Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

The beast’s senses passed through a closed eyelid and found a memory.

On all fours the beast then circled to the front of the house. Then it stood — Wake up! — and began approaching — Wake up! — the front door of — Wake up, for Christ’s sake! — the trailer-hou…

James woke up. The old man he had seen was William Youngblood. He lived less than two miles down the road.

James threw on his shirt and pants, and grabbed the shotgun. He ran out of the house without even putting on his shoes. He jumped in his pickup and tore out of the drive. It took James only a few minutes to drive the short distance between his house and Mr. Youngblood’s trailer. As the pickup slid into the driveway, he laid on the horn, hoping that if the beast hadn’t already done its deadly deed the sound would scare it off.

The front door was wide open, and James started toward it at a full run. From the back of the house he heard a dog yelp, a sound that was abruptly cut off. James ran around the corner of the trailer. With the shotgun in his hands, he combed the area with his eyes. He saw on the steps of the back porch a headless dog, its warm body still twitching. James then looked up and down the tree line, but it was too dark to see a thing. He then turned and walked toward the front taking frequent looks behind him.

From the woods, the beast watched James. It raised its snout only slightly, so it wouldn’t have to take its eyes off him, and breathed in his familiar smell. It continued to watch him until he passed back around the trailer-house. Then the beast slowly crept deeper into the woods.

The inside of the trailer-house was dark except for a small light coming from just around the corner in the living room. James knew from his past visits to Mr. Youngblood’s that the light was from a small reading light beside the old man’s recliner. Holding the shotgun firmly in his right hand, James reached for the light switch in the dark trailer. He felt two switches and flipped the first one. A light came on outside, illuminating the steps to the front door. James tried the next switch and had better luck — a single lightbulb came on in the middle of the trailer’s living room. James returned his left hand to get a better grip on the double-barrel shotgun. James stepped into the living room, and just around the corner he found Mr. Youngblood. He was still in his chair.

The old man’s walker was still neatly folded beside his recliner. In a small town like Newton, quite a few people don’t bother to lock their doors. Mr. Youngblood probably heard a familiar voice at the door, and rather than straining and pulling to get his obese body out of his recliner, he probably just called out that the door was unlocked.

William Youngblood’s entire stomach and chest was open, long ropes of guts and small greasy yellow beads of fat were all over the chair and laid out on the floor in front of him. It looked as if the beast had torn at him like a dog digging furiously in the ground for a bone.

The heavy smell of Mr. Youngblood’s bowels almost made James lose his lunch. He staggered into the kitchen and splashed water over his face. James then looked around for a phone, but the only one he could find was right beside old man Youngblood, and James didn’t want to get that close to the mutilated body. After scouring the kitchen from top to bottom and taking a hesitant peek into Mr. Youngblood’s bedroom, James came to the conclusion that the only phone in the house was the one beside what was left of the old man.

Holding his breath, James slowly walked over to the mutilated corpse. When the phone was in reach, James grabbed it and took it as far to the other side of the room as the cord would allow. James dialed the police station.

“Sheriff’s office,” an old woman’s voice answered.

“This is James Taylor,” James said, his voice shaky and warbled with fear, “get someone out to William Youngblood’s house immediately. It’s about four miles down Farm Road Fourteen-fourteen, on the right.”

“Uh, how many houses down from Turner’s is that going to be?” the voice answered

“Just call Deputy O’Brien, he knows exactly where it is.”

“Okay.”

James stretched his arm out as far as he could, and still had to throw the phone the last couple of inches. It landed in the cradle. He then went outside for some fresh air. Leaning up against the inside of the front door, with the shotgun resting all but forgotten in his arms, James waited for the cavalry to arrive, hoping Greg would be first on the scene.

Less than five minutes after the call, a police cruiser pulled into the drive behind his pickup. Greg stepped out of the car and started toward the trailer. Seeing the shotgun in James’ hands, he stopped well short of the door. “James, I love you and all, but could you put the shotgun down?” Greg said, smiling nonetheless.

“Sure,” James said plopping the shotgun against the wall, then turning and motioning Greg to follow him in the house.

When Greg first saw Mr. Youngblood, his reaction was not unlike James’ had been, except Greg opted for fresh air instead of a splash of water — he stepped outside on the front steps.

James followed him out and said from behind him, “I saw that thing, whatever it is, headin’ up to Mr. Youngblood’s door. I woke up in the middle of the dream, and thought I could get here in time to save him. I tried like hell to get here, but I was just too late.”

Another set of flashing lights reflected off the trees across the road. Someone else was on the way.

Greg swallowed hard, shook his head, then turned to James. “You know you’re our only suspect in these murders don’t you?”

“Suspect? It’s not a human that’s doing the killing,” James replied, shocked.

“They… we… don’t know what the hell we’re lookin’ for, but out of three murders, you’ve been first on the scene at two of them, and someone reported seeing you out at the scene of the first one the day after the murder.”

“You don’t think I did it, do you?” James asked.

Greg paused at first, the brief pause probably lasted less than two seconds, but the pause made James’ heart sink nonetheless. But when Greg did find the words, there was no doubt in his voice. “No, I don’t.”

By now the new arrival was pulling into the drive. It was a state trooper who happened to be in the area and heard the call on his radio.

James sighed, “Well, place me under arrest. I’d rather you do it than someone I don’t know.”

Greg looked down at his feet for a while, then started. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will…”

At the Sheriff’s Office James was fingerprinted and photographed. While he was in the booking room Sheriff Oates tried to question him on a few items, but James did as Greg had instructed while they talked on the way to the station. He demanded his lawyer be present for any questioning. Bill simply said, “Suit yourself,” and ordered Greg to take James to his cell.

The walls of James’ cell were a sickly color of baby blue with various names, dates, and expletives carved in them. The only furniture was a small iron bed jutting out of the wall, equipped with only a ratty pillow that felt like it was stuffed with Styrofoam, a paper thin sheet, and a stainless steel toilet set into one corner. There was also a shower spigot protruding from the wall over a drain in the floor in another corner. Below this spigot was a single button that, when pressed, caused cold water to flow for about one minute. For a decent shower you would have to repeatedly press the button. There were no bars. A solitary Plexiglas window was located in the steel door to the cell.