My wife, a spoiled only-child to wealthy parents living in rural New York. We’d been married for eight months at the time and things could not have been going better. We had a house, great careers, and a couple of cars to really sew in the American dream. We’d been planning on getting a dog, with thoughts of children not too distant either. Though, things wouldn’t go as planned.

One morning my wife got a call from the police informing her that both her parents had died in a car crash. I’d never seen her so distraught in my entire life.

After the wake and funerals came the nitty gritty legal stuff nobody ever wants to talk about after a death. When we went over the will we found that her parents had left her their estate. A 200 acre plot of land with a million dollar home on the lake. We were shocked to say the least.

We began moving in as soon as possible, we sold our old house and and cars and graciously accepted all the belongings her parents wished us to have.

There was one problem though. The house just felt... dead. It was so large yet some how cramped. All the walls seamed tighter than they should have and you could scream from one end of the house and not hear it at the other. It took some getting used to but the old behemoth finally grew on us. At least that’s what I told my wife.

When I was home alone there was just something disconcerting about the place. A creek in the floor, and rustle on the windows, the chill on my neck when I walked passed a reflective window, feeling as if I was being watched. I truly hated it.

My wife worked late every week night, she took care of people in a home for the ARC and her shifts ran from 4 to midnight. I usually enjoyed that brief alone time, I would often write or read, or sometimes pack a huge bong and really get into a movie. And this one was one of those nights. I settled in for the night, I took a few big hits off my bong and wrapped myself in a blanket and started my movie. It was a Friday, and only 8 o’clock, so I figured a few beers wouldn’t hurt either, i had four and a half hours until my wife got back. I cracked a few and made it about halfway through my movie before I heard something downstairs.

I swear I thought it was the house playing tricks on me like it’s done many times in the past. I tried to ignore it. But then i heard something slam. I quickly got up and went down stairs. My heart froze when I could see the glow of the kitchen light that I know I had turned off. I quietly inched my way to the large doorway that entered into the kitchen. I could hear movement. And overwhelming sense of dread seeped over my body as I finally peeked around the wall.

It was my wife.

“Jesus Christ woman!” I half jokingly shouted out to her.

She jumped, startled of my presence.

“Oh god! Don’t scare me like that.” She said.

“Don’t scare you!? I just thought I was about to die, you don’t think you could of called out to say hello or something? And why are you home so early anyway, is Julie alright with that?” I asked.

“Yeah she’s fine, I told her I wasn’t feeling well.” She said.

“And? Are you feeling well?” I asked, seeing that she seemed perfectly fine.

She had a guilty look. “I’m totally fine, I just didn’t feel like being there.” She said with a half giggle.

I found it surprising, she never comes home early and she didn’t seem to make a big deal about it. I quickly changed my focus when I noticed she had a few bags of groceries. I asked her what she was making to which she excitedly responded “Chicken Alfredo!”

“Oh damn, can’t wait. Need help?” I asked.

She turned around with a knife in her hand as she laid out the chicken. She smiled and said no. She slowly pointed the knife towards my face with lusty eyes, “tonight, is about you.” She said, getting the knife closer to my face. “I’m going to make you this dinner and maybe later you can help me with a few other things.” She smiled again, deviously. I bit my lip and watched her continue to prepare the meal. I grabbed her butt and told her I was going to watch the rest of my movie. I went upstairs and sat down for my movie.

About 15 minutes later my wife walked into the room. The knife still in her hand. “Dinner is ready.” Is all she said as she slowly left the room.

I went down minutes later to find the dinner all nicely setup and ready to eat.

The table looked amazing. Too amazing. “Oh my god, you out did yourself. I’ve gotta get a picture of this for Instagram.” I shuffled through my pockets and noticed I had left my phone upstairs. I quickly went up and couldn’t seem to find it anywhere, I’m sure it was just lost in the blankets. I went to the top of the steps and shouted down. “Can you call my phone?”

She laughed “nooo you gotta work for this insta picture.”

“Come on.” I said, “my food is getting cold.”

There was no response.

I continued looking for about 3 minutes until I finally heard it vibrating. I found it on the ground underneath one of my shirts. It was my wife finally calling me.

“Finally.” I said. And hung up the phone as I stood up to go down stairs.

The phone rang again.

My wife. Again.

I answered the phone “What do you want?”

“Excuse me? What was that “finally” for. And why are you being rude?” She said.

“You wouldn’t call my phone.” I said.

“Sorry I can’t call you whenever you think about it, I’m at work, I’ve got shit to do.” She said, sending a cold spike through my core.

“What did you just say?” I asked.

“I said I’m busy, I’ve got another hour of work and I was just calling to tell you I miss you but you gotta answer the phone like a dick.” She said.

“So you’re saying you’re not home, in the kitchen.” I said, my voice now quiet and shaky.

“Oh ha ha, I’m not in the kitchen, good one.” She laughed.

“No no. I mean there is someone here that looks exactly like you downstairs, I thought you came home early.” I gulped as my realizations paralyzed my body.

“You need to lock the bedroom door right now and find whatever weapon you can. I’m calling the police.” She said frantically.

“Babe what the hell is going on, who is that?” I asked. Fear flaking from my voice.

“It’s my sister.”

I stayed in the room until the police arrived. Turns out she had gotten skittish and left far before the cops got there. They found arsenic in the food, the knife stuck in the table, and a note with four words. “The house is mine.”

My wife never told me about her twin sister. Apparently she’d been in and out of prison and psych wards her whole life. She’d been disowned by the family and was as good as dead. That is until she heard about the accident. Now all those strange feelings I was getting feel a lot more valid. And those feelings haven’t stopped.