I first met the twins when I started university. Freshers week. We became friends. They were odd looking and wore black clothes, black lip gloss and black eyeliner, but then people had always thought me strange, the way I looked and behaved, so perhaps we matched.

That first term, we went for coffee or a drink. Just now and again. It was the sort of friendship I’d had through school; the nerdy and unpopular girls sticking together, but then it all changed. Someone had invited them to a New Year’s Eve party. They insisted I go too. They didn’t want to call the evening a date, but it was how it felt.

We all got very drunk and ended up in bed. Naked. Sleeping with sisters was odd, but they didn’t seem to mind sharing. We only kissed, touched, and stuff. We didn’t fuck, but that was okay. It was my first time having sex (other than playing with myself). I didn’t want to complain but had to admit; I wanted more.

They wanted to see me every day after and asked a lot of questions. At first, it was about sex, or in my case, the lack of it, but they then turned to my psychic ability. I can hear things others can’t. It’s like having visions, I said. They thought it was a gift, but to me, it was a curse. It occasionally seemed as if my virginity and talent were all that mattered, but I didn’t mind. I’d never been in a relationship with anyone. People considered me weird. These two made me feel good.

They asked me if we might do something for Valentine’s night. The three of us. They wanted to surprise me so wouldn’t say what, but promised it would be special. Of course, I agreed. I even rushed out and bought a new dress. One that unzipped. In case they had plans.

When the day came, I had difficulty concentrating and missed classes to get ready. I’d never bothered before about things like shaving my armpits and pubic hair, but I wanted to look my best. For them.

I took a taxi. The girls gave me the address. The place was way out in the countryside, in the middle of nowhere. They were waiting by a pair of iron gates. When we pushed through them, I realised it was a graveyard. It was creepy.

They led me to a building. Cobwebs hung off the door, and the hinges squealed. Inside was old and smelled damp. I remember being surprised at how clean it looked for somewhere that no one used. The girls lit candles, black candles. They gave me black roses.

We had drinks, lots of drinks, and ate food sitting on the floor. The girls started smoking something that smelt strange. I said no when they offered me a puff, but I was by then too drunk to resist. It made my lungs burn, and I coughed until I was almost sick.

They asked if I wanted to have proper sex. When I questioned if that meant me losing my virginity, they said yes. I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. Every word I spoke after that seemed funny. We all had the giggles. I started laughing so much that I had to go pee.

Even though it was cold, I went outside. When I pulled my panties down, there were marks on the gusset so I took them off. It seemed somehow preferable if someone did not see me in dirty underwear if they were going to fuck me, even if those stains were because I’d been so aroused.

As I crouched to pee, I noticed sounds coming from the shadows. Murmuring. For most of my life, I’d heard the voices of people that may not be there, but this was different. This felt sinister.

Back inside, there were markings on the floor. Circles. Lines. They were shapes I recognised, but between the alcohol and what I’d been smoking, I couldn’t find the names. Why I hadn’t noticed them before? The girls were sitting holding hands, eyes closed, chanting words I didn’t understand.

The girls became animated when I sat back down and said something was going on outside. They told me to think about sex, to imagine being fucked, and to want it more than I’d ever wanted anything. “It won’t happen unless you ask.” I didn’t meet the girls again after that night, so never got the chance to let them explain, but it soon became clear what they meant. The door opened. Someone was waiting.

I’d left my flat expecting to have sex with the two girls, not a stranger, but that wasn’t the thing that troubled me. The voices outside had now gathered close, chattering and insistent. Their noise seeped into my consciousness. We had summoned them. They’d done all we asked.

The girls made me stand and held my arms. I had no wish to escape and run, but with their hands pressing hard into my muscles, I didn’t have a choice. They said again, “It won’t happen unless you ask,” but this time told me to speak the words, to say that I wanted to be fucked. I needed to beg. I obeyed.

The voices fell silent. Someone or something stood in front of me. I have tried several times to recall features, to describe what this thing was, but failed. I know it had male genitalia, so referred to it as a man, but I wasn’t at all sure it was human. There was, however, a strange odour I remembered. For a long time, a match being struck would trigger vivid memories of all that followed.

The man’s eyes studied me, delving deep into my mind, and reading my thoughts. His hands tore at my clothes, removing them and leaving me naked and vulnerable. He explored the shape of my body, at first with his fingers, then harder with razor-sharp nails. I screamed as he incised my skin, and again when he cut my nipple. Still, the girls held me firm. I still had no wish to escape.

