[a/n: a little something I wrote in about twenty minutes, just to see what would happen. So, um, don't take it too seriously, and don't expect updates. Yeah.]

It had never been a terribly lovely garden, with its poorly kept lawns of withered yellow stalks and the struggling rosebuds that bloomed perhaps once every two years, but the woman who worked it never appeared to care. The neighbours would watch her over their garden walls with aversive eyes and mutter dubiously behind hands in the streets, wondering how long it would be before Loopy Loretta would suffer yet another breakdown and be admitted once more to the hospital. Some would shake their heads sorrowfully and cast their blames upon the husband; others denied this, insisting that the fault rested entirely with her children. And so they watched her every day as she would kneel before her plants as though praying, gathering desiccated plant remains upon her lap as yet another shrub failed to make a living for itself in her miscarriage of a garden.

Privately Loretta blamed no-one but herself for her gradually increasing problems; she shied from the accusations towards her husband of being a damnable man, and she defended her children with the blind desperation that only a persecuted mother knows, unseeing all but the worst of their misbehaviour and oddities, and at times even ignoring these. It was not her husband's fault that the family could no longer afford fresh food, nor was it her children's fault that every day her mind slipped a little bit more into the darker recesses of something that was not quite insanity, and yet still not a healthy state of being. No, they were entirely faultless, or at the very least one of them was. It was simply yet another topic of gossip for those insufferable neighbours; how could two twin brothers of the same parentage turn out so radically different? Despite never voicing this out loud, Loretta asked herself the same question often enough. How strange it was that her two sons spent so much time in each other's company - understandably, if one remembered that they were twins - and yet appeared to be of two utterly different persona. It was true, however, that recently they had not been seen together as often. Loretta had been too preoccupied with her own inner demons to worry about those associated with parenthood, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore her children's radical change in habit when one spent so much time away from home as to be barely there at all, while the other had taken to living in her shadow in the habit of a lonely duckling.

As she worked away at her dead and dying plants, she was aware of his timid presence somewhere behind her, and she was certain that if she were to turn around, he would be there as normal, hovering awkwardly on the house step and watching her with large, questioning eyes of a lost child.

And if she ignored him he still reached out to her, swaying with reluctance to leave his step, and calling tremulously with the voice of a pining puppy. On days when her thoughts troubled her to the point of horribly painful migraines, she merely blocked him out and continued working with only the slightest pang of guilt as he fell silent and continued to watch her wistfully, but on days such as this, her mind was wonderfully clear, clearer than ever before, and it was with a soft and reassuring countenance that she turned to face her son.

"Come and work with me in the garden, sweetpea," she said, brandishing a dried stalk.

He visibly shrank from her and shook his blonde head. "I don't want to, mama. I'm frightened," he answered miserably, twisting his soft child hands around themselves nervously.

"Why, whatever of?" she enquired with some surprise, laying the dead herb down at her feet and slowly heaving herself up to stroll over to him, holding her arms out invitingly.

But again he whimpered and shook his head like a dog trying to rid itself of some irksome flea, his gentle blonde curls dancing around his pale face.

"Come, Jasdero," she smiled up at him, holding her hands towards him from the ground as he trembled on the top house step. "I promise you, the garden is perfectly safe. I'll look after you."

"I'm still scared, mama," he told her, staring over her head at the yellows and greens of the ailing grass. "David…I mean - "

Loretta heaved a heavy sigh that caused her shoulders to rise and fall with the motion of one heavily burdened. "What has your brother told you this time?"

Jasdero looked distinctly panicked and he shook his head once more, refusing to speak.

"Tell me, Jasdero. I have to know when your brother misbehaves," she said sternly, folding her arms. His grey eyes filled with tears, as they were so apt to do so these days. "He made me promise…"

"Well, I am your mama. We are exempt from promises. So tell me," she repeated.

"David - said that there were bloodsuckers in the garden," whispered Jasdero at last, pointing at the flowerbeds with a trembling finger. "Over there…"

With a deep sigh Loretta lowered her arms and followed her son's frightened gaze to the only area of the garden which had demonstrated any form of success; the dark brown of the soil was gently interrupted with the green noses of tulip shoots that were just showing on the surface. They were rich and shiny with fattening plant juices, and yet still too young to be anything more than fingertips of a vivid chartreuse.

With a light laugh Loretta turned back to Jasdero, brushing her sandy hair from her pewter eyes as she did so. "Jasdero, those aren't bloodsuckers. They're just baby tulips."

"That's not what David says," whimpered Jasdero, shaking his arms so that the thick rolls of his jumper's woollen sleeves slid over his hands, hiding his neat little fingers. "He says that if you touch them…" His voice faded and cracked with emotion. "He said that they'll make a hole in your fingertip and…and suck all the blood right out like a straw."

Something clutched at Loretta's insides with a cold hand as she tried to imagine what Jasdero was describing. Her own hands trembled slightly and it was with an involuntary jerk of the head that she glanced downwards towards her cracked and fragile fingers, visualizing the blood shooting from so many tiny holes like a type of grotesque fountain. Shakily she raised her hands before her pale face and inspected them closely, blinking several times to reassure herself that there was indeed no red pouring down her skin.

