The Twins of Orsted Church

By: Griffin Cobb

They were twins of prophecy. Brothers Kyle and Blain were born prematurely in Gary Indiana on November of 1976 in the basement of Orsted Catholic Church. Their mother survived but left as soon as she could stand, so the twins were given the last name Orsted. On the night of their birth, the skies were ash gray, and the wind smelled of sulfur. They were sickly infants, but Father Thomas bathed them and proclaimed triumph. These were the twins of prophecy.

Kyle and Blain Orsted would reach the age of nine before they learned of the lord’s plan for them. Kyle had grown in full from his early birth, strong and tall for his age with a bright smile. The clergy cherished him, following him in prayer and letting him wander the wheat fields outside for an hour longer than Father Thomas allowed. 

Blain Orsted never quite grew out of being premature. He was slight, short, with skin sickly gray and rash-red at the joints. The clergy tolerated him, letting him join in prayer but always keeping a close eye and a tight leash. He was, however, a bright child with a mind for invention and innovation. He and Father Thomas often shared nights working on radios and heaters when they would break.

 Kyle and Blain were good to each other, but only while Kyle felt favorited. The time Father Thomas and Blain spent together would throw Kyle into a screeching fit.

On their ninth birthday, Blain blew out candles first because he was technically two minutes older, and Kyle cried. Afterward, Father Thomas explained to the twins how Blain would die. The two were born in fulfillment of a prophecy Father Thomas had received years ago.

“A faithless mother would bear twins,” he said. “And they would be the salvation of this church. As the two turned fifteen, one would be slain at the hands of the other, and their blood would cleanse the clergy and mark them for ascension. The slain brothers would be sickly in body but mighty in soul, and as they fell, the lord would welcome them into the coveted arms of heaven.” 

He referred to Kyle as the forgiven and Blain as the emancipator. The clergy celebrated the boys more equally than normal. Kyle basked in having a purpose and gorged himself on cake while Blain learned what it meant to fear death. He stomached the festivities so as not to interrupt his brother’s joy and placate Father Thomas. That night he tried to pray but couldn’t think of what for. The Father’s words were law, and his death would salve the church; to fight that would mean damnation. So he prayed for a kind brother, one that may grant him a swift death and a kind life.  

That same night, a soft glow awoke Blain. While his brother slept, comatose on sugar, Blain watched a figure of dark skin and white feathers sit across from his bed. His body cast a low, yellow light.

The figure proclaimed themselves a saint, heaven sent to comfort and guide the emancipator. Blain asked the saint his name, and he said to call him Spear. He promised Blain not to leave his side as he marched towards his destiny, so long as Blain continued marching.

Over the next year, Blain was constantly shadowed by his looming fate and an everpresent Spear. Since the prophecy had been revealed, they’d grown more devout to Kyle, the forgiven, and all together loosened the leash on the emancipator. Father Thomas spent his time teaching Kyle to lead service and sharing his sweets. Blain fixed radios alone. 

“The others forget thee who will free them,” Spear said. Blain never saw him move, only appear just beyond his vision. “They worship the one who must commit the sin. Does that not set fire to your stomach?” Spear rarely talked, but when he did, he always spoke of things Blain hoped to ignore.

“You are of strong mind, child, and young though you are, you can be strong of body and soul. To free those that ignore you, you must be strong.” His words sank into Blain’s mind. He could not earn the admiration nor worship of the church, but he could earn their freedom.

“I need to be strong to save them?” he asked. Spear simply smiled and nodded.

The next year, Blain did not touch a radio and forgot about heaters. Every morning, he ran through the wheat fields, Father Thomas no longer noticed when he left. During summer, the rays warmed Blain's gray skin into a healthy tan. Though they now never stood next to one another, Spear told him that he and Kyle were now the same height. 

 Kyle found himself busy giving sermons and blessing the sick that would visit, noses bloody and hearts broken for their inevitable end.

While Blain roamed free, Kyle rarely left the church. Despite his young age, the church placed expectations beyond the just prophecy on him, but he seemed to shoulder them nonetheless. His title, the forgiven, had morphed among the clergy into the Forgiver.

