The Man Who Found His Own Skeleton

I was hiking the Blue Ridge trail alone when I saw it.

At first, I thought it was just another pile of animal bones. Hikers often joke about raccoons dying dramatically in the woods.

But this was different.

The bones were too big. Too human.

And then I saw the left forearm — bent exactly like mine, fractured and healed from an old football injury.

I froze.

Because the skull lying in the dirt had a tiny gold tooth on the right incisor.

Just like me.


---

I stared at it for five full minutes.

It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be me. I was alive. I was breathing.

But the body wasn’t decayed. It wasn’t ancient. It was fresh. And somehow, bone-white. Not a speck of flesh on it.

I called the police. They thought I was high.

They came anyway. And when they reached the spot, the bones were gone.

Nothing there. Just dry leaves.


---

I thought maybe I’d imagined it.
Until I got home.

And found the same skeleton sitting in my chair.

No movement. No sound.
Just facing the window.
Cross-legged.
Relaxed.

Like it lived here.


---

I ran. Drove to a friend’s place. Slept on their couch.
Didn’t mention the skeleton.
Too insane.

But that night, my friend shook me awake.

"Dude… why’s there someone sitting at the kitchen table?"

I looked.

Same skeleton. Same position. Same gold tooth.

Still me.

Still smiling.


---

I burned the house down the next morning.
I didn’t care.

But guess what? It didn’t die.

Three days later, it was on my bus.
Riding two seats ahead of me.
No one else saw it.

But I did. And it waved.


---

I went to a therapist.
I told her everything.

She nodded.
Smiled.
Then said:

> "That’s interesting. He visited me too."



She opened her desk drawer.
Pulled out a photograph.

There we were.
Me and her.
And my skeleton.

All smiling.


---

I checked myself into a psych facility.
Seven days. No contact with the outside world.
No mirrors. No photos. No phones.

Day three, I woke up to a scratching sound.
From under the bed.

I leaned down.

And saw it again.

This time, it wasn’t smiling.

This time, it whispered:

> "We switch tomorrow."




---

I screamed.
They sedated me.

When I woke up, everything felt wrong.
Lighter.
Hollow.

My voice echoed too loudly in my own skull.

They brought me a mirror.

I had no eyes.
No flesh.
Just bone.

But somehow, I was still breathing.


---

I don’t know what I am anymore.
Not alive.
Not dead.
Just… something in between.

And now he wears my face.

Lives my life.

Sleeps in my bed.

And every time I look in a reflection or screen...

I see a face I once knew.

> Yours.




---

That was months ago. I’ve stopped counting days.

I’ve moved from place to place, hitching rides, sleeping in abandoned cabins, whispering names into the dark. Not mine. His. Hoping he’ll stay away.

But he doesn’t. He follows.

Everywhere.

Sometimes, I’ll see someone on a train or in a diner — someone whose reflection moves slower than they do. That’s how I know: he’s recruiting.

He doesn’t want just me. He wants all of us.


---

Last week, I found a note in my pocket. Written in handwriting that looked like mine — but wasn’t.

> “You’re not the first. You won’t be the last. We are Legion.”



Then, below that:

> “Your replacement is learning fast. Better than you ever did.”



I dropped the note. Ran for miles. Slept under a tree.

When I woke up, there were footprints around me. Skeleton footprints.


---

I broke into a museum two nights ago. Anthropology wing. Found a skull display. Stared at one of them for half an hour.

It blinked.

Just once. But that was enough.

He’s older than history.

Whatever this thing is… it’s been doing this since before we had words for fear.


---

And now I’m leaving this journal behind. Because I don’t trust my hands anymore. Sometimes they move when I don’t want them to. Sometimes I find them writing on their own.

If you find this, burn it. Burn it before it writes you.

Because once he sees you…

He never forgets.

And if he remembers you —

You’re next.


---

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Where identity fractures, bones whisper, and being alive is no longer enough.

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