He probed between my legs, parting my lips, and found the entrance to my vagina. It would be fair to say I’d been hoping for that moment and had become aroused and wet, but it didn’t lessen the shock when his finger pierced my hymen.

He kept that one digit inside me, pushing and pressing. His nail scratched my insides as if it was trying to work its way through my cervix. He then put it in my mouth. The taste of my blood made me retch.

The girls pulled me to the floor. I lay on my back. They held my legs apart. I was conscious of being watched, of eyes taking in every detail of my sex. It was the voices. They had come inside. They were waiting.

I remembered how sometimes they hid in the shadows when I went to bed. I would hear them get excited as I got undressed, their crude commentary on my body. Once, after that first night with the girls, I pulled the bedclothes off and started masturbating, wondering if they would fuck me. They didn’t.

The man knelt between my thighs and lay forward. His weight crushed me. His penis pushed into my cunt. I had no experience of being fucked. It hurt. My insides were being stretched and torn apart. He groaned as he reached his orgasm, his cock throbbing inside me as it pumped his seed into my womb. He paused, then continued the onslaught, reaching a climax a second, third and fourth time.

When the man pulled his penis from me, he disappeared. Everything became calm. The girls stood. I sat up, but my lower body felt too sore to move from the floor. It was then I noticed them, gathered on the edge of the shadows. The voices.

I was both high and drunk and wondered if my senses were playing tricks. It happened before, but the psychiatrist assured me I’d been hallucinating, that it wasn’t real. This time, I knew better. The girls saw them too. They were excited and said it was beyond their wildest dream. I too had dreams, but this now filled me with dread.

The voices came to me again. I recognised the word payment, the rest was just noise. I tried to warn the girls, but they wanted this. They had come too far and waited too long.

The creatures stepped forward, chattering and sounding confident. They were hideous; deformed characters with goat-like heads and clawed fingers, but more relevant, they were naked and male. Lust raged in their eyes.

The timider of the twins backed away. She fell to the floor. Several pounced and ripped the clothes from her body. One sniffed and licked her panties, then stuffed them into the girl’s mouth.

The second girl stood her ground. She stripped while they stared. As the last item of clothing came off, the creatures closed in and, for a while, blocked my view. I guessed from the pained noises that the one at her rear was trying to push his penis into her bum.

One creature after the other fucked both girls. As they did, several others groped their bodies. I saw red wheals appear as claws tore into the girl’s skin, and the creatures bite into the soft flesh of their necks, breasts and thighs. There was a scream as one bit through a nipple.

Those that struggled to get near the front of the crowd started masturbating, rubbing their hard, purple members. One climaxed. I was sitting on the floor, his penis just inches away. A flood of semen hit my face. It went up my nose as I breathed, and in my mouth.

When I left my flat that day, I expected to have sex and prepared myself, mentally and physically. I wanted to lose my virginity and thought it might be with a man, but I couldn’t have imagined this. The creatures showed no interest in me, but I felt helpless against the onslaught the twins were suffering.

The more excited these creatures got, the louder their voices became. It was painful in my head. I regretted abandoning my friends but had to leave. Neither the girls nor the creatures took any notice.

It was snowing. I was naked. By the time I reached the gates, my whole body hurt. I stepped out onto the road. The light made it easy to see the ground. The car stopped before hitting me.

Events after that are blurred, and best recounted from what others have since told me. The driver found a blanket and got me into his backseat. He then walked through the graveyard. There was nothing in the building. No Girls. He didn’t think anyone had been there in years.

The hospital admitted me suffering from hypothermia and frostbite. When they examined me, doctors said there was scarring from having rough sex, but said it was not recent. They suggested the marks on one breast, an upside-down cross intersecting through my nipple, had been self-inflicted and locked me in a secure psychiatric ward.

The police investigation found no evidence at the graveyard of anyone but me being there that night. They tracked down the twins from their university registration, but those girls dropped out at the end of the autumn term. They now lived at home with their parents, a hundred miles away. The cab driver remembered me but had no recollection of seeing anyone waiting for me.

Soon after being admitted, I started throwing up every time the nurses put breakfast in front of me. When that continued, the doctors ran tests. It was then mid-April. I was eight weeks pregnant.