There was not much abnormal in the home at Number Twelve Alivander Drive. It was a relatively humble abode, nothing to ostentatious or showy. The simple and ordinary red and brown bricks were nothing special compared to all the other identical structures. The cramped lawn that dressed it was no greener than the others, and the flowers planted in the beds were the same shades of yellows and blue's as those that sat in the neighbors. There was not a single thing about the house that would cause the average passerby to give a second look.
The owners of the home went well in suit with the house itself; simple and average in every meaning of the word. Mrs. Monte was the stay-at-home mother, a typical housewife who kept the house in presentable shape for any visitors that dared to pop in for a cup of tea. Mrs. Monte was a tall woman, who was terribly thin in a desperate attempt to keep herself in acceptable appearance within society. Mrs. Monte prided herself on her looks, making sure that never a strand of her long and unnaturally bright red hair would stray out of accord and that her complicated to apply cosmetics would never give away a flaw on her falsely tanned completion.
Currently, Mrs. Monte was seated at the overdone dining room table, laughing with false merriment with one of the middle aged women that lived in one of the adjacent identical houses. Mrs. Monte was known to do all in her ability to keep up with the latest neighborhood gossip that was circling around with all the housewives. It was a daily activity, the constant craning of her long neck over the hedge to get any sort of decent gossip to share with her tea mates.
Mr. Monte was just as stereotypical as his wife. Mr. Monte spent the classic nine to five hour days at his job selling copying machines for an expensive computing company. Mr. Monte never let anything interfere with his stand still career, pushing everything else that may have come up to the side instantly.
Mr. and Mrs. Monte had a single child of their own, and as beautiful and fortunate as his parents may have been, Bradford Monte was the bad apple of the gene pool. If there was a single phrase that could be used to describe their son in appearance and nature would be pig like. Bradford was small and round, the creases in his skin were created by the protruding rolls of fattened flesh that came from his selfish feeding habits.
Food was not the only thing that Bradford was selfish over. In fact, there was not a single thing that Bradford Monte was not hogging over, whether he wanted that thing or not. Bradford loved to be spoiled, and was he ever. Bradford had two bedrooms, besides the one that he slept in, both crammed to the limit with his rarely used toys and trinkets.
Mr. and Mrs. Monte did not condemn his tantrumous habits, quite the opposite was true. Based on the amount of photographs that adorned nearly every wall in the house and the amount of time Mrs. Monte spent bragging about her son to anyone who would give a second to spare, Bradford Monte was a king in the household.
So much attention was spent on Bradford, in fact, that no one would have guessed that he was not the only child in the household. The truth is, the Monte's were guardians over two more children as well, though clearly not as proudly.
Henry and Earnestine Gander were twins, and they were the same age as Bradford Monte. Mr. and Mrs. Monte did not speak of the twins when in company, at least not unless they were asked about them. Even when words were spoken of the children, it was never in good nature and never more than one or two words. It was clear to anyone that the Monte family did not enjoy the company of the pestful children that were thrust upon them.
The house was only a four bedroom occupancy, and with Mr. and Mrs. Monte sharing the master bedroom, and Bradford taking up the remaining three, no one cared to make room for the twins, pushing them into the cold and moldy attic. Not that the twins minded the solitude that this gave them, they did not like their adoptive family any more so than their adoptive family enjoyed them.
The attic was the best thing that they could wish for, even with its rotten wooden floors and the sparse light that was provided by a single six inch by six inch window that was crested over with years of dust and dirt. The attic was a large room, as wide and as long as the house itself, but it was only filled with two toddler sized beds and a single three compartment dresser for them to share.
It was clear to anyone that the twins were not equally respected as the Motes' own biological son, even if the twins were blood family. Mr. and Mrs. Monte were related to the twins, or at least Mr. Monte was. Mr. Monte and Mrs. Gander were siblings, though not emotionally close growing up. When the twin's parents suddenly died ten years earlier, Mr. and Mrs. Monte were the only family left to care for the twins.
Perhaps it was an act of kindness for Mr. and Mrs. Monte to take the twins in, it is supposed that they simply could have turned them away and sent them to a home for someone else to care for. In fact, had they been given any real choice in the matter, they probably would have. Mr. Monte and his sister were never on friendly terms; in all honesty Mr. Monte never spoke of his sister, not even to answer the prodding questions of the twins.
