shoulder. "Good luck dealing with that, boys."

Ophelia made her way to her bed, deliberately taking the left side. Tate noticed her choice and playfully protested, "Hey, that's my spot."

"Not tonight it's not," Ophelia declared as she settled into the left side of the bed. "I'm tired of being in the middle. It gets too hot and sweaty, and you guys squish me in my sleep."

Tate looked at Elliot, silently hoping he would volunteer to be in the middle this time. However, Elliot wasn't willing to take on the role. He shook his head and chuckled. "No way, don't give me that look. I'm not getting stuck in the middle."

"You guys are no fun," Tate groaned playfully before finally climbing into bed next to Ophelia. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. Ophelia smiled at the gesture, finding comfort in his embrace.

As Elliot joined them on the bed, he settled in next to Tate and wrapped his arms around him, with a gentle hand resting on Ophelia's arm. The three of them created a cozy, intimate cocoon on the bed, basking in the closeness of their bond. It was a moment of shared understanding, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of their lives.

✧

Ophelia's steps echoed through the hallowed halls of the church as she made her way to where Dr. Angelo was tending to the votive stand. The flickering candles cast an eerie glow that seemed to accentuate the unease gripping Ophelia's heart. Her stomach churned with a mixture of nausea and anxiety, making it hard for her to discern the source of her discomfort. As she called out to the doctor, Ophelia's voice was a blend of determination and fear.

"Doctor Angelo?" Ophelia's words hung in the air, capturing the doctor's attention. Dr. Angelo turned to face Ophelia, her lips forcing a smile as she acknowledged her presence. Ophelia approached, eager to greet the doctor, but was met with a subtle step back that indicated an unspoken boundary. "Thank you so much for meeting with me."

The doctor forced a smile in response, guiding her towards a bench.

Ophelia's attempt at a handshake was met with a retreat, leaving her slightly taken aback. She settled onto the bench, her smile wavering as she dismissed the awkward encounter. The church's surroundings felt incongruous with the heavy subject matter she was here to discuss.

"When you gave me the address, I didn't know it was going to be a church," Ophelia admitted, revealing her unease about the setting. She glanced at the votive stand, where the doctor had been lighting candles moments ago.

"It's where I feel safe," Dr. Angelo explained, her tone slightly defensive. The discomfort in the air was palpable as the two sat side by side on the bench.

Ophelia wasted no time in addressing her concerns. "The hospital said you quit your job, but they didn't say why. I've been kind of spooked because of the ultrasound, and they said the machine malfunctioned. But... it seemed to me that you saw something that scared you."

Dr. Angelo's demeanor shifted, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and urgency. "Yes. And I've been praying about it ever since." The doctor's words carried an underlying weight, revealing the torment that had occupied her mind. "I saw the unclean thing, what you carry in your womb. The plague of nations, the Beast."

Ophelia's reaction was a mixture of disbelief and incredulity. She suppressed a laugh, unable to fathom the gravity of the doctor's claims. "Are you implying that I'm carrying the antichrist?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she shook her head in disbelief. "You didn't see anything. So, the machine malfunctioned."

Dr. Angelo's persistence persisted, her emotions welling up as tears gathered in her eyes. "It did not," she insisted, her gaze locking onto Ophelia's. The intensity of her conviction was unsettling, contrasting with her earlier demeanor. "I saw the little hooves."

"You need serious help." Ophelia's patience wore thin, her initial curiosity giving way to frustration. Rising from the bench, she felt a surge of anger. She stormed off, unable to fathom the doctor's claims and unwilling to entertain her unsettling perspective. But Dr. Angelo's voice pierced through her departure, delivering a prophetic proclamation that only fueled Ophelia's fire.

"And the woman was filled with the filthiness of her fornication. The mother of harlots and abominations of the Earth!"

Ophelia's steps quickened, her hand instinctively lifting to flip her off. "Oh, fuck off!" Her retort was laced with a mix of irritation and disbelief as she angrily exited the church, her emotions a turbulent mix that matched the flickering candles that lined her path.

✧

"Good God, woman, you've got to knock this shit off," Hayden declared, striding into the room where Nora had been immersed in her sorrow.

Nora's anguish was abruptly interrupted as she turned her gaze to Hayden, her eyes still wet with tears. "I—I beg your pardon?"

"The crying," Hayden pointed out bluntly. "You've got to get it under control. You're making me nuts."

Nora's brows furrowed in confusion as she frantically scanned her surroundings. "I'm very confused. What are you doing in my house?"

Hayden let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes. "I'm stuck here, just like the others. Like you. We died in this place, and for some godforsaken reason, we can't leave."

Nora's disbelief painted her features. "What are you implying? That—That you're dead?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating it," Hayden replied with a smirk. "Yeah, dead. Dead as disco."