Satisfied that she was safe for the moment, she turned her building frustrations upon her son. "That's a horrible thing to say, Jasdero," she said with a belligerent toss of the head, her untidy bun bobbing at the nape of her neck.

Jasdero's lower lip trembled with shame. "I didn't say it, mama. David told me…" he whined placatingly, timidly plucking at his mother's sleeve in an attempt to win her affection.

"Haven't I told you not to listen to him?" she snapped by way of a reply, shrugging him off her. "You know how he lies. Now go inside and leave me to tidy the garden."

"But mama…" Jasdero said unhappily, shuffling back a few steps out of fearful respect. "You've been in the garden all day. I…I'm hungry, mama."

Loretta blinked. Somewhere during the day she'd managed to forget that children had needs. After a moment's nervous hesitation, she pulled her gardening gloves off in one fluid motion and pushed past Jasdero into the sparsely furnished house, sidling down a narrow, poorly-lit corridor and into what could loosely be interpreted as a living room, although it possessed nothing by way of furniture beyond a threadbare sofa and a small coffee table, stained and marked all over its battered surface with the small circles of cigarette burns.

Jasdero followed his mother at a slower pace as he began chewing pensively on the hem of one sleeve, watching her with wide grey eyes that sat in his gaunt face like marbles. He glanced sideways at the front door as they passed on the way to the kitchen, running his gaze over the rusted hinges and the way in which the door did not quite fit into its frame, allowing the smallest and most vicious of breezes to creep into the house uninvited. The doorstep was stained with mud and filth, a clear sign that David had at some point come in from playing in the last week, although it was just as likely that Loretta had simply not bothered to clean for a while. In fact the mud appeared dried and old, crumbling at the edges. A pair of discarded shoes, several sizes too small for either Jasdero or David, lay underneath a row of coat hooks, empty save for a large dark coat that hung from its fur-lined hood. It had been there so long, unwanted and useless even in the winter months, that no one in the family was entirely sure who it belonged to any more.

Before Jasdero could follow his mother into the kitchen, there was a terrific thud which caused the door to vibrate abruptly in its poorly made frame. He froze on the spot. "Mama?" he called nervously, keeping one wary eye trained on the door.

"What is it, Jasdero?" she said irritably, leaning out of the kitchen.

"There's someone at the door, mama," he told her, pointing. He jumped as it emitted another heavy thump.

Loretta frowned and brandished a wooden spoon reproachfully. "Jasdero, the door makes that noise all the time. Now stop being silly and come have something to eat."

"No, mama," said Jasdero patiently, lowering his damp sleeve from his mouth. "When the door makes that sound, it means someone's trying to come in."

For a moment something flickered in Loretta's eyes, a small flash of uncertainty "Really? Someone…someone outside?"

"Yes, mama," he told her, and they both flinched violently as the door banged again, longer and more insistent this time. "Now we gotta let them in."

"No…" she whispered, letting the wooden spoon clatter on the floor as it slipped from her grasp. "No…No, Jasdero, leave the door. It's…it's okay." A strange, indeterminate smile crept over her tired features. "It's okay, Jasdero…there's no one there."

The knocks were becoming increasingly adamant, causing the door to shake more violently. Jasdero cast a frightened glance towards his mother. "I think there is, mama."

"Don't answer the door!" she said shrilly, advancing a step. "Do as your mother says, Jasdero! Go into the kitchen…and…and I'll make you some biscuits. Won't that be nice? Some ginger biscuits…" she trailed off, staring wide-eyed at the door. A few stray strands of hair had come loose from her already untidy chignon and hung in her eyes, making her appear even more morose and lost. What was saddest of all was that she had forgotten how to bake biscuits a long time ago.

Someone raised their voice on the other side of the door. "Would you please open this door? Hello?"

"Mama…"

"Don't, Jasdero…" Her voice had taken on a pleading note that was painful for Jasdero to hear, and he pressed his hands over his ears.

"Let me in!"

"Don't…"

Somewhere in Jasdero's twelve year-old mind he managed to work out that opening the door would effectively cut off both voices, and it was with a clenched jaw that he dashed forward, scrabbling at the heavy lock and pulling the door free of its splintered frame.

A distinctly overweight man stood before him, sporting an impressive black moustache and wearing the thick, heavy clothes of a blacksmith.

Loretta appeared behind Jasdero, smiling and bowing a little too much in an absurd attempt to hide her discomfort. "To what do I owe this pleasure, good sir?"

"Is this your son?" he said gruffly, shoving a small dark-haired boy forward while keeping a firm hold on the child's collar with a meaty hand. The boy wriggled irritably and scowled up at him.

Loretta stared at him for a moment, and then turned a helpless gaze upon Jasdero, who gave her a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Smiling with a little more confidence, she looked back up. "Yes," she said faintly. "Yes, he's mine. Why do you ask?"

