Byron Starr - Doppelgänger

“Byron Starr seems to be the potential heir to the uniquely East Texas horror crown presently worn by Joe R. Lansdale.”

“Byron Starr follows the trail blazed so famously by writers like Stephen King; put average people in an everyday situation, then introduce a supernatural element and watch the sparks fly.”

“Vivid and suspenseful, this is a great take on the classic tale of a monster terrorizing a small town. The pacing and action are excellent, the monster a real piece of work, and the townspeople likable and believable in the situation into which they’re thrust. Don’t miss this taut thriller.”

“Doppelganger is a good old fashioned rip-out-your-throat monster novel with a furious spirit and a lot of heart. Byron Starr brings his main characters to life with careful strokes, only to run them through the pain mill and make you feel it with them. A strong beginning, a powerful end, and a creature to remember for all time — if you’re a fan of fast-paced horror with enough twists and turns to keep you guessing, dig into Starr’s latest offering and have yourself a feast.”

For Ardath Mayhar

I would like to thank Shelly for putting up with me, Abby for being so much like me, and J for being the calm one in the family at the tender age of one.

Thanks to those who have been with me for the long haul: Chris Philips, Pete Allen, Lavern Harris, Pat Payne, Adrienne Jones, Megan Bulloch, Bret Jordan, and Ardath Mayhar.

And to some of the new friends I’ve met along the way: Patricia Esposito, Mike Stone, Gabrielle Faust, Kim Paffenroth, Marcy Italiano, and Chris Fulbright.

DOPPELGÄNGER

The October wind whispered softly between the tall pines. In hushed tones it spoke of secrets long hidden from human eyes. There was a sharp chill in the air which spoke as well. It told of the coming of winter.

There were no moon or stars out, but the beast had no trouble seeing as it lurched through the underbrush. It loped on all fours, propelling itself along with its legs and powerful arms like an ape. Coming to the edge of a clearing, the beast stopped, raised itself on powerful hind legs and sniffed at the wind. Its sense of smell was amazingly keen. The smell of pine was strong here; however, there was another faint odor in the wind.

The beast lowered itself to all fours and continued into the freshly logged clearing, bounding over stumps, fallen trees, and broken limbs, until it came to a set of tracks in the mud. The prints were large and flat, not unlike the impressions of the beast’s own feet when it walked upright. Lowering its head to the ground, the beast inhaled deeply, bringing to its nose a strange odor, unlike anything it had ever smelled before. Raising its head, the beast began following the tracks, which seemed to move almost at random throughout the clear-cut, finding five other similar sets of tracks. These prints all began and ended at a set of ruts in the ground. Like the prints, these furrows were present in seemingly random pattern throughout the area, before they finally merged at a wide path in the trees that leading out of the clearing.

Then another smell caught the beast’s attention. It rose on two legs and sniffed again, then set off in the direction of the smell. It moved at a faster pace than before, stopping frequently to raise its snout to the wind and sniff the air. After loping through the woods for several hundred yards, the beast came to a stop and once again stood upright and raised its nose to the wind. The scent was much stronger. It was close.

Still standing erect, the beast shut its eyes, yet could still see. All its senses �� sight, vision, hearing, smell, and even taste — seemed to leave its body and float forward into midair. Then, flying at an incredible speed, its detached senses passed through several hundred yards of woods and underbrush before coming to a slender doe timidly munching on grass, completely unaware that it was being watched from a distance of less than twenty feet by a creature that was almost a half a mile away. The beast watched the deer for a few seconds, then its detached senses moved closer, circling toward the deer’s head as it approached, until it was directly in front of the deer’s face. The beast’s senses paused briefly, a mere two inches from the doe’s face. A tuft of hair was raised just above the deer’s nose where a tick had burrowed in for a meal of its own. Unaware of any presence, the doe continued the meal that would prove to be its last. The beast’s senses slowly continued forward until they passed into the unsuspecting doe’s right eye.

Once inside, the beast briefly saw the world from the doe’s eyes, then it began to sort through scenes in her memory — sights and smells of the woods, other deer, other creatures of the forest, a long grey path with a yellow stripe running down its center, large objects with a pair of lights cutting through the darkness ahead of them flew along this path at amazing speeds. All of these scenes flashed by rapidly until one of a small fawn with white flecks along its back appeared.

This memory froze in place for a moment, then, two hundred yards away, the beast opened its eyes. In an instant, its vision returning to normal, the beast lowered itself to all fours and started in the direction of the deer at a much slower and more cautious pace than it had traveled earlier.

As the beast drew near, the doe could occasionally be seen through the gaps between the trees. Her ears were perked and she was intently looking in the beast’s direction, but she did not flee. Soon she was in full sight. The beast stopped a mere ten yards from her.

The timid doe took a cautious step forward, pointed her nose in its direction, and sniffed. No alarm. The scent was familiar and registered as friendly. She took another step and continued inching closer until she was right in front of the beast.

As soon as she was within reach a powerful, clawed hand lashed out. The blow landed on her neck, the claws ripping out her throat and the impact driving her to the ground. Mortally wounded, the deer still tried to rise, but a powerful hand was on her shoulder, holding her down as a set of jaws descended to take a savage bite out of her side.

James Taylor jerked upright in bed, his heart pounding in his chest and his body drenched in sweat. The sudden movement woke his wife, Angie.

“Honey, are you okay?” Angie asked groggily.

“Yeah, just a bad dream,” James answered, lying back down.

Beside him Angie shifted her position a little, and said nothing else. Unlike James, Angie never had any trouble finding sleep.

James lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He stared into the darkness, barely able to see the outline of the ceiling fan slowly cutting the darkness overhead. After gathering his thoughts, James turned to his wife, who was little more than an outlined shape beneath a pale blue blanket. Only the blond top of her head was visible. James listened to the regularity of her breathing until he was sure she was asleep, then he slowly and carefully climbed out of the bed.

In the bathroom, James shut the door behind him before turning on the light. He ran some water in the sink, splashed it onto his face, and looked up into the mirror. His face was weary, his eyes bloodshot, with bags under them, and he needed a shave. He looked like he had one hell of a hangover.