Doppelgänger - III

Continued from here.

Carl did not know it was going to be the longest night he has ever seen in his life. 

He climbed down the stairs as fast as he could and when he reached Aunt Natasha's room, he stopped. The living room to his left looked eerily silent and unperturbed. So did the hallway. Absolute Silence. He held his breath for a moment and he could hear nothing but his pounding heart beat. He was not sure if he should knock the door. 

He heard something behind him in the stairs. In the spur of the moment, he pushed open Aunt Natasha's room and stormed inside. Aunt Natasha was not there in her bed. 

Utterly panicked, he looked around the room. Finding no movement but for the swinging ghostly drapes, he thoughtfully made his move. He knocked the door to the bathroom and called out for Aunt Natasha in his shaken voice. Receiving no response, he slowly opened the door. The lights were ON, but he did not see what he half-expected. The bathroom was as tidy as it could be.

He quickly turned around and walked towards the closet. He examined the closet doors one by one, when he noticed the third closet door left slightly ajar.

Scared and bewildered, he opened the closet door as slowly as he could. He saw her there. Aunt Natasha looked pale and her eyes were wide open. Her hair was awfully disheveled and blood was still oozing out of her head on the right side. Aunt Natasha was dead. Carl screamed and felt his head spinning. 

He ran to the living room and lifted the phone to call his mom. He heard somebody walking down the stairs. Carl slowly kept the phone receiver down and remained silent. In a moment, he saw his own image walking down the stairs slowly looking directly at him. The image increased its pace and hurried towards Carl. 

His senses urged him to run, but he could not respond. His legs refused to cooperate. His brain was numb. He knew he would be killed. He was out of tears. He realized he was totally helpless. 

The image kept walking towards Carl. 

The next 10 seconds seemed unceasing. The image took every step cautiously. There was no mercy left in it. No sign of love. No smile. Carl suddenly thought of his piano, his only obsession and desire in life. He wished he played his piano one last time before dying. He could not figure out why he thought so. The image almost neared him. Carl hated the image, oblivious of the fact that it’s his own. 

In seconds, the image came close enough to touch Carl, but stopped. Carl closed his eyes. He waited. He waited for pain. He waited for death to beckon. But nothing happened. 

Carl opened his eyes and saw the image still standing at the same position. He raised his eye-brows. So did the image. He raised his hands. So did the image. He smiled slowly. So did the image. 

He suddenly heard his mom shouting "What the hell are you doing at the bathroom for so long?! It’s getting late for school!"

 

The author, being inspired by Manoj 'Night' Shyamalan attempts (vainly) at writing horror stories. And dreams of being called Arun 'Day' Sundar.