Henry and Earnestine were not even allowed the luxury of attending the same school as the Monte golden child Bradford. It wasn't that they wanted to; as they had been forced the experience throughout their elementary years. Bradford made sure that everyone hated the twins just as much as he did. If anyone tried to be kind or friendly to the twins in any way Bradford and his gang of bullies would torment the poor compassionate children to no end.
It was clear to anyone that Henry and Earnestine were not normal anyways, strange things had always happened to them when they least expected or could help it. For instance, there was one instance that Bradford and his friend Charlie were teasing Earnestine for answering the teacher's question correctly in class. The two brutes were cornering her between the water fountain and the adjacent wall assuring that she had no escape and snatching away her school books one by one and tossing them around the hallway.
Earnestine didn't mean or will for the following retaliation, in fact, it seemed to have merely escaped from her imagination, blurring into what must have been reality. It was by pure accident that she had turned the boys' pinkish and pig-like competitions into a sickly green color. Even the schools nurse was unsure of how to fix the ridiculous color of their skin and was forced to send the two terrified boy's home for the week until the color wore out.
Henry and Earnestine, while enjoying their momentary revenge on their cruel and childish cousin, had later paid for it at home with the Montes. Mr. Monte bellowed at the children until his face too turned an awkward shade, this time of purple. Mrs. Monte had spent the entire evening on the telephone with Charlie's mother in an attempt to console her anger against the family. The twins did not try to explain themselves. They knew that the effort would be in vain; just like every other instance that something odd had taken place in their presence. No matter how much or how little they could explain the phenomenon, to the Montes they were always at fault. In the end, the twins were forced into their room for two weeks of confinement. Up until that moment, the twins had found the situation to be quite amusing. The Montes failed to see the humor as their son wailed in his bedroom until the sickly shade had begun to fade from his completion.
It was clear to all who knew the family that the twins were odd, and it was no wonder that the Monte family was so completely ashamed to admit to them. It was something the twins had grown used to over the decade that had passed living with them, and it was something they had expected to continue for as long as their precious childhood would last.
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"Earnestine." Henry prodded quizzically at his sister once they were thoroughly alone in the confines of the dreary old attic they called home. "Earnestine, there is really no need to cry." Henry had felt terrible seeing his sister this way, although he had known why she behaved in the manner she did. Henry knew that she was asking the same questions as he was.
"But Henry," Earnestine sniffled through her small suppressed cries strongly. "Don't you ever ask yourself how it would have been different? You know, if mum and dad were still alive?" Earnest looked trustingly at her brother with her large and warm chocolate brown eyes.
Henry sat down on the too small bed beside his sister, placing a soft and comforting hand on her arm soothingly. "Of course I do, Earnest, every day." Henry didn't know much else to say, but it was the truth, he had thought of them so very often. He couldn't tell whether his thoughts were actual true to life memories of them or if they were delusions that he had created from being shut up in the attic for ten years too long.
Earnestine sighed, leaning her head onto her brother's shoulder. Her long dark curls cascaded over her brothers clothes. "I dream about them, Henry. Every night I do." Earnestine got quiet suddenly, going into a world of her own thought. It was hardly peaceful. Quite a number of moments had passed before she had spoken again, this time in more detail. "I dream that mum and dad lived here, just us, our family. I dream of Christmas time, the four of us curled up around a brightly lit tree, smiling and laughing."
Earnestine trailed off, the happy thought ended off on a sour note, and Henry gave her hand a reassuring squeeze although he too knew what she was feeling as he had missed it just as well. "Everything will be alright, Earnest, you'll see."
It was quiet for a few more moments, though it was a sad silence; it was still peaceful as it was shared between two siblings who shared one mind. After a while in the eerie dark, Henry dared to speak again. "Earnestine?"
"Hmm?" It was clear that Earnestine had grown tired over the few passing moments and was quite close to asleep on her brother's shoulder. That simple noise was her only response.
Henry hesitated, not knowing if he should even bother asking that same dead question he had asked over and over again throughout the years. Henry decided he might as well, for old times' sake. "Why do you think we are different?"
Henry could feel Earnestine sigh. It did not seem to be a sigh of frustration with her brother's question, but a sigh of pondering. "I think we have always been different, Henry. I think we were meant to be." Henry could feel his sister smile a little, her own words bringing her comfort. "After all, would you be happy being normal like Mr. and Mrs. Monte and their precious little Bradford?"
It was silent for a moment, until Earnestine could feel her brother too smile above her. It was a sign that he had caught hold of her bitter since of humor well enough. The two peculiar twins of Number Twelve Alivander Drive shared one last laugh before drifting into sleep simultaneously.