Double Follows Home

It was a typical Tuesday evening: car horns blaring, sirens whirring in the distance, and pedestrians swarming along the sidewalks, bumping against one another. I had just left work late, exhausted after another day of sitting in the fluorescent-lit office.

I walked back home the normal way, diverting onto that quiet side street to avoid evening congestion. Glistening with signs of recent rain, the pavers shimmered in the darkness beneath streetlamp shadows. Walking this path now, a premonition worked its way back into my subconscious mind: that of someone being there to observe me.

I glanced over my shoulder. At first, I saw nothing out of the ordinary-just a few pedestrians lost in their own worlds. But then, near the mouth of the alley, I spotted someone-lingering, keeping their pace with mine. A tall figure in a dark hoodie, head tilted just slightly downward to obscure the face.

A chill coiled around my spine. I quickened my steps, my heartbeat rising with every second. It was probably paranoia, but I knew what I felt: This person was following me.

Reaching the corner, I whipped around the corner and strode into a gas station. I opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of water, pretending to browse and stealing a peek towards the door. The figure faltered a moment outside, then ambled casually past.

Relief flooded me, but was short-lived. When I left the store and resumed my route home, the shadow showed itself again, this time blocks further on. Closer now. More deliberate.

By the time I reached my apartment building, I was all but running. I fumbled for my keys, flinging frantic glances back over my shoulder. The figure had stopped across the street, standing under the flickering streetlight. The hoodie was down now, revealing the face.

My breath caught.

It was me.

Not someone who merely resembled me—no, it was like staring into a mirror. Same short dark hair, same sharp cheekbones, even the same tired eyes that had been reflected back at me in the office bathroom mere hours ago.

The double raised a hand in an eerie, almost friendly wave. My stomach churned with nausea and panic.

I slammed the door open, shut behind me, and locked it-a desperate attempt not to let any piece of horror out. In my mind's turmoil, explanations struggled to materialize-this just could not have been real. I leaned forward against the door, my head on the wooden panel, lungs filled with rattling breath.

And then there came a knocking sound.

My voice almost hit the high screech as it did again-soft and intentional. The peephole: my reflection glared through the peephole.

"Let me in," the voice outside said, low and coaxing. "You know why I'm here."

I stumbled backward. "Go away!" I choked out.

A pause. Then the voice-my voice-spoke again. "We both know that won't work."

My mind reeled. I grasped the closest thing-a heavy lamp-and steadied myself. The doorknob rattled. The door heaved as if with something peering at its weak points.

Then, silence.

Minutes ticked by, maybe hours. I didn't move a muscle, paralyzed with fear. Finally, daring to look out the peephole again, the hall was empty.

But I knew somehow that it wasn't over.

The doppelganger was still out there, waiting.