Beware reading this tale of woe, as for even the strongest mortal souls, it might prove too frightening. On nights like this, when the downside turns up and fright’s chance embiggens, one can never be too cautious regarding tales such as these. A tale of fright and spookery, so scary that your pants will dematerialize by the thread and flee in one million directions!

Doctor Eggbert, to most of his patients, was an ordinary doctor. His office contained a typical medical bed, a collection of magazines, and a few colorful paintings of sailboats. Doctor Eggbert was my doctor for a while, as well as my brothers.

The story starts when my twin, let’s call him Sam, came down with the flu the day before last Halloween. Poor Sam had to drive down to the hospital for a checkup on the 30th. As he told it, the office was practically littered with candy temptations. He always had a sweet tooth, so this naturally appealed to him. I remember Sam used to budget out 5 dollars of his weekly allowance for candy, and he never showed any signs of changing that habit. I can only imagine that Eggbert’s office felt like a free lunch.

Sam bit off more than he could chew. After that visit, he spent the night stumbling and vomiting from the sheer amount of candy he ate, both at the office and stuffed into his pockets. Though, like any good addict, that didn’t stop him from popping another saltwater taffy onto his tongue. Sam described the feeling as being seasick when he called me on Halloween morning. I returned the obvious answer to that, that he ate too much candy. Stubborn Sam insisted on this being a development from the flu and went back to see Doctor Eggbert that night.

I called Sam two days later to no reply. I thought he ghosted me, after something rude I said On All Hallow’s Eve. I was day-drinking to celebrate and thought that I may have let my tongue get away from me. Sam didn’t have anybody close to him I could call either, other than his employer, and I did not want to bother his work life. So I went on with my own life.

Two weeks later, I came down with the flu, too, so made an appointment with doctor Eggbert. His office was as sterile and bright as I had remembered, though the collection of magazines caught my attention. Beauty magazines advertised witchy beauty solutions alongside crease-wrinkled skin, drooping jowls, sunken eyes, and full black irises. I thought I glanced at one magazine recommending ‘eye of newt’ for something, but my eyes could not catch it again. I swear a travel magazine offered tickets to hell.

Then, I looked at the paintings of small sailboats catching wind from the sunset-evening sky. The red and black color schemes were calming, as odd as it was that these boats were not piloted. I was drawn to the one painting which did have a pilot, with two arms raised as if celebrating a victory. His boat, despite the red sky in the background, was not a silhouette. You could see his dirty blonde hair, almost identical to mine, his button up-shirt, and his khakis. I got up to take a closer look.

That pose was not victory, I realized. It was crying out for help. But what sort of help would this person need? Before I could answer that question, my blood ran cold. My heart stopped beating and my breath ceased.

That was Sam in the picture.

I left the office that instant without a second thought. To this day, I do not know what happened to Sam, or how that painting got there. I have called him a few more times since, with no success. If you ever meet a Doctor Eggbert out there, please, I beg of you, stay away!