"What’s Yours Is Ours" by Andrew Nicolle

What’s Yours Is Ours

by Andrew Nicolle

It’s late evening when the face appears in the living room window, but you’re too absorbed to notice at first.

You sit alone on your couch reading your favorite novel. The book is dog-eared and the pages are yellowed with age, but the memories it evokes are priceless. A warm blanket covers your legs, and a steaming mug of hot chocolate sits on the small table beside the couch, filling the room with a soothing aroma.

You put the book down for a moment and reach for the mug, when something catches your eye outside. You squint at the window. A cold chill ripples through your body as you stare outside. Your own face stares back at you. Did it just wink?

In the fraction of a second it takes for you to comprehend what you’re seeing, you leap from the couch and fling the blanket aside, causing the mug to fall to the floor. You feel light-headed as stars fill your vision. Your heart thuds a staccato rhythm in your chest. You fall back to the couch, panting. When you look up again, the face is gone.

You rise and flick the light switch in the kitchen for the outdoor floodlights. Harsh light cuts through the evening gloom, illuminating your small backyard and garden shed. You scan the yard for any sign of intruders, but it’s empty. It’s too dark to see much beyond the low chain-link fence, beyond which lays a scrubby field and the woods.

Retrieving your baseball bat from under the bed, you cautiously creep out the back door. Just when you think the coast is clear, you hear breathing from the roof. Before you have a chance to react, something leaps from above, knocking you to the ground.

The last thing you see before you pass out is your own face staring back at you.

Time passes, and you eventually wake up. You’re lying in the backyard in darkness. You wonder what you’re doing outside at such a late hour? When the memories come flooding back, you sit bolt upright and notice you’re sitting outside the living room window.

You stand and peer into the living room. You see yourself standing by the lit fireplace, tearing pages from your favorite novel and throwing them into the fireplace. This other-you flashes you a quick grin.

You beat against the window and scream, but no sound emerges from your mouth. Sensing your frustration, the other-you waves its hand toward you and you find yourself hurled to the ground. Darkness envelopes you once more.

When you wake again, you return to the living room window and peer inside. There are three people seated on your couch: your daughter, her husband, and the other-you. Your grandson, a toddler, crawls on the living room floor. They have just returned from vacation and are clearly happy to see you again. You knock on the window, but only your grandson and the other-you acknowledge your presence.

Your grandson stands and wobbles unsteadily to the window. He beats against the window and squeals with delight. The other-you smiles and picks up your grandson. It turns to the other guests and motions over its shoulder to the backyard. Your daughter frowns, then smiles as she and her husband follow other-you to the back door.

You hear high-pitched whistles coming from the woods behind you. Small figures bolt from the tree-line, heading toward your house. They move as silently as a breeze.

You run to the back door, but it’s too late. Your daughter and her husband emerge, with other-you holding your grandson. As you frantically wave your arms and yell, other-you points skyward and they all turn to look up.

While they’re all looking up, other-you glances at you and leers. Your grandson turns his attention to you and begins to cry.

The figures leap over the fence and bound across the yard toward your family in seconds. They’re small hairless creatures with featureless faces, running on all fours like monkeys. As they get closer, their faces shift and change into those of your daughter and her husband. Your daughter finally notices them and screams.

A pair of the creatures tackle your daughter and her husband, and they fall to the ground. They beat and kick at their attackers, but to no avail. Their struggles end when the creatures place their paws on the sides of your family member’s heads. Then something unexpected happens: the creatures seem to melt into their victims bodies before vanishing entirely.

The entire time your grandson screams at the top of his lungs. No amount of consoling from other-you can settle him.

Other-you turns and carries your screaming grandson back inside the house. Before you can follow, it waves toward you and you instantly fall unconscious.

That final encounter seems so long ago now. You always wake outside at night. Beside you are who you’ve come to think of as echoes of your daughter and her husband. They see you, but you’re powerless to communicate with each other. You are all just echoes now.

The house curtains are almost always closed, but on rare occasions the others let you and your family echoes see inside. Your grandson seems to grow taller with each passing day, and never fails to respond when he sees you and his true parents. These occasions always seem to amuse the doppelgängers.

One day your grandson has grown into a handsome young man, and he no longer seems to see you through the living room window.

One day you know your grandson will walk outside at night, lured by the others.

On that day your grandson will join your trio of echoes, and you suspect at that moment, your tether to this world will be broken and your echoes will be no more.