Nora shook her head in disbelief, struggling to comprehend the situation. "I don't understand."

Hayden pouted condescendingly, moving to sit next to Nora. "Of course, you don't, honey. But you're not alone in your confusion. There are other lost souls trapped here... innocent, beautiful souls who never knew malice or anger. It's a cruel fate for them to be confined to a place like this. It's heart-wrenching. And then there are others who revel in this twisted game. They're the malevolent ones. We linger here, somewhere between the living and the dead. No solace for them, no peace for us." Hayden and Nora both cast their eyes around the room, absorbing the weight of their surroundings. "It's this place. It has a grip on us."

Hayden redirected her gaze to Nora, her expression becoming more intense. "But that's not the end of it. There's a power here, a power we can harness. We can make ourselves hidden, and when the moment demands it, we can make ourselves known. And oh, how I have that burning need. Sometimes, I'm consumed by a fiery rage that terrifies even me. I act out. If we're meant to resolve our issues, well, it's a cruel joke we can never fulfill."

Nora's anxiety intensified. "What you're saying is utter madness. I'm not dead."

"Then how do you explain this, sweetheart?" Hayden's voice dripped with chilling certainty as she seized Nora's wrist and guided her trembling hand to the gunshot wound on the back of her head.

Nora's reality seemed to fracture as her fingers brushed the phantom scar, grappling with the blurred line between the real and the surreal. "What? What is this?"

Hayden stood up from the bed, her movements fluid and deliberate. "Looks like an exit wound. My guess? You ate a bullet, and judging by those clothes, it was a long, long time ago."

Nora's mind spun, torn between disbelief and horrifying realization. "Why would I do such a thing?" Tears streamed down her face, and a glimmer of comprehension began to pierce through her confusion. "Was it because of my baby?"

A heavy silence enveloped the room as Nora's emotions unraveled further. "Where's my baby?"

"Did you lose your baby?" Hayden's voice dripped with feigned innocence.

Through heart-wrenching sobs, Nora managed a nod. "Yes."

"I lost mine too," Hayden stated matter-of-factly. "It was never born. It's in the backyard, along with the rest of me."

The weight of injustice pressed down on Nora's chest, her grief consuming her. "It's not fair."

"No, it's not," Hayden agreed, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "How is it that she gets to have two, while we are denied any?"

"Who?" Nora's voice quivered, her curiosity tinged with desperation.

"The bitch who stole your house—Ophelia!" Hayden's voice dripped with venom. "She has it all, and what do we have?"

"Heartache," Nora sobbed, her anguish deepening as she rose from her seat.

A sinister smile played on Hayden's lips as she edged closer to Nora. "She's carrying twins, you know. Maybe we should take those babies. One for you, one for me."

Nora's eyes widened, her mind grappling with the twisted proposition. "Could we do that?"

Hayden's eyes glinted with a malevolent gleam. "We'll have to try. After all, those babies will need mothers, won't they?"

In the midst of their macabre conversation, Hayden's words hung heavily in the air, a testament to the haunting power that held them all captive within the walls of the house.

✧

Ophelia sat in the doctor's office, her anxiety palpable as she wore the sterile hospital gown, waiting for the procedure to begin. Dr. Garret prepared a large syringe, causing a lump to form in her throat as she watched. Her previous encounter with the other doctor had left her shaken and determined to ensure the health of her babies through whatever tests were necessary.

"Is this safe?" Ophelia's voice quivered, her gaze fixed on the intimidating needle that would soon be inserted into her womb.

"Five thousand amnios and not a single miscarriage, but who's counting," Dr. Garret reassured, attempting to ease her nerves with humor.

Ophelia managed a nervous laugh, finding some comfort in the doctor's words. As the doctor turned to face her, "How have you been feeling with the medication?"

"Well, I've been taking the B6, but it's not helping at all. And I'm fine at my house, but when I leave, I get so sick," Ophelia explained, a hint of frustration in her tone.

"Maybe it's your body's way of telling you to stay home," Dr. Garret mused, offering a possible explanation.

Ophelia's worries extended beyond her own well-being, her primary concern lying with the health of her babies. "I think I'm just worried that there's something wrong with these babies. I want to take the C.V.S. test too, if we could."

Dr. Garret weighed her options, understanding Ophelia's anxiety and desire for reassurance. "Well, we're already doing the amnio. It may not make you feel better."

"It will make me feel better," Ophelia insisted, her determination unwavering.

Recognizing Ophelia's conviction, Dr. Garret sighed in resignation. "Okay, we can do that after we're done with the amnio."

"Perfect," Ophelia smiled, grateful for the doctor's willingness to accommodate her concerns.

"Take it easy today, okay? Stay off your feet," Dr. Garret advised, emphasizing the importance of self-care.

