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“I guess this is it...” Stan knocked on the door to the weird shack his brother supposedly lived in, his hands shaking under his gloves.
The door swung open, and the last thing Stanley saw before peeling a sharp pain in his left eye was his brother.
“Who are you? Have you come to steal my eyes?” Ford shot the crossbow he was holding, not even registering the man in front of him.
Stan fell back, his limp body landing in the snow.
The once-white snow became crimson, blood pooling around Stan's body.
“Stanley! Stanley!” Ford rushed out of the house, kneeling next to his brother.
Ford looked down at his dead twin, feeling like his heart got ripped out and shoved down his throat.
“Oh my God, wake up! Wake up! Stanley?” Ford shook Stan's shoulders, the body staying limp.
Ford collapsed over his brother's body, sobbing. He had just killed his only good family member.
A finger tapped Ford's shoulder.
Ford whipped around, blood covering his hands.
“What...” Ford stared at a barely visible version of his brother, shocked and confused.
A ghost version of Stan stood behind Ford, shocked. The ghost stared at his own body, completely bewildered.
“Is... is that me?” Stan's ghost whispered, not looking away from his body.
“Yes.” Ford choked out, looking down in his lap. He was too guilty to look at either version of his brother.
“Goddamn asshole!” Stan cursed, his hand going right through Ford's face. “You killed me!”
“I didn't know it was you!” Ford sighed, looking at the most responsive Stanley by him. “Look, I've been possessed by this god for the last year and I've started to go crazy, okay?”
The ghost paused, then snorted. “Damn. Good luck, Sixer!”
“Wait, Stanley-” Ford sighed, watching as the ghost disappeared. He was in for one hell of a week.