This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/NoMoreFetch on 2024-11-19 15:17:59+00:00.
You won’t find much about the mysterious death of the Doe twins in the news. Twin brothers, both apparently dead of natural causes within days of each other, both bodies found hundreds of miles from home, mysterious disappearances preceding both deaths. None of this information was ever released to the public. The police reported it as a coincidence, treating the deaths as natural causes. As a close friend of the Doe twins, I’ve pieced together as much information as I can about their deaths from my own memories, reports from other friends and family, and the police investigation (in which I was a key witness). What I have uncovered terrifies me.
Everything you read here is 100% accurate, except the names which have been changed to protect privacy.
Early last year, the body of John Doe, a 32-year-old from a quiet coastal village in South Wales, was found by hikers. The body was found in a forest near the Suffolk coast, approximately 350 miles away from home - quite literally the opposite side of the country. There was no sign of any physical harm, and medical exmination determined the cause of death to be a heart attack.
The same day, John Doe's identical twin brother Richard, disappeared. His body was discovered eight days later, hundreds of miles away from both South Wales and Suffolk in a Yorkshire moorland. Like his twin, Richard was found by hikers. Same cause of death: heart attack. The police called it coincidence.
They’re wrong.
I knew the Doe twins since I was a child. I first met them at primary school (around 5 years old for those not familiar British schooling!) and we quickly became the closest of friends. For the sake of their privacy, I won't go into much detail about them or their private lives. This may seem uncaring, but the truth is that I gave eulogies and said goodbye at the time of their deaths; the purpose of this report isn't to remember their lives, but to try to help uncover the mystery surrounding their deaths.
In the months leading up to their deaths something started changing in John. He had always loved conspiracy theories - the paranormal, aliens, secret government projects; the wilder the better in John's mind. But he'd always viewed them as an entertaining work of fiction, never really believing. The changes were subtle at first, but suddenly he wasn't joking any more. It started small: hushed comments about "visitors," glances over his shoulder, cryptic warnings to "stay away from the school/hotel/mountains."
Then he vanished for three days. No phone, no keys, no wallet. No communication. When he returned, he was unhurt. Physically, at least. But he was different. He was obsessed with the "visitors", but wouldn't elaborate in case they were listening. He became paranoid, sure the visitors were trying to zap him with their "electric paddles". His door was always locked, and he inspected visitors - including close friends like me and even his own twin - through gaps in his window blinds before letting them in his house.
We spoke to the local GP - a family friend also from our small village - and they put it down to potentially psychosis or schizophrenia, or perhaps agoraphobia, or maybe anxiety disorder. John refused to see the GP himself though, so no formal diagnosis was ever made. The worst part was I was starting believe him. Not the specifics, maybe, but the fear in his voice was real.
John's family and close friends decided to take turns staying with him. The night he died, it was my turn. By then, his paranoia was suffocating. When I knocked on his door, he cracked it just enough to peek out, his eyes wide and bloodshot. Inside, he jumped at every noise—the creak of floorboards, the hum of the fridge—like he expected something to burst in at any moment.
“They’re coming tonight,” he said, gripping my arm hard enough to hurt. “They're going to hurt people. I have to stop them.”
I tried to calm him down, but he wouldn’t listen. I called Richard for backup, thinking his twin could talk him down. If anything this made John more agitated.
Richard arrived close to midnight, and the two of us tried to reason with John. He wouldn’t hear it. “If I don’t go, they’ll take people," he said, hands trembling. "They'll hurt them, they'll hurt them then fry them."
Fearing for what John might do if he got any more agitated, Richard changed tact and agreed to drive him wherever he needed to go. "I'll take him to the police station, it's only 15 minutes away, maybe they can help" he whispered to me.
That was the last time I saw either of them alive.
The next morning, hikers found John’s body in a forest on the other side of the country. There were no wounds, no signs of violence—just a man in the dirt, staring at the sky. The medical examiner said it was a heart attack some time during the night.
Richard's car was later found in North Wales, hours away in the wrong direction, parked at a trailhead in a popular mountain hiking path. There was no sign of Richard.
The only plausible timeline the police could put together was the following. Richard had driven John at high speed to the North Wales mountain car park, where he had a second car waiting. He swapped cars, immediately turned around and drove across the country toward the East England forest. A few hours into this drive John had his heart attack and died. Richard continued to the forest and dumped John's body, then went on the run in his second car. Even driving at high speed with no stops, travelling that route within that time frame is only just plausible. No motivation for Richard's behaviour in this theory was ever given, nor was any evidence of a second car ever existing. None of it made sense.
Richard wasn't seen or heard from for eight days. On the morning of the eight day after John’s body was found, hikers found Richard's body slumped against a stone outcrop just off a popular hiking route in a Yorkshire moor. Another heart attack, another empty wilderness. No one saw him during those eight days. He didn’t contact anyone. He didn't have his car, he didn't spend any money on his cards, he didn't go home. He just… disappeared. Nobody knows how he made it so far up north.
The police wrapped it up neatly. Two brothers, two heart attacks while hiking, a freak coincidence. Case closed. It barely made the local news. But I can’t accept that story. Not after everything I saw—and everything I’ve learned since.
I started digging into John’s old posts on conspiracy forums. He was tracking something—a pattern, he called it. His last posts were desperate, warning the visitors would come again. Maps detailing the visit sites. Berwyn mountain range in North Wales. Suffolk’s Rendlesham Forest. Yorkshire's Ilkley Moor. A handful of other places. Finally our home town of Broad Haven. All places he claims they've visited before. It sounds insane, I know, but the deeper I go, the less I can dismiss it.
I don’t know what really happened to John and Richard Doe that night. But I do know one thing: it wasn’t just a coincidence. And whatever they were, I don’t think they’re done yet.