As the nurse Regina applied the cold gel to her stomach, Ophelia winced at the unexpected sensation. Regina maneuvered the ultrasound wand until she found the right spot. Ophelia held her breath as Dr. Garret warned her about the forthcoming sensation.

"You're gonna feel a tiny pinch," the doctor cautioned, stepping forward and carefully inserting the needle into her womb. Ophelia braced herself, the anticipation heightening her nerves. The sensation was a mix of discomfort and pressure, but it was over quicker than she had expected as the needle was withdrawn.

Ophelia's tense expression softened as she took a deep breath, the procedure complete. The ordeal was a reminder of her determination to ensure her babies' well-being, even if it meant enduring moments of discomfort. She glanced up at the doctor, seeking reassurance in the midst of her fears.

✧

Moira, absorbed in her cleaning duties, was jolted from her thoughts by the presence of someone approaching her. Constance's irritating voice cut through the air as she confronted Moira about Ophelia's activities.

"Where is she?" Constance's accusatory tone filled the space as she approached Moira. "Little slut."

Moira raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Who?"

"Ophelia. She's been catting around with my dog walker," Constance snapped, clearly agitated.

Moira couldn't help but suppress a chuckle. "Nonsense. The girl's taste in men is hardly refined, but I doubt it runs to rough trade."

"Well, when Travis came back from dog walking - a 15-minute affair that somehow stretched into 45 - he smelled... of something other than canine," Constance insisted.

Moira couldn't resist the opportunity to provoke Constance. "You're delusional. That girl wouldn't give your greasy boy toy a second glance. She thinks she's in love with your little angel and his partner in crime. But once the truth comes out, I suspect that'll change."

Constance's brows furrowed in bewilderment and irritation as Moira's words played on. "What the hell are you babbling about?"

"The two babies she's carrying." Moira's gaze remained steady, unflinching as she allowed the weight of her statement to linger. "Can you truly be so ignorant, not recognizing that Tate could very well be one of the potential fathers?"

Constance's annoyance was evident as she rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. That's impossible."

Moira's tone grew more serious. "Those evil boys told Nora that they would use the next woman of this house to give her a baby."

Constance's face shifted from disbelief to dread as the truth sank in. She stumbled away from Moira, her thoughts consumed by her late son Tate. She called out his name, her voice echoing through the house as she descended into the basement.

"Tate? Tate, honey, it's Mama. I have to talk to you. Tate?" Constance's voice carried desperation as she searched for her son.

Tate's voice responded from behind her. "So talk."

Constance jumped slightly, startled by his sudden appearance. She reached out, grabbing his face with urgency. "Oh, God. Tell me it isn't true, what I've been hearing about you."

Tate, seemingly unfazed, asked, "About what?"

Constance's grip tightened on his face. "Your behavior. God, after all the missteps, we finally have somebody in this house that maybe can help you. Tell me you did not purposely impregnate that poor girl!"

Tate's voice grew more desperate as he pleaded, "Mama... Mama, you can't tell Ophelia, okay? Please don't..."

The truth was etched on Constance's face as her son's silence spoke volumes. Tears welled in her eyes as she pulled away from him, her emotions overwhelming her. "Oh..."

Tate's voice cracked as he called out, "Mama!" The realization of his actions weighed heavily on him, and his vulnerability was evident.

Constance's rage turned into a torrent of emotions as she repeatedly hit Tate. Her anger was a mix of disappointment, grief, and desperation. "What is wrong with you, for God's sake? What's wrong with you?"

"Mama!" Tate's cries grew louder as he tried to protect himself from the blows, eventually collapsing onto the floor.

As the intensity of the moment subsided, Constance's anger transformed into a mixture of remorse and sorrow. She covered her mouth, unable to believe her own actions as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Mama..." Tate's voice was a desperate plea as he cradled himself, the pain of the physical and emotional wounds evident in his cries.

✧

"Sorry I'm late," Ophelia uttered upon stepping through Constance's back door and entering the kitchen. Her gaze fell upon Billie Dean, who was seated at the table, engrossed in her meal. Ophelia proceeded further into the room, and her attention shifted to Constance, who appeared disheveled and stood gazing out the window by the sink.

"No need to worry, dear," Billie Dean responded with a warm smile as Ophelia settled into a seat beside her. "It's truly delightful to see you."

Ophelia reciprocated the smile. Billie Dean then redirected her focus to Constance. "I believe we might have some promising news on my Lifetime pilot. Once it's confirmed, I'd love to invite you as my guest."

Constance's response was tinged with indifference. "My thoughts are occupied by something of more significant concern. An unsettling situation has taken hold of my attention."

Billie Dean, sipping her tea, interjected with a curious tone, "Could this be related to a menopause, baby? Why am I seeing baby pictures?"

Ophelia chimed in, her hand tenderly resting on her slightly protruding belly, where a hint of a bump had started to form. The sight brought a small smile to her lips. "Actually, that might be me you're sensing."