Another year passed, and Blain grew taller, shoulders slightly broad and near no sign of the sickly child he’d once been. From what he could tell, Kyle had grown fatter and less jovial but carried with him a sincerity when looking at the church's patrons. Blain’s blood boiled. He worked to strengthen himself while his brother showered them with kindness he had never been afforded.

Blain and Spear listened to one of Kyle’s sermons through the attic’s floorboards one day. Spear leaned over and whispered, “Your brother showers them with kindness, yet he is meant to kill you. He forgives, yet he is meant only to be forgiven. He grows fat from their worship while you grow strong in the face of death.”

“It isn’t fair.” Blain had always thought this but only now found the strength to say it. 

Spear smiled, his soft yellow light washing over Blain. “This prophecy, so unfortunate. The sickly twin sacrificed after fifteen years so that the other may be forgiven.”

Beneath the attic, Blain heard the sermons stop, and murmurs of worry take over. He rushed down, and through the stairs, he saw his brother on the floor, sweating and bleeding from the nose. He was sick, and Blain could feel a new fire light in his chest.

In the two years after Kyle’s fainting, the coddling by the church and Father Thomas only grew. Nightly prayers were said for his health, and donations were taken to improve his comfort. He remained bedridden during the falls and winters, but the warm weather let him return to his duties. Blain rarely saw his brother; he himself spent more time outside the church than in. 

The first time the two talked since the initial prophecy was on their fourteenth birthday. “One more year until we must fulfill our purpose, brother,” Kyle said. Once so excited and boisterous, Kyle Orsted spoke with the solemn gravity appropriate for one fated to kill his twin brother.

“One more year,” Blain echoed. Spear had whispered of strength and sickness. The church had been blinded, but Blain would save them. He would bite his tongue another year and live up to his title as emancipator. 

And that year quickly passed. In the days leading up, anticipation and solemnity enwrapped the church. The day of, Blain spent the morning standing amidst the wheat fields. The sky was dark grey, and the wind carried something pungent through the air.

Inside, the entire congregation gathered around in a circle. In the middle, Kyle stood, now leaning on a cane, a ceremonial dagger in the other. As the hour approached, Blain entered. He towered over his brother, who would not meet his twin’s gaze. 

As the minute of their birth approached, the church stood silent except for the tick of a clock. Father Thomas watched from his podium, expectant. Blain could see Spear standing just behind him.

Blain bent down to his brother and whispered, “Forgive me,” before the clock chimed. In a swift moment, he grabbed the dagger from his brother's frail hand and sank it into his chest. Kyle’s body hit the ground while blood pooled around Blain’s feet. 

The church stayed silent. Blain looked around, expecting shouts or praise, but all he saw were gaunt faces frozen in a moment of silent screaming. At his feet, blood continued to pool from Kyle until it covered the church floor. The smell of sulfur wafted through the doors. Confused, Blain looked to Spear, who now stood over Kyle’s crumpled form.

“Spear, what is this? I freed them, saved them, right?” Blain asked.

Spear grinned as he always had, but it curled higher and wider than Blain had seen. “Great emancipator,” Spear said. “You have murdered your brother for not but prophecy.”

“You told me to!” Blain shouted.

“I told you to be stronger, that your death was unfair.” Spear’s yellow seemed to brighten before Blain realized the room was now being lit by fire. Each member of the church now writhed, ablaze and melting into Kyle’s blood. Father Thomas’s limbs were twisted at odd angles, eyes boiling out of their sockets, lazily staring back at Blain.

“I told you I was here to comfort you,” Spear said, “while your brother dallied and forgot his purpose. But you have forgotten yours, child.” After he spoke, a second chime wrang through the burning church, and Blain’s heart sank. The sickly twin was to die at fifteen, the prophecy had said. Blain struck Kyle as the clock proclaimed their birthday, but Kyle was two minutes younger than he. 

“He wasn’t old enough,” Blain whispered.

“Neither of you ever were,” Spear said. The words rang through Blain’s mind as fire consumed his surroundings, leaving him alone. He sank into the blood, letting hours pass before all he was left with was ash.