The Hollow Twin

The first time I noticed something was wrong was when my brother, Leo, lost his plastic knights. He was seven, and those knights were his pride, especially the one with the chipped red plume. He’d been playing with them in the living room while I was on my laptop, and then he started crying, saying they’d vanished from the coffee table. I searched everywhere: under the couch, behind the TV stand, in the crevices of the radiator, even in the kitchen trash. Nothing. I told him they’d turn up, and he went to bed sniffling. The next morning, I found both knights neatly arranged on the kitchen counter, standing at attention, as if they’d been left there for me to find. Leo was ecstatic, but I felt a cold knot in my stomach. We lived alone in that old farmhouse, and no one had been in the house overnight.

The second incident was more unsettling. Leo had a teddy bear, old and worn, that he never slept without. One night, I tucked him in, and the bear was on his pillow. An hour later, he called out, ‘Marta, it’s gone!’ I went to his room, and sure enough, the bear was gone. I searched the room, checked under the bed, in the closet, even in the hallway. I was about to reassure him it would turn up when I heard a soft thud from the kitchen. I walked in and found the bear on the kitchen table, sitting upright, facing the door. It was slightly damp, as if it had been left in the sink. But the sink was dry. I picked it up, and it was cold to the touch. I returned it to Leo, who hugged it tight, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was playing with us.

The incidents grew bolder. A week later, I heard a noise in the attic late at night. The house was old, with a pull-down ladder to the attic, which I rarely visited. I had Leo stay in my room, and I went to investigate. I pulled the ladder down, climbed up with a flashlight, and saw a small, dark figure scurry behind an old trunk. My heart pounded. ‘Who’s there?’ I called out, my voice echoing. No answer. I searched the attic, but found nothing except dust and old furniture. When I came back down, the ladder was pulled up again, and the trapdoor was shut. I hadn’t done that. And Leo was still in my room, asleep.

The final straw came when Leo’s favorite toy, a remote-controlled car, went missing. He was inconsolable, and I knew we had to get to the bottom of this. I decided to set up a camera in the living room, where he usually played. That night, I reviewed the footage. At 3:17 AM, a small, gnarled hand reached out from under the sofa and snatched a toy that was left on the floor. The hand was grey, with long, twisted fingers. Then, the toy disappeared under the couch, and a moment later, it reappeared on the coffee table, as if placed there. The hair on my arms stood up. I knew then it wasn’t any ordinary pest.

I started researching, and came across stories of ‘duendes’ — small, mischievous beings from Philippine folklore. They’re known to live in homes, especially in attics or hidden corners, and they love to hide things. But they’re also known to be tricksters, and sometimes they can be malicious. I felt a chill, realizing they might have hitched a ride with the antique furniture we’d bought from an estate sale last month. I knew we had to get rid of them.

I found a local folk healer who gave me a ritual to appease them. It involved placing a bowl of rice, a small toy, and a piece of sweet bread in the attic, then leaving it undisturbed for three days. I followed the instructions, and on the third day, I went up to check. The offerings were gone, but in their place was a tiny, hand-carved wooden horse, no bigger than my thumb. It was exquisite, with intricate details. I brought it down to show Leo, and he was amazed. The disappearances stopped after that. The house felt calm again. But sometimes, late at night, I think I hear faint laughter, and I catch a glimpse of a small, shadowy figure darting behind furniture. I’ve learned to ignore it, and I’ve told Leo to be respectful, and to always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when he leaves toys out. They seem to appreciate manners. But I can’t help but wonder if they’ll ever leave, or if they’ll stay here, hidden in the walls, waiting for the next time we misplace something.