Constance's gaze shifted to the two women at the table, a silent exchange occurring before she focused intently on Ophelia. "Tell me... What happens when a human... copulates with someone from the spirit world?"

Ophelia's heart tightened in her chest. The very question she had wanted to pose to Billie Dean herself seemed to echo through Constance's words. A mixture of curiosity and unease accompanied her gaze as she tried to comprehend the intensity of Constance's inquiry.

"Spirits aren't known for their potency." Billie Dean replied with a chuckle, adding a hint of levity to the conversation.

"but... what if there is, in fact, a conception?" Ophelia inquired, her focus shifting to Billie Dean, her curiosity piqued.

"Are you familiar with the Pope's box?" Billie Dean directed her question at both women, prompting Ophelia to shake her head, her anticipation palpable.

Constance slumped into an available chair, her patience waning. She demanded, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Billie Dean leaned in, her voice taking on a more somber tone as she began to share her cryptic tale.  "When a new Pope has been chosen... and the bells of St. Peter's chime... he is shown into a small chamber next to the Sistine Chapel. They call it the Room of Tears, named for the sublime mixture of joy and sorrow that he must contemplate at this moment. He is brought a key to this box. It has been said that this box contains the ultimate secret. It holds the secret of the end of the world."

Ophelia's heart skipped a beat, her breath caught in her throat as Billie Dean's narrative unfolded. An urgency gripped her, the weight of anticipation pressing down as she waited for Billie Dean's revelation.

Constance, her impatience reaching its peak, retorted sharply, "Well, for Christ's sakes, Billie Dean, the cameras aren't rolling in here. Will you just cut to the chase?"

Billie Dean leaned in, her tone carrying a grave weight. "This document reveals the true nature of the Anti-Christ. 'A child born of human and spirit will usher in the end of times.' It embodies evil in its purest form—a perversion of the Immaculate Conception."

Ophelia felt a wave of nausea wash over her, the realization of what she was hearing crashing down upon her. Constance's fearful inquiry mirrored her own inner turmoil.

Amid the tumultuous emotions, Billie Dean continued, "Think about it. The Virgin Mary bore the son of God after a mere whisper from the Holy Ghost. If the devil aims to bring forth his spawn through a human vessel, he'd seek a more potent union."

Constance took another drag of her cigarette, her impatience palpable. Billie Dean turned to Ophelia, her demeanor shifting as she conveyed something more profound. "Your mother has been following me incessantly, offering warnings."

The mere mention of her mother's presence sent a shiver down Ophelia's spine. She turned to glance behind her, half-expecting her mother to be standing there, a spectral presence. Yet, there was only empty space.

"What?" Ophelia pressed, attempting to steady her racing heart.

Billie Dean appeared to be listening, as if receiving insights, before relaying them to Ophelia. "Your mother wants to convey her boundless love for you. She wanted you with all her being, and when her efforts to conceive failed, she resorted to a ritual to achieve pregnancy. However, in exchange for having you, she had to promise you to the ruler of demons."

"Promise me? What the fuck does that even mean?" Ophelia's anger flared, her life having taken on the traits of a horror narrative at every twist and turn, and she was growing weary of it.

"I was initially skeptical, but our conversation today has convinced me otherwise," Billie Dean said, attempting to remain composed while conveying Eden's messages. "She hopes that you can find it in your heart to forgive her."

Tears welled up in Ophelia's eyes, a blend of sorrow and fury intertwining. "So, you're telling me that my own mother sacrificed me to the literal fucking devil so that I could give birth to his twisted, malevolent offspring?"

Billie Dean nodded, empathy evident in her gaze, as Constance sat in quiet contemplation, grappling with the overwhelming revelations.

Ophelia's reaction was visceral. She urgently reached for Constance's pack of cigarettes. "May I?" she asked politely, her rage igniting as she pulled out a cigarette, her trembling hands hastily lighting it. She had made an effort to quit smoking for the sake of her babies, with sporadic success, but this revelation sent her spiraling. "Tell her she can leave. I'm done talking."

Billie Dean considered Ophelia's request. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," Ophelia responded, exhaling a plume of smoke, finding solace in the momentary relief it brought.

Constance, her cigarette now a lifeline to her fraying nerves, couldn't mask her impatience. As she drew another drag, her frustration laced her words. "Alright, enough with the mystical parables, Billie Dean. Give us the bottom line."

Billie Dean's gaze held steady, the weight of her words drawing them into the heart of the matter. "This piece of lore links back to the twins, Ophelia's twins. They coexist within her womb, representing opposing forces." A heavy silence hung in the air, the weight of the revelations lingering. Billie Dean's voice broke the silence. "Nature is forever seeking equilibrium. Light cannot exist without darkness."

✧