"He's…well, he's been getting into quite a bit of mischief, I'm afraid to say," the man said seriously.

"Nuh uh!" yelled Jasdero's twin brother, struggling furiously against his grip. "You lie! He's a liar, mama!"

"Shush, David," frowned Loretta, putting a hand on Jasdero's shoulder. To the man, she said, "I'm sorry. Leave him with me, and I'll see it won't happen again."

"I'm sorry, but that's not going to be enough this time," the man sighed, loosening his grip on David. He immediately capitalized upon his momentary freedom and squirmed free, slipping past Jasdero to hide behind his mother, peering around her. When the man scowled at him, David shot back a triumphant grin and pulled a face.

The man coughed and turned his gaze back to Loretta. "He damages property. He attacks other children, people's pets and steals constantly. We've spoken to you about this before, ma'am."

"Have you?" replied Loretta vaguely, half-closing her eyes. "Oh, well…I'm sure he won't do it again…will you, David?"

"No, mama," he answered instantly.

"There you are," she murmured happily, almost to herself. "Everything is fine."

"I don't think you quite understand," the man said, aware that he was losing control of the conversation. "People in town are getting sick of his behaviour. Someone tried to call the police on him yesterday."

"Oh?" Loretta responded, assuming an expression of equivocal interest, her grey eyes clouding over, although whether with insouciance or genuine ill-being it was difficult to tell.

The man hesitated, biting his lip. "Do you understand? The police."

"I heard. How lovely."

"With all due respect ma'am…if you continue to allow your son to run wild like this, he's going to get into serious trouble."

"I know," she sighed, dropping her gaze and placing a loving hand on both her children's heads. "I'll get their father to have a word with them when he gets home tonight."

"No need," the man told her, turning to go. "I already spoke to your husband."

Loretta's head shot up, and her throat constricted with genuine fear. "What?"

"I saw him on my way here. He wanted to know where I was taking his son."

"What did you say?" whimpered Loretta. Her voice had become hushed with disquieted worry.

The man shrugged. "Just that your son has been causing trouble. And he wanted to know where you were. Good day, ma'am." Loretta watched as he strolled away down the street, her eyes quivering in their sockets and the wind picking up on her loose blonde hair.

"Mama?" Jasdero pulled at her hand nervously. "It's cold, mama. Let's…let's go inside?"

"Yes…yes…." It was with a preoccupied air that Loretta turned away and closed the door.

David stood on the doorstep and glowered up at her out of the gloom of the house, awaiting the anticipated punishment. To his surprise, Loretta merely stood there and stared vacantly back, as though unsure as to exactly what to do.

Eventually she spoke. "Why, David?"

He replied with nothing more than sullen silence. Next to him Jasdero danced nervously from one foot to other, clearly wanting to say something but nervous about interrupting the thickly tense atmosphere.

With tears in her eyes, Loretta placed her hands on David's cheeks and tilted his face upwards. Both Loretta and her husband possessed the same sandy coloured hair that was so apparent in Jasdero; David alone had inherited his now-deceased grandmother's black hair, effectively making him the 'dark horse' of the family. Once upon a time it had been a source of affection, something that made David Loretta's special little boy, but after her illness he had been forced to mature rapidly and suddenly Loretta had found herself pushing an uncomfortable boundary between her and this now rather bellicose pre-teen boy that her son had become.

On his part, David had suddenly found himself going from being the beloved special child of the family, doted on by his mother and practically idolized by his brother, to being an object of irritation for his father and, bizarrely, a source of anxiety for his mother. After her return from the hospital she spent long hours lying in a darkened room, reluctant to see him. David interpreted this as dislike, and it was with a sulky hurt that he retired into himself, suddenly averse to talking even with his own twin brother.

In his loneliness, Jasdero had turned to Loretta for comfort, watered-down and rare though it was. Now he clung anxiously to her trembling arm and his gaze darted rapidly between his brother and mother. There was a silence in which David and Loretta stared at each other, and then Loretta snapped her eyes away once more. "Very well. Why don't we just forget this incident and - and go have some tea?" She smiled again. "Won't that be nice?"

Humming to herself, she shrugged Jasdero off and flounced off to the kitchen once more. David shot Jasdero a sullen glare, which Jasdero returned with a hesitant smile. "Mama's forgotten she can't cook again."

"Then she's stupid, isn't she?"

Jasdero hesitated. "You know…about…about…"

"About what?" demanded David, sitting down and pulling his shoes off.

"The bloodsuckers. In the garden."

"Yeah? You didn't touch 'em, did you?"

"Noo…" Jasdero sat down awkwardly next to his brother. "Only…mama said they weren't dangerous. Not at all."

David sat up once more, and narrowed his black eyes at his brother's grey ones. After a silence, he shrugged. "Well, mama thinks the walls can talk to her." He got to his feet and stomped off into the house.

Jasdero stayed put, pushing his fingers through the holes in his jumper sleeves in a preoccupied manner.