Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

Lisa watched from the floor as she tried to untangle herself from the fallen coat rack with its numerous coats and hats. She couldn’t see anything in Jeremy’s hand. In fact, the blow was open handed, but when he hit his father on the shoulder, it made four deep gouges running from his upper arm to the middle of his back. Dan cried out and stood with his back arched in pain, looking up at the ceiling, his right arm trying in vain to reach over his right shoulder, and his left arm searching blindly for support. Jeremy then came around with a blow with his left hand, this one tearing deep gouges into the back of Dan’s head. The flayed strips of scalp hung loose, revealing the white skull underneath.

Finally out from under the coat rack and the coats and hats, Lisa screamed as she gained her footing.

Dan collapsed to the floor, and Jeremy turned to his mother. His posture was weird. His legs were bent, almost at right angles, and his arms hung straight down at his sides.

“What’s wrong with you?” Lisa screamed.

Jeremy sprang at her. The coat rack was still in her hands so Lisa threw it at Jeremy and ran screaming out the front door and onto the porch.

As she descended the front porch steps and started across the yard, she risked a look over her shoulder. Jeremy was bounding along the front porch running on all fours like an ape. He reached the edge of the porch and leaped for her, hitting her right in the middle of the back.

He was on top of her, “Jer…” was all she managed to get out before he sank his teeth into her left shoulder.

Lisa screamed.

Over the last two days, activity at the Sheriff’s Department had increased dramatically. Captain Jones had used his influence to bring in outside help. Six state troopers were reassigned to Newton to help patrol the area and over a dozen game wardens were brought in from all over the state. A team of bloodhounds was even brought in to track down whoever or whatever was doing all the killings, although a brief, yet heavy, rainstorm on the night after Sam’s arrival made using the dogs on any of the old tracks impossible.

It was 9:00 a.m. when Mrs. Thelma Burke called and said her neighbor’s kid had run to her house wailing and shouting. She managed to calm the boy enough to make sense of his hysterics. He told her he had come home from a lock-in at the Methodist Church and found someone dead in his front yard. The body had been torn to shreds, but the poor boy had recognized his mother’s bracelet.

One of the new game wardens was first on the scene. Bill was second. As Bill drove up, he could tell that the game warden was spooked. The officer had parked his SUV behind Dan Chamblin’s pickup. He was between these two vehicles, leaning on his truck. His rifle was gripped tightly in his hands and it looked like he was ready to start blazing away at the first sign of movement.

Bill hadn’t been sleeping too well since he’d changed his residence to his office, and adding a new killing to the five already being investigated didn’t do much to improve his already gruff disposition.

“Put that damn gun up before you accidentally shoot someone,” he told the game warden as he approached.

The man was as white as a ghost and his hands were trembling. At first he didn’t move or speak, then he managed a “Yes, sir,” but still didn’t move an inch. In the grass, right in front of the game warden, lay the breakfast he had eaten two and a half hours ago.

Bill walked over to where the game warden was standing and he saw what had the man so shaken up. A vaguely human form lay sprawled in a patch of bloodstained grass near the middle of the yard. All of the meat was eaten away across both shoulders and on down the left side of the back. The left arm looked like it had been chewed off; the forearm lay about two feet above the body, and the upper left arm and left shoulder from the left side of the neck to the uppermost ribs was missing.

Bill had seen quite a few of these recently, but the sight still stunned him for a few seconds. Then he turned to the game warden. “Hurst,” he read off the game warden’s nameplate, “did you check inside?”

“N-No.”

Without another word, Bill started toward the door.

When Bill first walked inside the double-wide trailer, he noticed the fallen coat rack, coats, and hats in the doorway. He called out to see if anyone was home but got no answer. Bill then continued into the living room where he looked briefly around, before going into the kitchen. He looked through all the bedrooms, found nothing, and was walking back into the living room when he noticed a pair of socked feet sticking out from behind the coffee table. Another victim, no doubt. The coffee table had apparently concealed the body from sight when Bill had first come in. This body was not nearly as bad off as the one in the yard. Blood was all over its back from a nasty wound across the shoulders. Another more serious wound was on the back of its head leaving a portion of the skull bare. In some areas where the skull was visible, deep grooves could be seen across the bone; a small amount of grey matter had even seeped out in one area.

Bill leaned down to investigate the wound; it seemed that the blood was still seeping out. Bill reached and felt the body’s arm. It was warm.

He’s alive!

Jana may have only been a reporter for six years, but she knew how to find out when the game was afoot. She and Bob were currently staying in adjoining rooms at the Pineywoods Inn, a ratty little twelve-room motel on Highway 190, just around the corner from the Newton County Jail. At a little after nine o’clock Bob had called her into his room to tell her there was a lot of activity on their police scanner. They listened in but every time the sheriff (she would recognize his voice anywhere) came on he would tell someone to turn to a coded channel. Then the phone rang in Jana’s room. It was Alice Pender, a little old lady who owned a beauty shop in town. Jana knew beauty shops were the prime source for good gossip in a small town and had promised Mrs. Pender a reward if she came up with any useful information. Alice told Jana she had heard that the monster-thing, as she called it, had attacked the Burke family. Jana asked if Alice knew where the Burke family lived; she did. Jana quickly jotted down the address.

“We’re in business, Bob,” Jana called out and they were loaded up and on the road in less than fifteen minutes.

They headed out of town on Wood’s Community Road. Around ten miles south of town they took a right down a dirt road. They continued for another mile passing three houses.

“Well, here it is,” Jana said, sounding disgusted. There was a quaint little house with a cyclone fence surrounding the yard. The mailbox was painted to resemble a Holstein cow complete with head and tail; on its side it read J. T. Burke. There was no sign of any police activity whatsoever.

“Well, this certainly doesn’t look like the scene of a vicious attack to me,” Bob commented while he turned into the drive. “Looks more like a wild goose chase.”

Jana ignored her cameraman and stepped out of the van. They had driven this far; she might as well ask some questions.

She had just reached to open the gate when Bob thrust his head out the window and yelled, “Hey, Jana! Look!”

Flying down the dirt road, coming from the direction Bob and Jana had been heading, they could see an ambulance with its lights on. It was kicking up quite a cloud of dust as it tore past them on its way to the hospital in Jasper.

“Get in!” Bob yelled.

Jana ran back to the passenger side and climbed in. Bob didn’t even wait for her to get the door shut before throwing the van into reverse and slamming his foot down on the accelerator. Jana was tossed forward but managed to catch herself before she hit the dash. Just as suddenly, she was propelled back into the seat be the car’s forward momentum.