Twins Forced into a Uniquely Dark Marriage
In a remote mountainous village in Chiapas, a family faced deep despair. Don Ricardo Gutiérrez’s household was drowning in overwhelming debt due to a failed coffee business. The only hope for the family now rested on his twin daughters, Alma and Elena, both aged twenty. Don Ernesto Vargas, the wealthiest widower in the area, offered a peculiar arrangement: he proposed to marry both women simultaneously in return for settling their family’s crippling debt, exceeding five million pesos. Reluctantly, they accepted under immense pressure.
The wedding was lavish yet somber. Don Ernesto, with his polished appearance and distant demeanor, imposed an unusual rule that they would take turns sharing his bed, but he barely engaged with either of them.
One night, as he slept, Elena’s curiosity led her to open a closely-guarded photo album. She froze in place upon seeing a picture of two young women who looked just like her and Alma. The faded caption read: “Mira and Carmen – 1995.”
Elena realized that these were Don Ernesto’s previous wives, also twins, said to be the most beautiful women in the region. However, after marrying him, they had mysteriously vanished.
Terrified, Elena shared her discovery with Alma, and both sisters were paralyzed with fear, too afraid to confide in anyone. From then on, they observed Don Ernesto more closely:
- He had a locked wooden chest in his room.
- He often experienced nightmares, murmuring names like “Mira… Carmen…”
- He gazed at them with a strange mixture of affection and dread, as if they were specters from his past.
One night, Alma feigned sleep while Elena silently followed Don Ernesto outside the room at midnight. She witnessed him unlock the wooden chest, revealing not gold or jewels, but an array of old wedding dresses and accessories belonging to Mira and Carmen.
With a deep sigh, Don Ernesto whispered, “Don’t worry… I’ve retrieved the old image…”
Elena was so frightened she nearly screamed. She understood then: Don Ernesto had not married her and Alma out of love or wealth, but out of an eerie obsession with reviving his former life.
Upon returning to their room, a trembling Elena recounted everything to Alma. The sisters embraced each other tightly, hearts racing, realizing that their marriage was not merely a familial sacrifice, but a looming nightmare. They resolved to uncover the truth behind Mira and Carmen’s fates.
The following day, while Don Ernesto was in town, Alma discreetly sought counsel from the village elders. One elder, shaking as she spoke, revealed:
“Mira and Carmen were the most exquisite flowers of the area… but since their marriage to Ernesto, they seemed to fade gradually. At first, people believed they had left, but they were never seen again. Rumors spread that each night, cries and wails echoed from that house.”
Another villager recounted:
“I once saw Ernesto by the well behind the house at midnight, his shirt was muddy… After that, Mira and Carmen vanished.”
Chilled to the bone, Alma absorbed these vague yet troubling narratives, all hinting at a sinister secret.
That night, Elena pretended to be asleep. As soon as Don Ernesto left the room, she discreetly followed him. He unlocked the chest again and began caressing each item as though they were alive. Suddenly, he rolled back a rug, revealing a secret trapdoor that led to a cellar.
Her heart racing, Elena rushed back to summon Alma. Shaking, they decided to explore the cellar the next morning.
At first light, they seized the opportunity while Don Ernesto was away and pried open the trapdoor. A gust of cold, damp air rushed up to meet them. With a small oil lamp, they illuminated the crumbling walls, decorated with faded photographs of Mira and Carmen’s wedding.
In the corner of the cellar stood two large frames, covered in white fabric. As they pulled the cloth away, they gasped in horror: Mira and Carmen’s faces mirrored their own, chillingly identical as if looking into a mirror.
Also present was an old diary resting in the cellar. The pages, yellowed with age, contained a man’s unmistakable handwriting:
“Mira… Carmen… cruel fate took you from me. I vowed to find you again, and destiny led me to Alma and Elena. They are your continuation.”
Both sisters shivered, exchanging fearful glances. It became evident that Don Ernesto had married them not just out of necessity for settling debts but due to a morbid obsession, viewing them as reincarnations of his deceased spouses.
The pivotal question loomed: how had Mira and Carmen truly perished?
That night, Alma whispered urgently to her sister, “We cannot allow him to torment us and keep us imprisoned. We must uncover the truth about Mira and Carmen’s deaths. Otherwise… we might meet the same fate.”
Deciding to dig secretly in the garden behind the house, they sought to uncover the truth shrouded in shadows.
Hours later, beneath an old mango tree, Alma’s shovel hit something solid. She dug deeper and as the moonlight spread, a tattered white wedding gown wrapped around human bones came into view.
Elena burst into tears while Alma stood frozen, trembling hands reflecting the chilling reality: Mira and Carmen had not merely vanished; they had been buried in that very home.
Noises approached from behind. Alma and Elena turned, hearts racing, to find Don Ernesto standing there with an oil lamp, his eyes glinting with madness. A cold smile crept onto his face as he proclaimed:
“At last… you have found it… where Mira and Carmen are sleeping.”
The atmosphere felt suffocating as the sisters clasped each other’s hands, aware that a deadly struggle was about to unfold.
Alma and Elena remained paralyzed under Don Ernesto’s frenzied gaze. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, highlighting his distorted smile as if he unearthed a hidden treasure. In that instant, the sisters understood that if they did not act swiftly, they would become the next ‘replacements’ of Mira and Carmen.
Don Ernesto stepped closer, uttering ominously, “You are destined to take Mira and Carmen’s places… do not resist, for fate has chosen you.”
Elena trembled, yet forced herself to stand firm, pulling Alma back urgently. Grim determination surged as Alma fetched some earth and hurled it into Ernesto’s eyes, while Elena seized the shovel nearby.
They both cried out for help, their screams echoing through the stillness and illuminating the surrounding area with flickering oil lights. Curious villagers rushed towards the source of the commotion. Don Ernesto, noticing their approach, cried in desperation:
“Don’t believe them! They want to ruin my reputation!”
But when Alma, still trembling, pointed towards the hole revealing the wedding dress and bones, the crowd fell silent. An elder began to weep:
“My God… that is Mira’s dress…”
A swarm of villagers gathered, several men racing to restrain Don Ernesto. He fought back, shouting:
“They never left me! I only wanted to keep them with me forever…”
His eyes were bloodshot, conveying the madness within. Meanwhile, the village chief and a few men promptly called the police. Alma and Elena knelt together, embracing in a mix of terror and relief as the truth finally emerged.
The next morning, police excavated behind Don Ernesto’s home. They unearthed two skeletons aligning with the longstanding rumors surrounding Mira and Carmen’s mysterious disappearance.
Though Don Ernesto was handcuffed and led away, he continued to laugh maniacally, eyes fixed on the sisters:
“Alma… Elena… you will never escape me. In my heart, you will always be Mira and Carmen…”
The sisters shivered, yet they knew their nightmare had reached its end. For the first time in years, the villagers watched as Don Ernesto’s figure faded into the police car.
In the very ground where they discovered those remains, Alma and Elena lit incense and prayed silently:
“Mira, Carmen… dear sisters, rest in peace. We will live in your stead and ensure that the ghosts of the past torment no one else.”
Dawn broke over the mountains, illuminating the sisters’ weary but resolute faces. They recognized that their lives would never return to what they once were, but they had regained their freedom, and, crucially, the truth had prevailed.